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mongoosingisme · 2 days ago

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Title: Operation: Cranberry Sauce - Chapter 2

Series: Sticking the Landing (see fic Masterlist for previous parts)

Rating: Explicit (MDNI)

Relationship: Harvey/fem!Reader

Word Count: 4609

Summary: Harvey is not very good at taking care of himself when other people need him. You intend to help him with that.

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When you opened your eyes the clock said 2:47am.

This was confusing. You didn’t keep a clock in your room.

But then you remembered. Where you were, why you were there. Aligned the pleasant ache between your legs with the memory of Harvey above you, the soft warmth of his bed with the way the two of you had fallen asleep around each other.

You were alone now.

You sat up at the realization. A band of light came in from under the door. You assumed this meant he was awake in the living room. That wasn’t the deal, you mused as you draped yourself in the first item of clothing you could find (Harvey’s t-shirt). He was supposed to be sleeping, and you were going to tell him so.

Harvey was indeed awake in the living room, reading on the couch, dressed in pajama pants, a well-worn sweatshirt, and glasses. He looked up as you opened the door. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, but why are you up?”

Harvey shrugged. The lamplight cast his face in highlights and shadows, softening his cheeks and mouth, making his eyes look darker. “Not always the best sleeper.”

You didn’t know this. Kicked yourself for only learning it now. “Need me to tuck you back in?”

He sighed. “You’re sweet, but I’ll be up for a while. Why don’t you go back to bed? Don’t need both of us getting overtired.”

“Not a chance,” you said, settling down next to him on the couch. He smiled, put a bookmark in his book, raised his arm so you could snuggle up next to him.

“Want some quilt?” he asked, already pulling on the blanket hanging off the back of the couch.

You hummed in pleasure, the heat of his body and the softness of the blanket making you feel warm, sleepy, safe. You leaned against him, enjoying the rise and fall of his chest. The room was so quiet you could hear his watch ticking. His heart beat steadily in his chest, strong and regular enough to make you want to close your eyes, fall back asleep.

But that would leave him alone again, and you didn’t want that.

“I used to have trouble sleeping,” you said, if only to wake yourself back up a bit. “I’d wake up out of nowhere and it’d feel impossible to get back down. Moving out here helped a lot. Calms my brain down.”

“Mmmmm,” Harvey acknowledged. “I…” he paused, as though weighing if he should admit something. You pressed a kiss to his chest. Reached over and interlaced your fingers with his free hand. “I get nightmares. Makes it hard to go back to sleep.”

You made a sympathetic sound. “That’s no good.” Then you added with your best Fortune Teller voice: “tell me what you dreamed and I’ll tell you what it means.”

Harvey huffed. “No great mystery. Replays of my career lowlights, mostly,”

You made another sympathetic sound. It made sense, you supposed, that a few days of what counted as a medical catastrophe in Pelican Town would trigger some anxious thoughts. “Want to talk about it?”

He met your question with a silence long enough that you wanted to backtrack, to assure him that he didn’t need to talk about anything he didn’t want to, that you could just sit here and enjoy each other’s warmth and not worry about it, but then he was saying “compartmentalization isn’t my strength. It all sort of… blurs together. Up here.” He used your joined hands to tap his head.

“So what, dreaming of cranberry sauce?”

He grimaced. “No, thank Yoba. It was…” He sighed. “Well, it was you, in the hospital I used to work at. You weren’t… you weren’t doing well.”

Oh shit.

“Harvey,” you said, coming up on your knees so you could look him in the face. You felt like you should apologize, like you’d committed some sin by being far enough into his head to cause him pain. “What a crummy dream. I’m alright.”

“I know,” he said, but his mouth was thin, lacking the warmth of his usual smile.

“Do you? You know, you can give me a little check-up if you need to, make sure I’m all in one piece.” You wiggled onto his lap as you said it.

Harvey settled his hands on your hips, but it was clear flirting wasn’t going to get his head out of his dream. “I can’t believe I’m turning down such a tempting offer, but I don’t think I could tonight.”

“It’s okay.” You leaned into his chest, a little frustrated by how comforted you felt by his warmth, the way he put his arms around you, how he buried his nose in your hair. “I promise I don’t have an ulcer or anything.”

Harvey hummed. “Those were never my specialty.”

“Oh?” It felt good to be talking, good to help him clear out whatever cobwebs were in his mind. “For some reason I thought you were a stomach doctor or something.”

Harvey chuckled. “Gastroenterology would have been more sensible, I think. I worked in the ICU. Trauma.”

You sat back. You didn’t know much about how hospitals worked, but those two words together seemed intense. “What, like people who got blown up or something?”

Harvey winced. “My patients needed a lot of care.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say.

“They were in pain, most of the time. Recovery could be… complicated. Their lives were in your hands. You’d do the best you could, make the best decisions you knew to make, and you could still lose them. And if you made a mistake…”

He trailed off. You pressed your head back onto his chest. Listened to his heart, beating a little faster now.

“It sounds like a nightmare,” you said.

“It was,” was his reply.

He was quiet, then, hand stroking up and down your back. Again, you were annoyed at how comforting you found his presence, how inept you felt at doing the same for him.

“So what model plane are you working on right now?” you finally asked.

He laughed softly. You felt it rumble in his chest. “You don’t want to hear me talk about planes.”

You sat up, feigning indignance. “I’ll have you know I have a deep, abiding interest in all machines that fly.”

“Oh do you?” Harvey’s smile was beginning to look a little less thin.

“Yes. I’m passionate about the little spinny things.” You rotated your finger rapidly.

“Propellers?” Harvey suggested.

“Yes. And the flappy things.”

“Flaps?”

“I thought they were called wings.” Harvey’s smile broke into a grin, a laugh, and you’d never felt so accomplished. “You’d think you’d know what wings are called, what with the whole plane enthusiast thing you’ve got going.”

“Thank Yoba I have you here to teach me.” His eyes were sparkling in the lamplight now, looking at you with such affection you felt yourself starting to feel a little shy.

“So tell me, what are you working on?”

“If you must know,” he said, “I’m between projects. I finished the last one up a week ago, and I need to order some more.”

“Not so fast,” you said, holding up a finger so quickly it made him jump a bit. You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek in apology. “I picked one up for you as a Winter Star present. Though Yoba knows if it’s one you don’t already have - they all look the same to me.”

Now Harvey was looking a little shy. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“I know, which is why I did it.” You kissed him on the cheek again, lingering a little longer this time. “You can have it tomorrow. I’ll even take some time to show you what the wings are, but you have to get some sleep first.”

Harvey sighed, that affection back in his eyes. “I suppose that’s a reasonable condition.”

“Good. Now come on.” You got off his lap, guided him by the hand back to his bed, arranged him with his head on your chest. Despite his assertion that he’d have trouble falling back asleep, within minutes his breathing was slow and even.

You, however, were wide awake.

Your brain turned over the information he’d given you. Nightmares. Hospitals. Trauma ICU. Why did you think he was a gastroenterologist? Of course he would have worked in a more stressful field. The pieces started to fall into place as you thought it over. How quickly he’d react if anything went wrong, as though he were tuned to handling life or death situations. How capable he was when tending wounds. The confident authority he could slip into if he needed, though it never seemed to come without a cost.

You tried to imagine it, a younger Harvey making a decision about the future. He couldn’t fly, so what was next? Of course he’d feel pulled to a specialty where he was most needed. Of course he’d feel compelled to help those whose bodies were the most broken. Of course he’d get drawn into a place that fed off a willingness to give. He would have given, you knew. Given and given and given until there was nothing left, and then he’d still give more, grinding himself down until every second was agony. You wondered what the final straw could have been.

Wondered if you really wanted to know.

It made sense, too, the way he treated you. How eager he was to care for you, his attentiveness, yes, but also how he touched you. His focus on your gratification, the way he seemed to need it. So many of his interactions focused on illness, on fear, on pain. You wondered if there might be some release for him in controlling someone else’s pleasure.

It was a lot to think about.

As the minutes went past your thoughts became less distinct, blurring gently into emotion. You cared for Harvey. Cared for him deeply. Wanted more of him, his voice and his smile, the way he moved, his smell. Wanted to wrap his mind up in a blanket, keep him safe and warm. Wanted all good things for him. Wanted to be the one who gave them to him.

There was a word for all that, you knew.

But you weren’t brave enough to think it yet.

Because the thing about you and falling was that you were absolutely awful at landing.

————————

You awoke a few hours later to weak morning sunlight and Harvey snoring gently against your chest. You extricated yourself as smoothly as you could and went about your business.

The business in question included making coffee and doing the dishes. You know, the responsible stuff. Responsibility was back on.

The floors were a little cold under your bare feet, your legs a little chilly sticking out from Harvey’s t-shirt, but it was alright. Coffee was easy to find (though cream was sadly absent), and soon the kitchen filled with the comforting aroma as you worked through the dishes.

“This is nice to wake up to.” Harvey was standing in the doorway, looking rumpled and sleepy. Hair mussed, sweatshirt soft (the letters “Z-Z-U” looked faded from many washings), eyes gentle without his glasses, smile warm and hazy. Compared to yesterday he looked a little better - less pale, less hunched, less exhausted. He still wasn’t quite back to his old self, though. Some thread of the last few days still ran through him, somewhere in the crease of his forehead, the set of his lips.

“Nooooo,” you lamented as you saw him. “I was going to bring you coffee in bed! Get back in there!”

“Only if you come with me.” Did you think his eyes looked gentle? Clearly that was a bad read. His gaze was fond, yes, but the way his eyes traced over you as you stood there in his t-shirt was anything but soft.

“Well, I would, but you got all huffy when I tried to do the dishes last night, so here we are.” You flicked a little water at him for emphasis. “Now back to bed!”

“Bossy, bossy,” he murmured, moving towards you instead of the bedroom. Clearly he was bad with instructions.

“It’s called responsibility, look it up.” You bit back your smile as he stood close behind you, hands gentle on your hips, lips on the top of your head.

“I’m going to have to retire this shirt,” he said, smoothing his thumbs back and forth over the fabric. “You wear it much better than I do.”

“Yes, and I’m going to keep wearing it until these dishes are done.” Harvey’s hands were traveling up, spanning your waist, pulling you back almost imperceptibly. You did your best to ignore the feeling starting to flutter between your legs. If the man wanted to feel you up before coffee that was his business, but you were going to get this one thing done before he pulled you into whatever he had planned.

“I’m flexible,” he whispered. His voice was still a little raspy with sleep. It sent a shiver down your spine. Those hands of his kept moving, up and forward, cupping your breasts through the shirt. Your nipples tightened at his touch, and you knew there was no hiding it from him.

“Give me five minutes,” you said, a little miffed at the way your words trembled.

Harvey didn’t respond, just moved to the top of your thighs. His hands were warm in the cool room, flat and big and covering so much skin at once, fingers wide as he traveled the same path he did before, beneath the shirt this time. You were bare underneath, and you heard Harvey take in a breath as he realized it.

“You’re very distracting.” You were absolutely breathless at this point.

“Good,” he said, hands continuing to traverse upwards. His mouth had fallen to your neck, kissing you softly as his hands roamed.

“Fuck, Harvey,” you moaned as he cupped your breasts, gently rolled your nipples between his thumbs and the sides of his hands. “I’m all, like, pruny from the water.”

“That’s alright.” He nipped your earlobe at the same time he gave your breasts a particularly forceful squeeze. “You don’t need your hands for what I have in mind.”

Yoba

“You really can’t wait five minutes?” You were beginning to think you couldn’t wait five minutes.

“No, I can’t.” One hand travelled down, cupped around your core. “But don’t let me stop you.”

You let out a long, slightly whining breath as one of his talented fingers parted you, skimmed ever so gently along your folds.

“It seems you really enjoy doing the dishes,” he remarked. You turned your head to give him an exasperated look, but that was playing right into his plans, it seemed. He ran his hand up from your breast through the collar of the shirt, bunching the fabric with his forearm, cool air hitting your stomach as he clasped around your neck, braced your jaw, kissed you long and deep. He bit your bottom lip gently before breaking away, making a pleased sound as you shuddered against him. “I need you to come for me, sweetheart. Is that something you can do?”

And there it was. He needed it. Was comforted by it the way you felt comforted wrapped up in his arms. Felt safe, somehow, in the certainty that he could elicit pleasure, that when you were near him you’d feel good, feel incredible, better than you ever had or ever would without him. That you’d put your body in his hands, trust him to take control, to make your world perfect for just a moment.

Well. If that’s what he needed, you’d just have to bear it with grace.

Isn’t that the responsible thing to do?

“I think I can,” you said. Harvey made an approving sound, rubbed his mouth against your neck, dropped the hand holding your chin to press against your stomach. You used the brief pause in his attentions to finish scrubbing a cutting board. “But really, isn’t that up to you? Think you can make me?”

Harvey laughed, lower and deeper than his usual chuckle. “That’s a dangerous question to ask.”

“What can I say?” You deposited the last bits of silverware in the drying rack, used the towel hanging over your shoulder to dry your hands, tried to will some steadiness into your voice. “I like to live on the wild side.”

“My little trouble maker,” he said, then his hands weren’t on you anymore, not really. They were on the towel, for some reason, the one between your hands. He was moving it, catching you up in it, not knotting but twisting, trapping your hands together, holding on tight with one fist while the other made its way back to your folds.

“Fuck,” you gasped, pulling at the fabric. Your excitement had rocketed up at the makeshift restraint, leaving you shaky, sensitive, eager and needy and completely focused on the finger pressing ever so lightly against your clit.

“I told you you wouldn’t need your hands.” Harvey’s quiet confidence wound you up further, made the first real stroke of his fingers feel like a spark, the touches that followed catching through your hips and your thighs. He wasn’t teasing this time, wasn’t going to make you ask or beg. He was chasing results, and had more than the skills needed to achieve them. He knew your body, had been observing it relentlessly throughout your interactions, knew exactly where to touch, how fast, how hard, what angle, what rhythm to have you spiraling upwards almost immediately.

You cried out, body wanting to double over at the feel of his fingers, so clever and calibrated and beyond fucking perfect. He braced you with the arm holding the towel, keeping you still, keeping you exactly where he wanted you: shaking and keening, clenching around nothing as his fingers worked you up, up, up, up.

“You’re awfully keyed up, sweetheart.” His voice was so calm, so unaffected it made you want to scream. “Just be good and let it go, alright? Just let go for me.”

And fuck, that was exactly what you were doing, feeling everything in you let go, waves of pleasure taking its place, full and deep and shaking and stealing the breath from your lungs so you couldn’t scream, couldn’t moan, couldn’t even whimper. You made a silent, breathless cry as you crested, stayed at that peak for what felt like an eternity until finally releasing, crashing down, feeling limp and weighty as Harvey dropped the towel, wrapped his arm around your waist, held you up, held you to him.

“Well done,” he whispered in your ear. “That was perfect. You were so, so good. Let me see it again.”

“Wha-?” His fingers hadn’t stopped moving, hadn’t stopped their absolutely perfect rhythm against you. You braced your hands against the lip of the sink. Harvey’s arm had stayed latched around your waist, and it was a good thing too - all you wanted to do was let your knees give in, sink to the floor, but he wouldn’t let you. Instead, he kept you just as you were, curled over, gasping, crying out as his fingertips worked against your nub.

His big t-shirt had slipped down off your shoulder and you could feel his lips running against your skin. His mustache was soft, his stubble rough, his breath warm between kisses. You gripped at the counter, hips starting to make tiny thrusts against his fingers, and Harvey made an approving noise.

“You’re being such a good little thing,” he whispered, lips leaving your shoulder to press against the shell of your ear. “You’re being so, so good for me. Keep going, darling. Keep going.”

As if there were any alternative. As if this ended any other way than you freezing and shuddering, knuckles white, throat constricting on a groan, climax coming on fast and sharp and all-consuming, Harvey pouring praise into your ear as you shook against him, fingers keeping that steady, steady rhythm, until your knees really were giving out this time, and you were pressing your rib cage against the sink for balance, gathering enough breath to gasp “Yoba, Harvey!”

“Are you alright?” Harvey’s body had followed yours, curling over with you, hips pressing against your rear, fingers unmoving against your core. He was hard, what must be achingly so. You could feel him pulse against you, feel yourself pulsing too, tensing and shivering against his motionless fingers, keyed up and wanting, still somehow unsated.

“Yeah,” you gasped. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

Harvey was turning you, helping you brace your hips on the side of the sink. He held your face between his hands - gentle, shaking slightly, two fingers raised. You were reminded of how he looked at you yesterday in his office, in those split seconds you let him think you were ill. You regretted the joke now, as he searched your eyes. He didn’t need any more worries.

Whatever he was looking for as he examined you, he found it. “Are you sore at all? From last night?”

You pressed your lips together, restraining the grin that wanted to spread across your face. He needed more. You needed more. “I’m doing alright. Why do you ask?”

“I… I was hoping…” He stammered for a moment (so funny, how his confidence would come and go, so endearing and so interesting), then he caught the teasing glint in your eye. He gave you a look equal parts admonishment and affection, pressed his lips softly to yours. So sweet, this man. So gentle, until you were opening your mouth, letting your tongue meet his, and he was groaning and catching you up beneath your thighs and settling you right back on the counter where you’d been the night before.

From there it was simply a matter of fishing the packet of foil from his pajama pocket (so prepared, you could practically see the badge-covered vest he must have stored away somewhere), hitching down his pants (you reached for his his cock but he was grabbing your wrist, pressing a kiss to it as he rubbed up against you, tracing the tip of his length against your folds with such firm deliberation it left you gasping), rolling the condom down (you helped as best you could, his fingers tangling with yours as you reached his base, tensing and groaning as you gave him a squeeze), and gently, gently pushing inside of you.

He watched your face as he breached you, some quiet calculus going on behind his eyes. You wondered if he believed you when you said you weren’t sore, if he was looking for any sign of discomfort, unease. And yes, perhaps you were a little sore, but not enough to make his stretch inside of you anything but sweet.

“I’m okay,” you whispered. “Promise.”

Harvey nodded, kissed your forehead, and moved into you the rest of the way. You shivered at the intrusion, clutched at his shirt, squeezed around him as he groaned, braced his hands on either side of you, shifted his hips in a slow, grinding circle. “So good,” he whispered. “So good, sweetheart. Can… do you think you can come again for me?”

Your response was to grab his hand, bring his fingers to your mouth, meet his eyes as you wet two of them with your tongue.

“Yoba,” he groaned, eyes squeezing shut, hips thrusting hard once, twice, and then his fingers were back on your clit.

It felt different this time, with his cock filling you, with your knees hitched up around his hips, with the way he was watching you. So intent, searching your face, trying to see something in it, looking, asking, begging, you realized with a gasp, begging for something that he didn’t know how to say.

And maybe it was the position, exactly where you’d been the night before. Maybe it was the way he was curling around you, finger working, so attuned, so attentive, so focused on you and your needs. Maybe it was the way he’d looked at you last night, when he’d admitted the stories that played in his mind while you slept peacefully. Maybe you just fucking wanted to, okay? Just wanted to reach up and clasp him around the throat, thumb against his pulse, not choking but holding, just holding him steady as his eyes widened, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed, his body shuddered.

“Are you going to make me come?” you asked.

Something in him seemed to break.

He was nodding, eyes closed, gasping, fingers working you faster now, harder, hips snapping quicker, making small noises now, sounds of agreement, sounds that yes said, he was going to do what you asked, yes, he was going to give you what you needed, yes, you were going to give him what he needed too, were giving it to him right now, in fact, in the way your body tensed around him, the way you moaned as your climax hit, the way your fingers tightened around his throat, just a little, just enough to hold him steady, draw him in, make it clear beyond any doubt that he wasn’t there alone.

“Fuck,” he was gasping, both hands on your hips now, pulling you forward to meet each of his thrusts.

You hooked your free arm around his neck, pulled him down closer, down so his ear was next to your mouth, right where you could whisper into it, close enough for him to feel the puffs of air as you said “that’s it, you’re doing so good. You’re fucking me so good, Harvey, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He kept up the pace, the sound of his body hitting yours loud in the quiet room. You could feel the way he groaned through your hand on his neck, tiny vibrations that made you groan in return, press your mouth against his ear, close your eyes and hold him, hold him as his thrusts fell off rhythm, hold him as he flexed into you hard and deep, hold him as his body sagged in the wake of his release.

You stayed curled around each other for a moment. Harvey took deep, shuddering breaths, leaning his forehead against your shoulder as he softened inside of you. You kept your hand on his neck, looser, your arm around his shoulders as he relaxed.

“You okay?” you asked him.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I… I really am.”

And he truly seemed to be. His eyes were clearer than you’d seen them since before you’d left for the holiday. You rubbed your thumb over his pulse, pressed a kiss to his temple.

The last 18 hours had been a revelation.

And because you were being responsible, you were going to attend to what they revealed.

A man, more alone than you realized, who needed filling in a way you hadn’t accounted for.

A hand on a neck, and the way a pulse slowed to steady while fingers stayed on it.

A feeling, you had to think it now, had to name it, had to admit that it was love and you were in it deep, falling fast with no landing in sight.

You would attend to these things, you promised yourself as you ran your fingers through Harvey’s soft hair. Give them the thought, the attention, the persistence they deserved.

And that, you decided, would be how you would finally, finally land the way you wanted to: firmly, with both feet, and with a modicum of grace.

#sdv harvey #sdv smut #sdv fanfic #harvey stardew valley #harvey sdv fanfic #harvey x reader #x reader

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whoopsyeahokay · 3 days ago

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Alphabet Soup

summary: prompt fill. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it.

pairing: grey!Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - modern setting. romanticized toxic behavior. cheating (not on you). egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧿

Alphabet Soup - T

T is for titillating secrets, tantalizing whispers, all the things Wally wants to tear himself open to reveal to the world but won't because he's living for the thrill.

It's dark corners and darker promises; sending texts he probably shouldn't while he's in the cafeteria with the group he surrounds himself with, Janet breathing down his neck since he's supposed to be hanging on to her every word, but, oh God, the way you look when you read what he sent you. Cherry red lips parted, glazed eyes volleying across the large space and landing on him with want so heavy that Wally forgets where he is for a moment.

This is so new, Wally's infatuation with you. He's still learning the dips and curves of your body; where to rake his fingers to make you shiver, where to put his tongue to make you keen; how to fuck you so he can ruin you for anyone else. And where'd that thought come from? He's not doing this to keep you. Will get bored in a matter of weeks, as per, and move on to the next target.

He never could wrap his head around that lovey-dovey hand-holding fuckery. Wally isn't the type. Was never tempted to be tied to one pussy for more than a few sweaty, glorious nights. Which is why his friends went totally apeshit when he and Janet made their July debut at Chloe's rich aunt's English cottage. A trip Wally initially planned around various trysts, two per town across the UK, from Cornwall to the Cotswolds.

Still, he has to admit, there's a part of him that doesn't want to even think about you finding someone else to spread those legs for. Especially when you bite your lip, sweet little coquette, and blush the perfect shade of pink, obviously not familiar with the sort of attention Wally's chosen to give you.

He's tempted to throw you over his shoulder and make good use of the creepy fallout shelter in the basement—you know the one, where all the stoners shut themselves away during Study Hall and hot box the shit out of it. Actually, Wally takes that back, you probably don't know, innocent babe that you are, but there's a lock on the door even Mr. South doesn't have a key to, and a cot in there he could plow you into.

He sees your gaze tick back to your phone before you start to type, punching in your response to a question Wally already knows the answer to. You wanna feel my fingers inside you, baby? Testing the waters, trying to see where your boundaries lie. If you're as prudish as Janet insists you are. Truthfully, Wally doesn't care if you are, he'll just have to break you down slowly, one fuck at a time. And, oh no, what a sacrifice to have to make.

You always this horny at school?

Wally grins, You bring it out of me, kitten xx

Over the week, he discovers that you are not, in fact, a prude. Far from it. You let him finger you in the boy's locker room; you suck him off in the Geography classroom; you even bend over and let him hump between your thighs until he comes under the stage during an assembly in the theater.

After three weeks, he casually slips into your room after Janet passes out, brandishing the first of many boxes to come. A toy he's heard good things about and wants to use on you. With minimal convincing, he has you on your back, thighs open and eyes closed, chanting his name like a blessing and a curse. And, oh, sweet baby girl, you are exquisite. A delicious, trampy treat he wants to sink his teeth into over and over again.

He starts slow, cock already deep, the wand set at the lowest intensity to tease you into madness. Then, tick-tock, ten minutes later, a notch up. Another sublime interval and he skips 3 to make you see God at 4. Fucking hell, you make him throb inside you like he's never felt before. Wally's usually let's get down to business, foreplay mind-altering but short so he can be in and out before What's Her Name starts to catch feelings.

But you? Christ. You. He's completely transfixed on how your body responds to him. He wants—no, needs—to slow down and memorize every teeny-tiny tremor his touch coaxes out of you.

Wally begins to carve out time for you. Something like a schedule, not that he'll acknowledge it. Tuesday to Thursday, 3AM booty calls on the weekend; his cock, your cunt, a fucking terrific arrangement if you ask Wally. He gets what he wants, you get your world turned upside down, inside out, fucking tilted on its axis and blown. Everybody wins.

He blames how he doesn't break things off with you after his one-month maximum on Janet's exclusivity rule. He can't risk fucking around and finding out while their plan barely has its legs. Meaning he needs to set limits. No kissing. No talking outside of you like that, baby? and look at you, baby, so needy; fucking thirsty for my cock...

Trust him, he knows how easy it is to confuse sex and romance. He's doing you a favor.

And it's fine. It works. No commitment, no stress, no tangle of emotions that Wally has to tiptoe away from. You seem fine with every line Wally won't cross, and he can rest easy knowing you won't transform into one of those barely-tolerable psychos who plans their wedding in her head because he dicks her so good that her brain malfunctions.

It's great.

Truly. It's all coming up Wally.

... So can someone explain why the fuck it bothers him so much that you're not simping for him?

🧿___________________________

MASTERLIST

also available on AO3!

