#i get him in way you’ll NEVER understand.

[kunareads]

always, forever

choso x reader

obsession is just another form of devotion. and no one is more devoted to you than choso is.

masterlist

wc: 6.8k

um. i apologize in advance. this version of choso is very special to me and so is this reader, which is why it took so long to finish. i love them!!

content: stalker!choso, obsession, toxicity, dark romance, power dynamics, yandere in many ways, unchecked limits but not dub/noncon, choking, slapping, biting, bruising, spitting, restraints, praise, ownership, unprotected p in v sex, oral (f! receiving), religious undertones, worship/devotion, subspace, u and choso are NOT normal about each other like at all

18+ please <3

choso has always been good at paying attention.

people don’t expect that from him. he’s quiet, watchful, the kind of presence that blends into the background. most people assume it means he’s not listening, that his stare is vacant instead of calculating.

they don’t understand. he notices everything.

he notices when you use a new mascara. he notices how you reach for your phone when you hear a notification, even when it’s not yours. he notices the way your lips part before you laugh, how you tilt your head when you’re listening, the way your eyes linger on someone when you want them to stay.

he notices because it’s you. and you make it easy for him. you’re open, unaware.

it’s normal, the way he watches you.

he’s your friend. you trust him. you say his name when you see him.

morning, choso.

his chest tightens every time. it fits there, in your mouth, like it belongs to you.

would you still say it like that if you knew what it did to him?

your friendship is easy. you text him late at night when you can’t sleep. you pull him into conversation when he’s too quiet in a group. you lean against him when you’re tired, press your fingers to his wrist when you need his attention.

you let him in.

so it only makes sense that he knows you better than anyone.

he doesn’t think it’s strange that he watches you leave your apartment every morning. or that he walks the same route. or that he knows how long you’ll pause before crossing the street. this is part of his day, too.

he doesn’t think it’s odd that sometimes, he gets close enough to touch the loose thread on the back of your coat. or the nape of your neck.

once, you dropped your phone and bent over to pick it up. if you had turned around then, he would’ve been right there. standing too close.

but it’s not stalking. he’s not obsessed. he’s just making sure you’re okay.

+++

choso likes keeping things.

it started small. innocent.

a receipt left on the table after lunch. a pen you let him borrow. a candy wrapper, the foil crinkled between your fingers when you pressed it into his palm. he didn’t mean to keep them. he just…never let them go.

then, a bit more personal.

a cherry chapstick left in his car. an earring you thought you lost—he remembers watching it fall, small and shiny and delicate. a tissue, blotted with lipstick.

none of it was on purpose.

but you leave so many pieces of yourself behind. you’re careless, in a way that only makes sense to him. he had to start paying attention.

the things he keeps now are less accidental.

a bracelet you thought you lost. a nearly empty perfume bottle. strands of your hair, pulled from his hoodie after you borrowed it. a bloodstained tissue, from the time you cut your finger cooking for mutual friends.

your voice in his head hours after you’ve spoken. your fingerprints burning his skin like you meant to leave them there.

a photo of you sleeping. that one’s his favorite. a little secret, tucked between pages of a book. a moment you don’t remember, but he does. proof.

he knows things about you that you’ve never told him.

he knows your passwords. your wifi login. how much money is in your bank account.

he knows what you search for late at night, when your body is warm and restless. he knows what you watch twice, what you turn the volume up on, what you come back to later. sometimes, he watches with you.

at the bottom of his drawer, there’s a single zip tie. red and sturdy, waiting. it isn’t yours.

but it makes him think of you.

it’s not wrong. he’s just keeping you safe.

+++

afternoons are harder.

your lunch breaks are less predictable than your mornings, but even your unpredictability follows a rhythm. sometimes you run an errand. sometimes you meet a friend. others, you stop into a cafe, settle by the window, scroll through your phone between bites.

today, it’s the latter.

he leans against a brick wall across the street, observing you through the glass. you’re alone, stirring sugar into your drink, the sleeve of your sweater pulled over your hand.

then some guy slides into the seat across from you.

choso doesn’t recognize him. doesn’t care to.

the guy says something. you laugh and tilt your head, play with the edge of your napkin as you talk.

he’s seen you like this before—warm, engaged, giving. he knows it’s nothing. he knows that. but the sight still twists in his chest.

it’s not about fear. he doesn’t worry about losing you. that’s impossible.

it’s about keeping you.

about being on the receiving end of that smile. your attention, your laughter—they belong to him. no one else deserves them. they don’t know what to do with them anyway. they don’t hold them the right way, don’t understand how dangerous it is to waste them.

if he walked into the cafe right now, crossed the room, took your wrist—would you let him?

he imagines it. leaning close, lips brushing your ear. let’s go home.

your breath catching. your body tilting toward him on instinct. your little nod.

but he won’t do that. you have to come first.

he remembers the last guy. the one who texted too much, who made you laugh too easily. the one who stopped showing up.

he got the message. you didn’t even notice he was gone. but choso did. he noticed every second that passed before you stopped checking your phone, before you moved on like he never existed.

how long before this one needs a message, too?

his hands flex in his pockets. he takes a step forward. but he exhales, lets it go. he turns before the thought can take root, before the want takes shape and he can’t push it down.

he walks away, but the feeling doesn’t.

+++

when evening comes, choso’s right back where he belongs—watching your apartment from a distance, waiting for your windows to light up.

you should be here by now. he’s been standing here long enough for his body to register the cold. long enough for his pulse to slow.

he waits. this is easy to do when it’s for you. when he knows that, eventually, you’ll come home.

it’s fine.

maybe you stayed late at work. maybe you lost track of time. maybe you ran into someone.

it happens.

his fingers tap against his thigh once, then again. then again. a pattern, his body tracking the time even if he doesn’t mean to.

twenty minutes.

a car passes. the street lamp flickers.

his jaw tightens, but his breathing stays even. it’s not impatience. not paranoia. just an understanding of how things are supposed to be.

thirty minutes.

the cold bites at his knuckles. his fingers flex. the rhythm on his thigh picks up.

forty minutes.

his hand stutters.

something’s wrong.

he doesn’t decide it. he doesn’t even process it. the knowledge just settles, heavy and absolute. instinctive. like sensing a storm before the clouds roll in.

his hand slips into his pocket.

your key fits nicely between his fingers.

he crosses the street.

+++

your apartment smells exactly like you: floral, a little sweet, undeniably familiar.

he moves through your space, cataloging. your blanket on the couch, waiting for you. the unopened mail stacked neatly on the counter. a single glass in the sink. everything is where it should be.

but something’s wrong.

his eyes flick to your bookshelf. the order is off. books are misaligned, there are gaps where there shouldn’t be. choso’s not even sure you’ve touched these shelves before—they’re always perfectly neat, always the same.

his gaze dips lower. a box, tucked away. not well enough.

he hesitates.

then he crouches, pulling it out, fingers ghosting over the lid. he doesn’t know why he holds his breath he lifts it.

the first things he sees make him smile, just a little. a matchbook from a bar you both went to. a concert wristband, still looped closed. he carried you on his shoulders that day. a pin he gave you once, the clasp slightly bent.

his hand skims over them. he’s always known you were sentimental, but seeing it like this—seeing himself in it—makes something in his chest loosen. he thinks you’re cute.

then, a polaroid. the two of you, smiling. a moment he remembers. he runs his fingers over your image.

underneath it, another. just him.

he stares for a second before setting them aside.

the hoodie string he thought got lost in the laundry, coiled in the corner. a cigarette butt, flattened at the tip. his brand.

when did you find out he smokes?

his hands move slower now, pulling each item from the box, laying them out beside him.

a receipt—his, not yours—crumpled, then smoothed back out. a lock of his hair, neatly tied with a ribbon. his scalp tingles like he can feel where it was taken.

more photos. him again, but he’s not posing this time. stepping off a curb. shopping for groceries. sleeping.

his heartbeat pounds in his throat.

his fingers graze a slip of paper, the ink faded but still legible.

choso is restless today. he doesn’t talk much, but his weight shifts when he gets impatient. his breathing changes when i touch him. he watches me more when he thinks i won’t notice. i always notice. i wonder if he knows how soft his voice goes when he says my name. i could listen forever.

his fingers press into his thighs, his breathing slows, his mind splintering at the edges.

it’s not the same as him. it’s not.

he reaches the last few items in the box.

a mirror, small enough to fit in his palm. his name in lipstick, smeared over the glass where a finger had brushed.

a knife. the one that should be at the back of his nightstand drawer.

the room presses in around him. his body stills. his thoughts feel slow, thick.

he’s missing something. he must be.

before he can decide what to do with it, the door unlocks.

choso stays frozen where he is. his breath pulls in his throat.

you step inside, closing the door behind you. your movements are easy. fluid. unbothered.

there’s no shock, no fear when you see him. no gasp or startled jolt. you don’t even hesitate.

you walk to the living room entrance and stop there.

and instead of asking why he’s in your apartment, looking through your things, you just look at him expectantly.

his fingers tingle.

you shouldn’t be this calm.

his gaze moves over you, searching for a flicker of guilt, a flash of panic—something.

but you’re steady. unblinking. he feels like prey.

is this a test?

the silence stretches, taut and thin, and something inside him bends with it. part of him already knows where this is going.

he should say something. ask something, demand an explanation. how did you get those pictures? his knife? his fucking hair?

but his breath is caught somewhere between inhale and exhale.

you tilt your head. the corners of your lips curl upwards.

and then, lightly, “you found it.” your voice is sweet, but underlined with a tone he’s never heard before.

his stomach clenches. his fingers tighten around the box.

“i left it there for you.”

his mind fumbles for an answer, a reason this isn’t what it looks like. but nothing comes.

it’s exactly what it looks like.

you left it there. for him.

he should be horrified. he should recoil. but the pieces fit too well. the truth clicks too easily.

you’re just as bad as he is.

realization winds through his ribs like smoke. relief follows soon after, dark and cool.

he places the box down beside the scattered items with an exhale. his arms are looser now, his muscles relaxing.

he understands.

he stands and takes a step forward. then another, tilting his head, voice low. “say it.”

amusement glints in your eyes, your lips parting slightly.

“you first.”

him first.

choso doesn’t move, neither do you.

but something shifts—*pulls—*like gravity bending around you. his hands flex at his sides, his jaw tightens against the weight of the moment.

then, finally, he reaches for you.

one hand cups your jaw, the rough pad of his thumb grazing over your cheek. the other slides down, curling around the delicate skin of your wrist. he presses your pulse, just enough to tell you he’s here.

he lifts your hand, turning it, bowing his head in quiet worship.

his lips brush the inside of your wrist, featherlight, careful.

warm breath fans over your skin, then his teeth, sending a tremor through you.

the scrape of enamel blurring into the glide of his tongue is overwhelming.

he feels the way your fingers twitch against his palm, hears the sharp inhale you try to bite down. his thumb rubs slow circles into your cheek.

he lifts his head, moves in, and then he’s kissing you.

it’s needy. built from tension too thick to hold any longer. heat and teeth and hands—one pressing your wrist behind your back, the other sliding to the base of your skull, pulling you close, closer.

you give it back to him—your free hand tangles into his hair, nails scraping. his hair ties come loose one by one, and you slip them down over your wrist. a quiet keepsake. for later.

the moment is raw and unsteady. his mouth explores, breathless against your jaw, then lower. his teeth scrape below your ear, testing, waiting for a reaction.

you press forward, not willing to stop this.

he exhales against you, then moves, walking you backward until the edge of your desk presses into your spine.

his belt slips from his waist in one motion. the leather slides over your skin, smooth as his hands work, looping, tightening, adjusting.

he pulls it snug, your wrists now pinned behind your back, the press of leather holding you in place.

he thinks of the zip tie in his drawer. red, uncut, waiting.

not tonight.

then he lifts his gaze, eyes searching.

“you could stop me.”

it’s a door cracked open for you. you could stop him. he’s telling the truth. if you pulled away right now, if you said no—he’d let you go. because taking was never the point.

but the thought of stopping him doesn’t even form properly.

how could you?

you don’t pull away. you don’t resist at all. instead, you tilt your chin up, watching him.

and then, a smile.

something inside him aligns, seamless and final. everything before this was waiting. his mind quiets. the constant restlessness, the gnawing hunger—gone.

you’re his. you always were.

he tightens his hold for just a second before taking a step back.

the sight of you, wrists bound, waiting for him—he just needs to see it. needs to convince himself it’s real, to prove that this isn’t just another fantasy unraveling in the dark. that he’s not imagining the way you’re looking at him right now.

he drags his gaze over you, memorizing. you look exactly how he imagined you would. better.

you shift, testing the belt. not to escape, just to feel it.

his eyes track the movement, feeling the pull of you. he exhales, slow and controlled, and moves back in.

his hands travel over you, pushing your shirt up, fingers pressing, tracing. his lips aren’t far behind. he takes his time, dragging heat and teeth and intention over you*. marking you.*

his fingers slide lower, brushing your inner thigh. he watches the flutter of your lashes, the pull of breath in your throat.

then softly, “i should keep you like this.”

a pause. his fingers move higher.

“tied up.”

a flick of his fingers through layers of clothing.

“waiting for me.”

how long would you last like this? how long before you’d beg?

the longer your wrists stay bound, the deeper the inevitability settles into you. you lean into it, let it take root.

he drags a thumb over the waistband of your pants. he undoes the button. lowers the zipper.

you don’t help him. you can’t—and that’s the point.

his fingers press into your hips as he works the fabric down. your panties follow. you watch as he stuffs them into his pocket and drops to his knees before you.

his hands settle against your thighs, and choso lets himself feel the gravity of this. it’s hypnotic, the way you open up for him, the way you let him take what’s his.

he’s craved this. dreamt of it. and now you’re here. bound, vulnerable. every version of this moment was different—except for one thing. you always looked at him like this.

he half-expects to wake up still standing across the street, waiting for the glow of your windows.

but this isn’t a dream.

he dips down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss above your knee. then another, and another.

you want to touch him. to twist your fingers in his hair, to pull him closer, to feel his shoulders flex under your hands.

he takes his time. works his way up, teeth scraping, tongue flicking against sensitive skin. he closes his eyes as he breathes you in, but he doesn’t give you anything.

a sharp nip to the crease of your thigh. a lazy drag of his tongue there. he kisses right above your clit—so close, so fucking close, but not enough.

you whine. you need him.

he smirks. “you open up for me so easily.”

his tongue presses flat against you, slow at first, moving through the heat of you. you let out your first unrestricted moan.

then deeper. more.

he groans into you. “shit—” he drags his tongue through your slick again, his mouth starting to water. he savors your taste, taking his time, patient and thorough.

his mouth covers you completely, sucking, dragging you higher, working you open. you’re moving, pressing closer, needing more. the slow build makes you dizzy.

but just when your breath stutters and your thighs start to shake, he pulls away.

your head jerks, a whimper slipping out, raw need spilling over.

but he just slides his fingers through your opening, coating them, spreading it.

“you shouldn’t let me do this,” he says, but he’s already lifting his fingers to your face. his lips curve. “but you’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?”

when you take his fingers into your mouth without hesitation, fire surges in his chest*.*

his pupils blow wide, his breath catches. he pulls his fingers out, spreading them over your lips, your jaw, rubbing wetness in, watching it shine under the dim light.

“so fucking pretty like this.”

he buries his face back between your thighs with a moan. his tongue moves rougher now, making up for all the time he’s spent wanting and waiting.

you can’t move, can’t do anything but sit there and let him have you.

the pleasure builds too fast, too sharp, and you realize—he’s dragging you over the edge whether you’re ready or not.

his hands, his mouth, his breath—you swear you can feel him everywhere. on your skin, under it. in your cells, unraveling you from the inside out.

he keeps you spread open, his tongue fucking into you until you break.

you come undone, sharp and shattering, your body arching and your vision flickering. he growls against you, greedy, drinking in every sound you make and every drop of your release.

you tremble, breath coming in jagged, desperate pulls, aftershocks rolling through you.

he doesn’t stop until he’s done. until he’s sure he’s tasted everything you have to give. only then does he pull back, breathless, flushed, his face slick with you.

his hands don’t leave you. one stays firm on your thigh while the other drags up your body—slow, possessive, tracing the marks he’s already left behind.

his lips follow the same path. butterfly kisses at first, soft and fleeting. a press of his mouth to your hip, your stomach, your ribs, his breath warming your skin.

by the time he reaches your chest, he’s standing again, crowding you. his mouth teases each of your nipples, then moves up to your collarbone, your throat, then your lips—deep and heady, like he’s sealing something in place.

you taste yourself. it should be filthy, humiliating. but the way he does it, the way he runs his tongue against yours with so much care, like it’s meant to be this way—you shudder, melting into it.

his hands move behind you. he unfastens the belt, unwinding it with slow precision. your arms drop, the tension leaving so suddenly that a tremor runs through them. before you can move, he catches your wrists, holding them gently.

“you okay?” his thumbs smooth over the tender marks.

you nod and smile, just slightly, but it’s enough. he takes in the gesture, tucks it into the little box in his mind reserved for you.

his grip on you changes—firmer, more intent. the next kiss is messy, the way he presses into you, the solid weight of him between your thighs.

you feel him, hard and thick, putting pressure on your core through his jeans. he rolls his hips once, and the friction pulls a moan out of you.

your fingers twist into his hair, pulling so tight it must burn, but he keeps moving against you. he whispers your name, a quiet, broken sound.

does he even hear himself? does he know how much weight it carries, how needy he sounds when he says it? what it does to you?

you push.

your teeth catch his lower lip, biting down hard. enough to hurt, enough to bleed. you drag your tongue over it, tasting him, wanting to thank him for giving this to you.

he moans, growing desperate and grinding into you again, gripping your thighs, holding himself back. “you make me insane.”

before you can answer, he moves.

he lifts you effortlessly, walking you through your apartment like he’s lived here forever. his mouth is everywhere—kissing, biting, tasting—as he presses you against a wall, a doorframe, and then the bed.

he sets you down. his hands move to his shirt, pulling it over his head in one motion, muscles shifting under his skin. his pants follow, and then he’s back, sitting and reaching for you, drawing you into his lap and guiding your legs around him.

he moves one hand down to run his length through your slick, wetting himself up before easing you down onto him.

he’s thick, almost too much to take, and you whimper softly as his fingers slide up your sides, grounding you.

“you’re okay,” he coos. “you’re doing so well, pretty girl.”

he doesn’t rush you, doesn’t move at all to speed the process. he just watches you, takes you in, drags his hands over your skin like he finally has what he wanted.

his arms wrap around you when you eventually sink all the way down. he wastes no time rolling his hips, feeling you, reveling in the way you whimper at the stretch.

the position is deep, intimate, almost tender. but the way he holds you, the way he grips and takes and owns as he drags you down and snaps his hips up to meet you—there’s nothing soft about it.

you pull back enough to look at him, really look, and it makes your stomach churn.

he belongs to you. you love him. you love him too much. more than is reasonable, more than is safe.

you want him to know what this feels like—the unbearable ache, the madness, the constant need that grips you so hard you don’t know what to do with it.

before you even realize what you’re doing, your palm cracks against his face.

his head jerks to the side, his jaw tightening as something dark flickers in his eyes.

he stares, breath measured, holding something in his throat. the red on his cheek spreads like watercolor, stark against the black ink on his skin. a smile tilts at his lips.

”again.”

so you do it again.

his hand slides to the back of your neck as he lets out a breathless laugh, his other arm locking tighter around your waist, forcing you up and down, over and over again.

he’s fucking lost in it. in you, in this, in the way you give and take and ruin.

your body is stretched open, raw and aching, so fucking full, drunk on the way he claims you, the way he needs you.

then, lower, slurred against your skin, “*please—*baby, spit in my mouth.” half-lidded eyes lift to yours, and you realize he’s not just asking. he’s offering himself up.

you’re pulling his head back by his hair before he’s even done speaking.

his lips part, tongue barely peeking out, ready and waiting.

you let it drip into his mouth, and he groans like you’ve blessed him as he drags you into another desperate kiss.

it’s not enough. it’s never fucking enough. you need more.