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#Milo Manheim #Wally Clark #Wally Clark x Reader #fem!reader #Wally Clark smut #Wally Clark fanfiction #Milo Manheim fanfiction #School Spirits #zed necrodopolis #Disney Zombies #Alphabet Soup #prompt fill #alphabet challenge #ABC challenge

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jinx-xxed · 9 hours ago

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Sweet Mornings

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; I am so insanely down bad for this man rn so I decided to finally try writing something for him!! This is in honor of him getting let out of rerun jail after over a year, I hope you enjoy ^_^

Summary; Wriothesley has to get as much of you as he can before your trip…

Content; NSFW 18+, AFAB reader, pure fluff, you’re a mechanics/weapons researcher, very domestic, morning sex, fingering, soft Wriothesley, marking, multiple orgasms, aftercare, he doesn’t want you to leave </3

Wc; 5.1k

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Low, metallic ticks and hums fill your ears as you steadily wake from sleep. The ambience of the Fortress is a familiar symphony, always there in the quiet hours before a day starts or after it’s over. When you started working down here, you quickly became so used to the noise to the point it’s like it’s not even there most of the time. You stretch in your bed, black sheets pooling around your body, and that’s when your attention shifts.

There’s gentle kisses being placed along your neck, eliciting a soft hum from you as you finally crack your eyes open. You move your head slightly to look at the man beside you, his ice blue eyes meeting yours in the darkness. “Morning.” Wriothesley says with a small smirk on his lips, returning to his ministrations on your skin.

“Good morning… how long have you been up?” You ask teasingly, a brow raised. You’re no stranger to waking up to his care since he always seems to be awake before you, and he can never keep himself away from you.

He chuckles, the raspy sound making you shudder. He feigns innocence, “only a few minutes this time.” One of his hands moves beneath the sheets, getting under your shirt to splay a large, warm palm against the softness of your stomach. It snakes up further, his fingers skating lovingly along your skin before cupping a breast in his hand. He squeezes as you shift in his grip, arching your body against his experimentally. He’s definitely hard. He pulls you ever closer and buries his nose in the crook of your neck, groaning. “What am I gonna do without you…”

Ah, right. Your trip.

The time has come again for your annual journey to Sumeru for the convention that’s held for inventors just like yourself. It’s an event to share ideas and new creations and research, full of so many brilliant minds that it’s something you always look forward to. The organizers even offered for you to be a speaker this year, saying how impressed the Akademiya was with your progress on the study of robotics and weaponry. You’d gladly accepted and have been preparing your speech ever since with Wriothesley as your test audience.

You wish he could come with you. You know he’d enjoy all the new sights and seeing the inventions people have come up with just like you do, but his position just doesn’t grant him the possibility. So that means you have to leave him and the Fortress for a week. You already know how badly you’ll miss him, having gotten so accustomed to his presence these past ten months. Getting to know what’s beneath the gruff exterior of the Duke has been a joy and you think yourself lucky to be considered his lover and to be able to share his bed.

You’re broken out of your thoughts by his fingers sneaking under the waistband of your underwear, your breath hitching. They go further, immediately finding your clit and drawing slow circles. Pleasure sparks at the bottom of your spine, a little whine leaving you as Wriothesley’s nose nudges your jaw, his messy black and silver hair tickling your cheek. He leaves kisses wherever he can reach with you both on your sides, his other arm secured diagonally across your middle to keep you against him—right where he wants you.

His fingers drag up through your drenched folds, collecting the slick there and using it as he rubs your clit. “So wet already.” He murmurs against your ear, his words breathy and hot. You can feel the way his erection rubs against your ass through his boxers, his own arousal painfully evident. Despite that, he’ll take his time with you like he always does, only ever caring about your own pleasure before his.

There’s a knot steadily building in your gut, a familiar feeling that you know the end result of. It makes your blood sing, your face becoming flushed as Wriothesley works you with expertise. You writhe against the hard planes of his bare chest when his fingers move downwards, briefly teasing your entrance before sinking two digits into the plush heat. You both moan in tandem, his fingers filling your aching pussy in the way you’d been craving, more arousal dripping along the back of his hand.

He begins a slow pace, drawing in and out and applying pressure in just the right spots. He angles himself so that the heel of his palm presses against your clit at the same time, making sure to leave nothing unattended. You bite your lip and groan, your chest heaving and your head falling back against the pillows. Your shirt has been pushed all the way up, exposing your breasts to the frigid air of Wriothesley’s bedroom and making your nipples perk. He takes full advantage, pinching each one in turn between his index and thumb, the feeling of his callouses making you whimper.

He quickens the thrusting of his fingers into your cunt, recognizing the way you begin to tense and flutter around him. He’s eager, his breath coming in pants and his hips rutting against your ass, desperate to get some kind of friction on his clothed cock. That knot from before grows larger, ready to come undone while pleasure burns like a fire beneath your skin. He manages to get a third finger into your tight pussy, stretching you wide and going as deep as he can while still abusing your clit.

“Oh fuck- Wrio-!“ You whine his name in a way that’s music to his ears, fueling his movements even more. He loves every sound you make, but he especially loves the ones in the morning when everything is quieter and breathless, like the world is only you two in that moment.

You finally break with one final thrust, your orgasm washing over you like a wave, a choked moan the only sound you can manage. You lay there for a moment, your body going limp and basking in the pleasure, before you’re craning your neck and reaching back a hand to pull Wriothesley in. You finally get to kiss him, his mouth plush and pliant against yours as your fingers card through his surprisingly silky hair. You always enjoy him a little more like this, free of his arm wrappings and cold metal. When the Duke is left behind and you have just Wriothesley—your lover. When his edges are softened, his tension laid to rest, and he can simply be himself.

Wriothesley holds you to him as your tongue presses against his own, basking in the warmth of your body. He doesn’t break your kiss even as he works down below, pulling the covers back and tugging on your soaked underwear. He throws it across the room to be picked up later once it’s finally off. He then frees his cock at last, precum beading on the tip, an appreciative groan sounding in his chest. You separate from him with a gasp when you feel his shaft rubbing between your folds, gathering your slick as his tip prods your clit with each shift of his hips.

He hums, kissing the corner of your mouth and moving down to your jaw and neck. “You’re so sensitive in the mornings.” He says like he’s making a note of it, his hand running up and down your thigh.

You groan, the temptation of him getting to be too much. “Wrio, please..”

He can’t help but smirk, those blue eyes gleaming. He leans in, his voice quiet and rumbly. “Please what, sweetheart?”

“Please… I need you.” You whisper, your hands latching onto his arm, taking comfort in the strong muscle and warm, scarred skin. His face instantly softens, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he kisses you again. Oh, he can never deny you. It’s that moment that Wriothesley finally presses his cock into your hot cunt, both of you moaning in relief. He slides in slowly, your pussy stretching to accommodate him inch by inch. He fills you in a way nothing else ever could and just when you think you may burst from it, he bottoms out.

Wriothesley groans at the way you take him fully, the way you seem to suck him in so he never wants to leave. The feeling manages to stun him every time, no matter how much he takes you to bed. “That’s my girl,” he says through clenched teeth, his breath coming out in little hisses. There’s a brief pause that you use to get over the initial shock before the desire to pump you full starts to gnaw at him and you eagerly wriggle in his hold.

The first thrust is bliss, Wriothesley slowly drawing out all the way to the tip and then slamming back in. He loves the way your body reacts—the little twitches of your muscles, the way your walls flutter and clench around him. He quickly finds his pace, something steady and easy and satisfying for you both. He could never be rough with you this early in the morning, not when your body is still soft from sleep, the blue light of the ocean illuminating your form just right and your little noises a quiet song for only him to hear.

He hooks a hand under your thigh, lifting it with ease and holding it there, giving him better access to your cunt so he can hit that spot he knows drives you insane. He can tell he’s doing just that with the way your moans grow in pitch and the way you latch on to him so desperately, needing him even closer. It makes his heart swell, feeling your touch on him and seeing how you crave him so badly. He used to think it impossible for someone to want him beyond a one night stand and yet here you are, proving him wrong day after day. Fuck, he loves you so much.

Wriothesley kisses you passionately while you take him as deep as possible so willingly, like you were made for him. You’re his sanctuary within the Fortress, his slice of heaven that he wants to keep all to himself. His lips trail down your jaw to your neck and this time he kisses with more purpose. He sucks at your skin, eager to leave his mark on you with his tongue and little nips of his teeth, his sharp canines threatening to break skin if he applies just a bit more pressure. You hum approvingly, moving your head to the side to give him more access. He then goes beyond your neck, also leaving marks across your collarbones until he’s satisfied.

His thrusts begin to grow erratic, the threat of release tingling in his muscles. Wriothesley knows you’re close too with the way you tense up, your nails biting into his skin. He reaches his free hand between your legs, finding your clit once more and rubbing quick circles, determined to have you cum at the same time. It’s an easy feat, given how responsive you are to him and how little resistance you put up. It only takes a few more thrusts before you’re clenching and coming on his cock with a moan. The feeling is otherworldly and has him tumbling over the edge after you with a curse, his hot spend painting your walls white.

You go weak against him as you both lay there sharing breath with heaving chests, your limbs feeling like jelly and buzzing with ecstasy from the double orgasm. He sets your leg down gently, both of his arms now wrapping around you to meld you to him. You don’t hesitate to snuggle into his warmth, very much enjoying the feeling of his large body encompassing yours. He relishes in this moment of intimacy, taking all he can get now before you leave him. He needs to make sure to burn the memory of this morning into his brain so he can look back on it during the week to come.

“I love you.” He murmurs, kissing your temple.

You smile, twisting around in his grip so that you’re now facing each other. You nuzzle against his jaw where there’s just a hint of stubble and you breathe him in, his familiar scent immediately soothing. ��I love you too.”

He buries his face into the crook of your neck again, his breath tickling your skin. “I should handcuff you to this bed so you can’t leave…” He mutters lowly, like he’s not entirely joking.

You laugh, your hand coming up to run through his hair. “It’s only a week, I’ll be back before you know it.” He grumbles indistinctly and you smile, rubbing circles on his scarred back. It’s endearing that such a big, intimidating man like Wriothesley is going to miss you so much. It’s a massive contrast to your past partners who always had something negative to say about your work. You were gone too much, you were too distracted, or they just thought it was pointless to begin with. They never understood how important your work is to you, but Wriothesley does.

You came to Fontaine and subsequently the Fortress about two years ago after leaving the Akademiya in Sumeru, having decided that Fontaine would be much better suited for your line of work with machinery. It took a while to find somewhere that seemed suited for you before hearing about the Fortress of Meropide and the gardemek production factory located on the lower levels. It seemed perfect. You pursued a position within the Fortress, having to meet with both Neuvillette and Wriothesley before you were accepted. You’d promised to be completely transparent with any and all research you conducted, any new projects or inventions, and you’d swore to not interfere with any Fortress occupants.

Wriothesley was definitely suspicious of you at first, thinking you were just another sparkly eyed researcher who didn’t know what she was doing, but he was quickly proven wrong. You showed him all of your notes on the gardemeks, how their functionality could be improved and how to avoid any deviants, and all the weapons and tools you’d created. One of the weapons was your own, a sharpshooter rifle that you’ve been able to infuse with the power of your vision. The thing doesn’t even look like its base model anymore after all the modifications you gave it.

You steadily made a home in the Fortress, working day in and day out in your office, happy to fully immerse yourself. You didn’t see Wriothesley much at first of course, the man always busy actually running the Fortress, but after a couple months, he invited you to have tea with him. You accepted, and though you worried it was actually a meeting to kick you out of the Fortress, it turned out to be quite pleasant. He asked you questions about your work and backstory and listened to every long response you gave. The way he’d give you his full attention would make a flush creep up the back of your neck.

You had more and more of these meet ups with him, where you both just sat in his office drinking tea and talking. Then it turned into you bringing some of your work in there and you’d sit on the couch tinkering with metal parts while he sat at his desk filing papers. It was comfortable and easy and you appreciated his company like he did yours. Your feelings for him definitely grew the more you were around him. His witty remarks and rough exterior captivated you and you wanted to know more about him. You wanted to see him every day, to see those softer sides of him that sometimes came out during your tea breaks.

Then, ten months ago, he surprised you by asking you to go out with him. You agreed, of course. You hadn’t known he shared your same feelings but you’d been overjoyed to find someone with a similar mindset as you, someone who didn’t care about the way you worked because he worked the same way.

So now here you are, fucked out first thing in the morning with Wriothesley’s arms securely around you. He seems like he might fall back asleep with the way his eyes are closed and his breathing is slowing down, but there’s a question you still need to ask, one that’s been gnawing at you. Too many old memories of past partners has left you anxious—something you admittedly still need to improve on.

“Hey, Wrio?”

“Hm?”

You hesitate for a second, thinking maybe it’s a dumb question after all, but you push past it. “You’ll see me off, won’t you?”

His eyes open at that, those icy blue depths piercing you. He props himself up on an elbow to look at you, his brows creasing ever so slightly. “Of course I will.” He says it so simply that you realize how silly it was for you to worry. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch impossibly gentle. “I cleared my schedule for you.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. You know how packed his itinerary is on any given day so you can’t even believe what he just said. “Really?”

He chuckles. “Yes really, sweetheart. I put in some more hours these last few days so I wouldn’t have so much to worry about today.” He says. “Now come on, we should start getting ready. Those boats leave early.”

He detaches himself from you, his heat sorely missed, and slips out of bed. He heads towards the bathroom and turns on the shower, letting it run while he comes back for you so it can get warm. Before your feet even have the chance to hit the floor, he gets a hand under your knees and scoops you up, making you yelp. He grins while you cling to him, his strong arms cradling you against his chest.

He sets you down in the bathroom, kissing the top of your head before checking the water temperature. Standing there, watching him, you realize your heart hasn’t felt this full in a long time.

» ☆ «

Wriothesley’s office is in disarray. It’s entirely your doing, with the contents of your carrying case strewn about as you finally pack in all of your inventions. You’d been working on them until the very last minute, trying to make sure everything is perfect. You’re double checking the rest of your bags while you’re at it, attempting to make sure you have all your items and to relax the anxiety you feel. What if, in some awful scenario, you forget one of your showcase pieces? Or your notes? Or your Akademiya robes?

Wriothesley simply watches you from his spot leaning against his desk, tea cup in hand. He knows he can’t help you, you have a method to your madness and if he interferes then it’ll mess you all up. So he stands back, waiting for you to finish so you can eat your breakfast. He’d gotten it brought to his office after your shower together, a simple meal of a breakfast croissant sandwich and tea, but yours still remains untouched, the steam on your drink having long since died down. He looks up when you loudly groan in frustration.

“Where’d that other damn capacitor go?” You mutter, rifling through your things on the floor to no avail.

“Over there, sweetheart.” He says, motioning to where the metal piece had rolled under the couch. He noticed it a few minutes ago but decided not to disturb you, knowing you’d realize sooner or later.

“Ah, thanks.” You say, quickly snatching it and sticking it with some other spare parts in the case. You work efficiently to get everything packed in and wrapped in cushioning so nothing gets damaged. To Wriothesley, it’s like watching someone play an expert puzzle game with the way you manage to fit so much into such tiny spaces with room to spare.

You sit back on your heels after another twenty minutes, a satisfied huff leaving you. “There. That should be everything.” You say, looking over the two-page long checklist you have. All the boxes are ticked off, some even being ticked off twice.

He chuckles, putting his finished tea down to cross his arms. “Good. Now will you please eat?”

You playfully sigh. “Fine, fine.”

You scarf down the sandwich, your hunger suddenly coming out in full force and taking what it can get. You use the tea to wash it down, noticing it’s one of Wriothesley’s fruitier blends. His tea choice changes each day, unless he gets fixated on a singular flavor. You make a game of it sometimes where he’ll test you to see if you can guess which brew he used; your results have been very 50/50.

When there’s nothing but crumbs left on your plate, you look towards the clock on the wall. It’s definitely time for you to get going. You gather your bags with Wriothesley’s help, then looking to him before descending the stairs of his office. “Ready?”

“Mhm. Are you? You sure you got everything?” He says teasingly, one eyebrow raised.

You scoff with a smirk, eyes rolling, and begin walking down the stairs as he laughs. “Don’t you even start.” You refuse to let him get to you, knowing your trusty checklist would never lie to you.

You walk through the main floor of the Fortress together, which is mostly empty except for the guards at this hour. A few of them wish you safe travels as you go, surprising you. Just as you’re about to get into the elevator, Sigewinne catches you to give you a goodbye hug and tell you to be careful since she won’t be around to fix you up. You have to use the elevator ride to compose yourself before you reach the entrance to the Fortress. It was all unexpected—you didn’t think so many people would notice your absence. It makes you smile to yourself.

You both get onto the first boat of the day, the one that’ll take you to the Fortress registration office that sits deep below the Opera Epiclese. The ride is smooth, the operator being a little extra polite and maybe a little fearful too because of Wriothesley joining you. You find it amusing to see everyone be so intimidated by the man who’d been snuggling you in bed only a few hours ago.

When the boat comes to a stop, you both clamber out and then into another elevator. As soon as it breaches the surface, you have to squint your eyes from the early morning sunlight. You bask in its warm rays as they hit your face, immediately washing away the chill of beneath the sea. You can see Wriothesley doing the same, his broad chest expanding as he takes a deep breath of the fresh air. Neither of you have been out of the Fortress for a while it seems.

You walk along the paths to Marcotte Station, enjoying the sounds of the birds chirping and leaves rustling as you go. It’s from there that you take an aquabus into the Court of Fontaine which is already bustling with people doing their morning shopping or taking a stroll. Not too many civilians recognize you, none of them concerned with memorizing the faces of the elusive Duke and his “sniper”, as you’ve sometimes been referred. The ones who do recognize you, though, stay out of your way or give you side glances. Fair enough.

On your journey to the next station, you grab a few pastries after your stomach started growling at you again. With all the walking, you’d burned through your morning sandwich quickly, and you’ll always take the opportunity to try some of the new foods the city has to offer. Anything is better than most of the food they have in the cafeteria down in the Fortress.

The Court of Fontaine Station is more crowded than you expected, full of people coming and going. You head to the second floor for the Clementine Line, the aquabus having just arrived. You have to refrain from laughing at the way Wriothesley has to squeeze between the crowds with his hulking form, the man looking painfully out of place. You think it’s adorable. You both get situated on the upper level of the aquabus, glad to be able to set down your bags for a while.

There’s less than an inch of space between you and Wriothesley, the warmth of his body against yours a comfort. You’d told him he didn’t have to come all this way with you, since you felt bad about dragging him across the region, but he’d insisted. Going with you would soothe his nerves, he said. It makes you feel funny, like butterflies in your stomach, and extremely fortunate. You still remember old partners that would brush you off, scoffing at you and half heartedly wishing you luck on your “silly trips” while saying they don’t want to waste all that time just to see you get on a boat.

The melusine at the head of the aquabus, Aeval, begins to speak, breaking you out of your thoughts as she gives her typical spiel. The aquabus comes to life, the engine releasing a healthy purr while it starts to churn the water beneath it. You look to your left, to Wriothesley. He’s reading one of the informational pamphlets they provide during the rides, one leg crossed over the other. You can’t help yourself from reaching forward and tapping the back of his wrapped hand, a simple way for you to communicate without speaking. He immediately flips his hand over for you so that you can place yours in it, your fingers intertwining.

“Breeze is nice, isn’t it?” He asks, tilting his face up and briefly shutting his eyes. His messy hair gently blows across his face, those silver strands more prominent in the sunlight.

You nod along absently. “Mhm.”

Wriothesley’s gaze finds yours as he looks you over. “You okay?” He says. It seems he noticed the small anxious twitches you thought you were hiding. He’s always been able to tell when your mind is running a bit too fast, your anxiety getting the better of you despite your best efforts. You constantly forget how perceptive he is until the moment he calls you out on your worrying.

“Yes, I’m fine. It’s just…” you pause, debating what to say by rolling your lip between your teeth. You finally take a deep breath, bumping your shoulder against his. “Thank you. For coming with me.”

His expression softens, a gentle smile tilting his lips. “Of course, sweetheart. That’s not anything you need to thank me for, though. I wanted to see you off.” He says, squeezing your hand comfortingly.

“I know but…” you shrug, giving him a smile of your own, “I appreciate it regardless.”

It’s not much longer before the aquabus reaches Romaritime Harbor, Aeval giving her final notes on Fontaine scenery and wishing everyone a good day. You two follow the other passengers into the station, heading to the ground level where there’s already a crowd waiting. You recognize a few people, fellow researchers heading to the convention in Sumeru. It seems that makes up a majority, actually. Everyone has their multitude of bags that seem packed with fancy gadgets and inventions that they plan to show off just like you.

You hang back with Wriothesley, knowing you’ll have plenty of time to mingle on the long boat ride anyway. You listen to the rush of the massive waterfalls behind you, the mist brushing your skin. “I haven’t been out this far in a long time.” Wriothesley mutters, squinting into the distance as if he could see beyond the desert and into the heart of Sumeru.

“Last time I was here was for last year’s convention.” You say. You making a hmph sound. “We don’t get out much, do we?”

He laughs. “No, we don’t. The Fortress never really calls for it.”

“True.”

The aquabus at last rounds the corner of the desert, quickly approaching the harbor. This one is bigger than any of the aquabusses in the Fontaine stations, with three levels instead of two. People shuffle about, grabbing their bags and talking excitedly with one another. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself and facing Wriothesley. It’s finally time for you to say goodbye, no matter how much it pains you to see that subtle sadness in his eyes.

You know he’s not one for public displays of affection but you can’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug, breathing him in one more time. He obliges you, his strong arms coming around you in turn. “I’ll miss you so much.” He says into your neck.

“Me too.” You say, rubbing your hands up and down his back. “I’ll be back in no time at all.” When you’re pulling away, you sneak a kiss to his cheek, making the both of you smile dumbly.

“Be safe, okay? Don’t be afraid to punch anybody.” Wriothesley tells you.

You chuckle. “You know I won’t.” He’s seen you in the ring enough times to know that.

He looks at you fondly, a soft sigh leaving him. He brushes some of your hair back, then leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “You’ll do great. Tell me all about it when you come back.”

You nod, grinning. “I will, I promise.”

By now the aquabus has docked in the harbor, people steadily climbing off while others wait to board. You gather all of your things. “Alright. I’ll see you in a week.” You say with as much determination as you can muster.

Wriothesley dips his head. “See you in a week. I love you.”

“Love you too, Wrio.” You respond, your heart feeling like it might burst out of your chest.

You finally make yourself follow the rest of the crowd onto the aquabus, managing to get a spot up top so you can catch all the pretty sights. You get to say hello to a few other inventors while you wait to depart, some of them recognizing you as one of the speakers for this year. It’s refreshing to see so many other eager young minds just like yours, the passion for their craft obvious.

When the aquabus finally begins to move away from the harbor, you find yourself at the railing, looking back. You’d expected him to have disappeared, to have begun his long trek back to the Fortress, to have been satisfied with seeing you to the aquabus—but Wriothesley is still standing there. You smile wide and wave goodbye to him, his hand lifting to do the same.

He doesn’t turn away until you’re nothing but a speck in the distance.

#I need to write more for this guy #I love him so much!!!!#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfic #Genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #wriothesley #wriothesley genshin impact #Wriothesley genshin #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley smut

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mothvalentino · 4 hours ago

Text

It's fascinating how unaware Alastor is of his body language contradicting the unfazed facade he's trying to uphold.

ཐིཋྀ "Careful. The owners of this place won't appreciate you breaking their cutlery...", he lies, knowing full well that in a realm filled with demons, the restaurant has to deal with wear and tear on the daily.

But the deer's poorly conceiled agitation is just too tempting not to comment on.

"See, this is what I mean. All I do is speculate in an attempt to understand you better... and you perceive it as an attack. I don't want to toy with you in a malicious way. As far as I'm concerned, we're past that point. Though I have to admit, you're a fun person to read."

Alastor makes it sound as if the moth is trying to engage him in some sort of contest. A battle of wits perhaps, while in reality Valentino's ultimate goal is for the other man to lower his guard just a bit so he can get to know him beyond the surface level of his carefully curated persona.

"When I was alive, I had to deal with many different types of people who kept their cards close to their chests. Understanding what someone really wants and what makes them tick was a vital trait to keep our business going. What I'm saying is, I have a feeling for sore subjects and the secrets hidden behind perfect smiles. You're not losing anything here. I'm just doing what I'm good at."

"There's no need to defend yourself by putting words in my mouth that I never said. I don't prefer you unpredictable. I don't think you're lacking connections. I don't want to be the one for you, although that does sound hilarious. Reminds me of one of the telenovelas I'm watching. Soft and tender isn't really my style either. I just want to figure out why you're working so hard to keep people at bay. Why waste all that energy by constantly putting up defenses? What happened to you that you're so on edge?"

"And unpredictability is the preferred state that one would want me in?" He asks, too wrapped up in his meal to find the agitation that he knows the statement is meant to invoke. Alastor is a conversationalist - but not generally under these circumstances. Where someone is making it so obvious that they are working as hard as possible to needle under his skin and figure out what makes him tick. Normally, Valentino would have long since earned his ire for such boldness - but the dinner and a show is keeping him otherwise rather sated.

Subject to change, of course. And it's obvious that the other is working to toe the line of Alastor's attitude as he continues to prod. Spiky indeed.

"Is this a dinner or a therapy session? Why so desperate to crawl into my psyche, hm? One would think you would be satisfied with all you have without needing to run after me as though I am the one who got away." The fork in hand is placed between his teeth, sharp points clamping onto the metal and threatening to bend it, though he does not. Harder to eat with twisted tines.

"And you make assumptions that I lack connection. You barely know me. Who is to say who I am friends with and who I am not friends with? I've plenty of individuals revolving in and out of my proximity - which has not included you up until today. Your quick-to-speak mouth does you little credit to paint me as a frightened prey animal seeking love and affection where there is none to be had."

Alastor rolls his eyes.

"Just because I am not bending over in body and mind to accommodate every sop that comes my way does not mean that I lack the capacity."

His mind drifts to Rosie. Mimzy. Niffty. Close enough individuals that, in a pinch (or a dare to name any friends), he would put them into that category. Of sorts. Close enough to it, anyway. To internally refute Valentino's point. But he will not offer the information willingly.

"Or is it that you just want to be the one special soul to turn me around and weasel your claws into my brain, hm? Want to be The One to coax me into something soft and tender?"

The last words are punctuated by the stabbing of his fork into the meat of his dish, brought again up to his mouth to bite and chew as though he is toying with some poor, defenseless creature caught in his snare.

"Or otherwise turn me into a toy of your own making? Please. My standards may not be the same as yours, but I do still have them. Just because you are capable of appealing to my love for spectacle and food does not give you license to believe that I will follow you willingly into your bed."

Alastor laughs then, a rather mirthless sound that leaves him laced in static.

"Try harder."

#radioiaci #ཐིཋྀ: ciervo

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javierduffy · 2 months ago

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Same anon from earlier who sent that ask about how Dutch would react to javieran. I finished the fic but uh it's porn lol. If you're still interested it's "steady beat" on ao3

anon i would like you to know that i spent the first 20 minutes of my shift sitting in the bathroom reading this and i do not regret a single moment

THAT WAS SOOOO GOOD ARE UOU INSANE !-?/!?:3! JAVIERAN CONTENT WAS EXCITING ENOUGH ALREADY BUT PORN ??? AND SOFT, FLUFFY, HEAD-OVER-HEELS IN LOVE PORN ???????? you wrote this for ME !!!!!!! and i am SO GRATEFUL !-!2!2!3 OMG !!!!!!!!!! it was sooo good i was literally giggling and kicking my feet the whole time, you nailed their dynamic sooo so perfectly imo 😭💔 reading that was such a pleasure thank you for the food !!!!!

#kieran being trans ☹️☹️☹️☹️#u writing them to have an exaggerated height difference like i do (when i dont think they actually have that big of one) ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️#u constantly referring back to javier having a metronome ticking in the back of his head is soooo beautiful to me he truly is an artist of #his own … like how a painter may see a scene out of any landscape they’re in or how a photographer may note the composition of the world aro #und them … javier taking note of kieran’s heartbeat as it is the song of his life is so beautiful. oh the artistry ….#so romantic …… you captured them sooo so well !!! i do so adore how you write them …#that was pure indulgence for me thank you for writing them exactly like i do i feel so fed #a few favourite lines that had me autisiming out:#‘how much further can they go until their veins join together and their blood flows freely between their bodies?#Until their stained souls tangle into binary stars and they are left as one person?#What would happen then?’#first of all; holy shit. oh my god. that’s so romantic.#second of all: SOO SOFFTTT UGGGHH i just KNOW they want to escape it all but more than that they would love to escape into each other. into #love in all it’s glory and in a gentility so rare in the world they live in FAWK GOD I LOVE WHEN LOVE IS SEEN ON A COSMIC LEVEL like it’s so #big that it’s small because it’s in every molecule every atom every breath every speck of stardust making them up #i’m gonna be sick #also #‘He’ll make a musician of his lover yet.’#had me going INSAAANNEEEEE !!!!! INSANE !!!!!!!!!!#SO GOOD I WISH I HAD THE TIME TO YELL ABOUT IT MORE BUT I HAVE TO GET ON THE FLOOR 💔💔💔#please know i loved it so much. truly made my entire day. thank you for sharing that with me. your writing is fantastic you are truly an art #ist #rdr2 #(for the sake of my blog organization sorry tag)#javieran #text #ask #hero's yelling at folks again #anon

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zorosdimples · 1 year ago

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i don’t think i’ve really written much about virgin yuuji yet… he is so important to me…

#he’s SO EAGER he busts in his pants while you makeout but he isn’t even embarrassed bc he has no refractory period #he just wants to make you feel good. wants to know what makes you tick. he does hot shit without even realizing how much it drives you crazy #he’s a little sloppy and overenthusiastic but he catches on quickly #and the STAMINA #he will keep going until both you pass out #and he will continue going after that with you consent……. until he passes out #until he accidentally pisses inside of you (he overstimulates himself to hell)#i might need to write this out……………… maybe #just elaborating further #but he doesn’t strike me as the self-conscious type #he’s a little nervy and jittery but it’s excitement mostly!#yuuji <3

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tonycries · 8 days ago

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Night(wing) Crawler - G.S.

Synopsis. Trapped with a too-smug, too-handsome Nightwing by the very same villains you were trying to swindle was not how you planned to spend your night. Luckily for you, Gojo can think of a much better way to pass the time.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! anti-hero!reader, Nightwing! Gojo, BATMAN AU, enemies-to-Iovers, forced proximity, píning, MARATHONS, manhandIing, Gojo goes FÉRAL, overstím, he is BIG, making it fit, cervíx kíssing, tummy buIges, BREÉDING, RIPPING suits, spítting, cúmplay, chokíng, arguing during it, PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, matíng presses, making Gojo CRY, oraI (f + m rec.), p talking, breaking furniture, Red Hood! Geto cameo, slight vioIence, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 10.4k

A/N. *evil laughs* I just had to.

“You.”

“Enchanté, sweetheart.” And Gojo - oh, it’s so undeniably Gojo Satoru’s sapphire gaze behind that satiny mask - tilts over his tall, bubbling glass of champagne towards you with the cockiest of winks. A wink.

Your teeth set on edge - out of all the pompous, boorish high society balls that he could crash undercover, it just had to be the one that you were planning to heist.

And by the most pompous, boorish hero of all.

If looks could kilI, then you’d be upturning Gojo’s grave to finish him off yourself already.

“Didn’t think you were one for masquerade balls.” He’s leaning in to brush off an invisible piece of lint from your shoulder, words coming out in scorching hot puffs against your ear. Low, hoarse. “Changed much during your lil’ vacation, hm? How is the Gotham State Penitentiary this time of year?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How’s the hottest one of the Bat Family doing?” You’re sniping back, head cocked innocently. Silent for just how long it takes for Gojo’s eyes to widen, breath to hitch- “Y’know…Toji Fushiguro. How’s Batman doing, Nightwing?”

There’s a strangely sharp glint in his stare, and his traitorously handsome jaw clenches through a wild grin.

With a wide sweep of the bustling ballroom, he murmurs over the live orchestra. “You’re gonna give me away~”

“Don’t even have to try.” You’re tilting your head up in defiance when he closes in so many sultry inches, all the way until you could feel the heated press of Gojo’s ticking biceps through his formal suit. Heady masculine cologne invading your senses, “That mask does more than enough damage.”

Honestly, what fool dons a disguise with a mask that looks exactly like his hero one?

Though, you weren’t complaining - if Nightwing accidentally provided the perfect distraction for you to swindle future big-shot congressman and business heir, Naoya Zenin, out of his precious diamonds then so be it.

The fact that Batman’s protégé would be humiliated was only a plus.

Scoffing, “So what you’re saying is you want me out of it? Scandalous, but I don’t fuck before a first date.”

A very, very big plus.

“Never in your wildest dreams, Nightwing.” You’re pettily raising your voice just a pitch to make the sculptured man in front of you squirm, as much as he would never admit it. “S’it that you don’t fuck or you don’t get to? Come here to try out your hand with the wives of the bourgeoisie?”

“I’m here on business, sweetheart. Gotta get to that brat Naoya’s office.” Gojo nods towards a gaggle of ogling older ladies, ever-the-charmer.

It’s enough to make them swoon, and - you hate to admit it - for your heart to stutter just a beat.

Because Gojo Satoru looked good. All powerful, lean muscle that carried him so many numerous inches over six feet. The rich, yolkish lighting makes his dark blue jacket look almost painted to his slender waist, and those meaty, meaty thighs.

Easily the sexiest man in this room full of sordid businessmen and shifty politicians.

If you dared to let your gaze roam, you’re sure they’d stray past his milky collarbones to catch a hint of the even tighter black and blue hero suit he was surely wearing under.

He looked more than good, if you were being honest.

But when has one of Gotham’s most notorious cat burglars ever needed to be honest?

And you’re so caught up in pondering just what the others see in him that it gives you an electric jolt to feel the doughy pads of Gojo’s gloved fingertips brushing down your thigh. Feeling as if he was searing through your saucy, glittering gown.

There’s a tremor of amusement when his sensory tips meet the cold hilt of your famed dagger. Hidden.

Tonality dripping with something sickly sweet that makes your tummy lurch, “And it seems like I’m not the only one, Prowler. The Zenin diamonds?”

“The Zenin drug smuggling ring?”

You both give a curt, almost-missable nod. Your eyes back to analyzing the sprawling celebrations for any sign of the aforementioned Zenin heir himself.

Though, not for long- “Y’know, maybe I should send you back to your lovely penitentiary right now, girl. Already did once.” Whispered right against your sensitive earlobe.

“Darling–” Your plastic smile is almost painful as you feel the interested stares from around the room. You did make quite an eye-catching pair, especially so close. Hand drifting to his beefy, veined forearm and pinching, “-you’re too close~”

“I don’t think I’m close enough.”

Nails clawing down his smooth skin and towards his pale wrist. “Close enough for me to strike a vein without a single person here knowing any better.”

“That’s kinda hot–” Gojo’s lips quirk upwards, sleek brows quirking up to the curtain of his snowy bangs. And you don’t know where to look - down below, where he’s adjusting his pants with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, or up above where his irises follow a triangle between both your eyes n’ your lips, dead-on. “-for a petty thief.”

“You little-”

“Big, actually.” And of course, he has to interrupt with a look on his face that tells you he knew you were fighting to not take a glance downwards and confirm for yourself. “I’m very big.”

“I hear words compensate.” You’re batting your lashes through your own lacy Stygian mask, too close. “And I hear Toji’s bigger.”

“Enough with the-”

“My my, young love sure is fiery!” Saved by a rough, booming voice to your side of the festivities. Though, you’re not sure if it would technically be considered a “save” when you’re finally snapping your head and recognizing the source of those words. “I always do tell Naoya ‘ere that it’s time to settle down. No such luck so far!”

As Naobito Zenin slaps an overly harsh hand down on his son’s crisp, suit-cladden shoulder with a bark of laughter, you mutter. “Can’t imagine why.”

Though, perhaps it was a bit too loud.

Because Naoya’s nostrils flare in a sharp inhale, and you’re hearing Gojo stifle a breathy rumble of laughter from his broad chest- shit, since when were you two even pressed up like this? No wonder it must have looked…romantic to an outsider.

“Naobito Zenin, at your service.”

“Ah, my apologies for being so rude.” You’re pushing away from the hero as if it burned - and by the strange tingling on your skin, maybe it really did. Reaching over to the wizened, leering man for a handshake. “I’m-”

“Mrs. Gojo, of course.” Gojo gets there first. “My wife and I are new to Gotham, you see. We wanted to make connections here in our new home.” A warm hand casually slings over your shoulder, slender digits tight. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

What….the fuck.

And perhaps you should’ve screamed bloody murder - maybe that would make the Zenin’s take pity on you after an encounter with this lecher.

“That’s right.” Perhaps you shouldn’t have leaned in just as you did to his hard front. But if the way that Gojo was momentarily stunned told you anything, it was that you were doing something right. “It’s all been quite a change.”

Naoya’s thin, mahogany brows raise silently - new to the city and already invited to one of the most elite social gatherings of the year? That certainly was intriguing.

“Gojo? Gojo…so familiar…” Naobito muses out loud, and your veins boil with anxiety as his face scrunches. Before he clicks his fingers with flourish, “A-ha–! You wouldn’t have anything to do with the revered Gojo Enterprises now, would you?”

Your faux-husband places a hand over his heart, “Ah, my most beloved little project.”

“President?”

“CEO.”

Calling a multi-billion dollar foreign company a “little project” was generous, you think. But what was even more so was- “Though, it’s nothing in comparison to what I have coming up soon.” Gojo gasps dramatically, “Oh! We probably shouldn’t reveal much, however. Confidential, only friends and family.”

Naobito Zenin was practically frothing from the mouth at this point. And you notice that even Naoya’s suspicious furrow had almost completely disappeared. Almost.

“C-confidential-” The older man squeals, before bumping a fist into Gojo’s puffed-up chest. “Why, we’re friends now, aren’t we? Tell me tell me- just between you and I, how big are we talking?”

“Big.”

“Bigger than Gojo Enterprises? S-surely impossible-”

You cut in, “Bigger. Better, considering the association with the parliament we’ve negotiated this time. Whoops- my apologies, darling, that simply slipped out.”

And through it all, Naoya stays unnervingly quiet - even while his father tries and fails to hide his squawks of delight.

It would’ve almost been comedic if the air wasn’t so cut-throat tense. As if the clinking glasses and chatter of the ball were infinite miles away from your little bubble now.

Past animosity almost evaporated, you’re managing to meet Gojo’s eyes. His cloud-pale eyebrows wiggling with a knowing waver, and you find yourself plastering on an exaggerated look of distress before carrying out the finishing blow.

“Oh, but you know–” Patting the delicious curves of his pecs, “-my husband has been so stressed lately. I’m afraid he’ll overwork himself mad with this new project.”

“Aw, dear…”

“I do wish he’d take on a partner to collaborate and split the innumerable profits with. But, alas, there hasn’t been a company competent or high-profile enough for our taste.”

And by the sharp elbow Naobito digs into Naoya’s ribs, you already know that you’ve won. Well, that the two of you have won.

Reluctantly, almost as if every word made his bones ache, his son purses out a tight. “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Gojo, my father and I certainly hope this isn’t too forward, but we believe that- ah, we might just be exactly what you’re looking for.”

You both adopt a look of faint surprise, “Oh?”

Another nudge, another step forward.

“Apologies for the late introduction, but I’m Naoya Zenin. Future congressman, future CEO of the immensely successful Zenin Corporations” Each syllable practically oozing with icy smugness, “I believe I know what you want, and we are it. Please, allow me to reach out on behalf of our Zenin hospitality and lead the two of you to our private business room; where we can discuss this further…in-depth.”

Somehow, the trail end of his sentence made you shudder.

“Ah, how wonderful!” Gojo’s arm wraps possessively around your waist, “Lead the way, Naoya.”

And if you were lucky to be led straight to the dragon’s lair of treasures, then you were even luckier when one of those said dragons stayed behind.

Indeed, Naobito was held back in conversation with another undoubtedly important parliamentary figure as you and Gojo followed Naoya out of the massive, gilded doors. Silent. Rigid.

“Take him out. Drug-smuggling documents, then diamonds.” Gojo rasps from the corner of his mouth, voice barely audible for you let alone the stiff figure a few steps in front of you. Leading you along windingly decadent corridors and staircases.

You’re shaking your head, eyes following the velvety curtains and gleaming ornaments on display and wondering whether you should increase your scope for this heist even more than just the diamonds. “Diamonds, then whatever. I don’t give a shit what you do.”

“Drug-smuggling documents, then diamonds, then prison for you, girl.” He snarks back, “Unless– you wanna make up for this appalling date by actually going out with-”

“We’re here.”

It seems that the Zenin’s did have quite an affinity for interrupting you two at the most important of times.

And the only thing keeping Gojo from curling his features into a sneer is the sight of those rich, mahogany double doors in front of him. This was it.

The infamous Zenin office room.

With enough secrets to overturn the nation, and– Gojo sneaks a glimpse at the determined set of your gaze - enough diamonds, too.

Naoya’s spindly fingers twist on the burnished golden door handles, letting them creak open just a few inches ajar. Dim lighting floods out through the crack, and you’re seeing the outline of an expensive cross between an office room and a lounge room.

He gestures his hands in a wave inside with an almost-bored sort of drawl, “Guests first, I insist.”

Your fingers itch towards the dagger strapped to your thigh, and Gojo’s stare narrows. Tone steely yet polite, “No no, as the future master of the house-”

“I insist.”

“Alright…” He plants a staggering palm on the small of your back, “Come along then, sweetheart.”

Tentatively stepping onto the luxurious red carpet inside at the same time, you swear from your cunning optics you see Naoya’s lips twitch-

And then it happens.

All in the span of a nanosecond that neither you nor Gojo have the time to react - the floor and the ceiling crack open in an almost metre-wide line dividing you two and the door, a thick wall of metal snapping! shut in place before you can blink, and suddenly– suddenly, you’re trapped.

“Fuck-”

“No!”

“You must excuse me for the rude welcome-” Naoya’s voice drifts over, and you’re noticing that the gleaming wall had a small window pane. Enough for you to see a sliver of crazed, honeypool eyes, “-Prowler and Nightwing.”

He knows.

Of course, he knew. You were here trapped between a thoroughly bolted, heavy-duty panel of metal harder than diamonds. Ones especially made for trained heroes and- well, you.

And one furious bang! of your fist told you that not even your overpowered strength would be able to break through - it barely even rattled the barrier’s bolts that proudly stood circumference of your head. Running the expanse from floor to ceiling, you were backed into a corner.

Looking behind you, you’re met with the rest of the gleaming office; shelves upon shelves of books, a busy desk, cushy loveseats. And no window.

No exit.

He’s spitting, face twisting into heaps of wrinkles as he grins. “My father might be half-blind, but I’m not.” Pointing accusingly, “You almost got me, I admit. But any fool could tell- the tension, the stupid flirting. Who else would it fuckin’ be if not for you two?”

Crossing your arms, you do your best to keep out the tremble in your voice. “Quite frankly, I’m almost insulted.”

“I’m not.”

And you do not glower at Gojo…this time. To firmly disprove Naoya’s point, if anything.

The other man clenches his teeth, throwing his hands. “I don’t care what you feel. This is checkmate, so now you both simply die.”

Running your hands through your cage, you could practically feel the power. The strength. “Well, it seems you’re not just beauty- well, you’re not beauty at all, actually.”

“Don’t forget, he isn’t brains either.” Gojo pipes up, nodding towards you. “I know this daddy’s boy wasn’t the one to make this lair. It reads more like the works of-”

“Shut up shut up shut up-” You and him watch in mild astonishment as your captor drags his fingers through his hay-blond locks and pulls. You swear you could count every red, popped blood vessel in his bulging eyes. “-insufferable fucking- I have you two at my mercy, and when my father hears about this he will be pleased. Very pleased.”

You will yourself not to gulp, “There’s nothing you can do to us.”

“Wait and watch. After all, I am the future head of Zenin Corporations, I’ll kill both of you. It doesn’t matter how.”

Before you can torment him any further, he turns tail and throws a withering glare your way. Hands on the doors, it feels like something leaden is forming in your throat. “Better sit tight until the ball ends and we can have our ah- fun little afterparty.”

“Can’t you stop that infernal noise, girl.”

You’re halting your body mid-punch, a thin line of sweat trickling from your temple. Heaving out, “I don’t see you helping.”

Not even waiting for a response before you’re back to gifting the office wall with a solid CLANG! You’d already attempted the same with the metallic partition, to not even a single crater. And by the unaffected state of the rest of the room, you’re slowly realizing that every one of these four walls might just be made from the same material.

Fuck.

BANG!

“For fucks-”

“What are you doing, then?” You’re whirling around to face a precarious Gojo Satoru, standing on one foot on top of a high bookshelf and murmuring utterly ridiculously to something clutched in his palm. “An interpretive dance routine won’t get us out of here.”

He’s been like this for the entire time - it could’ve been hours, it could’ve been minutes - since you’ve been trapped here. All he’s done was rifle through a few files and snatch a few documents. And…this.

Hell- you didn’t even find your diamonds, yet.

“You think about ‘us’ a lot?”

Rolling your eyes- you can’t even bother with a scowl. Instead, turning back to spend your time planting CRASH! after CRASH! over his protests.

“Keep it down, sweetheart, I can’t-” Punching your way through even harder - making even louder noise, on purpose. “-hear-” Perhaps you could kill him before Naoya even gets here. “-the mic-”

“What?” You’re grunting, ears still ringing from the deafening noise yourself.

And just then you find your brows knitting together because Gojo Satoru looks so…satisfied. It strikes you to your very core. Which was definitely never a good sign.

Jumping down from the bookshelf in one, fluid motion, he shows off a tiny rounded gadget grasped in one hand. “You’ll see.” Gojo purrs at your questioning gaze, winking. “You’ll see very soon. We’ll be fine, promise.”

Yeah, you really didn’t like the sound of that.

But before you can swivel back to your target - you swear you were seeing a crack - Gojo’s tucking away the mysterious object into his jacket pocket and taking it off. Letting the silken fabric hit the floor with a dull schwf! Right along with his tie, his belt-

“Wh-what are you doing?” It comes out more breathless than you’d have liked.

“Changing into my supersuit, that’s what.” He lifts up his mask to roll his eyes, full and well knowing. The pinkish perk of his tongue drags a slow glide of wetness across his lips as he unbuckles his belt - looking you straight in the eyes. “Why? This turn ya on, sweetheart?”

“No.”

Yes.

Fuck, you hated how even despite turning away, you couldn’t help but angle your body just so that you’re ogling Gojo from your peripheries. You hated how every thud of clothes hitting the floor made a fresh new layer of goosebumps bead along your clammy, heated skin.

It was so hot.

“You should do the same– you must be getting warm with all that ruthless, blundering violence.” Comes the sing-song voice from behind you, oh- he was enjoying this. It sent Gojo’s heart racing to watch the way you were all flustered because of his actions. His body.

Scoffing, another punch. “You just want to see skin, lecher.”

“With a body like that- fuck yeah.”

“Save it for the wives of the bourgeoisie.”

“Scared, Prowler?”

Oh, for the love of-

“Not on your life, Nightwing.”

And then you do it.

You make the mistake of giving into your instinctual desire to glare at Gojo Satoru, as if your eyes never wanted to leave him. And then you see it.

All his long, tantalizing muscles and curves - being hugged so tightly in that black and blue suit that you could count every one of his eight washboard abs. Fuck. Gojo’s body seemed to go on for miles, pulling the latex tightly over his rippling flesh.

Right on cure, your eyes trail from the bulging valley of his pecs, to the ridges of his v-line to…you gulp.

You always did think it gave him an unfair advantage - just how sexy he was. It was one of the reasons he managed to distract you enough to lock you up in Gotham State Penitentiary last time, after all.

Tittering, “Take a picture it’ll-”

“Take this fist to your face.”

“Kinky~ it’ll only make me harder, y’know.”

Hard-er.

And all of a sudden it was as if the tension in the room was like molasses, and you were drowning in the saccharine concoction. Nightwing- Gojo really was too cocky for his own good, but what was even worse was he could back it up, too.

Your skin flares up with a burning breeze, and your voice comes out peaky. “Fine.” Through his mask, you swear his eyes widen once your hands fly up to take off your own. And then to the zipper of your gown, “But only because it’s so hot.”

Pulling it down just an inch before-

“Wait…let me?”

Just a flash of that glossy black suit of yours, just a single sneak-peek of it enveloping your skin and he was pressing you to the wall. Ravenous.

You were gorgeous.

Balmy heat of his body making yours sizzle up, all Gojo needs is only one of his massive palms to pin both your wrists wayyy above your head. Meaty thighs massaging up against yours to stop your jostling body.

Lips twitching up into a smirk at the carnal hunger in your eyes, “Let me…help with that, yeah?” His gravelly words resound in your eardrums and make your thighs squeeze. The fat fringes of his digits draw slow lines down the side of your figure, memorizing. “S’a hero’s duty, after all.”

You’re growling, “Do it. Do it if you’re not scar- ah!”

But that’s exactly what Gojo had been waiting for.

Exactly the moment to make your pretty voice break, exactly the moment for him to tuck a finger behind your back and all but rip–! your dress from the back.

“Would ya look at thaaaat-” He’s snickering out in awe as your flimsy gown falls halfway through tatters around you, all along with your dagger. Revealing a snug suit that makes his mouth simply water. All gorgeous lines of your body that he can’t get enough of. “Always fuckin’ hated this suit.”

His sinful pants strike you in gusts when Gojo leans his admiring head down, down, down to push right into the valley between your heaving tits. “Made me s-soooo fucking hard every time I saw ya in it.”

Did you just make Gojo Satoru stutter?

No wait- even better, was that achingly hard outline bumping right between your legs what you thought it was?

He’s rubbing the swollen outline of his mushroom tip at the target of your hot core, drinking in that cutely surprised expression on your face. Something devilish. “Oh~? What’s this? I-if this is what it took to shut that pretty mouth, I’d have done it sooner.”

But what he didn’t account for was the way that you would take the initiative shutting him up.

The way you would breach that almost-non-existent air between you two and crash your lips onto his. In French kiss so filthy that it makes Gojo moan–

“You’re better like this-” You spit between his strawberry pink lips, the taste of his bubblegum sweet taste now your most favorite. Cherry flavored, almost. “-when you shut up.”

In response, he’s nipping on your lower lip and draaaagging. Smirking at the adorable squeal that lets off from your ajar jaw, “Can’t even keep yer h-hands off of me, always knew you found me irresistible.” And Gojo doesn’t even need his other hand to entrap you now, pinning you with his muscled front. A sultry glissade of mere inches up n’ down up n’ down up n’-

You could tell that he was big.

So could that soft palm of yours, sneaking down to cop an agonizing feel of his rotund bulge. Fingers rovering generously along the damp crevice of his slit, “What was that?”

“Found me ir-re-sis-”

Harder.

“Shiiiit.” He hiccups, head swimming. “Suck- suck on my tongue.”

You do. Making Gojo’s eyes glaze over at the twist of your pillowy lips, making him rut-

“Fuckin’ dirty little thing.” The rough texture of his tastebuds swirl across your own, and even through his mask you swear he looked fucked-out already. Taking off his suave gloves, he leaves one spank on your thigh. Two. “Mmm- spread them f’me now.”

You’re snarling, despite the furious throb you feel from your leaking cunt. “Who’d ya think you are to ngh- boss me around?”

“Have it your way then, girl.”

And when he says that shit, he means it.

Before you know it, he’s sitting on the capped curves of his knees with a loud bam! You’re grimacing for but a mere split-second at just how much it must have hurt, before realizing that Gojo doesn’t care.

It’s the last fucking thing on his mind once he’s gliding an open, calloused palm underneath one of your unsteady legs and wrangling it on top of his sculpted shoulders.

You’re latching a hand through his soft, fawny strands with a yelp. “Asshole.”

“Witch.”

“Pussy.”

“Pussy, alriiight—” The borders of his short, manicured nails draw an invisible line down, down, down to coast the puffy fissure of your pussylips. Before pinching and tearing cleanly between the legs of your latex suit. Breathing deeply in- “There she is. Pretty girl…hey there, the name’s Satoru. I’m the stuff of your wettest dreams.”