“tell me you love me.”

it tumbles out, raw and unguarded. you both know it’s not a request—it’s a demand. a life sentence. a tether neither of you will be able to break.

his answer is instant. “i love you.” it lands like a vow, like a promise. like knowledge he was born with.

it floors you. tears brim in your eyes, and before you even process what he’s just given you—”i love you, choso.”

you love him. you love him. and that destroys him. his name belongs here, with you. always has.

his arms crush you, a vice around your body. like he could break you open and crawl inside, stay there forever. his thrusts turn brutal, desperate, unhinged, carving you into his shape.

he wants to say something, but nothing comes. just you, just this.

because the realization is too much.

because he never thought he’d hear this from you. never expected to be allowed to have this, to keep this.

because he’s been content just knowing you, quietly keeping you safe.

but this? this is something else entirely.

his grip tightens, almost desperate as his rhythm grows rough, erratic. your name spills from his lips like a prayer, over and over, his body going tight.

he moans freely against your skin, holding you flush to him as he buries himself deep, spilling into you. he’s locked around you, unyielding, trying to hold the moment in place, trying to stop time itself.

and it undoes you.

the warmth of him pressed into you, the way he swells inside you as he releases, the way he stays, like he belongs there—it sends you spiraling.

you tighten around him like a vice, gasping his name, sinking your teeth into his shoulder as your body locks up. your nails rake down his back, desperate, needing to mark him, keep him, to ruin him the way he’s ruined you.

his breath stutters, still drowning in his own pleasure, but he cradles your head, fucking you through it. “that’s it, pretty girl. let me feel it.”

and you do. you give him everything. every wave, every pulse, every broken sound as the feeling rolls through you. your body trembles in his arms, spent, oversensitive, but he just holds you, smoothing a hand down your spine, pressing slow, grounding kisses to your temple.

he pulls out of you, a slow retreat. the absence leaves you aching, still open for him, your combined juices leaking out.

time slows. your heart pounds against his. the heat between you lingers, warm and hazy. his fingers trace lazy patterns over your skin, letting you relax into him as you both come down.

once you’ve both settled, he lifts you off of him carefully, reluctant to let go. his hands guide you, breathing you in, smelling sweat and sex and something unmistakably yours.

his thumb drags down your back. he watches the way your body responds, still trembling, still open. he fits a pillow beneath your hips, shifting you into place.

he hovers, kissing you—over your shoulder, your spine, the side of your ribs, soft but weighted. his body follows, pressing you under him, where you belong.

“you’re not done yet.”

a shudder moves through you.

his lips press between your shoulder blades, lingering, exhaling before he pushes back into you.

the position lets him sink deeper than before. the stretch is slow, unrelenting, and you let out a low moan into the mattress.

his groan is rough, his voice wrecked. “you take me so fucking well.”

his pace builds—deep, ruthless. he’s everywhere, taking you apart, remaking you in his image.

you feel his teeth on your shoulder. his teeth on your neck. his tongue dragging fire over your skin.

you’re too sensitive. it’s too much. you reach back, trying to slow him down, but he’s faster. he grabs your wrists and pulls them behind you, dragging you upright into him like a puppet on strings.

your body bows into his. his breath is hot against your ear, his lips brushing over your jaw, your cheek, your throat.

his hands pull you down onto him again and again, pushing you beyond yourself.

fingers trace your collarbones, his thumb finding the soft dip in your throat before he wraps his hand around it. he doesn’t squeeze—not yet. but he feels the way you clench slightly around him.

“you like this?”

a whimper escapes you—not an answer, but enough of one. your hips rock back, body moving on instinct.

slowly, methodically, his fingers flex around your throat, measuring, testing.

then he closes his hand, cutting off everything but him.

your breath is gone.

everything stills. the world narrows—collapsing to the points where his hand meets your throat, where he’s buried inside you.

you clench around him hard as your limbs go weightless. a slow, creeping quiet drags you under, like slipping underwater.

you can feel your own pulse weakening under his hand. you can feel the numbness creeping up your spine, feel your eyes roll back, feel how completely you trust him to guide you.

he could kill you like this. is that what this is? a kind of offering? if he asked, would you give him even that? you both know the answer. he could demand your life right now, and you’d hand it over. just like he would if the roles were reversed.

he’s studying you, observing every reaction, watching you slip, mentally recording the sounds you make as you fight for air. his thumb strokes your jaw, coaxing you deeper.

and in the haze, you think:

he’s made you something sacred, something holy. a body to bow down to, a name to whisper between gasps. if this is devotion, you’ll kneel. if this is love, you’ll let it kill you.

everything is soft—your vision, your breath, your body. he’s siphoning the world away, tightening his hold even more. the floor drops out, and you’re falling, though you don’t know for how long or to where.

he lets go.

your body seizes as air floods your lungs, a shuddering inhale that rattles in your chest, half sob, half plea.

an orgasm overtakes you without warning or control, tearing a ragged cry from your throat. your vision flickers, your body spasms around him, but he doesn’t slow down.

“oh, fuck—” his voice is ruined. his hands keep you open for him as he fucks you straight through it. “keep fucking cumming for me, pretty girl.”

you try to squirm away, the pleasure making you hot, blinding you, too much.

“no—no, stay here,” he grits out. his palm spreads over your nape, forcing you down, shoving your face back into the mattress to take it.

he fucks you like a punishment, like a gift, dragging more sounds from your lips and tears from your eyes, letting you feel everything—every thick push, every deep stroke, every pulse of him inside you.

you were made for this. you were made for each other. shaped by each other’s hands, bound by each other’s will.

your body can’t decide if it’s too much or not enough, because somehow—somehow—you’re cumming again, clenching so hard around him he’s nearly forced out of you.

your body breaks open, pouring out and soaking the sheets, soaking him, feeling the delicious release as the force of it drags you under.

his breath stutters, his grip bruising as he chases it. he buries himself, spilling inside you, filling you and leaving something permanent behind.

his forehead presses against the back of your neck. his body stills, but his arms tighten around you, sealing you in the moment with him.

because this is it.

if you ran, he’d find you. if you fought, he’d break you down, drag you back, make you forget why you ever wanted to leave.

his fingers slide into your damp hair, pushing it off your forehead. he tilts your face just enough for his lips to brush your temple.

his breath is soft, warm when he whispers, “thank you, pretty girl.” you don’t know what you’ve done.

+++

you’re drifting. the world is muffled, distant, like sound traveling through water. your limbs don’t work, your mind doesn’t move. you just exist—empty, light, gone.

somewhere, you know choso is holding you. you can feel his warmth at the edge of your consciousness, an anchor you can’t quite reach.

but you’re safe here. his.

his hands shift, adjusting you away from the mess on the bed. you hum—more of a breath than a sound—pliant in his grip.

“baby?”

no response.

his thumb presses lightly into your jaw, trying to coax a reaction, but there’s nothing. your body is slack in his hold, breath coming too slow.

his stomach dips, sharp and visceral. his hands are calm when he cups your face, but his breath isn’t. his heart isn’t.

his fingers press against your wrist, searching for your pulse. still there. slow but steady.

but you don’t move. you don’t even look at him.

“baby, you with me?”

a hum, noncommittal, far away.

it’s not enough.

his throat tightens. his hands shake, just barely.

what if he went too far? what if you don’t come back?

the realization curls like smoke under his ribs.

he smooths your hair, tilting your chin up, a thumb stroking your cheek. “i need you to look at me, pretty girl.”

nothing.

“please.” his voice breaks on the word. he presses a kiss to the top of your head, breath shaky, exhaling slow. grounding himself before he grounds you.

“okay,” he murmurs, softer now, steadier. “okay, baby, i got you.”

his lips rest against your temple. he breathes you in.

your breath, shallow and warm against his skin. the quiet rise of your chest against his. your weight, soft in his arms.

his stomach clenches. he shouldn’t love this, not like this, not while you’re gone. but part of him does—how tender you are, how easy you are to hold, how completely you’ve let him have you.

his thumb brushes over your parted lips. something possessive curls inside him, unshakable.

“you’re so fucking beautiful.” he kisses the words against your skin, the bruises on your neck, the fading heat where his grip had been. his lips ghost your forehead, your cheek, your jaw.

“need to clean you up, baby. can you move?”

nothing. you don’t even try.

you just burrow closer, pressing your face deeper into his chest, a quiet little sound slipping from your throat.

his breath catches. something pulls. twists.

you don’t want to move. you don’t want to leave him.

his fingers splay across your stomach, feeling the steady rhythm of your breath. he strokes a hand up your side, cups the nape of your neck, presses his lips your pulse point.

“you don’t have to.” he exhales. “i’ll take care of you.”

he lifts you, cradling you against his chest as he carries you to the bathroom. the warmth of the room contrasts the cold counter when he sets you down, but you don’t seem to register it.

unease tugs at his ribs, but he tamps it down, turning the faucet and watching steam rise from the bath.

when he settles you into the water, you lean into the warmth lapping at your skin.

something sharp lingers in his chest. he wants you back.

he strokes your hair back. his voice is soft, but there’s something dark beneath it.

“stay with me, pretty girl.”

choso washes you like he’s caring for something fragile. strong hands smooth over your arms, your back, your legs. each touch is a silent plea.

“breathe, baby.”

the words feel distant, like they’re coming through a thick fog, but something in you listens. you inhale, slow and deep.

“just like that. you’re safe.”

the haze clings to you, wrapped around your limbs. but beneath it, you feel him.

“you were so good for me,” he says, almost to himself. “so perfect.”

he wraps a fluffy towel around you, pulling you into his chest. your head tips forward, resting on his shoulder. a small shift, a silent seeking.

his stomach tightens. “i got you,” he says, voice softer now.

he carries you back, setting you on the bed. the world fades in and out, but the weight of your body is returning. the first thing you register fully is him.

he dresses you—clean panties, soft shirt. his touch is attentive, reverent, but his mind is restless.

he needs you back.

his hands are calm as he pulls the fabric over your head, but when your fingers twitch against his bicep, the lightest touch, something in him holds its breath.

“that’s it, baby.” his voice is raw, aching. “come back to me.”

the haze thins, peeling away in pieces. awareness pulls you in slowly, settling, anchoring.

you exhale. stretch.

choso watches, still, silent, breath held.

your lashes flutter. your gaze lifts.

and then you meet his eyes.

his whole body exhales, something releasing inside him.