You can’t even bite out a retort - a plea - before Gojo’s diving nose-deep allll the way into your drooling cunt. Nudging apart your gluey folds with his perky buttoned nose, lengthy tongue slathering your hole with a fat drag-

He’s basically glued. Addicted with only a single taste, and swerving his tongue to scratch up in solid, dizzying circles around and around your soppy entrance.

“Sh-shit-” Your thighs break out in jitters, and he only responds with a firm tug to interlock your craned limb ‘round his neck. Making your spine bend the perfect curvature off of the cool wall, “-more. More.”

SPANK!

The rims of Gojo’s fingers burn into the globes of your ass, and he’s so unrepentant about it. So smug. Making such a spectacular show of letting your globs of slick pour down his tongue.

Kiss-bitten maw hanging wiiidely agape to make you watch the thick rivulets of sap that hit the back of his awaiting throat. He’s dripping wet all the way down to his bobbing Adam’s apple, treacly splotches of juice hitting the floor in puddles.

Gojo gurgles out something feral, still mushing his pert maw to your wet mound so you’re feeling each n’ every vibration.

“Dooooown, kitty.” Another spank, and another steamy snog of his mouth. Though, this time he’s letting his pearly whites catch on your plumpened clit. Dangerously so. “Watch ngh- watch it, I bite.”

With a frustrated tut, you’re pushing his pretty features even deeper into your pussy. Making him pinch your sensitive nub between his teeth even harder. Slobbering a long drag from every inch of his pointed chin, to the very apples of his high cheekbones.

“Maybe m’into that…Satoru.”

“Oh- Oh.” Through the bleary gaps in your eyes, you’re noticing that Gojo was blushing. Bright. Red up to the tips of his ears. Burning skin chafing up into your own, and you’re practically melting at his heat.

That sound was like heaven to him. You were like heaven to him. And Gojo’s dilated irises hold direct eye contact with you once he’s digging his round fingertips roughly onto your asscheeks. Resonating out such saturated squelches after squelches as his tongue laps every nook and cranny. “You’re gonna get it- fuck, you’re gonna get it, sweetheart.”

So many delirious moans rip out of you with every slash of his tongue, perking it in every right sensitive spot of yours - without even trying.

Mewling, “Toru- ngh- Toru.”

“Easy there, easy there.” He giggles out in a wet sputter right into your inner thighs, ragged voice all waterlogged with so many ounces of you and your sweet pussy. In the blink of an eye, you feel like you’re floating - only mere moments later do you realize that it’s because Gojo’s holding you up.

With only one hand.

Relieving you of any thought other than jerking your cunt repeatedly on top of his open mouth in a sultry tempo. Back and forth.

“Have no idea h-how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He spits into your weeping pussy - both literally and figuratively. Free hand darting upwards to push aside the glutinous barrier of your folds and spray it with a thick wad of spittle. Licking over the shiny sheen, “No idea. Always actin’ so ngh- high and mighty. Had to fuck my fist every time I fought ya, had to run off and- shiiiit cum to the thought of you all over my tongue.”

Gojo was babbling, and right now it was as if he started and couldn’t stop.

“Annoying fuckin’ girl.” He’s snarling, every syllable falling out before he can even think. The swollen point his thumb treks past your walls and catches on the fluttering orifice of your hole. “Ya just need to be eaten out reeeeal proper. Lemme show you how it’s done.”

Then you feel like you’re being split-apart, and you knew you were fucked.

Because Gojo’s fingers were both long and girthy.

Such a lethal combination that had you mussing up his silky bangs while you held on for dear life.

His barreling inches crawl right past that first cozy outer ring, showering it with such lustrous layers of pure, slippery need. Pushing and pushing until they’re skirting to thrash right into the bulging area of your g-spot.

And just when he’s pummelling your molten wall with a harsh strike, just when Gojo’s mouth parts at the pure ecstasy of finding it. Of how pretty you looked.

You’re letting your own, too, in a frail whimper. “Th-that all you got, Nightwing?”

“Ohhh, I love a woman that bullies me.”

All that Gojo whispers into your cunt - low, almost reverent - before his touch turns deadly. Cock aching painfully, thighs squeezing together until his pulsing, hot shaft gets squeezed.

You’re faced with the full force of his slick-covered fingers pumping direct hit after hit. Sending white-hot flashes of pressure straight from the stout ends of his fingerpads and right to your brain.

“That all I got? H-heh, that all I got-” He’s echoing your previous words like a mantra. Breaking. Octaves higher as if he was on the verge of laughing. “How fucking cute.”

“C-cute?”

“So fucking cute.”

“I-I’m not- fuck!”

Pinpointing his long index purposefully in a massage right up against your g-spot, like it was a button for him to toy and push.

Gojo’s smile leers ever-wider as he holds it there, listening to the way your moans pitch creakily. “What’s that?” And you’re barely spilling off a few more syllables in response before he angles his wrist deeper to push down even harder. Making your entire body shudder, “What’s that? Yeahh, s’what I thought.”

You were so tight around him that Gojo’s forcing himself to bite his driveling bottom lip to hold back countless embarrassing whimpers. Because you were clinging onto him like gum, tugging his fingers back into your boiling hot depths every time he’s reeling back.

And the problem with Gojo Satoru was that he couldn’t decide.

He wanted you. And he wanted it all.

Couldn’t stop from alternating between scissoring his dexterous fingers into every ridge and crevice of your goopy cunt, and making out with you like he was parched. Lolling his tongue like he was drunk- all over your swooping slit and rubbing in tiny hearts on top of your hooded clit.

“Need you. Need you s-shoooo fuuuckin’ badly.” He couldn’t even speak properly at this point. You’re flinching as a third finger slimily squirms inside your pussy. “Want it all.”

So fucking sloppy in ways you’ve never seem him.

Your dewdrops of slick coat the outside of his mouth and stick in delicate strings, growing thicker and thicker by the minute as he once more strikes your magical spot and makes your toes curl. Gasping, “Yeah- yeah, fuck. Take it, take it ngh- all, Satoru—”

You think you’re gonna snap.

“Upsie daisy.”

Basically being manhandled to lean your entire weight on his shoulders. You don’t think you’re even holding yourself up at all this point. Feeling every flex and ripple of the hero’s deltoids underneath your fleshy mounds.

You’re so loud - and not just from your mouth.

“Hell yeah. Talk t’me.” Juicy sloshes spring onto the edges of Gojo’s mouth after every gyration, practically devouring you. He narrows his lust-murked stare to your glistening hole, giggling - fucking giggling - at how your hips just can’t stay still. “She’s saying…ohhh she’s saying- saying she’s gonna be good f’me.”

You’re blinking down with dazed intrigue, watching with an empty head at the way that his motions only get faster. And faster.

Pupils sprinting allll the way to the back of your heavy lids, “Close. Think- think m’so close, Toru.”

“Ya think?” He muses, drawing a bold stripe up your bruised and battered g-spot. One so hard that it has the corners of your lips flooding with a bubbling torrent of saliva, it has your eyes shuttering- “Oh, girl– I know. You’re cummin’ already, sweetheart.”

Shit- you were? You were.

Head spinning, throat raw.

And you didn’t even realize it with just how fucked-out you were on his long, lecherous tongue. Rendering your head permanently dizzy with those vulgar patterns he was drawing with it, both inside and out.

Your goopy walls tingle with the force of your high, ears popping with the pressure of those startling peaks after peaks. Ones that Gojo drags out gladly.

“Cumming from the hah- the great Gojo Satoru, huh?” He’s groaning, tonality husked with a shiver of something predatory. Unstable. Needy. Smashing away over and over and over on your most tender spots, buzzing. “Cumming all over my mouth. Always was meant for this- meant for me.”

If you thought that the squelches from before were blasphemous, then you surely weren’t ready for the slurps that follow now.

So loud.

Slithering the curling tip of his tongue to slap down on your quivering entrance, he’s pounding your hole dually with a mean mouth and even meaner fingers. Merciless.

You’re cumming and cumming and he’s stringing you along with every explosive ram and suck. Tired fingers pulling out of your hole with a wet plop! and lurching down to squeeze his achingly hard cock. Grinding the fat of his palm over n’ over across his length-

“S-soooo sensitive—” You’re sobbing out, eyes leaking hot tears once the crescendo of your orgasm pulls taut, powerful tingles rushing from where Gojo was latching his neat teeth onto your clit and biting.

And not even wringing your fingers to scratch his scalp, not even draaaagging Gojo by his sweat-matted hair could get him to part.

He wasn’t done yet. No.

His chin hits the very back of your cunt as he targets your pussy with yet another viscous few wads of spittle. Scattering it all over your sloppy hole when he’d drunk up all your sweet sap and there wasn’t enough. “Wanna taste more o-of you. S’fuckin’ sweet, wanna taste more.”

Because to him it would never be enough.

Not even when you’d finally let your toes uncurl, not even when your cracked whimpers were turning hushed. Bated.

Not even when he finally breaks his kiss between your legs with one last looooong slurp. Well, multiple. Gojo simply kept parting and coming back every few seconds with the most vulgar kisses because it hurt him to leave the very same pussy he’s been dreaming of since the day he first met you.

“Fuck. Fuck.” Gojo seethes out through rough pants. The soppy thwack! of wiry ribbons of drool from both sets of lips smacking him in the face. It lacquers all over his prettily flushed face and makes a mess.

Yet, you think he’s never looked prettier.

And the only thing messier was that smile he was giving you - dopey, and crazed. With beads of syrupy slick hanging off of his cerise lips, “You…you got my mask all dirty, sweetheart.”

“Dirty” was an understatement.

Gojo’s black mask was drenched, soaked through until every bit of his milky skin touching it smeared with a shimmery lamination of sap. You’d done such a number on him that when he hooks a thumb underneath, it lets out the most sinful squelch!

“Hear that?” You’re watching, speechless, once he tugs it off haphazardly. Impatiently. Ethereal white locks splaying out and over like a halo, “That’s the sound of ya being eaten out reeeal good n’ proper.”

And when Nightwing takes his mask off, you have to blink.

Because you’d fully and completely thought that Gojo Satoru could never be prettier - but when he was like this? When you could finally see his face fully?

Shit, you’re feeling your heart hammer against your ribs with a painful ba-dump–! just by looking into his summer blue eyes. The cute blush painting his features even more evident, and you’re catching his nose crinkle.

You’re pushing back the stray twines of his bangs sticking onto his prespired forehead. A touch that makes him shiver, a touch that makes his hardened cock twitch in his supersuit. “Never put that on a-again, I swear.”

“Ate that pretty cunt out and you’ve hah- fallen f’me already, hm~?” He’s wriggling his pale brows, and the look in his eyes is so enchanted that it leaves you momentarily speechless.

If you’d fallen for Gojo now, then he had already fallen for you a long, long time ago.

You hand on his hair tightens, searing. Angling his handsomely pussydrunken face until he’s looking up at you, “And who was saying they’ve been hngh- dreaming of eating my ‘pretty cunt’ for ages now?”

“I…”

“Shut up.”

And when you tell him to shut up, he shuts up. For perhaps the first time in the twenty-something years he’s been terrorizing this Earth.

Oh, for just how famed Nightwing was for his reflexes, Gojo barely sees it coming when you’re pushing him onto the muggy floor and collapsing right on down with him. Feverish. Needy.

He was so fucking hard that you swear you could see the zig-zag of his inflated veins through that massive bulge. Through his clothes-

Seriously, you’re ripping through the tough latex-y fabric wrapping around his inner thighs with a smirk. If he got to rip your supersuit then you should only return the favor.

You can’t help yourself, the very tip of your mushy tongue drips with a few pearls of saliva with just how badly you wanted him in your mouth. You’d seen the way that Gojo was huffing and grinding his cock as much as he could when he was filthily making out with your cunt.

Judging by the way he was jolting and moaning at your every touch, you were surprised he didn’t cum just from-

Oh.

He did.

And from the startled look of awe on Gojo’s face, he didn’t realize he had, either.

“Oh?” You’re skimming the fat plane of your thumb over his leaky orifice right in the middle, bawling out thick ropes of creamy white which slipped n’ slid allll down your wrist in generous heaps. “A-and you called me ‘cute’.”

Shit, but you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know where to look.

True to his word, Gojo was big - more than big, actually.

His cock was oh-so-pretty, standing red and proud at something near nine or ten inches. Oodles of buttery seed dripping down the side and ready for you to lick up.

Nestled above breeder balls, he’s lightning bolted with fat, rosé veins you couldn’t wait to feel scratch up your insides. A girthy circumference that made your poor knuckles ache to wrap around, so needy that every throb made your wrist jolt.

So…sexy.

“Satoru…”

And something in your tone of voice seems to jolt Gojo into overdrive.

He’s letting his meaty thighs crack open, displaying you with the attractive ripples of muscle. “C’mon, sweetheart-” A large hand softly cups the back of your unsteady head, “-clean up this- this mess you made.”

If this was any other time, you might’ve snapped back something about it being the mess he made himself. If this was any other time, you might’ve teased him for the teary cracks shattering his words.

But right now, you were striking the bullseye of Gojo’s round, coral pink divot with a hefty dump of saliva. Thumbing it right over his weeping middle and lazing your tongue tenderly all down the grooves of his veins.

You could feel him throb and buck underneath you, so turned on that you could practically taste it.

“Gods. Fuck. Fuck, girl-” He’s spitting out through lowered lashes, watching your tongue flop out to lap ‘round and ‘round his mushroomy tip like your favorite lolly. “-like that. Just like that.”

Gojo tucks a thumb underneath the curve of your chin, prying your maw to fall open just enough so that he can tap-tap-tap his blushing, thick head on your tongue. So that he can spurt out a few more gumdrops of seed and watch them glisten all the way to your throat.

He’s watching you with an open mouth, “Oh yeah. Oh yeah, my girl. Now you’re gonna hah- take all of me, right?”

Your pussy twitches with interest at his words — “my girl.” And the only thing you can think to do is let your digits sift underneath his tender slit, grinning. “Make me.”

It’s all the confirmation that Gojo needs to lurch open your slobbering mouth even further and plunge his veiny cock into you. Hissing at the way your tongue drags underneath his sinking shaft, he burns red to the tips of his ears.

“N-now now, play nice and say ‘ahhh’—” Your mouth was so hot. And it was working so many wonders on his fat cock that it was forcing him to gasp out tiny sobs. “Take me- fucking- fucking take me or god help me-”

He didn’t even know what he was saying.

Never breaking sultry eye contact, Gojo’s swabbing his cum around your plumped lips like a whitish lipstain. Fucking up feverishly, his trickling tip hits the very bottom of your throat and stays there-

“Ya like that?” He’s snarling out, perfect teeth pulled back on full display. You’re moaning into his tufted, snowy-white pubes at the sight of his glinting canines. “‘Course you do, course you do. F-fuck don’t know how many ngh- time I-I’ve imagined this. All because of you, nasty girl-”

Without warning, he’s pinching your nose together and you whine in answer. Crescents of your nails clawing down red, red lines all over his toned abs, “Alright alright- ngh- mostly because of you.”

He lets go, finally. Snickering at the steady tears that fall down your cute face.

Fighting against his flapping lids to watch the way you’re bobbing your head in a primal cadence now. Your nose brushing up against his heated skin every time. A fat few rivers of drool find themselves glazing your lips, your chin, Gojo’s shifting pelvis in a puddle.

He was so hot and weighty inside, and your jaw was starting to ache just from the sheer bulky fatness. Your cunt leaking - bawling - at the way his ballooned-up veins rub against the roof of your mouth up n’ down.

“You and that damn suit n’ those damn eyes a-and that-” He bucks up, up, up, core tensing sexily each time. Smashing the rounded curve of his tight balls against your chin. “-damn mouth. Now mine, all mine oh—”

Your fingers just barely graze over Gojo’s plump sack, making his precious, pinkish skin wrinkle. Making him gasp- “O-oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck-” His head snaps upwards, eyes rolling to the very backs of his head. “-c’mere. C’mere.”

Maybe it’s because of the remaining aftereffects of your mind-shattering orgasm, maybe it’s because you wanted him so bad you couldn’t think; but you’re so pliable in Gojo’s big, strong arms.

He’s bending a few degrees to scoop you up in a mess of boneless limbs, all in one go. Sitting you all pretty and struggling to balance on his slender hips– his v-shape was mouth-watering.

And your thighs fit so perfectly snugly on either side, glissading your pussylips up and down on his cylindrical shaft. You’re riding all along his bumpy veins, head bobbing at every probing spiral that pokes past your folds.

“Fuck me.” Gojo whispers against your throat. Reaching over languidly to rip even more of his supersuit for you, all the way down his inner thighs, his chest, everywhere. For you to ruin. “Fuh-fuck me.”

Whining, “Give it- give it t’me, Toru–”

He blushes.

You didn’t know who was yearning for it more.

Gojo repeatedly spanks your slippery hole with the very rounded crown of his cockhead, sandwiching himself between your bloated lips. And the sight makes him grin, the sight makes him twitch- “Open. Open wiiiide, sweetheart. Tight fuckin’ thing.”

Your knobbly knees ricket as you splay them out shamelessly, “‘Nough teasing. Want it- a-and I want it now.”

Bratty girl.

Though, he always has loved that side of you.

And it’s exactly what makes Gojo depart his hips off of the ground in a sudden rut and fill you up to your brim. Just the plump circle of his tip mazing past your entrance enough to render you stupidly speechless.

You swear you hear him bludgeon just the few inches of his head into your channel with a wet plop! Before your ears ring with something even louder…even wetter.

“Fucking- shit shit shit-” You’re almost letting your mouth sing with a whimper once his gorgeous eyes shutter closed, a cute pout smearing over your face. Gojo’s shifting, he’s restless, he’s planting his feet firmly flat on the floor and bucking wildly. Through clenched teeth, “This is- all- your- fault.”

Suddenly, you’re feeling something warm and thick soaking through your walls. Slathering ribbons of liquid sloshing around your wet inners and mixing with the waves of your aroused slick.

Did he just…? Just from putting it inside?

And, really, you felt so heavenly inside - what was a man to do?

Your gooey walls molding around his length like molten gold, it was driving Gojo crazy until all he could do was wrap his arms around the small of your back as if you were his lifeline. Panting out cloudy breaths against your face, he stares deeply into your eyes and cums-

Your eyes flap open alertly, “T-Toru– did you just-”

“Shut up.” He’s huffing, gnawing on his wobbly lower lip like chewing gum. To shut you up, he’s shoving your face between the plummy cushions of his pecs. Grunting when your tongue comes out to suck his rose pink nipples. “I’m just- I’m- ngh–”

Just fucking his globular wads of seed until you were overspilling, is what. Pumping the bottom of your pussy so full that you’re feeling him smear sticky streaks down your cervix, the gluey-texture making your back arch for more more more-

“Can’t help that this p-pussy is so fuck- filthy.” He’s trawling out syllables from the back of his hoarse throat, a thin line of saliva leaking from one end of that fucked-out grin. Eyeing the plapping of his cum pouring in bucketloads out of you and onto his skin, “That you’re so…”

Can’t help that he’s been dreaming of this since forever.

Gojo didn’t have to say a word, because the massive puddle formulating from between your icing-topped folds was chatty enough. Really chatty, in fact, that the man finds himself nodding away blearily with every shrill squelch! from down below.

Humming, “Mhm— real t-talkative, aren’t you, pretty girl?” His pants puncture with a few breathless titters, watery gaze flickering between your sweaty face and where he was disappearing. Depraved. “Nicer than her, too.”

Lips falling into a partially-offended, partially-delirious oh! your brows furrow, “S-so mean. Don’t make me- ngh- don’t make me g-get off, Satoru.”

“Get off, huuuuh?” He’s drawling, hands pushing you down even further along his blushing red cock. You were so insistent and fiery, it made him so much fucking harder. And it was cute, the way you’re flinching when his tip throbs even fatter. “If you wanna ngh- tap- tap out, jus’ say so, my girl.”

“Never.”

“Never?”

Rolling those beautiful eyes of yours, “You’d tap out first.”

Fuck yeahhhhh, he was shifting his hips just a little to make you feel how much girthier you were making him. The clingy sides of your walls snatching on the way his crownhead pulls taut, stretching your innards to the very max. “No. You.”

He doesn’t know if you even realize just how much more damp you’re getting. A syrupy wet patch already formed and growing on his v-line, dribbling down to his twitchy balls. “Scared, Nightwing?”

“I’m not even trying, sweetheart.”

And with that said, only now do you realize just how true his words are.

Two impressive hands interlace on the crown of your sticky scalp, pushing you- bullying you down like some glorified ragdoll.

Your thighs twitch as if you were unsure whether to clench or spread. You can feel Gojo’s sweltering hot cock squeezing and squeezing his fully proud length inside of you - you didn’t even realize that he hadn’t bottomed out yet because he was simply so big.

But when he did finally fit all the way?

God, it felt like he was drilling his split-ended tip right into your lungs.

“There we go- thereeee we go.” Gojo breathes out thickly, and it felt like something leaden in his tummy was finally unraveling after all this time. Finally stuffed inside your pussy. “Knew you could t-take me- heh. S’biiig, isn’t it?”

Really big.

And every shallow bounce of yours made your pulse burst near your throat, stars sparking behind your burdensome eyelids when he pinpricks tiny speckles of pre on your most favorite spots.

“Yeah yeah- ride me.” He grapples at your scalp and pulls. “Fuckin’ ride me. S’all yours n’ I wanna see you ngh- milk it.”

“Gods- ohhhh gods.” You’re shrilling out in a strained pitch when he jerks upwards and clashes into your g-spot, your nails claw ragged lines on the carpet as if you’d just been thrown to the wolves. Stupid now. Hips jerking away from his tantalizing pace-

“No running.” Gojo spits, pained. One hand curling around your throat and dragging you down to smack the backs of your thighs against his weighty balls, the other cupping your face delicately. His long, textured tongue laps up the salty pearls of your tears with looooud slurps. “Wh-where the ngh- fuck do you think you’re going?”

You didn’t even have an answer because every possible one was being fucked out of you. Brutally.

One sharp jab. Two. Three into your tender alcoves and you feel like collapsing, your front melting into his toned one, drool spilling out in spit-loads.

It’s all you can do to gyrate your waist back and forth in sloppy circles to meet his pace. Looong figure eights that made Gojo’s thighs shudder, and your clit scratch his creamy happy trail. There were so many thorough inches being fed into your cunt, probing deeply. Over and over and over-

And no matter how full you were he’d keep rutting and rutting. Like he couldn’t stop. Rotund head sagging down your cervix to leave streaks of pre and he was still pushing.

Gojo bores up at you with glazed eyes, saliva-glistening lips parted ever-so-slightly while he pounded up into you as if in a daze.

You’re swearing his dilated pupils have formed into hearts- “Mmmm– love you, my girl.” He carries out a tender kiss on your forehead, and a rough squeeze on your throat. Jostling your lolling head back and forth ever-so-slightly, to dab his digits in a seeping puddle of slick and push past your lips. “Love fucking you. Being haaaaa– fucked by you…”

It’s not often that anyone can catch Gojo Satoru off guard.

But you’re not just “anyone.”

With your honed expertise, all it takes is one jackhammered thud! into the back of your pussy - two - before you’re flipping your ravenously glissading bodies over.

“Then f-fuck me properly, Toru.”

Maybe he heard your words through the static-y buzzing in his head, maybe he didn’t. Either way your tone makes something inside him twitch, full-bodied.

And you don’t think Gojo even registers it beyond a stuttered ohhh–! at first, you don’t think he even realizes the way he’s immediately sprawling you out flat on your back and bending you into a rude mating press.

Still not slowing down. Still not faltering.

Ah, you don’t know if you’re a genius or just plain stupid. Because you still manage to yelp, “S’that- s’that it?”

As if on primal instinct, he’s letting out a growl near your mouth. “Hah- haaah– Y’know…I-I’m reeeeal flexible, my girl.” Your calves burn with exertion once he throws them unceremoniously over his shoulders, core tensing in a way you can’t help but ogle. “Real flexible.”

At first you didn’t understand why he was telling you this. At first.

Before Gojo drags his large feet up, up, up until he’s planting them where you can see - sweaty thighs lugging forwards where he’s bending you in half and then some.

It was so cute how pliable you were underneath him, manhandled to every whim and want and need-

This brand-spanking new angle was everything.

Thrashing into your springy cervix - hard. Stretching out deeply-seated sweet spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed. It makes you feel so fucking filthy at the sting of his papping balls bruising your ass like never before.

And his tip is so greedy, feeling the swashing splash of his own seed dripping all over your walls and still bursting to erupt with more. He could tell he was close, aligning himself to crash into his favorite target of your g-spot.

“Fuck–” Your mindless legs threaten to close - not that he would ever let them. “So much. Fuck me, p-please.”

“What was that?”

“Please…”

“What was that?”

“Please!”

Gojo’s hunched over, seethingly red in the face. Ivory bangs half-way covering his intensely half-lidded stare, stray spatters of perspiration hit your chest like bullets.

“Gonna ngh- fuck you properly.” He spits, hands ghosting over your tummy - namely that globed bulge he was fucking into you. A mere nudge of it with his thumb leaves Gojo’s breath leaving his lungs in a sizzling woosh! Sculptured chest vibrating, “Gonna breed you properly. Gonna…”

You’re flinching when fingers waft over your nubbed clit, the stark volts of electricity prompting your ass to hit back even rougher against his sharp pelvis.

“Want it, Toru.” Wobbly arms wrapping around his flushed neck to pull him in close. He looks at you lovingly, while he fucks you like he hates you. “W-want you to ngh- breed me.”

And that does it - for the both of you.

Gojo Satoru’s breath hitches with a cry, balls achingly tight. Needy. “Gonna make you m-mine.”

Running headfirst into your highs, it hits you like a tidal wave. You don’t know where you’re seeing white from; the flurries of stars speckling your vision, or from the torrents of cum Gojo pours out past your sloppy entrance.

“Your p-pussy–!” Gojo bursts, drilling into you as if he was crazed. Fat tip swirling around your pretty insides with decorative ribbons of pure white, his cum seeps into you thickly and you swear you can feel him well up the door to your womb. “O-ohhhh your pussy your pussy your- p-pussy, takin’ me so well.”

“Fuck me-” You tug on his pink lips with your teeth and it makes Gojo empty out another few webbed streaks of sap into the bottom of your pussy with a thud! Brows furrowing, “Deeper.” Even though he was so deep you think you might burst. “Harder.” So hard you felt raw. “More.”

You were already overspilling, the throes of your burning hot orgasm just barely letting you register the splat-splat-splat of his cum pumping in n’ out of you.

Two of his slender fingers urgently scoop those few escaping globs back through your pussylips, Gojo’s girth so wide that he doesn’t even have to try to plug you full and tight.

“A-all safe and sound.” He’s patting at the cumflated outline on your tummy, cylindrical and round. Your walls were so plump and tight with him that just the simplest dig had you squealing. “A-all…”

And Gojo looked like he could purr if he could.

All fucked out and satisfied, the pussydrunken grin on his face seemed permanent - and so was that tender glint in his eye. Peeking up at you through long lashes, he leans his head over to listen to your juddering heartbeat, “All mine.”

Your tummy lurches, and you find yourself smiling before you can stop. But it’s not like you wanted to stop.

In fact, you didn’t want to stop at all.

“That last one’s a tie.” Your voice scratches the favorite crevices of Gojo’s brain; so mushy and melted that it takes a long while before his lips drop into an understanding oh! You sweetly peck his lips, “Rematch, Nightwing?”

Fuck.

His poor, overworked cock twitches.

Fuck.

And of course, it was a rematch with the two of you.

Of course, the one rematch turned into two. Into three. Into four. Into- you’d lost count after five, and you were sure right now that you couldn’t even do any maths past that.

After breaking Naoya Zenin’s loveseats, after splitting his desk literally in half. Eventually, you’d either forgotten about the man himself and your fate, or you just didn’t care. You were so fucked dumb that all you can cry is a broken, “Sa-to–ru!”

Because if there was one thing that Batman taught in his rigorous training scheme, it was stamina.

Gojo was taking you from behind right now- well, that was being generous.

He was slumped down over you until his abs were liquefying down your arched spine, head buried deep into the clammy crook of your neck. Swirling his sensitive cock all around your tenderized insides, thighs trembling where he was pinning the both of you down onto the floor. Too sloppy and fucked to even try anywhere else.

“M’here—” Gojo drawls out, heavy tongue stumbling over the sounds. He pats the cute tummy bulge that he’s responsible for first, and then your gushing pussy. Pulling you to him, he really was acrobatic, “M’here. Toru’s h-here, my sweetheart.”

Fuck- those last two words make him jetstream out a sweltering few beads of seed. He couldn’t even cum properly anymore.

Driving into you until every voluminous mass in his body was now packed intensely between your snug walls, he shifts inside of you with a sloooow gyration and feels the knotted mess he’s made.

“My sweetheart–” Gojo’s biceps bulge where he’s shoving your head into the soft carpet, into the pond of saliva that just won’t stop leaking from your parted mouth. His words depart in a cracked plea, “My girl.”

“Y-yours.”

Maybe you’re cumming, maybe you’re not - you don’t even know, at this point.

Half-lucidly aware of the faint tingles shooting up your spine, and making your temples throb. Gojo himself feels out of control, hips reeling back, back, back to slam into your jiggling ass.

He’s pawing himself a rough handful of your fleshy mounds once he throws his head back and lets his aching shaft jolt. Straight from his drenched base, all the way to his overstimulated tip- exhausting out one bead of pre. Two.

Before Gojo cums dry.

“O-oh.” His teeth snag near your pulse, wet splatters of tears soaking your skin. Something animalistic twinging at the back of his cottony mind at the way you literally milked him until he was dry. Despite himself, he laughs. High-pitched. Crazed. “S’a- tie- s’a tie, I went e-easy on you…”

Somehow, you’re managing a grin. “My hero~”

And Gojo was just about to open his mouth - maybe to counter back something nonsensical, maybe to ask for a rematch over n’ over until he passes out.

But what happens instead is that overly familiar metallic gate explodes open.

You have to blink away the clingy fog in your eyes in alarm, and you’re embarrassed to admit that it took longer than you thought. Dammit, he really did win that last round- ah, rematch.

Still stunned, you can barely even dredge up some semblance of dignity as a towering man in a red helmet and skin-tight black suit walks in. Past his sexy biker vest, and those muscles upon chiseled muscles, you think you see- yeah, it really is. A red Batman logo.

Red Hood.

A low snicker sounds from underneath his mask, swiftly being taken off to reveal a man so pretty that you feel your jaw slacken.

He runs a hand through silky, waist-length black hair, amethyst eyes glinting with amusement and something…more as he takes in the sight. Long lashes fluttering, he lets go of a specialized machine gun you assume was used to break down your cage. “Yo, Satoru.”

“Suguru.” Gojo gruffs out in a condensed gasp, though he makes no move to stop. None at all. Still balls-deep, and rubbing his tip down your spongy cervix. “Wh-what- fuuuck, don’t squeeze like that, my girl- took ya so ngh- long?”

Red Hood- Suguru, waves his other hand airily, only then do you see the knife clutched in it. The extremely…bloodied knife. “Ah, y’know~ Had to clean up some messes. Toji wanted revenge on the Zenins, the usual family drama.” Eyes flashing, “He’ll be up once he’s done to ah…join us here.”

Oh god, was the entire Bat Family here? You get the distinct feeling that this was not just “usual family drama.”

But you can’t say a word when the other man bores his piercing gaze onto you next. Tone smooth and syrupy, “So…Prowler, I’m assuming, by the ripped up costume?”

You feel your skin heat. “The one and only.”

“Geto Suguru, gorgeous.” He pulls out a tiny spherical gadget that looked exactly like the one Gojo had been toying with hours- days? ago. “I already know your name, Toji and I heard it over and over. Which, by the way, you should remind that idiot Satoru to turn his microphone off.”

Ah, that explains a lot. And wait- it was on this whole time?

Shit.

While Gojo only huffs out a pant of laughter, planting yet another deep jackhammer into you, you feel the apologies bubble to your lips. That is, until-

“Unless you want someone to feel…” Geto licks his lips slooowly, bangs swooning over his sleazy gaze. You watch with widened eyes as a hand falls to his bulky belt, carnally. “-left out.”

A/N. Mhm what happens when ya let a girl listen to Nightcrawler.

Plagiarism not authorized.

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

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always-a-slut-4-ghouls · 4 months ago

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Every time I see anything about Europeans not having screens on their windows I remember that one post “this is why you got the plague”. I cannot read anything about Europe and window screens without remembering that post, and honestly, I am still confused as to why people there don’t have screens

#emma posts #around here if you had no screens you’d be getting west Nile and shit just because you wanted some nighttime summer breeze #even without west Nile I don’t want more mosquitoe bites than necessary #plenty of other stuff would get in too. but you would be in mosquitoe hell #how do you guys live with biting stuff getting in your house? with flies getting in your kitchen?#it only happens here if someone leaves the door open too long or they have the lights on when they open the door at night #I mean. flies get in when it starts to get cold. but it would be way worse without window screens #and I’m pretty sure mosquitoes don’t know flies’ mysterious secrets for getting through small openings #at least most flies that get in houses don’t bite #if you leave the door open and a horse fly or deer fly gets in it’s shitty #those fuckers bite #and ticks! They usually don’t get right next to your house. but that depends on what’s around your house #and mosquitoe bites itch for DAYS #how are you guys not just getting diseases and unpleasant bites in your sleep?#and what happens if a bird accidentally flies into your living room?#if that ever happens here there’s a lot of panicking between both the bird and the humans #and I love bats but you really don’t want them getting in your house and that would just make it easier #I love them a lot but they are very good at carrying diseases. they are built different when it comes to immune systems in mammals #and if you leave your window open at night and don’t have some dog to scare them off you know raccoons would be all over your kitchen #and mice and rats too. maybe squirrels. rodents get in sometimes other ways but that’s just opening the door for them like welcome guests #if they aren’t pets then you probably don’t want them there especially for sanitary reasons #and bugs that like to eat your food!#I like animals but a lot of them aren’t great in your house #and when mice have gotten into my family’s house and realized that there were multiple cats they would just hide somewhere out of reach #until they died. even with live traps around they didn’t always move from their hiding spots out of fear #it has to be a terrible way to go. I feel bad for them #more would end up dying that way or from the cats eating them if they could just wander in through open windows. often when they do get #inside it’s because a crack formed somewhere in the window insulation #and your cat could just yet themselves off the second floor or higher. one time I had the screen off for something and my cat wandered onto #the roof and only came back in when he noticed I was panicking

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soapcloth · 19 days ago

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CW: 18+ MDNI, loan shark!price x reader part 1, fem!reader, afab!reader, noncon elements, manipulative price, implied violence (not reader), petting, almost(?) fingering - 3K words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune massive thank you to @pricetagged for keeping me sane writing this

“Mr. Price-” you spoke up, fingers massaging into your temples.

“Said you can call me John, Sweetheart.” the man interjected with a serious look.

He was currently hanging your entire life over your head and he knew it, you most certainly were not going to call him by his first name. Noticing your reluctance, he shrugged and leaned back into your dining room chair.

“Look, I’ve been as kind as a man like me ought to be. Don’t know how much longer I can shoulder the loss, and I don't know how much longer you-” He sent a condescending look of concern your way, a hand fishing into his pocket. “-can take the fees. I’m playing the good guy here, y’gotta pay up, lovie.”

“No smoking inside.” you warned, voice less confident than you would have liked it to be.

His hand paused in his coat before slipping out and up in a sign of surrender.

There was a buzzing silence between the two of you, only interrupted by the occasional tick of your kitchen clock. It was hard to meet his gaze, eyes rooted downwards towards your table under the weight of your rising debt to one of the most notorious men in the city.

“Right then.” he huffed, palms coming down to rest on the table before twitching upwards. “So?”

“Give me another month to pull something together.” you spoke, wincing when you caught the way his eyebrows quirked in surprise. “-Please?”

There was no telling a man like John Price what would be happening. He was the shot caller, the unequivocal card dealer, it was only by some higher grace that he let your ill manners slip.

He grumbled for a moment before looking up. “I respect what you’ve got going on in the shop, I do. Lovely place, good atmosphere—we’re both the entrepreneurial type, so to say I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for you-” the thought that he’d lump your small shop in with his exploitative business made your stomach turn. “-but this is a bit much, yeah? Let’s give it up, sweetheart.”

Your face twisted into a sharp grimace, but that was all you could do—what right did you have to tell the man whose money you were living off of to get out of your house? Even worse, you hated that he had a point; you were so tired of your lackluster sales and mounting bills, but-

“I’m not the only owner, I-I can’t just make decisions like that.” you reasoned.

He looked incredibly unimpressed, nostrils flaring with a dissatisfied huff. “Right, your business partner.”

“H-he-”

“If it’s what you want, m’sure he’ll understand,” Mr. Price hummed, eyes narrowing. “I think you’ll find my men and I can be quite persuasive.”

Registering your cautious demeanor, his lips curled upwards.

“Where is the bloke anyway?” John asked in faux-disinterest, disapproval blooming from his tone. “Always sends you to talk to the big mean lender. S’not right.”

He shook his head and sighed.

“-Seen this play out before, love. He’s throwing you under the bus.”

Your mouth shut, hard set into a frown—you knew he was right. Your business partner was most likely enjoying his morning in peace knowing it was your apartment above the building—your life about to be uprooted if it all went tits-up. It was hard not to feel played.

Mr. Price’s gaze glimmered in recognition, and slowly, like a languid predator, he was leaning across the table with a large hand over your own.

You studied the sparse dusting of translucent hair on his fingers, the trimmed nails at the ends of his stocky fingers, his nice, expensive-looking watch—anything not to meet his eyes.

“S’not worth it,” he urged softly. “spreading yourself thin like this.” he paused to think. “My advice? Liquidate, I'm sure you and I can work something out in the long term.”

You swallowed, throat feeling impossibly dry as you focused on the twitch of his thumb.

“I’ll think about it.”

“I don’t want to be the bad guy, but business is business, sweetheart—I’m offering you a hand, it’s in your best interest to take it.” he spoke, palm patting over your digits before withdrawing into his pocket. There was a deep breath drawn in through his lips. “Right, I’ll be off then—Unless you want me over for lunch?”

He chuckled deeply in solus as he stood, reminding you of a proud and awful beast. “Maybe another time then, love.”

Ideally not.

The shop had closed on another unnoteworthy day, only serving to further hammer in Mr. Price’s point. With defeated footfall on the stairs up to your flat, you nearly slipped, shocked by a fist beating on the front door frantically. You slowly turned around, heart pounding from the sound.

“-Christ! Let me in!” Ewan, your business partner cried out from the other side of the threshold.

You hurried to the door; pushed aside as soon as the lock had released.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” you scolded over the shop door’s welcome chime. You were met without response while the man darted for the till. “What are you-”

“Not now,” he growled. “we need to get out of here.”

Studying him closer, you realized one of his arms had been held up by a makeshift sling, tucked neatly beneath his quilted coat.

“W-what are you talking about?”

He paused, looking up.

Your eyes widened when the light from the street outside washed over his face.

“What happened to you?”

“Doesn’t matter.” he snarled, freshly dried blood crusting at the movement. His head dipped down as he popped open the till. “Price and his dogs want our heads.”

“I just spoke to him this morning-”

“Things change—may have pushed our luck a little too far. We’ve got to get out of town.”

You frowned “I-I can’t just-”

“Suit yourself.” he snapped, voice dropping to a mumble while his fingers grabbed at whatever they could, stuffing it into his coat pocket haphazardly. “-Sitting duck.”

“Wait—that's our money.” you balked, watching the empty register drawer shut. He offered you a bloody, tight-lipped smile as he sped past you towards the door; in and out like a typhoon.

“Good luck.”

You were stuck where you stood when the door swung shut, absolutely beside yourself in shock as you watched his figure disappear from view into the night. Looking around your shop, it was just as it had been when you closed up, but the knowledge that you were sitting on an empty till, all alone with the looming threat of a less-than-savory money lender finding out you were back to square one for your upcoming payment was not kind as it crashed into you.

After a sobering moment, you hobbled over to the point of sales, turning the drawer’s lock tentatively. Of course, the tray was as empty as the day you had bought it, save for a spare coin roll shoved into the side. You stared down at the dark plastic, hand clumsily digging into your pocket for your phone. Swiping at the device, you paused, debating for a moment over whether or not to open the banking app; you already knew what you’d see if you did.

Confirming your fears, the log showed a hefty transaction at the branch earlier that day. The account had been emptied right before the banks closed.

You had nothing to give John Price.

It was all gone.

You stared at your feet while it sunk in. Slowly, you regained the ability to move, making your way over to the shop door and locking it back up before spinning on your heels. The trip upstairs was eerily silent as you slipped into your flat, legs wobbling as you ambled into your washroom and stepped under the hot stream from your showerhead. You let the water run over you for far longer than necessary, only stepping out onto the frigid tile once your fingers had pruned.

The dinner prep that followed had gone surprisingly smooth, serving as a vessel to pretend the foundation of your life wasn't crumbling away. You replayed comforting thoughts, words passing through your mind like a liferaft just out of reach– you knew Mr. Price, he always spoke gently to you, he would understand, he-

A fat tear fell onto the hand that braced you over the stove, watching the bubbling pasta through bleary eyes. With a shaking grip, you drained the water and slipped the noodles into your saucepan, stirring and sniffling lamely.

You made too much—you had nothing to give and you had made too much. Typical.

Sitting at your table, you ate in near-silence, listening to your clock’s soft ticking as you tried to ignore the afterburn image of Mr. Price across from you where he had sat that morning.

Your fork paused mid-air when the downstairs shop chime rang out.

Had Ewan come to his senses?

You closed your eyes and waited for him to call up to you.

The stark sound of heavy footfall bustling around the lower level was the first thing to alert you to the intrusion—too much noise for one man. Setting down your fork, you stared owlishly at the door to your flat as if it was the last line of defense between you and whatever was happening down there. Through the muffled commotion, you could faintly make out the creak of your stairs getting louder—closer, you watched helplessly as the knob slowly turned.

The door opened a fraction, a thick hand curling around the side to brace it against the three thunderous knocks that echoed throughout the room.

“Come in.” you spoke up once your heartbeat had evened out, blinking as Mr. Price emerged from the dark stairway.

“Mmh, you’re here.” he stared down at you, a pleased rumble rolling around in his chest. “‘Course you didn’t skip town, smart. Good girl.”

He kicked his boots off and drifted through your kitchen; cabinets and drawers clattering behind you while he whistled breathily, dishing up some pasta as if you had made it for him—you do suppose he had every right to, though.

Your whole body tensed as a palm ghosted across your back. The plate was set down, and the chair beside you was tugged out from beneath the table.

Your eyes darted to his dish where it sat, steam trailing fragrantly. Mr. Price tucked in, humming lowly despite his tense demeanor.

“S’good, Love. eat up.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and grabbed your fork, gaze falling back to your dish as you picked at the food, appetite long gone. Once again, it was you, Mr. Price, and the sounds of your kitchen—an unwelcome sense of Deja Vu creeping in.

“Your money’s gone.” you whispered, unable to stand the silence.

He reached towards you, grabbing your napkin, and patting his mouth. “I know.” he scratched at his beard idly. “My boys are dealing with that.”

You paled, trying not to think about what would happen to your business partner as you watched Mr.Price fuss with his fork, leaning in to take another large bite; a nauseated feeling washing over you.

“What's going to happen to me?” you murmured, eyes downcast.

His fork clattered quietly against his plate as his hand came to rest on the back of your neck, thumb petting at your nape. “That’s what I'm here to sort out, sweetheart.”

Sort out. It was ugly, spoken as if you were just one of his assets. You nodded; compliance met with a soft, affirming squeeze.

“We can work something out.” his hand traveled downwards, grazing your arm before landing on the meat of your thigh. “I don’t have to be the bad guy.”

“Mr. Price..” you spoke after a sharp breath, tears threatening to well up.

You missed the way his eyes crinkled at your weepy tone, thumb brushing your thigh in comfort.

“I’ve had my eye on you, love—Would have never lent you as much as I did if I wasn't sweet on you. Thought maybe I’d be able to charm my way into your life but it seems like I only see you when you’re late on a payment.” he laughed hoarsely. A knee knocked into yours as he stood; his chair scraping beneath him. The floor creaked under bulk, two large hands coming to rub at your arms with hot breath and trimmed beard tickling at your ear. “-I’m a hopeless romantic, y’see.”

“Price!” a voice hollered up, causing the man to straighten with a low growl.

“What?” he barked, voice aimed downstairs.

“Trucks loaded up, gonna head back to the office, yeah? See if Simon needs any help retrieving the cash.”

His hands flexed around your shoulders. “Good, lock up behind yourself. I’ll be a bit.”

You froze, looking up to see the looming shadow of a man; profile distinct in the low light. He turned to you, offering a tight grin while a wayward hand trailed from your arm to your neck, caressing the skin as he exhaled deeply behind you, resting your head against his abdomen.

“It’s okay to give in, love.” he cooed. “Let me take care of it all.”

You had nearly folded when that little prey animal in your brain stiffened, hackles raising. You stood carefully, sidestepping his grasp.

“No, I-I… I couldn’t impose… It’s alright.” you silently begged for him to understand your polite refusal.

“S’not imposing,” he challenged, glaring down at you. “imposing would be the number of zeroes on the sum you owe me—now you care about my burden?”

“That’s-”

“That’s not how this works, sweetheart.” he laughed. “Now, sit back down.”

You complied, lowering back into the seat shamefully.

“Good.” he exhaled, crouching beside you with hands knotted together. “I always collect what’s owed, that’s one thing you need to understand.”

You nodded.

“-But I’m not opposed to shouldering burdens where personal interest is involved.” His eyes searched your own desperately, palms unfurling to rest back on your legs. “You understand what I'm saying, yeah? You’ll never pay it off alone, let me help. I could take care of you.”

Overwhelmed, you turned away; the grip on your thighs tightening in response as he braced himself, standing up. A warm hand cradled your cheek as he drew your gaze upwards, free hand looping around your back and lifting you to stand against him like a marionette.

“I don’t know what to do…” you sniffled as his big palm had begun to rub circles into your back.

He shushed you. “-It’s okay, love. I can handle it, It’ll be okay.”

You nodded, turning and rubbing your face into his shirt as he comforted you. The entire situation was a disorienting experience. Had you done something so wrong to get here?– had it been a crime to want to live a gentle and quiet life in your shop?

It was hard to care much for your sense of conviction when the root of your problem looked more like a finely woven cradle; what did it matter if you were to bend the knee to your devil’s appeal at this point?

Still, it felt as if you were teetering on the edge of a cliff.

“I’m scared.” your lips settled for, hiccuping the words into his chest.

He hummed thoughtfully, the noise buzzing around the walls of your head as his thick arms hooked around your neck, pulling you in deeper—a trap set without any fuss.

“It’s okay for you to be scared,” he pressed a kiss to your crown. “There’s no way anyone was getting out of those rates you agreed to, love. Let me help you.”

You stiffened, head raising slowly to look at him. He smiled down at you.

“You definitely won’t be taking care of our finances, yeah?” John joked, letting out a deep, phlegmy laugh before he pecked your nose, pulling you back into his chest and rumbling against your head. “Enough nonsense. You’re tired, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

It was all so domestic—like he hadn’t just shown you his rows of jagged, shark-like teeth.

His grip relented as he patted your bum. “Go on and get into bed, let me clean up dinner.”

So you did, brushing your teeth and feeling incredibly confused as to why you were readily complying. What truly got to you was how tender it felt—had you been so oblivious to his vying interest? You had just assumed he was a rare good-natured lender; though, you suppose neither of these had been true.

John Price was not a good man; although it was a recent revelation in the grand scheme of things, you knew this as a fact now. The other fact of the matter was that it seemed you were most likely the real collateral in the vulturine deal. Had he been playing the long game?

You could hear John floating around in the other room as you pulled an old shirt over your head to sleep in—the kitchen faucet running as you slipped into your bed. It all felt so wrong.

Your eyes shot open when the bedroom’s aged floor creaked, deer-like paralysis keeping you snapshot-still as the ring of his belt buckle filled the static air. Was he—The rickety bed dipped behind you under John’s added weight, bedframe crying out with every shift of his body that came with tucking himself against you; achy grunts blowing out from his lips.

“Not as limber as I used to be.” he laughed modestly. “Still gets the job done though, I reckon.”

He breathed for a moment before his nose dipped into the hair at your nape, sniffling around.

“-Better than I imagined.” he grumbled contently.

Thick hands dipped under your shirt, massaging at the skin momentarily before slipping into your panties, tugging them out of the way.

“Mr. Price.” you winced, feeling his cold hand on the sensitive skin.

his hands paused as the large man thought for a moment.

“Mrs. Price…” he chuckled after a beat, the hairs on your neck standing up in response. “-See? You don’t like it much, either. Now, what’s my name, love?”

“John.” you mumbled quietly, eyes darting around through the dark of your room.

“Mmh. good girl.” he hummed, hand cupping your cunt and thumbing at it absentmindedly. “Sleep, love. Big day tomorrow, yeah?”

#fuck it we baaaaallllll #john price x reader #price #x reader #cloth writes #afab reader #fem reader #tw noncon

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itsoutrageouss · 3 months ago

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Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley being ready to go on his knees for his favorite nurse… but he has no idea how to show it.

Then he sees you at the pub.

It settled inside of him as a feeling of uselessness because he’s so used to knowing what to do. He takes action. He fixes things. And now he gets all flustered when you tend to his wounds, absentmindedly stroking his thigh and talking to him so so sweetly. Calling him a good boy when you finish the stitches, biting your lip as you focused on making them as neat as you could for him. He would stare at you the whole time, his cheeks heating because no one ever showed him this much care and you didn’t even seem to struggle with it- it was all natural.

You had labelled him ‘favorite patient’ in your phone but he didn’t know that. He figured you behaved like that with all the soldiers who came in- the reason you were such a good nurse.

After a well succeeded mission, the task force and the bases Staff all crowd down to the nearest pub. It was an excuse for you to finally be out of your work attire, adorning a black lacy top that made you feel sexy along with your glossy lips. He was already there, leaned back in a booth with Soap and Price as you walk in, looking around nervously.

He has to grit his teeth as he sees you. Fuck fuck fuck. This was gonna be a long night. He fisted his hands beneath the table.

This feeling of hopelessness, of not knowing what to do was so foreign that it bubbled into anger. Price frowned, noticing the rigid way his Lieutenant suddenly sat. Soap was too busy telling some story to notice anything, slamming down a hand, the beers rattling. Your colleagues crowded you into a booth that so conveniently faced him.

Why did he look at you like that? He was positively fuming, glowering, brows lowered and face set. You cowered under his gaze, eyes flickering away nervously.

His lips parted in soft surprise. Why did you look so nervous? Had he done something?

Because of course he was no clue how damn intimidating his so called love stare stare is. He follows you as you walk to the bar, leaning over, your skirt riding up. He has to blink up at the ceiling because it felt simultaneously like a gift from above, being allowed to see you like this, and like a curse from hell.

“Oh he’s down bad for her ain’t he, that fucker?” Soap exclaims, finally catching on as he lets out a hearty laugh. Simon glares.

“I think LT needs another pint” Price muses. Soap, ever the sergent he is, groans and gets up, patting Simon heavily on the shoulder before walking up to the bar next to you.

“You got him weak in the knees, Bunny” Soap grins casually, ordering the pints. It takes you a few seconds to comprehend before you lean backwards slightly, catching Simon’s gaze. This time he averts his eyes immediately. He was fucking fuming inside, not knowing how to get these feelings to go away. The only solutions he could think of were violence or sex. And violence he’s had enough of- and he’s sure the training dummies had too. Every damn night these past days he’s been punching his knuckles bloody, hoping it would satiate his restlessness. It didn’t.

And as for sex… he didn’t- well he didn’t not want that but that’s not where he wanted to start. He always threw himself into hookups or fiery flings that burned out too quickly, leaving embers he didn’t care for. He didn’t want that with you. He wanted to be genuine, slow, proper. And he had no idea how. He didn’t like not being good at things.

Your eyes stay on him, forcing his head to turn back to you. Your expression is unreadable, his fingers curling beneath the table before he rapidly stands up. You almost jolt at the action, the floor creaking from his weight as he stalks over to you and Soap, grumbling something.