“there you are.”

it’s quiet, almost a whisper, but his voice is full of something raw and undeniable.

the weight of what just happened settles in his chest.

it’s not regret.

it’s proof.

that you need him. that you trust him. that you belong to him.

you always have.

and when your fingers curl weakly into his shirt, holding him there, he wavers, unsteady.

you’re back. fully. you feel the soft fabric of the shirt against your skin, the scent of clean laundry, the steadiness of your own breath.

and him. always him.

choso watches you, unmoving, like you might disappear if he blinks.

your lips part, about to speak, but you don’t get the chance.

he’s kissing you. slow, deep, and final.

his lips move against yours like he’s sealing something permanent, like he’s branding you. a promise. there’s no hesitation, no question or room for doubt.

he feels it now, how irreversible this is. you were supposed to run. even if you wanted him, even if you eventually let him, you were supposed to pull away just once, just enough for him to know that there were lines between you. but there aren’t. you didn’t. you never even thought about it.

his fingers drift over the marks on you, pressing gently on them like he can make them deeper. “mine.”

you tighten your hold on his shirt, anchoring yourself to him, and when he pulls back, you whisper—”say it again.”

his breath hitches. then, lower, rougher, “you’re fucking mine.”

he kisses your jaw, your cheek, following the words with his mouth, speaking them into your skin like a prayer.

you exhale and nod, soft and small. you don’t even have to say anything. he sees it in your eyes.

you’re his.

something breaks inside him. something desperate, something he’s been holding back for so long that he didn’t even realize it had slipped.

he presses his forehead to yours, breath shaking, and then—

“you’re never leaving me.”

it’s too dark to be sweet, too honest to be a threat.

his eyes sting. and you see it, in the way his hands tighten around you, like he’s holding onto something fragile, something precious. not just you, but the knowledge that he has you now, that he can’t ever lose you. he’s afraid.

you could still ruin this. you could say something else, shift the balance, make it so he has to do something drastic.

but instead, you smooth your hands up his chest, over his shoulders, curling around his neck, grounding him.

“i never wanted to,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

his grip tightens. “you mean that?”

it’s a question. but you both understand that he’s not asking if you mean it.

he’s asking if you understand what happens if you don’t.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Be a Good Girl For Me

dom!eddie x fem!reader

Eddie finally finds out exactly what you like in the bedroom

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) use of handcuffs, degradation kink, use of the word “slut”

The bed dips as Eddie sits on the other side of the bed. He knows exactly what you want but needs to hear the words come from your mouth and won’t give in until you ask. That’s how it always works.

He moves to lay beside you, pulling you closer to him as his hand begins to massage your stomach, pressing his lip to your forehead as he yaps away, something he always does anyway, but especially when he wants to give you something to focus on instead of your discomfort.

You snuggle even further into his side as his hand dips into the waistband of your pants. You want him to go lower, for his fingers to be inside you but you can’t get yourself to ask for that. Even though you’ve been together for a while, you still get nervous asking for what you want.

You whine when he pulls his hand away and he just chuckles, flipping you over so that you’re on your stomach. His lips find yours in a heated kiss as both his hands dip into your panties this time, getting dangerously close to your cunt before he pulls them back out only for you to whine again.

He sees that you’re going to do it yourself, but he can’t have that, so he’s grabbing the handcuffs he bought you from the drawer in your nightstand then pins your hands to the headboard before handcuffing them to the bottom rail so you’ll stay there.

“Uh uh uh,” he shakes his head. “Only I get to touch you. Understand?” He asks and you nod. He doesn’t get like this with you often, but you love seeing this side of him, when he’s more controlling and dominant.

“Yes,” you respond and he’s surprised when he sees your pupils getting larger. Eddie never thought his innocent girl would be into something like this.

“Use your words,” he commands as gets on top of you again, kissing you once more, his hands resting on your waist, waiting for the go ahead.

“Please,” you beg and now he’s torturing you, grinding against you to get you to finally ask.

“Please what?” He loves taking control, especially when you’re desperate and seeing you like this, so eager for him, it’s enough to almost make him come in his pants.

“Please fuck me,” you whine and those seem to be the magic words because your sweatpants and panties are off in an instant with Eddie spreading your legs wide to see what he’s working with. You’re wet beyond belief and he can’t help but smile to himself, knowing that he did that.

“Eddie, please.”

“If you insist, sweetheart,” he replies as he grabs hold of your waist and pounding into you inch by inch until he’s deep inside, making you moan loudly which is always music to his ears. “Such a needy little thing tonight, aren’t you? Was this morning not enough?”

“I-I just like the way you feel. The way you’re rough with me.”

“Oh that? Sweetheart, that was nothing. I’ll show you what rough really is if you want me to.”

“God, please. Whatever you want, I’m yours.”

“Always know how to please me, don’t you baby? Now just sit back and enjoy the ride. And remember, if I do something you don’t like, you have to tell me. You trust me right? That I wouldn’t purposefully hurt you?”

“I trust you,” you nod and close your eyes tight in preparation.”

He’s pounding into you now harder than he ever has before, his entire cock inside, not just the little bit he’s been giving to you since you’ve been sleeping together. He’s huge and it hurts but it just feels so good. He’s not being gentle like you’re going to break anymore and you suddenly feel so alive.

The bed is shaking underneath you because of how hard he’s fucking you, the handcuffs clanking against the railing of the headboard. You watch Eddie watch you, his eyes almost black because of how large his pupils are. His fingers make crescent shapes into your hips because of how hard he’s digging his nails into you. You don’t even care. In fact, you love it, hoping it leaves a mark, a physical reminder of tonight.

“That’s it. Just like that. Look at you, so willing to submit. I bet you’d do anything I asked, wouldn’t you?”

“Anything,” you repeat with emphasis so he knows that you mean it. He’s smiling now, still pounding into you as he leans down to kiss you briefly before pulling away so you can let out a moan.

“Hm,” he hums. “I’ll keep that in mind.” You’re already fucked out but he wants to see how long you can last, just how many orgasms he can get out of you.

He keeps going, eating up every delicious moan that falls from your lips, encouraging you every step of the way with his filthy words. He’s watching you come undone, acting more like yourself and he’s wondering if getting kinky was all you needed to be more comfortable, if he had been too gentle with you.

“Look at you, taking it like the little slut you are.” Your eyes widen at his words but that’s only because he’s never called you that. But you like it, love it even. Love being degraded in the way, and hearing it come from Eddie’s mouth is making you even more horny, more needy for him than ever before.

You buck your hips against his again and again and he helps you keep up with him, pulling your hips toward and away from him to really show you how he wants you to do it.

“Yeah? You like being called a slut?” He emphasizes the word and you hum in response, as if he called you something sweet, not a word that’s very common for having negative connotations. Tonight really is showing Eddie different sides of you.

“Yes,” you nod. “Say it again.”

He grabs you by the face with one of his hands and squeezes your cheeks as he leans down towards your face.

“Slut,” he spits, his lips ghosting yours and you close your eyes for a kiss only for him to lean back, picking up his pace once again.

And as you’re reaching your orgasm, he’s sure that he’s right. You’re screaming his name and he’s smiling so wide, smug, proud of himself for finally figuring out what you like. So he keeps going again and again until you’ve orgasm one more time, only stopping because you’re slurring your words.

“Did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers as he removes the handcuffs from your wrists, peppering them with kisses as he lies down on top of you, wanting to stay inside just a little longer like he always does.

“Maybe next time I can handcuff you?” You slur and he chuckles.

“Sure, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Whatever you want.”

[5targh0st]

NUMBER ONE GIRL

78. don’t kick his ass (written)

prev // m.list // next

Looking at the ceiling, still feeling something between numbed and overwhelmed, Yeonjun convinces himself that he did what he had to do. It’s just a little break until he manages to get Yuna to stop harassing him. Once she’s out of the picture, all those feelings will go away. Once she’s gone again, he can go back to the life he’s worked so hard for, right? He knows he’s hurting the person he loves most in the world, but it’s all for a good reason. Surely, you will understand. He will explain and you’ll understand. Just not right now. Not when his old wounds are wide open and you can see his pitiful soul covered in blood. He just needs a few days, maybe weeks, and everything will be okay again.

He really wants to believe that, because it’s been just a couple of days and he’s already dying to talk to you and go back to how things were; how they’re supposed to be.

“Can you please calm down?” Dahyun sighs yet again.

Joshua’s been angry and anxious ever since he saw those posts. Just what the fuck is Yeonjun doing.

“I can’t!” He’s beyond exasperated right now. “She literally said nothing’s going on and yet has gone radio silence ever since. I need to know she’s okay, and she won’t talk to anyone. And I can’t go to Seoul ‘cause we’re closing an important deal and those fuckers insist on seeing me.”

“Hansol says he’s going,” she tries to reassure him.

“That’s way worse!” He complains.

As if sensing they were talking about him, Halson walks into the living room. He looks like he’s ready to kill someone.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get there.” He announces while he makes sure he has his passport with him.

“Just don’t kick his ass right away,” Dahyun pleads.

“I’m not making any promises,” Hansol rolls his eyes.

“She’s gonna hate us if you do,” Josh reminds him. “Just make sure to get both sides of the story.”

“We’re literally meddling in her private life, she’s gonna hate us regardless.” Sarcasm drips from his voice. “So I have to at least land a good punch on that fucker.”

Joshua can’t help but sigh again. Contrary to popular belief, Hansol is way more prone to be a lot more overprotective than he is, and that already says a lot. Of, course, Joshua knows he’s intense and kind of abrasive, but he’s never one to resort to violence. Josh admits he’s the bark, and Hansol is the bite. That’s why they make such a good team. And that’s why he didn’t want him to go alone.

“I really hope you guys don’t regret this,” Dahyun says hugging his waist.

“I think we will.”

During the flight, Hansol tries to think about something else. He really, really tries to write a song and even read the book he always carries around which title he’s already forgotten. He can’t. His mind goes back to his little sister and, by extension, to Josh.

He still remembers the day they met, they were both five and trying not to die of boredom at one of the fancy dinners their parents used to host all the time. Joshua’s chubby cheeks and proud grin are still clear in his mind, “I’m gonna be a big brother soon,” he remembers Joshua bragging. That summer, they met every day and Joshua would say he’d be his big brother too. He was bossy, even more than now, but he was fun. Joshua would try to teach him stuff and care for him, he really enjoyed flexing those few months between their birthdays. Hansol has to admit that he was a little jealous of Joshua’s unborn sister, he liked the attention and felt that the little girl would steal Joshua from him.