Soap leaves, Simon trying to casually lean his elbows on the bar. “Just gonna wait for the pints” he tells you, then his jaw ticks because why did he say that? You probably don’t give a fuck what he’s doing there.

You smile softly, intrigued. “How’s your shoulder?”

It startled him, his head whipping to yours like you said something totally out of sorts. His shoulder? Right— It takes him way too long to answer.

“Fine. You did a good job. As always,” he said gruffly, looking down at the chipped wood of the bar, drumming his fingers impatiently.

“You look good.” The words slip past his lips, eyes quickly giving you a once over.

“I know.” He looks at you, sees a small glint in your eyes and the smile you smother. He wants to groan out loud at the sight.

A dry, almost laugh escapes him, shaking his head softly. “F’course you do.”

There’s a long, awkward silence where you both look anywhere but at each other, spines straightening, then slumping, then you both look at the bartender to keep busy.

He places your drink in front of you, three pints clattering in front of Simon. Neither of you move to take them.

“So I’m gonna go” Simon rumbles and turns, the pints clutched in his hands. He was overheating, fumbling in ever possible way he could and he couldn’t take it. You opened your mouth but he was already halfway across the room.

The pints rattle as he sits down. “So?” Soap asks as he leans forward. Simon grumbled that this isn fucking high school. But it’s not Soap he’s mad at. It’s himself. He had you right there.

You can’t focus the rest of the evening, laughing hollowly and sipping your drink with disinterest. Did he not find you interesting? It was so hard to read him that you started to doubt if he was playing with you. Maybe this was just the way he… was.

You hadn’t noticed everyone going out for a smoke. You hadn’t noticed the way he looked at you through the window like some kind of fucking stalker, only the glow from his cigarette giving colour to his shadow.

You down the rest of your drink, pulling your coat around you. The night is crispy, air poking your cheeks like needles.

“Are you ever going to ask me out? Because if not then I’d like to know- I don’t really know if you don’t like me or if I scare you or if there’s something entirely different at play but you cannot just stare at me and expe-“ a cold, chapped pair of lips silence you. They’re gone as quickly as they came you Simon’s eyes are wide, dropping his cigarette to the ground.

“I’m sorry- do you wanna- can I ask you out? I didn’t mean to do that but you talk a lot” he said bluntly, stuttering his way through his own mortifying actions.

He kissed you. To shut up your mindless yapping he… you shake your head in disbelief.

“You are unbelievable” you say, but there’s absolutely no malice in your tone- only wonder.

“Is that a yes?” He asks, his throat feeling tight.

“Yes. It’s a good technique you have there- do you do that on everyone? Kiss them when they talk too much? I can just imagine how Soap would rea-“

He did it again, eyes closing and inhaling sharply as he covered your cold cheeks with his hands. Christ you were a talker but he didn’t mind so much, if he was allowed to quiet you like this from now on.

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purinfelix · 23 days ago

Text

you're no good for me, but baby i want you - n. riki ✶⋆.˚

summary: after growing tired of his constant teasing you made up your mind not to give Niki anymore of your attention, but you should've known that he wouldn't let you go that easily - and is willing to go to desperate measures to get you just to look at him ──── delinquent Niki x class president reader || sfw but a little suggestive, kissing/making out, so much tension like so much, enemies to lovers sorta? || w/c: 2.7k

a/n: okay i'm trying to get better at writing longer fics/ones that actually have closure bc looking back i realise i kinda always leave u guys on cliffhangers LOLL - also i rlly tried to avoid making this too cliche given the trope i hope it worked !!! actually really like this one so i hope it doesn't flop rip

‘Bad boy’ felt too cliche - at least for your liking. You preferred to refer to Niki as what he was, a delinquent, a troublemaker, someone who skipped most of his classes and spent the rest dosing off or arguing with the teacher. But no matter what you called him you were sure of one thing, he pissed you off.

To be honest, you had absolutely no interest in the sorts of things a student like him got up to in his own time, but it was the fact that he insisted on dragging you into his business that irritated you the most. You weren’t sure why exactly he kept targeting you, maybe it was because he just wanted to mess with the class president or because you seemed like an easy target to him - whatever reason he had didn’t make it any less tiring though.

Skipping classes was one thing, but his constant breaches of uniform code meant that you were running out of warning slips - and patience. It didn’t help that whenever you did, he would only look you up and down with an amused smirk, brows raised as if daring you to continue telling him off - which only worked to make you stumble over your words.

That’s why you had made the decision to stop giving him anymore of your attention, and the most recent time you had seen him sporting his signature look - no blazer, dress shirt half unbuttoned and several silver earrings, you chose to ignore him. You simply walked past him in the hallway without so much as a passing glance, hoping it would tell him to stop wasting your time and causing trouble.

Little did you know, he would misinterpret your signs to mean the exact opposite.

The next morning when you were waiting at your desk you heard a wave of hushed murmurs coming from down the hall, and couldn’t help but feel partly responsible. A loud thud sent the classroom door flying open and a couple of his friends filed in with amused grins - and it was only when Niki followed them in did you see why. Not only had he gone and messily bleached parts of his jet black hair, but he now donned a piercing straight through his right eyebrow which, judging from the pink tinge surrounding it, was both brand new and self-made.

You were unable to stop your neck from craning as your eyes followed his figure, watching as he sauntered over to his desk in the back corner of the classroom, threw his books onto it and sat down. The expression on his face showed that he couldn’t care less about being there, but his eyes trained on you as if waiting for you to make a move.

You hated that he knew you so well, because before you knew it you were out of your seat and at the head of his desk, arms folded with a stern expression on your face. You can’t remember exactly what you said but it must’ve been harsh, and loud enough to summon the attention of almost the entire class, and your teacher who stormed into the classroom shortly after to tell the two of you off. It must’ve also been harsh enough to earn the two of you an after-school detention, which was your very first - though it clearly wasn’t Niki’s.

So that’s how the two of you had ended up alone, in an empty, hot classroom - waiting as the minutes of your detention ticked by agonisingly slowly. Irritated was an understatement. It was taking every ounce of self-control you had not to turn around and punch Niki right there and then. You kept your fuming to yourself, at least for now though, while you worked silently on an assignment, determined to at least make good use of being stuck here for the next hour or so - even if it meant spending it in a tense silence.

Niki didn’t seem to share the same sentiment, having sat himself in the chair right beside yours and kicked his feet up on the desk, twirling a pen in one hand as he hummed softly to himself. You were trying your best to ignore him, and he was trying his best to make that very difficult.

“What are you working on?” he asked curiously as he leaned in over your shoulder.

“Just an assignment,” you shot back curtly.

“Ah of course, what a goody-two shoes,” he scoffed as he sat back.

“Rather a goody-two shoes than a good-for-nothing delinquent,” you mumbled under your breath, though not quiet enough to escape his ears.

“A delinquent? Is that really what you think of me?” he asked in faux-offence, “I’m hurt.” You turned slightly, just enough to see the dramatic pout he had formed across his lips, his brows curving upwards and his piercing going with it.

“Whatever,” you huff, feeling both irritation and exhaustion rise in you, “it’s your fault we’re here in the first place anyways.”

“Oh yeah, my fault that you started a petty argument.”

“Your fault for dyeing your hair that stupid colour and getting that piece of metal jammed in your face!” You cry out, fully facing him now as you felt your face burning hot, “I mean seriously, all I did was ignore you once, and you go ahead and did something ridiculous like that?” Gesturing to his piercing and new hair, you can’t help but feel even more infuriated at the sight of his smirk which only grew as he watched you from half-lidded eyes.

“What makes you think I did it for you?” He asks teasingly, and you suddenly feel your bravado begin to crumble - he’s right, who are you to assume that?

“Well, I-” you stutter, but he interrupts you.

“Well maybe I did,” he laughs softly, “that depends on whether you like it or not.”

“That is so besides the point, Niki,” you whine, “it’s against uniform policy.”

“Oh c’mon, you think it’s a little cool,” he taunts, and you turn back around in your seat, chewing your bottom lip as you’re determined not to give him a response which you’re sure will only fuel his ego.

You sit in silence for a bit, and you can tell he’s watching you carefully in the way he leans in, keen eyes trained on your expression - almost as if he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking. But that’s a challenge even you’re struggling with right now.

He’s the one to break the silence again. “I am sorry about getting you a detention though, that wasn’t what I meant to do.” You blink in disbelief because for the very first time, he sounds almost as if he really means what he’s saying.

“Is that an apology?” you say, gasping to show your surprise, though this quickly dissolved into a soft laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it get to your head,” he sighs, “I just couldn’t sit here and watch you sulk for the next hour.”

You can’t help but smile to yourself, feeling the tension between the two of you melt away at his apology, just enough for you to want to keep talking to him - even if it means neglecting your homework, for now. Your eyes move over his face, his sharp jaw, his eyebrow piercing glinting under the warm classroom light.

“Did it hurt?”

It’s a stupid question, you know, but it’s the only thing you can think to ask as you fiddle nervously in your seat. If you’re being completely honest, you do think it’s cool, you’ve always thought his piercing were cool - and right now you want nothing more than to reach out and feel them for yourself. But your common sense stops you.

“Well, duh,” he scoffs, sitting back in his seat as his eyes fix on yours, “figured a smart-ass like you would’ve been able to guess that.”

“Just asking,” you grumble defensively, though your curiosity urges you to keep talking. “If it hurt, why’d you do it?”

“Well, you like it, don’t you?” He asks, “that’s all the reason I need.”

You’re tempted to tell him off again, but something about his tone catches you off guard - it’s oddly earnest, and he says it with such a simplicity that makes you really believe that maybe he’s telling the truth and you’re unable to find the resolve to spoil this moment

“Can I feel it?”

He’s almost as shocked by your request as you are, and even as it leaves your mouth you’re unsure entirely why you’re asking it. His eyes widen in a way that you can’t help but find a little cute, even as you’re struggling to process your own thoughts.

“Sure,” he replies, a little too quickly, almost as if he had been waiting for you to ask him that, but can’t believe you actually did. You turn in your chair to face him, your arms coming up awkwardly to bridge the distance between you both but it’s clear you’re still too far.

You’re about to lean forward more in your seat to reach him, until you notice his hand coming down to grip the leg of your chair and it isn’t until you feel yourself moving and hear the faint screech of the legs against the floor that you realise that he’s pulling it - pulling you closer to him.

Once you’re close enough he stops, though his hand doesn’t leave the back of your chair, instead resting there as if trapping you in with him as he leans down as that his face is level with yours. You try not to overthink the way your knees are touching, or how this is your first time seeing him this close and how he’s even better looking up close. Carefully, you bring your hand and pray that he doesn’t notice the way it trembles, as your thumb grazes his thick brow gently. Even though you wish he didn’t, he keeps his eyes open and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you as your fingers close around the small metal ball.

“It’s cold,” you mumble, not sure what else to say to fill the air between you two.

“It’s metal,” he says matter-of-factly, letting out a small laugh at your fascination with it.

“You didn’t need to to do this just to get my attention, you know,” your eyes focus on the piercing as you speak, unable to look him in the eyes when admitting something that feels like a confession.

“I had to get you to look at me somehow.” You’re again amazed at how he can say such earnest things with such a serious face, and even as you look away you know his eyes are on you.

“Most people would’ve just said hi or something, not put a brand new hole in their face,” you sigh, fingers moving to tuck a stray strand of bleached hair behind his ear.

“Well most people wouldn’t be here now with you touching their face, so by my standards my plan worked better.”

“Did that plan have to include getting me my first-ever detention?” You ask in annoyance, though you can’t help but laugh softly at his simplicity.

“Well, not at first,” he admits, “but at least we’re alone, hm?”

“Because you need me alone to talk to me?”

“No, because I need you alone to do this.”

You’re pretty sure if you weren’t already leaning towards him you would’ve fallen backwards from the forceful way his lips crash into yours - and if not from that then the sheer shock of just that. Luckily for you though, he already has an arm snaked around your waist, keeping a hold of you and pulling you closer.

It shocks you though that, despite the initial force, Niki’s kiss is gentle, almost as if he’s easing you into something he knows you’re struggling to accept. He’s experienced, that’s for sure, but you can tell in his movements that he’s holding back from pushing you any further.

You don’t even realise it but your hands are cupping his face, caressing his strong jawline and pulling him closer to you. You open your mouth to talk but the only noise that comes out is a breathy gasp and if you weren’t so caught up in the feeling of his hands in your hair you might’ve stopped to feel embarrassed about how desperate you sound for him right now.

“Niki,” you mumble against his lips, unsure of what to do as you feel your mind struggle to comprehend what’s happening.

“Want me to stop?” he says in between heavy breaths, and even though it sounds like a taunt you know him well enough to know he’s being serious.

You shake your head in response, but decide to have a little fun of your own while you can. “When have you ever cared what I want?”

“Oh, you have no clue,” he hums in a low whisper as he leans back in.

“And when have you ever listened to what I’ve told you to do?”

“You’re right about that,” he smirks, pressing his lips to yours again, this time with the reckless abandon you’ve come to expect from him - almost as if he was waiting for your permission to let go. You thought you would’ve felt a little predictable, pathetic even, for having fallen so easily into his trap and giving him much more than just your attention at this point. But from the way his hands roam your body, grasping for more of you as he whines against your lips you smile to yourself at the realisation that really, he’s the one who’s fallen into your trap.

This sense of control is what finally calms your mind, even if it still struggles with just how ‘wrong’ all of this sounds against how right his lips on yours feel. The sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway however forces you to tear yourself away from him, though his hands don’t leave your body as you strain to figure out who it might be.

“Shit, it’s the teacher,” you say under your breath, pulling away from him to smooth down your skirt. Niki clearly doesn’t care, but still lets out a soft sigh as he hangs his head, leaning back in his chair.

“Tomorrow,” you continue suddenly, “I want the eyebrow piercing and the bleached hair gone.” You know you’re being harsh, but you also know that, given what just happened, you can’t afford to be nice.

“Wh-” he says suddenly, looking at you in disbelief, “I thought you liked them though.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say firmly, “they’re still breaking like ten different uniform rules.”

“Just when I thought I’d finally broken your guard down,” he groans.

“Well, they’ve served their purpose already, haven’t they?” you taunt lightly, bringing a hand up to swipe at your bottom lip which you can feel is a little plump from him biting it. His eyes watch attentively as you do, and he lets out a soft laugh followed by a nod in agreement.

“You’re right,” he exhales, “but now I’m thinking if I keep them in I might keep getting lucky.”

“Niki,” you sigh.

“I mean, maybe if I had a reward for following rules I might feel more motivated,” he hums, looking away as he feigns innocence.

You pause, thinking to yourself for just long enough. “I’ll be studying in the library after school, maybe if you do as I say I’ll let you join me.”

“Studying? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll be there,” he laughs, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile - one that you can’t help but share even as the same teacher who gave you both this detention comes in to tell you you’re free to go.

You watch as he swings his bag over one shoulder coolly, tossing you his signature smirk - only this time, it doesn’t just annoy you, it lingers, sticking to your thoughts in a way you don’t want to admit. Because you know you should be mad, you should roll your eyes and remind yourself that he’s still the same infuriating troublemaker. But as he walks away the only thing you find yourself wondering is if he’ll actually show up tomorrow, and worse, if a part of you wants him to.

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itoshiexx · 4 months ago

Text

when you're mad and use their full name

how the blue lock boyfriends react when you're mad and use their full name

pairings: isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro and itoshi sae x gn!reader (separate) | warnings: little arguments, angst if u squint, reader is kinda hot headed? lol, mostly fluff and the boys wanting to be in your good graces.

notes: did i kick depression in the ass to finish this? not really. but it worked, and here i am! this is my nagi seishiro debut omgggg hopefully i did him justice and he's not too ooc. also new design for the scenarios to match my theme. enjoy, lovelies! let me know if you'd like especific scenarios and send me an ask :)

masterlist

ISAGI YOICHI

yoichi hoped he would die.

really.

it’s the least he deserved for making you angry — even more so because he didn’t know what made you angry in the first place. he spent the last fifteen minutes excavating his mind to try and remember what could have ticked you off so much that you don’t even wanna look at him.

he hates it. isagi needs your eyes on him, needs to hear your voice and touch your skin. and with the way you’re so silent and distant, he might be just like a man in the desert without water.

“baby,” he looked at you on the other end of the couch, intently watching the tv show in front of you. just a glimpse would make him breathe again. just a nod would ease his nerves. hell, he would even take a glare, as long as you were looking at him.

but he got nothing. zero. nada.

“baby, please,” he tried again. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to make you mad.”

you furrowed your eyebrows, but still didn’t spare him a glance. he sighed.

“i’ll never do it agai—”

“do you even know why you’re apologizing, isagi yoichi?!” you asked, exasperated. your boyfriend froze on the spot when hearing his full name, because of course he didn’t.

as far as he knew, you were having a great day together. he bought you breakfast from your favorite bakery, you made a delicious lunch and then you two went out shopping. he even gifted you with a beautiful necklace after an enthusiastic shop employee offered to show him some pieces—

oh.

“you got jealous of the saleswoman?”

“blah blah you got jealous of the saleswoman? heck yeah I did!” you impersonated him with a high pitched, sarcastic voice that showed just how mad you were. “she was all over you, yoichi, and you didn’t do anything!”

he swallowed thickly, daring to approach you on the couch. he hugged your frame, despite the crossed arms in front of your chest making it a little hard.

“i’m sorry, darling. i didn’t even notice she was being inappropriate because you’re the only one i pay attention to. and i always figured people would never dare be so bold if you’re by my side and we’re clearly together.”

his sweet words coated you, making you glance away, knowing that looking at his puppy eyes would end you for good.

“you should have done something anyway.”

“i know. i totally should, and i’m sorry i didn’t. i never meant to make you feel bad or let people disrespect you.” he rested his chin on your shoulder, breath shuddering right on your ear.

the sincerity in his voice was enough to chip away your anger, and you visibly relaxed in his embrace. yoichi held a breath of relief, knowing he still had to be careful.

“i’m sorry, baby. it won’t happen again. forgive me, please?” he placed a sweet kiss on your cheek, and god, how could you keep being mad like that?

damn isagi yoichi and his genuine blue eyes.

you uncrossed your arms, embracing his instead, and finally looked at him with love again.

“fine. but just because you’re so charming, ‘ichi.”

he chuckled. “you’re the charming one. i’m totally under your spell, darling.”

and when your lips met, yoichi hoped to keep living just to have more of you.

NAGI SEISHIRO

people would often ask him if his detached, nonchalant persona ever got in his way through his life. seishiro would always say no, because everything and everyone he did care about understood his lazy way and inability to do… pretty much everything.

that didn’t mean he never made the effort, though. as much as nagi liked to live like a sloth and just go on with his life playing video games, there were still things in his life that were worth it. like football. his friends. and you, of course.

ever since you met, seishiro discovered that being with you wasn’t a bother. and after he fell in love and you became a couple, he found himself eager to indulge you, even if it meant going out of his way. his friends congratulated him and expressed genuine happiness to see how much he improved, and that, along with your beautiful smile, filled his heart with joy.

however, no matter how much he tried, he was still…

“nagi seishiro.”

a shiver ran down his spine with the sound of your voice, and not the good kind. he had never heard you sound so stern, so angry, so… disappointed, even. enough to leave a sour taste in his mouth. so much so he immediately lifted his eyes from his console, only to find your harsh gaze.

“ehh? wha’ did i do, angel? don’t say my name like that,” he pouted, crawling towards your body splayed on the bed.

even when you tried to fight his embrace, nagi took advantage of his large frame to engulf you and lay his head on your chest, so you wouldn’t walk away in case you got any angrier.

“babeeeee,” he whined, hugging you tighter.

“let go of me,” you said, and he just shook his head. “you deserve it. you weren’t even listening to what i was saying, were you?”

what a hassle. he really wasn’t listening, but… well, he got way too focused on beating the last boss. could you really blame him?

he heard you scoff. “oh, my bad, i should have known it was the last boss. it’s more important than me anyway, right, nagi?”

fuck. fuck. fuck. did he say that out loud? he sounded like a dick. you had every right to be mad and call him by his full or last name.

nagi lifted his head from your chest to look at you, feeling his throat tighten with the sight of your teary eyes. guilt gnawed at his chest when seeing how upset and frustrated you were.

“eh, ’m sorry, pretty thing. i got too caught up ‘n didn’t notice you were talking t’me.”

“am i that invisible to you?” a tear almost rolled down your cheek. seishiro shook his head, a little more exasperated than usual.

“huh? ’f course not, angel. y’re never invisible. all i see is you. y’re the most important to me,” he held eye contact, and even though you wanted to tear your gaze away, seishiro’s eyes were more magnetizing than ever, even if your view was a little blurry.

you knew your boyfriend wasn’t the type to lie, since he always claimed it was a hassle. you knew you were important to him, but his lack of consideration still hurt.

“i’ll apologize as many times as you wish. ‘m sorry for not listening and making you feel bad. i never wan’ you to feel bad, pretty thing.”

nagi used his strength to roll around and switch your positions, in a way you were on top of him instead. he started caressing your hair in a soothing motion, making your eyelashes flutter. “y’can talk as much as you want. i promise i’ll listen t’you.”

your eyes welled with tears for a different reason, and you hugged the striker as hard as you could. even if he faltered, seishiro never failed to make up to you and make you feel loved.

“promise, sei?”

“promise.”

ITOSHI SAE

although sae wasn’t exactly smart in the emotions field, he always knew when you weren’t happy with something. you scowled, huffed and rolled your eyes, keeping an eerie silence that was only broken when absolutely necessary.

at that moment, he was sure you weren’t happy with him.

you both kept to yourselves while still at the event, masquerading any problems for the cameras. sae had a hand at the small of your back and he could feel how stiff you were. the midfielder wouldn't admit that seeing you so uncomfortable around him made his heart pang.

at the limo, the path to your shared penthouse was quiet, and you brushed him off when he tried to hold your hand. sae could only stare at his window with furrowed brows, itching to dissipate this awkward atmosphere. he never liked when you were mad, especially at him.

he expected some sort of explosion when you got to your apartment, but you kept your glaze off him, trying to walk to the bedroom for your night routine without even sparing him a word.

nuh-uh. that wouldn’t do.

he held your wrist before you could go, and lightly pulled you so that you were facing him. your eyes widened with the sudden movement, but narrowed as soon as landed on his face.

“why are you mad?”

you scoffed. the audacity of this man.

“you know exactly why i’m mad, itoshi sae.”

shit, the government name? you were really fucking angry.

“i wouldn’t be asking if i knew,” he answered, immediately regretting it when you glared at him, as if saying that wasn’t the right answer. “i-i mean… i didn’t realize what was wrong, amor.”

you walked closer to your boyfriend, making him release your wrist. despite his typical stoic face, sae was clinging to your every word.

“itoshi sae, you can not talk to your little brother like that!” you nearly growled on his face, surprising him. “you were very rude and condescending, and that’s no way to speak to rin!”

he frowned. you were mad because of rin? the little green monster inside of him threatened to grow, but he forced him to stay put. sae didn’t want to anger you further, so he simply let his hands slither to your hips, pulling you closer to him.

“i don’t think i was rud—” you lifted one eyebrow, and he rolled his eyes. “fine. i might have been kinda harsh.”

“and?” you crossed your arms.

he sighed. “i will apologize.”

“i’m serious about this, itoshi sae. i will ask rin—”

“i’ll tell him i’m sorry, okay? no need to keep talking about rin.” he interrupted, palms traveling to your ass while he nosed your neck. he planted a small kiss under your ear, huffing a minty breath that made you shudder. sae smirked. “and no need to keep calling me by full name, either. what happened to ‘cariño’?”

you held onto his biceps for some grounding, but still didn’t budge.

“you weren’t very sweet today, so it’s not fitting.”

he pouted while hiding in your neck, taking full advantage that you couldn’t see him, but was quick to withdraw to face you once again, touching your noses. one of his hands cradled your jaw, and you sighed with the pathetic effect your boyfriend had on you.

“perdóname, amor?” he whispered against your lips, eyes sincere like you knew he could be. your poor little heart could never resist him when he was like this, rarely vulnerable and eager for you.

you gave a long exhale, arms moving to tangle around his neck. and folded.

“as long as you make it right, mi cariño.”

if you like my writing and would like to support me, you can 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ! any amount is welcomed and very appreciated! ♥

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seravphs · 1 month ago

Text

battle of wills

Sae wants to act funny, but he doesn’t know you’re about to act hilarious.

wc — 2.7k

tags — romantic mind games, thinking of Sae like a predator that plays with his food, jealousy, possessiveness

“I don’t care who you fuck,” he says with a shrug. “We’re not dating.”

Your hands still on the collar of his shirt that you’re smoothing down. It’s ten minutes before your dinner reservation, which means you’re going to be late, but you know the maître d' so it should be fine. It would be, if Sae didn’t insist on opening his fat mouth once a week to try to break your heart so he can prove to himself that he’s not invested.

He’s not fooling anyone. You know you have him, hook, line, and sinker. When you made that joke about getting Kaiser’s number, it was just a joke. You didn’t even say you wanted to sleep with him! Sae came up with that implication all by himself.

You have three options and only a few seconds to decide. Sweat beads on your forehead. You can practically see the timer run out, like an imaginary game with a big fat red buzzer letting you know you failed.

You can:

a) say “we’re not dating?” in a whiny little broken voice and make it obvious you liked Sae more than he liked you

b) sit in silence and make it awkward like you are currently doing

c) fuck around and find out

So you only have one option, really. You’re not a coward, so it can’t be b, and you’d rather choke on your fancy steak tonight and die then ever let a man think he played you and got away with it.

“Cool,” you say. “I’ll let Kaiser know he has your permission.”

You’re joking, but you don’t think he is.

“Cool,” Sae replies, but he’s so disinterested that you think he didn’t even hear the last half of your sentence.

Dinner is great even though Sae is an asshole because he somehow still makes it fun to be with him. Your friends all ask you why you want him. They don’t see what you see; they think you’re just after the football fame, the fortune, the model like beauty.

You’re a little more twisted than that.

When you press your patent heel up against Sae’s calf, he doesn’t even flinch. He takes a long, slow draught of water - because he doesn’t drink alcohol, which is deliriously sexy to you for some reason - and raises an eyebrow at you. Everything about him is cool and collected, even when you inch higher and higher until you’re practically right between his legs.

His hand slips under the table, grabs your ankle, and repositions it on his lap. He doesn’t spare a thought for how your dirty shoes are on his nice slacks. When you try to retract your foot because this is dangerous, this is not what you expected, his hand locks you in place.

He holds your eye across the table. You wanted this, his eye contact says. Be good and take it.

Sae is hard to read.

He can be so apathetic, so indifferent to your words, and then draw warm, lazy circles on your pulse with his thumb. He looks mildly amused when your brain short circuits in the middle of your sentence, every neuron redirected to the feeling of his hand on your ankle, soaking in heat from his palm.

You want to pull him apart and see what makes him tick. For you, love is almost like dissection. You want to be able to know him so intimately no one else will ever be able to say they come close.

Although he apparently doesn’t feel the same about you.

Knowing Sae is a rare privilege all in itself. You thought you were content. When you first met him, that’s all it was: fun. You liked pulling him apart and putting him back together, figuring out which parts of Sae were real and which were a front. But now, after a few months, you’re hooked. It’s become more than a game. It’s an addiction.

The more he rejects you, the more you want him.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this pathetic in your life. You’ve never chased anyone the way you’ve done for him.

It’s killing you to think about the numbers he’s done on your reputation. Your friends already think you’re whipped.

You’re afraid to admit they’re right, and that’s the real reason you’re upset about what he said earlier. You never thought you were dating but you thought -

Ugh. You don’t know why you expected him to care.

Sae is, if an asshole, also a gentleman, so he pays for dinner and sends you home in an Uber on his card.

You smile pleasantly until you get into the car and then you’re practically tearing your hair out. You need to make him regret this.

So obviously the question now is who would make Sae the sickest to find out you got with? Who would have that man holding his stomach in tears?

Shidou is too obvious and also you doubt that Sae would care. In a funny way, Shidou is the least you can do to him.

Oliver? No, he’s too much of a slut. This needs to be a hit and run, an attack, but targeted. Aiku is just too easy to make Sae feel anything besides mild annoyance that you fucked his captain.

You’d have to butter Kaiser up before you even got near him, and besides, Sae didn’t even react when you brought him up earlier.

Your brain flinches away from Rin’s face when it pops up in your brain like you touched a hot stove, a solid rejection you don’t even have to think about.

No.

It hurts too much. You’re angry but you still care about Sae. This is-

You want to piss him off, not hurt him irrevocably. Dating Rin right after not-dating him would be something the two of you couldn’t come back from.

Even if Sae likes to pretend he’s not sensitive when it comes to his little brother, you know better.

Back to the drawing board.

The most important part is that Sae can’t know you’re trying to make him jealous, so it has to come up organically. You’re aiming for a teammate because you need someone who will talk about it in Sae’s locker room, someone who can get it to Sae without making it too obvious.

All paths lead to Oliver Aiku.

Unfortunately.

You don’t even know if this is going to work.

“Just so you know,” you tell him, “you weren’t my first choice.”

“Aw, why?” He asks. “You don’t think I’ll get Sae mad enough?”

“Are you kidding me? If anything, he’s going to think I’ve lowered my standards! He’s not going to regret losing me, he’s going to think that I’m so pathetic his little rejection sent me off the deep end!”

“But then he’ll be right,” Oliver says. “Considering he did lower your standards and send you off the deep end. You’re standing in my living room right now, aren’t you?”

You squint at him. “And I can walk right back out, so don’t test me.”

“Don’t be like that,” Oliver purrs. “I’m great at making men jealous.”

“I’m not sure that’s something to be proud of.”

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I’m going to take you somewhere your man couldn’t even dream of taking you.”

“Oliver, this is a Wendy’s.”

“Sae would never dream of taking you here,” he shrugs. “Wow, good bite! You’re great at eating.”

“Okay, one, that’s a weird thing to say, and two, I’m going to go find someone else if you can’t help me. I know you can’t help yourself but since I’m your friend, I thought at the very least, you would try not to waste my time.”

“Yeesh, calm down-“

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”

“My bad,” he says cheerfully. “Trust me, I have a plan.”

“I don’t trust you,” you say pointedly, narrowing your eyes at him.

He ignores you. “What makes a man angrier than thinking you moved on?”

“Moving on with his rival?”

“Close. Thinking he never had you. See, Sae takes you on these fancy dates to high end restaurants and museums and what not. But you know how he is. He’s with you but he’s not really with you. You gotta beat him at his own game. Let him think that you were just indulging him when really this is what you want.” He scoots his chair closer to you until you can practically feel the warmth of him radiating through his thin shirt. His cologne smells like jasmine, a strangely delicate scent for him. “Make him feel like he never really knew you, because I’m the one who does.”

You breathe in the scent of his feminine cologne, stalling. It would be so easy to listen to Oliver. It would be so easy to let him in your heart. He knows what to say and when to say it.

In a way, he does know you.

Familiarity is unavoidable with time, and you’ve been friends of circumstance for ages.

“You just wanted an excuse to take me to Wendy’s,” you say with a fake laugh that is so perfected, you can only pick up the stilted quality of it if you really, really listen.

He pulls out of your space a little, a smile playing on his lips. “You know me so well. That too.”

Oliver knows you a little too well. He says the right things at the right times because he’s telling you what you want to hear.

Are you destined to be toyed with by beautiful football players?

In the car on the way back to your house, Oliver texts you. “Get him back for me, playa.”

In the locker room, Oliver doesn’t start the conversation because that would be too obvious. He’s a respectful man, he doesn’t kiss and tell. It would be out of character for him to start bringing up last night’s exploits and Sae would catch on instantaneously.

He waits until Sendou, not subtly, tries to ask him who that pretty girl he posted last night was.

“Are you sure that was a girl? Aiku never posts who he’s with. It was probably his sister.”

Oliver doesn’t see who said that, but he doesn’t take offense. Again, he doesn’t kiss and tell. Whoever he’s with is a secret.

He lets them simmer for a little bit more before he casually drops your name, saying it was just a friendly meal. Out of the corner of his eye, Sae stops putting on his shirt.

“I’ll say,” Sendou says. “You took her to Wendy’s? That’s foul even for you.”

“Maybe she likes Wendy’s,” Aiku says. “You don’t know her.”

Although that last part isn’t really directed at Sendou.

It’s rare for Sae to willingly open social media, but here he is, scrolling through Oliver’s story. Your face is never in any of the pictures, but he can tell. You’re-

His brain stutters to a halt.

You’re wearing the necklace he bought you on a date with another man.

There’s only one picture left in Oliver’s stories from last night, but of course that demon would’ve saved the best for last. It’s a simple shot. You’re sitting outside somewhere, under the stars. His hand is holding yours from across the table, your arm stretched out towards him. It’s the only one with a sliver of your face in it, the edge of a sweet, tender smile.

Sae doesn’t fight. He’s not the type. But over you?

He fights the only way he knows how. Through football.

When Sae calls you after practice, you fumble your phone so hard it drops out of your hands and into the sink. You had fun with Oliver last night, but deep down, you didn’t really think Sae would care, as much as you wanted him to. It’s just the way he is.

By the time you fish your phone out, it’s making strange noises and unable to return Sae’s call. You don’t feel like going out today after your wild night - crying onto Aiku’s shoulder through mouthfuls of French fries - so you resolve to pick a new one up tomorrow.

Sae will wait. He’s very patient.

Sae shows up on your doorstep within thirty minutes of your denied call. He lives twenty minutes away, if he speeds.

Now he’s sitting in your living room, drinking water from your favorite mug while you squirm uncomfortably. He, on the other hand, seems content to sit in silence.

“You hung out with Aiku last night,” he says.

Now that he’s actually in the room, you feel like you did something wrong. It’s insane how much influence Sae has over you. He hurt you, but retaliation somehow feels like getting caught with your hand in a cookie jar.

“Yes,” you mumble.

“Hm? Speak up.”

“So what if I did?”

Sae raises an eyebrow. “Nothing. I don’t mind who you hang out with.”

“Fine,” you say. “Guess I’ll hang out with him again. Since you don’t care.”

His mouth curls into a smile behind his mug. That motherfucker. It’s ticking you off. He’s so in control of himself, so smug and pleased and -

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

“You know, since you care so much- huh?”

“Do you want to start dating?” He rephrases patiently.

You stammer for a bit before you’re able to reply coherently. “I thought you didn’t want to.”

“Did I say that?”

“Yes,” you hiss. “You made it very clear.”

“I don’t remember saying that,” he says and sets his mug down. When he stands, terror rises in you. He’s coming over. He’s sitting back on his haunches in front of you on the couch, eye to eye. “I just said that we weren’t dating. But I’d like to.”

“You only want me because I was with another man,” you say faintly. You’re trying to act cute, playful, but you’re not sure it’s working. There’s not enough blood going to your brain.

“You want me to beg, don’t you?”

You can’t deny how excited that makes you. Part of it is the way he says it, his voice slow and measured, deepening near the end. Part of it is just hearing ‘beg’ come out of Sae’s mouth.

“Okay, then. You don’t like Wendy’s.”

God, you hate men. Who cares about Wendy’s? Why do they always argue about this? Oliver and Sae both-

“You like the places we go. You like,” he tugs lightly on your necklace in a way that stops just shy of stinging. “The way I spoil you.” He pushes you back onto the couch and leans over you. “You like the way I know,” his nose brushes over the carotid artery in your neck, “what makes you feel good.”

“So I can beg if you want me to.” He’s all in your space, filling it up. All you can smell and feel and see is Sae. You feel paralyzed by his eyes. Devoured whole. “I can get on my knees for you and let you put a leash around my neck and promise that you can have anything you want from me. But let’s not pretend that you want anyone else but me.”

Okay. So maybe you do care about Wendy’s.

“Aiku thinks he knows you,” Sae says, his voice calm and easy. It’s like he’s laying out a mathematical formula instead of confessing his love, but it’s so Sae. “He doesn’t. I know you.”

You whimper.

Sae laughs dryly.

You don’t sleep in your own bed that night. Sae drives you both back to his apartment, insists on brushing your teeth for you with the toothbrush he bought for you, and does your skincare routine before he tucks you into bed.

You’re half asleep when he says, “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

“Huh?” You mumble, facedown in his pillow. It smells like him.

Sae leans over so he can kiss your forehead. When he whispers, it’s directly in your ear. “You think you tied me down, huh?”

You’re wide awake now. “Obviously,” you snap back, annoyed that he’s still trying to play these games. You know he’s not indifferent to you, you just wish he would-

“No, dear,” Sae says. The pet name sends chills down your spine. “I trapped you.”

#sera writes #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae fluff #itoshi sae x y/n #itoshi sae x you #blue lock fluff #blue lock x reader

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peavhyshy · 4 months ago

Text

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ - AFRAID

ᯓᡣ𐭩 paring ─ ୨୧ ─ dark!boyfriend!rafe cameron ⋆ reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 summary ─ ୨୧ ─ in which Rafe hatches a plan to ensure you stay by his side, by making you dependent on him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 warnings ─ ୨୧ ─ explicit language noncon/dubcon, smut, rafe drugs reader, substance abuse, toxic relationship, emotional abuse, baby trapping/forced pregnancy, possessiveness, controlling behaviors, threats of violence, loss of virginity, corruption, breeding kink, dirty talk (like a lot), abandonment issues, manipulation, rough sex, hairpulling, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, powerplay, choking, semi public sex, car sex, creampie (please dni if your sensitive to these topics your mental health should come first)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 wc ─ ୨୧ ─ 8,960

⋆˚✿˖° a/n ─ ୨୧ ─ is there a plot not really, it may seem long but 80% of this is smut. this is unrelated but i think his season 1 & 2 rafe hair were elite to me but I just hate buzz cuts on everyone so my opinion doesn't matter here. The ‘Lila’ is now edited I use it as a placeholder (because for some reason I hate putting y/n while writing) before I replace it with y/n but of course my dumbass forgot to do that when I published this.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔.:･Afraid･:.ೃ࿔.⋆❀°

(༝༚༝༚ lana del rey)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Outer Banks Masterlist ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Navigation ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Rafe sits across from you at your usual table in the country club, his jaw clenching rhythmically as he watches you flip through the college applications. His fingers drum against the polished wooden table, creating a nervous pattern that matches his increasing anxiety. The sight of all those prestigious university names makes his stomach turn - Harvard, Yale, Princeton - each one threatening to take you further away from Outer Banks, from him. He barely touches his plate of steak, too preoccupied with the growing unease in his chest.

"Why the fuck are you even looking at schools that far?" He snaps suddenly, his voice carrying a sharp edge as he reaches across to snatch one of your fries, popping it into his mouth with more force than necessary. His blue eyes darken with barely contained irritation, especially when he catches Topper's wave from across the room. He returns it with a curt nod, his attention immediately returning to you. "You know there's perfectly good schools right here in North Carolina. UNC's got a decent program."

You glance up from your binder, your eyes meeting Rafe's intense blue ones. You set down your fork carefully on your half-eaten Caesar salad, a soft sigh escaping your lips. The sunlight streaming through the country club's windows catches on your hair, creating a halo effect around your skin. "Baby, we've talked about this," you say gently, "These schools have amazing programs for what I want to study. And it's not like I'm making any decisions yet - I'm just looking at options."

The afternoon sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows catches on his rings as he reaches up to run a hand through his disheveled hair, a telltale sign of his growing agitation. The country club bustles around them with the usual crowd of Kooks - women in tennis whites gossiping over martinis, men in polo shirts discussing their latest yacht purchases. But Rafe's focus remains fixed on those damned college applications, his jaw working overtime as he grinds his teeth.

The cocaine from earlier isn't helping his paranoia, making his thoughts race faster than he can process them. The idea of you leaving, of losing control over this one good thing in his life, sends a fresh wave of anxiety through his system. His free hand unconsciously reaches up to rub at his chest, a nervous tick he's developed. The country club suddenly feels too small, too confined, and he can feel his breathing getting slightly erratic. "Just... just put those away for now," he demands, trying to maintain his composure despite the rising panic in his chest. "We're supposed to be having lunch, not planning your fucking escape route."

You reach across the table with your free hand, your fingers brushing against his chest where he's rubbing anxiously. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something sharper - probably remnants of whatever he'd been doing before lunch - fills your nostrils as you lean closer. "Rafe, you're spiraling again," you observe quietly, mindful of the other diners around them. Your eyes flick briefly to Topper and his mother as they pass, offering a polite smile before returning your attention to your increasingly agitated boyfriend. "And you know that's not fair. I'm not trying to escape anything, especially not you."

"Besides," he continues, his tone taking on that manipulative edge he's so good at, "You really want to leave all this behind? The island, the parties, me?" He leans forward, lowering his voice to that dangerous whisper he uses when he's trying to get his way. "You know I can't follow you out there. I've got responsibilities here, the family business..." His hand shoots out to grab your wrist, not painfully, but firmly enough to make his point. "And what about us? You're going to throw away what we have for some fancy degree you could get right here?"

The weight of his intense stare makes you shift in your seat, your sundress rustling against the plush cushions. You can see the telltale signs of his growing panic - the clenched jaw, the rapid breathing, the way his fingers keep twitching against the table. Part of you wants to close the binder, to give in like you usually do when he gets like this. But another part, the part that's been dreaming about life beyond the island since you were little, keeps your hand steady on the applications. "What about a compromise?" you suggest, your voice taking on that soothing tone you learned to use when he's on edge. "What if I apply to both - some schools here in North Carolina and some out of state? That way we have options to discuss later?"

Your free hand moves from his chest to his face, your thumb gently stroking along his clenched jaw. You can feel the tension there, the way he's grinding his teeth. The chatter of the country club fades into background noise as you focus solely on him, knowing how quickly his mood can shift when he feels cornered. "And hey," you add, your voice dropping to a whisper as you lean even closer, your lips quirking into a small smile, "No matter where I end up going, you know you're the only one I want, right? These other Kook boys could never compare to my Rafe Cameron."

The familiar weight of the promise ring he gave you three months ago sits heavy on your finger, catching the light as you move. You learned over your time together that sometimes Rafe needs this - needs to be reminded that he's your choice, that you're his. Even if the possessiveness sometimes scares you, even if his mood swings leave you walking on eggshells, you can't deny the way your heart still races when he looks at you like he is now - like you're something precious he's terrified of losing. "Can we at least look through them together? You might see something you like too."

Rafe lets go of your wrist his hand shooting out to slam your binder shut with enough force to make nearby diners jump. "Don't fucking patronize me," he growls, his voice low and threatening despite their public setting. The gentle stroke of your thumb against his jaw only heightens his agitation, like a match to gasoline. "You think I don't see what this is?" He leans forward, invading your space across the table, his blue eyes wild with a mixture of possessiveness and barely contained rage. "First it's just 'looking at options,' then suddenly you're gone, probably fucking some ivy league asshole who doesn't know you like I do." His breathing becomes more erratic, the hand on his chest pressing harder as anxiety mingles with his growing anger. The familiar scent of your perfume - usually calming - now seems to mock him with its potential absence.

"You're trying to leave me, just like everyone else. Just like my mom, just like Sarah..." His voice cracks slightly on his sister's name before hardening again. "Well, I won't fucking let you."

You tense at the sudden shift in Rafe's demeanor, your heart rate picking up as you watch him slam your binder shut. The warmth drains from your eyes, replaced by a flicker of fear you try desperately to hide. Your skin prickles with goosebumps as he invades your space, his paranoia rolling off him in waves. You’ve seen him like this before, but never quite this intense, never quite this threatening in such a public place.

"Rafe, please," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly as you glance around at the other diners who are now openly staring at them. Your sundress suddenly feels too thin, too exposed under his wild-eyed gaze. You can smell the mixture of his cologne and sweat, and see the way his pupils are dilated - clear signs he's high again. "You're making a scene. Can we please just discuss this somewhere private?"

A laugh escapes his throat at your suggestion of talking, the sound drawing more concerned glances from nearby tables. "Discuss? There's nothing to fucking discuss." His voice takes on that manipulative tone he knows works so well, mixing threat with vulnerability. "You belong here, with me. Do you think any of those places are gonna love you like I do? Understand you like I do?" His eyes flick to the promise ring on your finger, a visible reminder of his claim on you. "Or maybe that's what you want - to get away from the crazy boyfriend, right? Is that what this is about?"

The cocaine-fueled paranoia reaches a crescendo as he suddenly stands, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He towers over you, his presence intimidating despite the public setting. "You're not going anywhere," he declares, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he leans down close to your ear. "And if you try, I'll make sure every single one of those fancy schools loses your application. Don't test me, baby." His lips brush against your ear as he speaks, a twisted mixture of threat and affection that's purely him. "Now get your shit. We're leaving." His hand moves to grip your upper arm, ready to pull you up from your chair, his entire body vibrating with barely contained violence and possessive need.

The promise ring feels like it's burning on your finger as tears start to well up in your eyes. "I'm not trying to leave you," you plead, your voice barely above a whisper. I'm not trying to leave you, I love you, Rafe. You know I do. But you're hurting me right now." You can feel your body starting to shake, whether from fear or adrenaline, you're not sure anymore.

You let him pull you to your feet, knowing resistance will only make things worse. Your college applications lay forgotten on the table as you stumble slightly, your legs weak from the sudden movement. "Okay," you concede, your voice small and defeated. "Okay, we can go. Just... please calm down. Please." Your free hand comes up to rest on his chest again, feeling his racing heartbeat under your palm. "Let's go to your family's place and talk about this properly. Just you and me, baby. Like we always do."

Rafe feels you trembling beneath his grip, and something in your tear-filled eyes pierces through his cocaine-addled rage. His breathing is still erratic, but the feel of your hand against his racing heart starts to ground him. The familiar scent of your perfume begins to cut through the paranoid haze, reminding him of lazy mornings in his bed, of your soft sighs against his neck. His grip on your arm loosens slightly, though he doesn't let go completely.

"Fuck," he mutters, running his free hand through his disheveled hair as reality starts seeping back in. The stares of the other country club patrons finally register, and he can feel his father's disapproval even in his absence. His jaw clenches and unclenches as he struggles to regain control. "Yeah... yeah, okay. Let's go home." His voice is still rough, but the dangerous edge has dulled somewhat. He reaches past you to grab your binder, shoving it under his arm - he's not leaving it here for you to come back to later.

The walk to his truck is tense, his hand moving from your arm to the small of your back - still possessive, but less aggressive. The cocaine is making him jittery, his thoughts racing between paranoia and guilt. Once you're inside his truck, he slams his palms against the steering wheel, making you jump. "I just..." he starts, his voice cracking slightly. "I can't lose you too, baby. I can't." His blue eyes, when they meet yours, are still wild but now tinged with desperation rather than rage. "Everyone leaves. Everyone always fucking leaves."

He reaches across the center console to pull you closer, burying his face in your neck. His breathing is still uneven, but slower now as he inhales your scent. "Stay," he whispers against your skin, his voice taking on that vulnerable quality that only you get to hear. "Just... stay with me. Please." His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the soft skin there. It's the closest thing to an apology you’re likely to get from him, this moment of raw vulnerability between the storms of his temper.

Rafe paces anxiously across Topper's home gym, his footsteps echoing against the polished hardwood floors as sweat drips down his bare chest from their workout session. The late afternoon sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the expensive exercise equipment. His muscles are tense not just from lifting weights, but from the constant anxiety gnawing at his insides about your potential departure. The cocaine from earlier is still coursing through his system, making his thoughts race faster than he can process them.

"I'm telling you guys, she's fucking leaving me," he complains, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair as he continues his relentless pacing. The familiar panic starts rising in his chest again, making him rub at it absently. "All these fucking college applications... Harvard, Yale, Princeton. She's planning her escape and I can't... I can't fucking let that happen." His blue eyes are wild as they dart between Kelce and Topper, sprawled across the leather bench press seats, watching their friend's mounting distress.

Kelce exchanges a knowing look with Topper before speaking up, his voice careful as he watches Rafe's increasingly agitated movements. "Man, you need to chill. Maybe if you weren't so fucking intense about it-" Rafe's sharp laugh cuts him off, the sound bouncing off the mirrored walls. "Intense? You think I'm being intense?" Rafe's voice rises as he spins to face them, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "My girl's trying to leave the fucking state, and you're telling me to chill?"

"Well," Topper drawls, wiping his face with a monogrammed towel, "you could always do what my cousin did when his girlfriend tried to leave for college." He pauses for dramatic effect, a smirk playing on his lips. "Got her knocked up. Can't exactly go to Yale with a baby on the way, can you?" He's clearly joking, but something in Rafe's expression shifts, his eyes taking on that dangerous gleam that appears when he's formulating a plan.

"That's..." Rafe stops pacing, his mind racing with possibilities. His jaw clenches rhythmically as he processes the idea. "That's fucking perfect." He starts pacing again, but this time with purpose, his movements predatory rather than anxious. "She'd have to stay. She'd be tied to me forever." His voice takes on that obsessive quality that appears when he's fixating on something. "No more fucking college applications, no more threats of leaving. She'd be mine, completely mine."

"Dude," Kelce sits up straighter, realizing Rafe's actually considering it. "I don't think that's what Topper meant-" But Rafe's already lost in his world, his cocaine-fueled paranoia latching onto this new solution like a lifeline. "She's still a virgin too," he continues, more to himself than his friends, his rings catching the light as he gestures animatedly. "Waiting for the 'right moment' or some shit. Well, guess that moment's coming sooner than she thought."

"No, no, this could work," Rafe continues, his voice taking on that edge that suggests he's spiraling into one of his episodes. "Her parents are traditional as fuck, they'd make her keep it. And Ward's always going on about wanting grandkids to carry on the Cameron name..." He's fully pacing now, his movements jerky and aggressive as the plan solidifies in his mind. "She's been hinting about wanting to do it soon anyway. Valentine's Day is coming up..."

The gym falls silent except for the sound of Rafe's footsteps and heavy breathing. Neither Kelce nor Topper dare speak, knowing from experience that trying to talk Rafe down when he's like this - especially when he's high - is pointless and potentially dangerous. They watch as their friend works himself into a frenzy, plotting the permanent capture of his girlfriend with the same intense focus he applies to everything he wants to possess.

"It's perfect," Rafe finally declares, stopping his pacing to face his friends. His chest heaves with excited breaths, sweat making his skin shine in the fading sunlight. "She'll never leave me then. She'll have to stay here, raise our kid, be the perfect fucking family."

The thought of you, permanently his, unable to leave him, sends a rush of possessive pleasure through his system. "You guys didn't hear any of this," he suddenly stops, fixing both Kelce and Topper with a threatening stare. "Not a fucking word to anyone, got it?" His voice carries that dangerous edge that reminds them why people are scared of him, why even other Kooks think twice before crossing him.

"Jesus Christ, Rafe," Topper mutters, running a hand through his hair as he watches his friend's descent into this new obsession. "This is fucked up, even for you." But he knows that look in Rafe's eyes. Once Rafe sets his mind to something, especially when he's high, there's no talking him out of it. The gym feels smaller suddenly, charged with the energy of Rafe's newfound determination.

Rafe stands at the door of the l/n estate, his tall frame cutting an imposing figure in his tailored black suit. His blue eyes are slightly dilated from the line of cocaine he did in his truck to calm his nerves, but he's made sure to eye drop and cologne himself thoroughly. The velvet box containing the surprise he has planned for later weighs heavy in his pocket as he shifts anxiously, his rings catching the light as he reaches up to adjust his tie.

When Paul opens the door, Rafe immediately straightens his posture, forcing his most charming smile - the one he uses when he needs to impress. "Good evening, Mr. L/N," he greets, his voice steady despite the cocaine making his heart race. The older man's scrutinizing gaze reminds him uncomfortably of his own father's disapproving stares. The foyer behind Paul gleams with old money - crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and family portraits that speak of generations of Kook legacy.

"Rafe," Paul acknowledges with a slight nod, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the young man's appearance. There's something about Ward Cameron's son that has always set him on edge, though he can't quite put his finger on what. Maybe it's the occasional wild look in his eyes or the way his daughter seems to walk on eggshells around him sometimes. "Y/N is still getting ready. Come in." He steps aside, allowing Rafe into the pristine foyer.