And then he saw her. So tiny and fragile, she stole his heart. “Can I be a big brother too?” He remembers asking Joshua. And it’s been like that ever since. He was there as much as he could and tried to help here and there. He thought little Yn would interfere with his time with Joshua, but it was Joshua who’d always tried to cut short his time with the little girl. He loved attending her tea parties and letting her and Karina paint his nails. He’s loved her ever since he first saw her, he’d give up his life for his sister. Blood doesn’t matter, that’s his sister. And he’s gonna make sure Yeonjun understands.

That’s what made him lose his mind in the first place. He was the first to welcome Yeonjun to their little family and even encouraged him to finally ask Yn out. He was really grateful for his presence in his sister’s life. He never expected that he would do something like this, especially completely out of nowhere.

“What the hell is going on?” He mutters looking out the window. There’s nothing to see, though, not besides some dark clouds in the distance.

Three days. It’s been three days since Yeonjun said he needed some space. You still can’t make sense out of his words. You tried texting him, calling him. You haven’t shown up to his place, though, you don’t think you could handle such a direct rejection if he refuses to see you even then. Where did it all go wrong? Everything was going great, better than great even. Everything was perfect.

Were you too pushy? Too clingy? Just too much? Or maybe he got scared? This was his first relationship after a really long time, after all. Maybe everything got way too serious way too fast. He did say he wanted to take things slow, see where it goes. But you thought you were on the same page, you thought you both had the same goals and desires. What if he was just trying to please you? What if you were just a means to an end? What if he was just trying to prove that he could be in a relationship?

But he said he loved you? Loved? When did you start to think about him in past tense? Isn’t he your present and future? Fuck. Everything is a little too overwhelming.

“I need to get out,” you say before grabbing your keys and going out.

You walk around for a few hours but turns out that that’s not enough to ease your mind. Your thoughts are still driving you crazy. Your heart still aching. And Yeonjun’s still missing. When did you get so used to him being around? You miss his jokes, his laugh. His yapping, his random stories. Every single part of him became a part of you. How is it possible to love someone that much in such a short time? His little quirks are engraved in your mind. And you miss him.

And then you see the best way to forget about everything. Even if just for a little while. You just want to forget. Life would be easier if you could just disappear until everything is right again.

“Just one drink,” you say before making your way into the bar.

Very bad idea.

notes:

please tell me you get the modern family reference 😭

joshua trying to be reasonable is my favorite thing ever

han is a real one

if you don't hate my writing and storytelling, you can help me choose my next story here lol

taglist: open! (3/50)

@estella-novella @poetryforthesad @lisaswifey @angelzforu @ihrtlix @gloriousqueenking @domfikeluva @conwunder @miniature-tragedy @jeonginplsholdmyhand @sh0dor1 @yourenzoo @tkshairband @realrintaro @castingjinx @amara-mars @hwangrfrnd @nujeskz @jisungs-iced-americano @zeizeisjy @va1entinaa @beomgyusluver @to-toad @akindaflora @hoefororeo @mandydxndy @nyanamii @delulu4-life @thatonexcgirl @starsunoo @4lndr17 @nbjch05 @borahae-reads @mrsstayfox @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @mrsminseochoi @velvetmoonlght @night-storm7 @lilbrorufr @hyunjinstolemyheart @mangojellyyy @ihrtantn @lausnotverybright @hwangism143 @wa1kinggh0st @skz-ot8-stay @athens-09xx

[sweetdispatch]

https://www.tumblr.com/sweetdispatch/776300941286703104/v-bakery-500-celly

hi can I pls request a 7 piece warm apple pie with passionfruit ice cream and crushed almonds? thank you!

Bad mother - N. Hischier

v' bakery pairing: Nico Hischier x fem!reader summary: After having a baby, you and Nico started trying for another one until your mind was covered in worry warning: NSFW, graphic sex (+18), oral (f receiving)

Two years ago, you and Nico welcomed your first child. It has been the best two years of your and Nico’ life. Your daughter brought a lot of happiness to your life and made you fall in love again with Nico. You two always had been talking about having a big family but when you and Nico started trying for another kid, you became scared. 

You played along, acting like you still want it but deep down, the kid made you change your mind. You felt like a bad mother and started overthinking every little mistake you’ve made. All the worries were pointless because you were the best mother for your daughter but you were scared that with a new kid, you might abandon the older one. 

One day, Nico returned home and placed a loving kiss on your lips. Your daughter was already asleep so you two had a night for each other. He started roaming his big hands on your body and you pulled from him. This move alarmed him that something’s off with you. 

“What happened?” Nico asked you to look at your face and read every emotion from it. 

“I’m scared Nico” There was no turn back. You took a deep breath and continued. “I’m scared to get pregnant again. I’m scared that with the new kid, I’ll forget about our daughter and won’t be a good mother for her. I was thinking about this lately since you brought up the conversation and I already feel not good enough for her” 

Nico looked at you with worry written on his face. He felt like he failed you in showing that you’re the best mother for your kid. His mind couldn’t understand why you are thinking this way about yourself. For him, you were a wonderful mother and wanted to have more kids with you. 

“Where is this coming from? You're a great mother so what’s with the worries?” Nico asked you and placed his hands on your waist. 

“I don’t want to be responsible for ruining our kid because we have another…” Before you could continue, Nico put a finger on your lips to make you stop talking. When you closed your mouth, he spoke.

“You’re prettier with your mouth shut, especially when you’re saying nonsense like you just did. You’re wonderful mother to our daughter and another kid won’t change it. Yes, your focus will be on the newborn but you’ll never abandon our daughter. Let me show you how much I adore you for everything you’re doing” Nico pulled you into a kiss and carried you into a bedroom. 

Nico sat down on the bed and you sat down on his knees. Gently, he took off your shirt and started admiring your breast in a bra. He went lower with his kisses, placing them on your jawline and neck. You threw your head so he could have a better access. Your hands went into his hair and slightly you pulled them. 

Softly, Nico placed you on a bed so you could lay on your back. He started going lower with kisses, whispering cute and meaningful things to you. With every word, you were blushing like crazy. Nico always made sure you felt good but today, he was worshipping you. He took off your sweatpants and panties in one, motion move. He placed one last kiss on your belly and gently spread your legs apart. 

No matter how many times Nico saw you naked, it always amazed him how amazing a body you have especially after giving birth. For him, you were the prettiest and hottest woman alive. He stopped his moves and looked at you for a minute. 

“I could look at you whole day and whole night and never get bored of this view. I mean, wow. You look absolutely insane and only for my eyes” Nico said and kneeled in between your legs. 

Nico started placing kisses on your inner thighs before he kissed your pussy. He was delicate in his moves, and didn't want to rush things. Just wanted to show you how wonderful a woman you are and all your worries are pointless. He took the time with you. He didn’t want to just give an orgasm. He wanted you to feel appreciated. 

It was an act full of love. You felt his every touch on you. You became a mess under him and were moaning like crazy. Nico knew all your sweet spots and wanted to give you the most pleasure he could. He was eating you out and your hands went into his hair. You were slightly pulling them while enjoying this like never. All your worries were long forgotten. Now, it was all about you and him. 

Nico added a finger into you to bring you closer to the edge. He was well aware that you won’t last long and wanted to give you the most. His other hand was firmly laying on your thigh so you couldn’t close them. You arched your back from the pleasure. Not long after, you cum around his lips. You felt drained from the energy. 

You tried to catch your breath when Nico lied next to you and pulled you closer to hug you. You two laid like that for a couple of minutes until he spoke. 

“I don’t want you to feel forced to have another kid. If you’re not ready, I understand it but please, never say that you’re a bad mother. I couldn’t picture anyone better as a mother for our kid” Nico softly said. You smiled at his words. 

“I want another one but maybe not now. Can we wait a little longer until I settle down with my emotions?” You asked him, already knowing the answer. 

“Always” Nico kissed your cheek. “Now, go to sleep. It’s already after your bedtime” He joked and you cuddled him.

[hhughes]

Pre getting together kisses pls

𐙚 ─── a/n: I love them so much you guys don’t understand I’m so obsessed😩 welcome to another version of friend luke and violet making out. as always I hope you enjoy and don’t be afraid to spam me with lukey and vi thoughts🥰 this is like senior year luke and violet😚 (0.4K)

“we have to study, actually study lu, the math quiz-“ violet’s words get cut off by luke pressing his lips to hers again, his hands sneaking underneath her hoodie to caress the bare skin at her waist

violet forgets what she was saying a minute ago, moving easily when luke tugs her on top of him, her legs going on either side of his hips. a position she’s found herself in time and time again the last few weeks. her and luke’s study sessions always ending in make outs so heavy it made her unable to look ellen in the eye on the way home.

“mm we don’t need to study, I’ll pass, and you’ll stress yourself out, convinced you’ve failed only to get a 100 like you always do,” luke mumbles against her lips, tugging on the edge of her hoodie and violet lifts her arms to help him take it off, leaving her in a tight fitted crop strappy top.

violet’s head falls back with a breathy sigh as luke’s lips trail down her neck to her collarbone, sucking harshly on the skin at the top of her breast. violet’s protest at him leaving marks dies on her tongue, both because he has her tongue twisted and because she knows she likes them more than she’ll admit.

“we have to do math,” violet tries again, no real conviction on her tone. if luke removes her from his lap she might actually cry. doing math was the last thing she wanted to do when she could stay here and run her hands all over her best friend’s prominent abs

“one mouth, another mouth, three kisses. math,” luke mumbles, moving back up to her lips and nipping at her bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue

“one and one equals three? you sure you don’t wanna study math lukey?” violet giggles and luke closes his eyes, dropping his head back and letting out a laugh, genuinely perplexed at how he just made that simple error

“it’s your fault. I can’t do anything with you in my lap, never mind math, even if it is simple math. you distract me,” luke defends himself, his hands placed firmly on her hips, trying not to think about her ass resting right above his dick, luke connects their lips in another deep kiss before pulling away, smiling cheekily when she leans forward, chasing his lips with her own.

“luke,” she whines when she lowers her lips to meet his and he swerves away.

“what? I thought you wanted to study math,” luke answers, the epitome of innocence, teasing smile breaking out on his face when his girl sends him a glare

“just shh and bring your lips over here,” violet replies, and luke feels the swarm of butterflies in his stomach as she tugs on his chain

“yes ma’am,” he grins, following orders.

[glossykissies]

despite understanding how dangerous peter's line of work is and how he actively works to keep her out of the line of fire, i still believe princess!reader would throw a tantrum every so often. like he's been gone longer than usual & she just can't take it that no one knows he's hers only, feeling like he's hiding her - 🍓

you never thought you’d have the urge to stomp your foot at peter of all people, but here you were — dressed in a silk night gown on the day you were supposed to be getting all of your girl maintenance done, throwing a fit.

“no!” you clench your fists by your side, knee practically vibrating with the urge to thump.

“n— are you seriously telling me no right now?” peter looks around in disbelief, before stepping forward authoritatively and pointing a finger. “its for your safety. i’m dropping you off at my apartment where it’s safe and i’ll collect you in the morning.”

“i have plans!” your voice cracks and you give in, stomping aggressively in a way you hope is intimidating.

“really? you’re throwing a tantrum right now.” his voice flattens and he drops his hands for a moment, done with the games. he steps towards you, hauling you up over his shoulder. he didn’t quite care that you were looking indecent in your nightie, this was urgent.

“put me down!” you thump him on his strong back, having no effect whatsoever.

“no can-do. you can hate me, but at least you’ll be alive.” he grumbles as he grabs his keys, fighting you out the apartment door even when you grab the door hinge.

[belit0]

Uchihas finding out that their s/o is more powerful than them? ( Itachi Sasuke Shisui Madara indra Obito )

Let's see

Indra

Indra had felt it before he acknowledged it. Power hummed beneath her skin like a restrained storm, a force too vast to be ignored. He studied her in silence, arms crossed as he watched her dismantle an opponent with unnerving precision. His own disciples had never been so efficient.

His expression remained unreadable, but something in his eyes sharpened.

-You have been hiding this.

There was no question in his voice, only fact. She met his gaze, unfazed, unyielding.

-You never asked.

A rare flicker of amusement crossed his face. Not a smile, never that, but something like intrigue.

-I will not make that mistake again.-

Madara

Madara had always considered himself the pinnacle of strength, a warrior unmatched. But then she stood before him, unscathed from an attack that would have shattered mountains.

He laughed. A deep, rich sound full of something dangerous.

-I should be furious.- He took a step closer, sharing the same breath of air. -But this…- His Sharingan spun, eyes raking over her. -This is exhilarating.-

For the first time, he looked at her not as an equal, not as a companion, but as a challenge. And Madara thrived on challenges.

-You’ll have to show me just how deep your power runs.-

Obito

Obito didn’t want to believe it at first. Not because he thought her weak, but because he wasn’t supposed to be the lesser one. His breath hitched when he saw the effortless way she dismantled the battlefield, rendering everything around her insignificant.

-You…- He swallowed, eyes searching hers. -When did you get so strong?-

She tilted her head.

-I always was.

Something in his chest ached. If she had always been this strong, then what did that make him? He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

-I guess… I’ll have to work harder, huh?- His laugh was sheepish, but there was a flicker of something else in his gaze... relief. If she was strong, then she would never need saving.

Shisui

Shisui’s eyes widened, then sparkled. -Oh, this is amazing.-

She had taken him down. Easily. And instead of frustration, all he felt was pure, unfiltered excitement.

-Do you know how much I love this?- He grinned, springing to his feet as if he hadn’t just been floored. -This means we can spar for real! No holding back!-

He circled her, eyes alight with something close to admiration.

-I knew you were strong, but this?- He whistled. -Marry me.-

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the way her lips twitched upward.

Itachi

Itachi didn’t speak at first. He simply observed, taking in every shift in her stance, every flicker of her power that exceeded his own. And then, as if nothing had happened, he nodded.

-I see.

That was it. No resentment, no frustration. Just understanding. She raised an eyebrow.

-That’s all you have to say?

-What else is there?- His expression was unreadable, but there was something like relief in his voice. -If you are stronger than me, then that only means you will survive.-

It was the highest compliment he could give.

Sasuke

Sasuke hated the idea. It burned, deep and ugly, clawing at his pride. He was the strongest. He had to be. And yet… she had beaten him.

His jaw clenched, fists curling at his sides as he glared at her.

-That was a fluke.

She gave him a look—calm, patient, infuriating.

-Was it?

His Sharingan flared to life.

-We’re doing that again.

He wouldn’t stop until he won. Even if it took forever.

[acphengene]

Gone

₊ ⁺ pairing: Sunghoon x reader

₊ ⁺ word count: 713

₊ ⁺ genre: soulmate au, angst

₊ ⁺ note: this is not Sunghoons story but more of an alternative ending for him, so you’ll get your sappy story some other time, I just needed to get this out! I have not proof read this sorry if it’s not as well written as usual

The two of you had found eachother on the day you got your mark, for a second everything turned black and white until your eyes locked and all the colors once again returned.

You had hoped it would be him, that Sunghoon was the person you were destined to be with. He had cried and you had comforted him, you always did.

He was your best friend and you were his, the two of you against the world. But then you got sick, and he was right there by your side, kissing your forehead and bringing you flowers. You never felt more blessed.

To this day he still brought you flowers every time he returned to you. You knew it was hard for him whenever he had to leave again, to go back to his idol life, forced to forget about you, forced to act like you didn’t exist. But you also knew it was for the best. It was easier this way.

Whenever he returned from his home once every year he was distant, the guys had gotten used to it over the years and left him alone. It was harder now, had been since Jake had found Dovie.

He saw how they looked at him, with both pity for not having a mark and hope that he just didn’t discover it yet. And he could tell them, tell them about you, introduce you all, but if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t ready yet.

You respected his decision, and in some ways you also didn’t mind that you were his little secret. You understood why he did it.

Today you had been excited, excited because it was your birthday and that always meant he came to visit. But he didn’t smile when he gave you the flowers, he didn’t tell you about what he had been up to. He just cried.

“It’s hard little one, it’s getting harder and harder every year”

You reached out for him but he avoided your touch. You winced.

“Sometimes I wish it wasn’t you” he finally admitted. And as much as it hurt you understood. “Sometimes I wish you weren’t mine”

He laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “I sometimes pretend that my person is still out there, I sometimes dream that my mark hasn't manifested yet, that it in reality is a touch mark and I won’t know until I meet her, touch her.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, it just isn't fair” he sat down on the grass, pulling at it and you rolled his eyes. He had always had a hard time sitting still, it was cute, but incredibly annoying.

“I just miss you” he said and finally looked up at you. It was as if he was staring right through you. You reached for his hand but he didn’t react to your touch. He never did.

I miss you too.

It was okay that he was sad, it was okay that he let out his frustrations, you too had sometimes wished that he hadn't been yours, but the universe had decided.

It hadn’t cared enough for your soulmate, it hadn’t given him a chance of true love, it had left him with you, and as much as you loved him, you did also feel bad for him.

He stood again after a long silence. “Happy birthday, I love you. Always have, always will”

Sunghoon stepped past you and laid a hand on the stone that stood on your grave, and you hated you couldn’t pull him close, you hated you couldn’t return the words. Couldn’t tell him that it was okay if this was the last time he came.

You always wondered if this would be the last time he came by, if he had finally healed that part of his soul enough to finally let go. Maybe the universe would grant him a new soulmate if he let you go. You hoped so.

What you failed to understand was that he didn’t want someone new, he just wanted you. He knew he would find you in his next life, and he couldn’t wait. But maybe in another universe you were still alive, maybe he was still searching for you there. He hoped so.

Note: did I manage to rip your heart out? I hope so, I know it’s mean. I’ll do him justice eventually - but first it’s Niki’s turn and I’m still so lost for ideas. Okay honestly that’s a lie I just have to many ideas and can’t figure out which one to choose. Might do a vote and let you decide 🤷🏼‍♀️

Taglist: @why4anne @juicygirl4life @azzy02 @bluxjun @why-did-i-just-do-this @elairah @ramyeonzwithspam @floating-moon-dust @skyearby @acourtofmoonlightandstars @garrdenwonie @whateveridontcaresheesh @stormy1408 @tunafishyfishylike @sol3chu @spicxbnny @blvengene

[delulustateofmind]

hi hi hi it's me again!!

thank you so much for another unbelievably delicious portion of cult leader geto!! read it and had a question!!

wouldn't suguru be worried that if sex comes only as punishing method at first, his little lamb would assosiate it with something negative? how would he try to change such connections in her head? cause at first no matter how gentle/loving/slow he would try to be it would still be forced for her:(

i guess that in his mind it is like forcing kid to eat porridge, yk... (lmao). of course she doesn't want it, but she is just too silly to understand that she needs it. luckily for her, he knows! oh his god complex is shining as bright as the sun (if not brighter)

and if he still uses sex as punishment sometimes, does he just doing it roughly or does he adding more and more kinky/humiliating stuff? as i see it, it feels like those punishements could be meant to show her how bad things could possibly be and how much she should be grateful when he is being all gentle and loving.

oh i cant stop yapping when it comes to you lovely thank you so much for replying and listening to all of these tell me if it gets too much ahahah!! + if gojo owns a shrimp, nanami would own a hedgehog. grumpy, old hedgehog for whom kenny build the whole little house instead of regular cage. sorry. it doesn't leave my mind. btw hedgehog would love only nanamin (and hopefully his darling.)

❄️

Hi Pookie! It's always a pleasure to see you in my inbox! Thank you for indulging in my brain worms, though I fear the man writes himself at this point. Omg okay, I love this question because it taps right into his god complex and the way he rationalizes his actions. You’re so spot on - he sees it as something akin to training rather than punishment (in the last little blorbo I do think he just gave into lust at that point because what's hotter than your darling running away). In his mind, his little lamb is too naive to understand what’s good for her, so it’s his divine duty to guide her.

But the thing about Geto Suguru’s love is that it’s not just about control - it’s devotion. Obsession. Worship. Whatever you want to call it. You are his most precious thing, the heart of his world, the one pure soul in the middle of all the corruption and filth he has to deal with. He doesn’t just want you to belong to him - he wants you to love him, to need him just as much as he needs you. You are his soft spot, his greatest weakness, and that’s why he has to break you. Not because he hates you, not because he enjoys hurting you (he tells himself that, at least), but because he’s scared. Scared that if you're not shaped properly, you’ll slip through his fingers. That you’ll run. That you’ll force him to do some unsavory methods to keep you within his walls.