The sound of Rafe's expensive dress shoes echoes against the marble as he enters, his hands sliding into his pockets to hide their slight tremor - partly from the drugs, partly from anticipation of what he has planned for tonight. The house smells of old money and fresh flowers, much like his own family's estate, but somehow more sterile, fitting for a plastic surgeon's home. His fingers brush against the small packet of powder in his pocket, next to the ring box - just enough to keep him steady through dinner.

"I trust you'll have her home at a reasonable hour," Paul's voice cuts through Rafe's thoughts, making him turn to face the older man. "Of course, sir," Rafe responds, that practiced smile still in place even as his jaw clenches slightly. "We just have reservations at Le Rivage, then maybe a walk on the beach." What he doesn't mention is the rest of his plans for the evening - the champagne waiting in his truck, the blankets he's laid out at his secret spot on the beach, the pills dissolved in one of the champagne glasses that will make sure everything goes according to plan.

The sound of heels on marble draws both men's attention to the grand staircase, and Rafe's breath catches in his throat. You descend like something out of a dream, your skin glowing against the deep red of your dress making his hands itch with the need to touch you. His blue eyes darken as they track your movement, his mind already racing ahead to later in the evening, to all the ways he plans to claim you completely.

"You look fucking perfect," he breathes out when you reach the bottom of the stairs, catching himself too late to censor his language in front of your father. But he can't help it - the cocaine making him more impulsive than usual, and the sight of you making his blood run hot. He steps forward to meet you, one hand reaching out to brush against your waist, proprietary and possessive even under your father's watchful gaze. The scent of your perfume mingles with the lingering chemical taste in the back of his throat, making him dizzy with want and anticipation.

Tonight's the night, he thinks, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as Paul insists on taking pictures. Tonight you become his completely, permanently. No more college applications, no more threats of leaving. The thought makes him pull you closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Ready for your Valentine's surprise, baby?" His voice carries that dangerous edge that anyone else would recognize as a warning, but he knows his sweet, innocent Y/N won't catch it. Not until it's too late.

Rafe helps you into his truck, his hand lingering possessively on your lower back as you climb in. The interior smells of expensive leather and his cologne, mixed with something chemical that makes you wrinkle your nose slightly. He slides into the driver's seat, his movements are precise despite the cocaine coursing through his system. The engine purrs to life, and he immediately reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers as he pulls away from your family's estate.

"You really do look fucking incredible tonight," he murmurs, his blue eyes flickering between you and the road. His thumb traces circles on your palm, a gesture that would seem sweet if not for the slight tremor in his hand. "That dress is driving me crazy." His rings catch the streetlights as you drive through Figure 8, passing other massive estates and perfectly manicured lawns.

"Thank you, baby," You respond softly, your free hand smoothing down the red fabric of your dress. "You clean up pretty nice yourself." You glance at him, admiring how the streetlights cast shadows across his sharp jawline. "So, are you going to tell me where we're going for dinner? You've been so secretive about tonight."

Rafe's grip on your hand tightens almost imperceptibly. "It's a surprise, remember?" His voice carries that edge of control he can never quite hide. "But first..." He reaches behind your seat with his free hand, pulling out a small gift bag. "I got you something to wear at dinner." Inside is a delicate diamond necklace, the stones catching the light like tiny stars.

"Oh, Rafe," You breathe, reaching for the necklace. "It's beautiful. You didn't have to-" You are cut off by his laugh, that sharp sound that always makes your stomach flip. "Of course I did. Only the best for my girl." He pulls into a secluded spot overlooking the water, putting the truck in park. "Here, let me put it on you."

His hands are slightly unsteady as he fastens the necklace around your throat, his breath hot against your neck. "Perfect," he whispers, his fingers trailing down your spine. "Just like you'll be after tonight." There's something in his voice that makes you shiver, though you can't quite place why. "What do you mean?" you ask, turning to face him.

Rafe's eyes are darker now, pupils blown wide as he stares at you. "Just that I've got big plans for us, baby." His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your bottom lip. "Tonight's gonna change everything." He leans in closer, his other hand sliding up your thigh, pushing the fabric of your dress higher. "You trust me, right?"

"Of course I do," You whisper, even as something in your gut tells you something's off. You can feel his heart racing where your bodies are pressed together and you can smell something sharp and chemical on his breath beneath the mint. "Rafe, are you okay? You seem...different tonight."

"Never better," he responds, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Just excited to give you all your surprises." His hand moves higher up your thigh, possessive and demanding. "Now, how about we have a little drink before dinner? To celebrate Valentine's Day?" He reaches behind the seat again, pulling out an expensive bottle of champagne and two glasses.

Rafe pours the champagne with calculated precision, his hands steadier now as he hands you your specially prepared glass. The moonlight filtering through the truck's windows catches the diamond necklace at your throat, reminding him of how perfectly it marks you as his. His blue eyes track your every movement as you accept the glass, noting how the red fabric of your dress has ridden up slightly from your position.

"To us," he proposes, raising his glass with that dangerous smile playing at his lips. The cocaine makes everything feel more intense - the way your perfume fills the confined space of his truck, the soft sound of your breathing, the sight of your lips touching the rim of the glass. He watches intently as you take a sip, something predatory flickering in his eyes. "And to all the surprises tonight has in store."

"Mmm, this is really good," You comment, taking another sip. You don’t notice how Rafe barely touches his glass, too focused on watching your drink. "But shouldn't we head to dinner? We don't want to lose our reservation." You move to check the time on your phone, but Rafe's hand shoots out to stop you, his fingers wrapping around your wrist with practiced possessiveness.

"We've got time," he assures you, his voice dropping lower as he leans closer. His free hand comes up to trace the line of the necklace, fingers ghosting over your collarbone. "Besides, I want to enjoy this moment. Just you and me." He can feel your pulse racing under his fingers where they press against your wrist. "Finish your drink, baby. Then we can talk about dinner."

He watches as you obediently take another sip, then another. "You know what I love about you, Y/N?" His voice is rough now, heavy with want and something darker. "How fucking perfect you are. How innocent." His fingers trace patterns on your inner thigh, making you shiver. "How you trust me completely."

"Rafe," you breathe, and he notices your words are slightly slurred now. Your eyes are starting to look unfocused as you blink slowly at him. "I feel... strange." The champagne glass slips from your fingers, but he catches it smoothly, setting it aside. His heart is racing with a mixture of cocaine-fueled excitement and dark anticipation.

"Shh, baby," he soothes, pulling you closer as you start to sway slightly. "I've got you. Always got you." His lips brush against your neck, just above the diamond necklace. "And after tonight, you'll always be mine. No more college applications, no more threats of leaving." His voice takes on that possessive edge that would normally frighten you, but the drugs in your system are making everything feel distant and hazy.

"What did you..." you try to ask, your head falling back against the seat as your limbs grow heavy. Rafe's hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he watches the drugs take effect. The moonlight casts shadows across his face, making his expression look almost demonic as he smiles down at you.

"Just making sure tonight goes exactly as planned," he whispers, his other hand already reaching for the blankets he has stashed behind the seats. "Don't fight it, baby. Just let go. Let me take care of everything." His lips crash against yours, swallowing any protest you might have made as the drugs pull you deeper under their influence.

Rafe watches with dark satisfaction as your movements become increasingly sluggish, your normally bright eyes growing heavy-lidded and unfocused. He shifts in his seat, reaching to recline both of your seats back to create more space in the truck's cabin. The moonlight streaming through the windows casts ethereal shadows across your skin as he positions your body how he wants.

"Rafe..." you mumble, your voice thick and confused as he spreads the blankets beneath you. "What's happening? I feel so..." Your word trails off as he captures your lips in another possessive kiss, his hands already working at the zipper of your red dress.

"Just relax, baby," he whispers against your mouth, cocaine making his movements more aggressive than usual. "Let me take care of you." His fingers trace the newly exposed skin of your back, savoring how you shiver under his touch despite your drugged state. "You look so fucking perfect like this. So helpless. So mine."

Rafe's hands slide possessively over your body as he peels the red dress from your drugged form, revealing the black underwear underneath. His blue eyes darken with predatory hunger as he drinks in the sight of you laid out beneath him in his truck, the diamond necklace glinting at your throat like a collar. The softness of your skin, the way your chest rises and falls with each shallow breath, the little whimpers that escape your lips as you try to fight through the fog in your mind.

"Shh, baby," he soothes, his voice rough with desire as his hands roam over your exposed flesh. "Just let it happen. You know you want this." His fingers trace the edge of your lacy bra, teasing your hardened nipples through the delicate fabric. "Been waiting so fucking long for this moment. To make you completely mine."

"Rafe, please," You slurred, weakly trying to push at his chest. "Something's wrong... I can't..." Your protests are cut off by his mouth crashing against yours, his tongue forcing its way past your lips as his hand slides between your thighs. He groans when he feels how wet you are through your panties, his cock straining against his suit pants.

"Look how ready you are for me," he rubs circles against your clit through the lace. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind's trying to fight it." He pulls back to admire his handiwork - your lips swollen from his kisses, your pupils blown wide from the drugs, your chest heaving as you struggle to focus. "Gonna fill you up so good, baby. Gonna put my baby in you tonight."

Rafe’s fingers hook into your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs as you weakly try to squeeze your thighs together. The moonlight catches on the wetness between your legs, making him groan. "Fuck, look at that pretty pussy," he breathes, his fingers spreading you open. "All perfect and untouched. Not for long though."

Rafe's fingers work methodically between your thighs, spreading your wetness as he watches your face contort with unwilling pleasure. His other hand pins your wrists above your head, his rings cold against your feverish skin. The truck's windows are starting to fog up from your heavy breathing, creating a private cocoon around you.

"That's it, baby," he growls, sliding two fingers into you, feeling how tight you are around them. "Gonna stretch you out nice and slow before I fuck a baby into you." His cock throbs painfully in his pants as he watches you arch beneath him, the drugs making you more responsive even as you try to resist.

"No... Rafe... please," You whimper, your head thrashing weakly against the leather seat. But your body betrays you, hips rocking against his skilled fingers as he finds that spot inside you that makes you see stars. The diamond necklace glints at your throat as you gasp, reminding him of his ownership.

"Look at you, taking my fingers so well," he praises darkly, adding a third finger to stretch you further. "Can't wait to feel this tight little cunt around my cock." His thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles that make your whole body tremble. "Gonna fill you up so good, baby. Make sure my cum stays deep inside you until it takes."

The way your walls clench around his fingers, the little sounds you make as he works your body, the perfect arch of your back as you fight between pleasure and resistance. He leans down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, biting down just hard enough to make you cry out.

"Please," you beg, though whether you're begging him to stop or continue, even you don’t know anymore. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending singing from his touch as the drugs make everything feel more intense. "Rafe... I can't..."

"Yes, you can," he demands, curling his fingers inside you as his thumb speeds up on your clit. "Come on my fingers like a good girl. Show me how much you want my cock." His blue eyes are wild with possession as he watches you fall apart beneath him, knowing that after tonight, you’ll never be able to leave him.

Rafe’s fingers work relentlessly between your thighs. His free hand moves from your wrists to grip your throat, right above the diamond necklace, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. "Let me feel that tight little pussy squeeze my fingers."

Your body betrays you even as your mind tries to resist, waves of unwilling pleasure building under his skilled touch. The drugs make everything feel heightened - the stretch of his fingers inside you, the pressure of his thumb on your clit, the heat of his breath against your neck. Your legs start to tremble as you approach your peak.

"That's it, baby," He watches your face contort with pleasure and confusion. His cock strains painfully against his suit pants, demanding attention. But he forces himself to wait, to savor this moment of taking your innocence piece by piece. "Give it to me. Show me how good I make you feel."

The sound of your heavy breathing fills the truck's cabin, mixing with the wet sounds of his fingers working between your legs. Rafe's eyes are dark with possession as he watches you fight against the inevitable, knowing that each moment brings him closer to his ultimate goal. The moonlight catches on the sweat beading on your skin, making you glow ethereally.

"I... I can't..." You whimper, your back arching off the seat as pleasure builds to an unbearable level. The drugs make everything feel like too much and not enough all at once. "Rafe, please..." Your fingers clutch desperately at his shoulders. "You can, and you will," he commands, his voice taking on that dangerous edge that brooks no argument. His fingers curl inside you, finding that spot that makes you see stars while his thumb circles your clit with practiced precision. "Come for me now. Let me feel it."

Rafe watches with dark satisfaction as your body trembles beneath him, your back arching off the leather seat as pleasure builds. His fingers work relentlessly inside your pussy, stretching and preparing you for what's to come. The way your walls clench around his digits, the little gasps and moans you can't hold back, the perfect arch of your spine as you fight between resistance and ecstasy.

"That's my good girl," his free hand moving from your throat to grip your hair, forcing you to look at him. "Watch me while you come. Want to see those pretty eyes when I make you fall apart." His thumb continues its relentless assault on your clit as his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that makes your whole body shake.

Your eyes flutter open, glazed with drugs and unwilling pleasure. The moonlight catches the tears gathering in your lashes as you stare up at him, unable to look away from his intense blue gaze. Your lips part in a silent scream as the pressure builds to an unbearable level, your body tightening around his fingers.

"Please," Her hands clutch desperately at his shoulders, leaving crescent marks through his expensive shirt. "Rafe, I can't... it's too much..."

"Yes, you can," he demands, his voice rough with desire and dominance. "Come for me now, baby. Show me how good I make you feel." His fingers speed up inside you, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the truck's cabin. "Let go. Let me see you fall apart before I fuck you properly."

The combination of his skilled fingers, the drugs in your system, and his commanding voice finally pushes you over the edge. Your whole body goes rigid as pleasure crashes through you, walls clenching rhythmically around his fingers as you come with a broken cry of his name.

"Beautiful," he breathes, working you through the aftershocks as you tremble beneath him. "But we're not done yet, baby. Not even close." His free hand moves to his belt, the sound of the buckle loud in the confined space. "Now it's time for the main event. Time to make you completely mine."

Rafe takes his time unbuckling his belt, the metallic sound echoing in the confined space of his truck. His blue eyes never leave your face as he watches you come down from your high, your body still trembling with aftershocks. Your chest heaves with each breath, the glisten of sweat on your skin, the slight quiver of your thighs as they remain spread for him.

"Look at you," he grunts, finally freeing his throbbing cock from his pants. "All fucked out from just my fingers, and we haven't even gotten to the best part yet." His hand wraps around his length, stroking slowly as he positions himself between your legs. The head of his cock brushes against your sensitive folds, making you whimper. "Been waiting so fucking long for this moment."

"Rafe," You slur, your drugged mind struggling to focus as you feel his size pressing against your entrance. "Wait... I'm not ready..." Your weak protests only serve to fuel his desire, his grip tightening on your hip as he holds you in place. The diamond necklace at your throat catches the moonlight as you try to shift away.

"You're more than ready, baby," he counters, using his free hand to spread your wetness along his length. "Your body's begging for it. Been begging for it all night." He leans down, capturing your lips in a possessive kiss as he starts to push inside your entrance. The stretch is intense, making you gasp against his mouth. "Gonna make you take every fucking inch."

His cock inches forward slowly, savoring the way your walls resist his invasion. The truck's windows are completely fogged now, creating a private world for just the two of you. Rafe's breathing grows heavier as he feels your tight heat enveloping him, his control starting to slip. "Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his fingers digging into your hip hard enough to leave bruises. "Taking my cock so well, just like I knew you would."

Tears stream down your cheeks as he stretches you open, the mixture of pain and drugged pleasure making your head spin. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into the expensive fabric of his suit jacket. "Almost there, baby," he pants against your neck, his hips still pushing forward relentlessly. "Just a little more and you'll have all of me." His free hand slides between them to rub your clit, knowing the added stimulation will help your body accept him. "Gonna fill this tight little pussy up with my cum, make sure it takes. Make sure you can never leave me."

Rafe's hips finally meet yours as he bottoms out inside you, a groan of satisfaction rumbling deep in his chest. Your walls flutter around his length as you adjust to being completely filled for the first time. The truck's cabin is thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the leather seats creaking beneath them with each subtle movement.

"There we go," he pants against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. His hands grip your hips possessively as he holds himself still, savoring the moment. "Been dreaming about this for so fucking long, baby. About claiming you completely." You whimper beneath him, your mind is hazy from the drugs as your body struggles to accommodate his size. Tears continue to stream down your cheeks, your fingers clutch weakly at his shoulders as you feel him throb inside you.

"Please," you manage to gasp, though your drugged state makes it hard to form coherent thoughts. "It's too much... I can't..." Your protests are cut off by his mouth capturing yours in a demanding kiss, his tongue invading your mouth just as his cock has invaded your body.

"Yes, you can," his hips starting to move in shallow thrusts. "And you will. Gonna fuck a baby into you tonight, make sure you can never leave me." His movements gradually become deeper, and more purposeful, as he establishes a rhythm. "Watch me while I do it. Want to see those pretty eyes when I breed you." One hand slides from your hip to grip your jaw, forcing you to maintain eye contact as he fucks into you. "That's it," he praises darkly as your body starts to respond despite your protests. "Take it like a good girl. Let me feel that pussy squeeze my cock."

Rafe's movements become more intense, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force as he chases his release. The truck rocks with your movements, his hands grip your hips bruisingly tight as he pounds into you, watching with dark satisfaction as pleasure and pain war across your drugged features.

"Fuck, you feel perfect," he groans, one hand sliding up to wrap around your throat just above the diamond necklace. "So fucking tight around my cock. Like you were made for this." His thumb traces your bottom lip as he continues his relentless pace. "Made to take my cum, to carry my baby."

Your head thrashes weakly against the leather seat, your body overwhelmed by the mix of drugs and unwilling pleasure. Your walls clench around him involuntarily as another orgasm builds, making him grunt with satisfaction. "That's it, baby," he praises darkly. "Squeeze my cock just like that. Show me how much your body wants this." His free hand moves between them to rub your clit, determined to make you come around his cock. "Gonna fill you up so good," he pants, his rhythm becoming more erratic as he nears his release. "Gonna pump you full of my cum until it takes. Make sure everyone knows you belong to me." His fingers speed up on your clit as he feels your walls starting to flutter. "Come for me now, baby. Let me feel that tight little pussy milk my cock."

Rafe's grip tightens on your hips as he feels his release building, his thrusts becoming more desperate and erratic. "That's it, baby," feeling your walls clench around him as another orgasm builds in your drugged body. "Come on my cock like a good girl. Show me how much you want my cum." Your back arches off the seat as pleasure crashes through you against your will, your walls squeezing his length rhythmically. The sight of you coming undone beneath him finally pushes Rafe over the edge. With a guttural groan, he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he empties himself into your pussy. "Fuck," he pants against your neck, grinding his hips to ensure his cum stays deep inside. "All mine now."

He collapses on top of you for a moment, both of you catching your breath in the steamy confines of his truck. The diamond necklace glints at your throat as he finally pulls out, watching with dark satisfaction as his release drips from your used pussy. "No more college applications, no more threats of leaving. You're stuck with me now, baby." Without a word, he starts fixing his clothes, already planning your next encounter in his mind.

"Let's get you home, baby," he says, his voice rough as he helps you dress on shaky legs. "Don't want your daddy getting suspicious." His hand rests possessively on your thigh as he starts the truck, knowing that after tonight, everything has changed. The drive back is silent except for your occasional whimpers, the drugs still making your head fuzzy as she processes what just happened.

A week later,

Rafe lounges against his truck at the Boneyard, The beach is relatively empty at this hour, just a few surfers catching the last waves of the day. His blue eyes track your movement, noting how pale you look, and how your usual confident stride seems shakier. A smirk plays at his lips, though he keeps his expression carefully neutral.

"Hey baby," he calls out, pushing off the truck to meet you. His hands immediately find your waist, pulling you close as he studies your face. "You sounded weird on the phone. Everything okay?" The concern in his voice is perfectly crafted, masking the satisfaction he feels as he takes in your distressed state.

Your hands tremble as you pull away from his embrace, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. "Rafe, I... I need to tell you something." Your voice cracks slightly as you speak, tears already gathering in your eyes. "I went to the doctor today..."

"What's wrong?" Rafe steps closer, his hand coming up to cup your face with practiced gentleness. Inside, his heart races with anticipation, but his expression remains one of innocent concern. "You've been sick all week. Did they figure out what's wrong?"

"I'm pregnant," you whisper, the words carried away by the ocean breeze. Your eyes search his face desperately for any sign of recognition, any hint that he remembers your Valentine's night. "But I don't... I can't remember... The last thing I clearly remember is having champagne in your truck..."

Rafe's eyes widen in perfectly feigned shock, his hand dropping from your face as he takes a step back. "You're... what?" He runs a hand through his hair, the picture of a young man receiving unexpected news. "But we've never... I mean, I thought you wanted to wait?" His voice carries just the right amount of confusion and disbelief.

"That's just it," Your voice rises slightly, panic evident in your tone. "I don't remember! Valentine's Day is just... fuzzy. But the doctor said I'm about a week along, and you're the only one I've been with..." you trail off, tears now flowing freely down your cheeks.

Rafe pulls you into his arms, hiding his triumphant smile in your hair. "Shh, it's okay," he soothes, one hand moving to rest possessively over your still-flat stomach. "We'll figure this out together. I'm here for you, baby. Always." His voice drops lower, taking on that dangerous edge you're too distraught to notice. "Guess those college applications won't be necessary anymore, huh?"

His hand tightens possessively around your waist as you tremble against him, his other hand still resting on your stomach where his child is growing. The setting sun casts long shadows across the beach, the sound of waves providing a backdrop to your quiet sobs. His blue eyes gleam with dark satisfaction as he feels you collapse further into his embrace, exactly where he wants you.

"What am I going to tell my parents?" You whisper against his chest, your voice breaking. "My dad... he's going to kill me. And all my college plans..." You pull back slightly to look up at him, mascara running down your cheeks. "Rafe, I can't remember anything from that night. How did this happen?"

Rafe's jaw clenches as he maintains his facade of confusion and concern. "Hey, look at me," he demands softly, tilting your chin up with his fingers. "Your parents love you. And my family... well, Ward's always talking about wanting grandkids." His thumb wipes away your tears as he studies your face. "Maybe this is a good thing, you know? You and me, starting our own family."

"But I had plans," you protest weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt. "Harvard, Yale... I was supposed to get out of Outer Banks..." You don’t even notice how his grip tightens painfully at your words or the flash of possessive anger in his eyes.

"Fuck those plans," he growls, before quickly softening his tone. "I mean, things change, right? Sometimes for the better." His hand slides up to cup your face, forcing you to maintain eye contact. "You've got me now. Got us. Isn't that better than some fancy college where you don't know anyone?" He’s super hyper-focused on every detail - the way you unconsciously lean into his touch, how your body fits perfectly against his, the slight swell of your breasts that's already becoming noticeable. His other hand remains possessively on your stomach, imagining how it will grow with his child.

"I'm scared," You admit, your voice small against the sound of crashing waves. "Everything's happening so fast, and I can't remember... that night is just blank, Rafe. Doesn't that bother you?" You search his face for any sign of recognition, any hint of guilt.

But Rafe's expression remains carefully crafted a mixture of concern and determination. "What bothers me is seeing you upset," he lies smoothly, pulling you closer. "We'll figure this out together, okay? You and me and our baby. "No more talk about leaving, though. You belong here, with me. Got it?"

"We should tell our parents soon," he says, his voice carrying that edge of control he can never quite hide. "Get everything out in the open. But first, promise me something, baby. Promise me you'll stop looking at those college applications."

Your eyes widen with fresh tears as you stare up at him. "But Rafe, I can't just give up everything I've worked for..." Your voice trails off as his grip tightens slightly on your chin, his blue eyes darkening with barely contained possession.

"Those dreams were for the old Y/N," he states firmly, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip. "The one who didn't have a family to think about. Things are different now." His other hand presses harder against your stomach, a reminder of what's growing inside of you. "You've got bigger responsibilities. To me. To our baby."

The waves crash against the shore behind them as silence stretches between them. Rafe can feel your pulse racing beneath his fingers where they rest against your throat and can see the moment you start to break under the weight of reality. His plan is working perfectly - soon you’ll be completely his, tied to him forever through your child.

"I... I need time to think," You finally whisper, trying to step back from his embrace. But Rafe's grip remains firm, keeping you close as the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the horizon. His expression shifts into something darker, more possessive.

"No more thinking," One of his hands slid up to tangle in your hair. "No more plans that don't include me. You're mine now, Y/N. The sooner you accept that, the better." His voice carries a threat wrapped in velvet as he stares down at you. "Or should we talk about how convenient it is that you can't remember Valentine's Day?"

Rafe's threat hangs heavy in the air as your face drains of color. His fingers tighten in your hair, cocaine making his movements more aggressive than usual. The darkened beach feels suddenly oppressive as he towers over your trembling form.

"What... what do you mean?" You whisper, your voice is small and frightened as you search his face. The familiar warmth in his blue eyes has been replaced by something cold and calculating that makes your stomach turn.

"You really want to know what happened that night?" he asks, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. His hand slides from your stomach to your hip possessively. "Want me to tell you exactly how I made sure you'd never leave me? How I watched you drink that champagne, knowing what was in it?"

You try to pull away, but his grip is iron-tight as realization dawns on your face. "No," she breathes, shaking her head in denial. "You wouldn't... you couldn't..." But the predatory smile spreading across his face tells you everything you need to know.

"I did," he confirms, pulling you closer until your faces are inches apart. "And now you're carrying my baby. No more college applications. No more dreams of leaving. You're mine forever now, baby." His thumb brushes away a tear from your cheek with mock tenderness. "And if you ever think about telling anyone... well, who's going to believe the girl who can't remember her own Valentine's Day?"

The waves crash behind them as your world crumbles around you. You can feel the weight of the promise ring on your finger - once a symbol of love, now feeling more like a shackle. Rafe watches you process everything with dark satisfaction, knowing he's won completely.

"Why?" you finally manage to ask through your tears, your voice breaking on the single word. The hand in your hair tightens as Rafe's expression turns almost tender, though his eyes remain cold.

"Because you're mine," he states simply as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "And I take care of what's mine. You'll see, baby. This is better than any fancy college could ever be." His hand moves to rest on your stomach again, possessive and threatening all at once. "Our little family, together forever in Outer Banks. Just like it should be."

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