Because he’d rather destroy you than let you go.

The transition is slow because he wants you to believe that submission is natural- your true purpose. That you're the one standing in the way of your own peace. When you obey, he gives you the illusion of choice, affection, and “love.” He’s gentle and indulgent, praises you endlessly, and makes you feel like the most cherished being in his world (you are). You're his favorite, his special little lamb, as long as you behave. When you happen to resist? That’s when he corrects you. It’s never framed as cruelty - no, no, no. It’s your fault for making things harder on yourself.

Over time, he changes your outlook on reality. Rewriting what’s "normal." He makes you doubt your own instincts and forces you to question if you're actually suffering. Likes to remind you that there are people in the world who are starving, who don't get luxurious dinners hand-fed to them in the warmth of a person's lap. That they don't get to wear the finest of silks. Get to sleep under bundles of warm blankets. Honestly, Suguru thinks you're a little ungrateful.

However. when you finally reach your lowest point, when the exhaustion, fear, and helplessness finally sets in, that’s when he becomes soft. Loving. Almost unbearably tender. He holds you. He comforts you.

"See? This is what I wanted for you all along. Isn’t this better?"

With enough of these cycles, you start believing him, because who could love you more than he could?

When he uses sex for punishment...okay, so here’s the thing - I actually don’t think Geto has that high of a sex drive in general (he’s got two little girls in the house, come on, can’t be getting freaky). It’s also not about lust for him; it’s about control, about shaping his little lamb into what you’re supposed to be. He’s not doing this just to satisfy some primal urge; he’s doing it because he needs you to understand.

…Okay, and because he yearns for you. Desperately. He’d much rather have you come onto him - to feel you crave him, reach for him, surrender willingly. That’s what he truly wants. He doesn’t enjoy using sex as a punishment; it’s just a lesson, a reminder of how things could be if you just let yourself love him the way he loves you.

There are some levels of punishment (mentions of cervix fucking, dubcon/noncon, , shibari, toys, misuse of cursed orbs):

At first, it's just rougher, reminding you that this is what happens when you disobey. That he'll mark your skin with love bites, that his thrusts will be harsh and push against your cervix. Then, he adds elements of humiliation - pushing you into uncomfortable situations where you're completely powerless as he ties you with shibari ropes and allows himself free use of your body. Where you can't exactly ignore your body betraying you as he presses the vibrating wand to your clit on the highest setting just to remove it right when you're about to climax. Disobedient little lambs don't get to cum. He will do weeks of only anal, indulging himself into opening your tight hole for him, pressing his cursed orbs against the lubed rim (especially if you've been complaining about the plug) So he starts forcing comparisons: "Do you like this better? No? Then maybe you should think twice before defying me next time." As he pushes the orb deep inside, don't forget you will have to push it back out. Just to have your cries muffled with the pure white lacey panties he always makes you wear.

However, Suguru cherishes the sweeter moments with you. Like when you’re straddled on top of him, your wrists bound behind your back, not because he doesn’t trust you, but because you still have that adorable habit of trying to choke him. (He doesn’t mind too much. It’s cute, in its own way) Taking his time with you then, his big, calloused, warm hands firm on your waist as he moves slowly, too slow and teasing, just enough to drive you mad (seriously, he does this for hours). Drinking in the little whimpers, the frustrated huffs, the way your body starts trembling with lust as slick coats your thighs.

"If you want to cum, my love, you’ll have to work for it," he muses with that smug grin, "Move those pretty hips for me."

What he loves most is when you finally start to crave him. When the resistance fades, when the hunger in your eyes mirrors his own. When you lean in for his kisses, desperate, needing them as much as he needs you - and by then? He’s already untying the binds, letting his hands roam free, pulling you close to his chest as he drives his cock straight to the hilt.

"That’s it," he breathes against your lips, devotion laced in every syllable. "See how much better this is when you don’t fight me?"

RAHHHHH sorry for rambling so much… I just loved this question. I fear Suguru is just a little bit of a loser for his darling, but he has to bury it beneath all that manipulation and his desperate need for control. 😭 MWAH! Love you tons! 💕

[solvyn]

unspoken control - l.ball

summary: lamelo thrives on dominance and teasing you word count: 2.9k warnings: smut - unprotected p in v, slight dom/sub undertones, teasing

you barely notice the way people look at you when you walk into a room with him. it's not that you're oblivious; it's that you’ve learned not to care. because what does it matter, really? let them whisper. let them stare. let them try to dissect what’s going on between the two of you when even you don’t have a name for it.

he makes it easy not to overthink things. that’s just how lamelo is. there’s an ease to him, a looseness, like everything is just a game he’s already figured out how to win. sometimes it gets on your nerves—how little he seems to care about what other people think, how effortlessly he moves through the world, how he never questions himself the way you do. but other times, it’s the thing that makes you feel safest.

he’s always been good at reading you, at knowing when to push and when to let you come to him on your own. but there’s always been this unspoken thing between you—an understanding that no matter how much he lets you take the lead in public, behind closed doors, it’s different.

he’s different.

"come here," he says, and it's not a request. it never is with him, not when you're alone.

you hesitate—not because you don’t want to, but because you know what he’s doing. he likes to test you, to see if you’ll listen the first time or if you’ll make him ask again. there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he watches you consider your options, like he already knows which one you’ll choose.

and you do. you always do.

his hand wraps around your wrist the moment you’re within reach, tugging you forward until you’re standing between his legs. he’s sprawled out on the couch like he owns the place (and technically, he does), one arm draped over the backrest, the other resting on your hip like it belongs there.

“took you long enough,” he murmurs, fingers tracing lazy circles against the fabric of your dress. you roll your eyes, but the effect is ruined by the way your breath catches when he presses his palm flat against you, just enough pressure to remind you who’s really in control here.

“you’re so impatient,” you say, but your voice comes out softer than you mean it to. he smirks, tilting his head up to look at you properly.

“nah,” he says, slow and easy, like he’s got all the time in the world. “just know what i want.”

and it’s you. it’s always you.

he lets you have your little defiance, lets you pretend you’re the one deciding how this is going to go. but his grip tightens just slightly, fingers pressing into your skin in a silent reminder. you can push all you want, test all you want, but at the end of the day, you’ll always end up right here—right where he wants you.

because the thing about lamelo is that he never has to raise his voice to get what he wants. never has to force anything. it’s in the way he looks at you, the way he carries himself, the way he makes you want to follow his lead without even realizing it.

“sit,” he says, and this time, you don’t hesitate.

his hands are on you the second you settle onto his lap, one resting against the small of your back, the other trailing up your spine in a slow, deliberate touch that makes you shiver. he chuckles, low and knowing, and leans in until his lips are just barely brushing against your ear.

“good girl,” he murmurs, and just like that, you’re gone.

because that’s the thing about him—he doesn’t need to be rough, doesn’t need to bark orders or demand obedience. he just knows you, knows how to get under your skin, how to make you fall apart with nothing more than a look, a touch, a few well-placed words.

and the worst part? he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“you like this, don’t you?” he asks, voice laced with amusement. “pretend like you don’t, but i see right through you.”

you hate how right he is. hate how easy it is for him to read you, to unravel you, to make you feel like you don’t have a single secret left. but you love it, too. love the way he makes you feel small without making you feel weak. love the way he takes care of you without making it obvious. love the way he never lets you forget exactly who you belong to, even if neither of you have ever said the words out loud.

“shut up,” you mumble, pushing at his chest, but he just grins, catching your wrist in his hand before you can pull away. he presses a kiss to your palm, soft and slow, before dragging his lips down to your wrist, your forearm, the sensitive spot inside your elbow that makes you squirm.

“make me,” he challenges, and you know you’ve already lost.

his fingers tighten around your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. he leans back, studying you like he has all the time in the world, like he enjoys watching you squirm under his gaze. it’s a game to him, always has been, but it’s one you never win.

“you act like you don’t love this,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against the corner of your jaw. “but you always listen, don’t you?”

he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes, and the look he gives you makes your breath hitch. smug. knowing. like he sees right through every little act you try to put up. because he does. he always does.

“go on,” he prompts, voice low and commanding. “tell me i’m wrong.”

but you can’t. and he knows it.

so you do the only thing you can—you give in.

and the worst part? he doesn’t even gloat. doesn’t rub it in your face or make some smartass remark. he just hums in approval, like he knew all along, like he was just waiting for you to admit what he already knew.

his hand slips under your chin, tilting your face just enough for his lips to brush against yours. not a kiss, not yet, just a tease, a reminder that you’re his. and when he finally does close the distance, it’s slow and deliberate, like he has all the time in the world to remind you exactly what you already know.

because the thing about lamelo is that he doesn’t just ask for control. he takes it. effortlessly. casually. like it’s his by default.

and the worst part? you don’t want him to stop.

his lips move against yours, slow and confident, like he's exploring a territory he already knows he owns. you melt into him, your body pressing against his as his hand slides up your back, fingers tangling in your hair. he grips gently, just enough to send a shiver down your spine and remind you who's in charge.

he pulls away, his breath hot on your lips as he murmurs, "you're so responsive. it's like you were made for me."

you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but you don't look away. you can't. his gaze holds you captive, and you're drawn into the depths of his eyes, drowning in the unspoken promises you find there.

his hand moves from your hair, trailing down your neck, your shoulder, until it reaches the zipper of your dress. he toys with it, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your back, making you arch into him.

"melo," you whisper, half plea, half protest. you're not sure what you're asking for, but he knows. he always knows.

"shh," he soothes, his lips against your throat now, kissing and nipping gently. "i've got you. just let go."

you take a deep breath, forcing your body to relax, to submit to his touch. he smiles against your skin, and you can feel the curve of his lips as he murmurs, "good girl."

he slowly pulls the zipper down, his knuckles grazing your spine, making you shiver. the dress falls open, and he pushes it off your shoulders, letting it pool at your waist. you're exposed, vulnerable, but the way he looks at you makes you feel powerful. desired.

his hands are on you again, tracing the lace of your bra, teasing the swell of your breasts. you gasp as his thumb brushes over your nipple, the thin fabric doing little to dull the sensation. he does it again, and again, until you're squirming in his lap, your breath coming in short gasps.

"please," you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible. but he hears you. he always does.

he unclasps your bra with one hand, his other arm wrapped around your waist, holding you steady. you shrug out of the straps, and then you're bare, your breasts exposed to his hungry gaze.

he takes his time, his eyes roaming over you like he's committing every inch to memory. then he leans in, his lips wrapping around one taut peak, and you cry out, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

he sucks and licks, his tongue teasing you, his teeth grazing gently. you're a mess of sensations, your body on fire, your mind a blur. he switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention, until you're panting and writhing in his lap.

you can feel him hard beneath you, his arousal pressing against your thigh. you reach down, your hand brushing against him, and he growls, his mouth still on your breast.

"careful," he warns, his voice a low rumble. "don't start something you can't finish."

you look up at him, your eyes meeting his, and you see the challenge there. you smirk, your hand wrapping around him, feeling him throb in your grip.

"who says i can't finish it?" you ask, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you.

he chuckles, low and throaty, and leans in, his lips brushing against yours. "prove it," he whispers, and then he captures your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue claiming you, his body promising a night you won't forget.

and you know you're in trouble. the best kind of trouble.because with lamelo, it's always more than just a game. it's a dance, a battle, a surrender. and you wouldn't have it any other way.

your body responds to his challenge, a surge of heat rushing through you. you shift in his lap, straddling him, your dress riding up around your hips. his hands grip your thighs, fingers digging into your soft skin as you grind against him, feeling his hardness press against your core, separated only by the thin fabric of your underwear and his pants.

you break the kiss, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you look down at him, your eyes locked onto his. you can see the desire burning in his gaze, reflecting the fire that's consuming you. you reach down, your fingers working at his belt, then the button of his pants, your knuckles brushing against him, making him suck in a sharp breath.

he lifts his hips slightly, allowing you to tug his pants down, freeing him. you wrap your hand around his length, feeling him pulse against your palm. he's hot and hard, and you can't help but stroke him, your thumb brushing over his tip, spreading the bead of moisture you find there.

he groans, his head falling back against the couch, his eyes never leaving yours. "you're playing with fire," he warns, his voice a low growl.

you smile, a slow, sultry curve of your lips. "maybe i want to get burned," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

he chuckles as his hands tighten on your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin. "careful what you wish for," he says, and then he's moving, his hips bucking up into your touch, his hands sliding up to grip your waist.

you gasp as he lifts you, his strength surprising, and then you're hovering over him, the heat of him pressing against your core. you're wet, your body ready for him, and you can feel the thin fabric of your underwear clinging to you, the only barrier left between you.

"last chance," he murmurs, his eyes locked onto yours, giving you the choice even as his body trembles with restraint.

you reach down, pushing your underwear to the side, and then you lower yourself onto him, inch by agonising inch. you both groan as he fills you, your body stretching to accommodate him. you can feel every ridge, every vein, as you take him in completely.

his hands are on your hips, guiding you as you start to move, rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. you brace your hands on his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you ride him, your body chasing the pleasure only he can give you.

he meets your movements, his hips thrusting up to meet yours, his body driving into you with a force that leaves you gasping. you can feel the fire burning hotter, the pressure building inside you, threatening to consume you.

his hand slides up your body, his fingers wrapping around your throat, his thumb pressing gently against your pulse point. it's a possessive touch, a reminder of who's in control, even as you ride him. you can feel your heartbeat against his thumb, your body on the edge, ready to fall over into the abyss.

"come for me," he commands, his voice low and rough, his eyes locked onto yours. "let me see you fall apart."

and you do. you can't help it. your body convulses, your inner muscles clenching around him as the orgasm rips through you. you cry out, your head falling back, your eyes closed as the pleasure consumes you.

he follows you over the edge, his body tensing, his grip on your hips tightening as he thrusts up into you one last time. you can feel him pulsing inside you, filling you, marking you as his.

you collapse against him, your body limp, your breath coming in ragged gasps. his arms wrap around you, holding you close, his heart pounding against yours. you can feel the heat of his body, the sweat slicking your skin, the scent of him surrounding you.

and in that moment, you know. you belong to him. completely. irrevocably. and there's no turning back.

the room is quiet, save for the sound of your ragged breaths slowly returning to normal. your body is still pressed against his, your heartbeat syncing with his steady, strong pulse. his arms are wrapped around you, holding you close, his hands tracing lazy patterns on your back.

you can feel the intensity of the moment still lingering, like the remnants of a storm, the air charged with electricity. your body is sated, your muscles relaxed, but there's a hum just beneath your skin, a reminder of the fire that consumed you moments ago.

his lips press against your shoulder, a soft, gentle kiss that sends a shiver down your spine. you lift your head, your eyes meeting his, and you see the same intensity reflected in his gaze. it's softer now, tempered by satisfaction, but it's there—a smouldering ember ready to ignite again at the slightest provocation.

"you okay?" he asks, his voice a low rumble, his eyes searching yours.

you nod, a small smile playing on your lips. "more than okay," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

he smiles back, a slow, lazy curve of his lips that makes your heart flutter. his hand comes up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. you lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

when you open your eyes again, he's watching you, his expression serious. "you're mine," he says, his voice low, steady, leaving no room for argument. "you know that, right?"

you take a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. you do know it. you belong to him. body, heart, and soul.

you nod, your voice steady as you say, "i'm yours."

a look of satisfaction flashes across his face, and he leans in, his lips capturing yours in a slow, deep kiss. it's a claiming, a sealing of your words, a promise of more to come. you melt into him, your body responding to his touch, your heart swelling with emotions you can't put into words.

when he pulls away, his eyes are dark, the intensity back in full force. "say it again," he demands, his voice rough.

you look into his eyes, your voice clear and steady as you say, "i'm yours, melo."

he growls, a low, possessive sound that sends a shiver down your spine. his hands tighten on your hips, and you can feel him hardening against you, his body ready for you again.

"you drive me crazy," he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours. "i can't get enough of you. i don't think I ever will."

[dumbgoondog]

From GN!AFAB!Reader, Choco on caramel and coffee in a white bowl!!! For Yujjiiiii x3

Curse!Yuji Sundae

Chocolate on caramel and coffee, in a white bowl. GN!AFAB!Reader. Cursed Spirit AU where reader is kidnapped and being owned by Curse!Yuji, and you two are about to get it on for the first time.

Cw/Tw - Kidnapping. Stockholm Syndrome, Lima Syndrome, blood, dub con, non human D, unprotected p in v, slight breeding kink mention, toxic, Dead Dove Do Not Eat.

Started out as thoughts and then kinda became a fic, oops. Curse!Yuji is making me rethink the Yuji alphabet, so I might redo that.

Yuji, who despite everything, couldn’t stand the thought of a moment without you. Even if you began to hate him, he needed you to see him. He wanted to take care of you.

Yuji, who said nothing to his grand uncle and snuck out to collect you. The way you struggled but were so warm against him and he was holding you for the first time too! His heart felt like it would explode from his chest.

Yuji, taking you back to the web, and bringing you to his burrow and room, making a web shackle and locking you in with him.

Yuji, not knowing what to do from here so he just sits and stares watching you panic and struggle the way the blood that made a shallow pool in the bottom of the room sloshes around you. Yuji who listens to your every plea and shout of anger, noting how you flip between them so drastically but Yuji never responds.

Yuji sits there for hours, watching you ride out the adrenaline, struggling and trying everything you can to get freedom. Yuji watches you cry and beg and Yuji can’t help but feel mesmerized.

Finally you pass out. Yuji doesn’t understand, well actually he does, he’s just in denial about it right now. Maybe he could ask someone else for advice?

Yuji who leaves after putting a blanket over you to go find someone… Sukuna maybe? What about Mahito? Choso?

Yuji who definitely starts to feel the guilt kick in and starts getting stuff to make you food and other comforting things.

Yuji who’s waiting in the dark corner of his room when you wake and scared the shit out of you.

Yuji who puts his lower hands up his eyes widening and he begins to ramble, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry I have to! I won’t hurt you, I promise! Please I’m so sorry, please don’t yell!”

Yuji who’s trying so hard to convince you that he’s your friend that you both can be such good friends, that he got you new clothes and food!

Yuji who’s honestly really excited to dress you up in clothes he picked out.

Yuji who lets you panic and struggle against your shackles but he’s patient and you’re still so tired.

Yuji who comes forward with your food but stops as you tell him to stay away from you, so he continues to try and console you, “I promise I won’t eat you! I’m trying to help you! I got you food and clothes! I’m sorry I know this is scary but trust me! I’m your friend!”

—

Yuji who’s had you for a nearly a year now.

Sukuna has finally met you now, Mahito, Choso, and the others know about you too now! Though they haven’t met you because Yuji is just a bit protective and possessive.

Yuji who’s gained enough trust now to give you your food and bring you gifts. He’s a bit worried you might try to escape with the gifts though…

Yuji got you a pool float bed, so that you don’t have to sit and lay in the blood of his room. Yuji loves watch you Bob around on it as you sleep your ankle lightly tugging you back to the corner so you don’t just float all around the room.

Yuji also got a dresser for all of your clothes he’s been getting you, and he’s even asked which ones you like the most so he can get more of that style.

Yuji who when you’re in a good mood gets to talk to you! If he’s not careful though some topics will remind you of things and you get sad and clam up.

Yuji who even got you to start calling him by his name! And recently every time you say it his heart flutters and he’s pretty sure he’s in love with you.

Yuji also loves that sometimes you’ll sleep deep enough that he can come over and brush your hair as you sleep. Yuji loves that so much, it’s so wholesome and domestic that he forgets you two aren’t together.

Yuji who has started jerking off to you as you sleep and his pathetic little whimpers and apologetic pleas. Once you woke up and pretended to sleep to listen to him. Never once has he touched you or cum on you during it though. He always sits in his web in the corner.

Yuji who after he does that, every time without fail, brings you gifts. Your favorite snacks, a new book, new clothes, something to decorate your corner, anything.

Yuji who doesn’t know that you’ve been beating yourself up because you have slowly been growing to LIKE him. Your captor. The MONSTER, holding you captive for how long now? A few months? A year? You can’t tell time in here.

Yuji who’s noticed that you’ve been flipping back and forth between being open with him and hostile like the beginning and he doesn’t understand WHY.

Yuji who despite your flippant behavior is still being as sweet as possible and offers to finally take you to see the neighborhood… as long as you wear cuffs one side on you and the other to him.

Yuji who’s surprised when you say no, and ask for a clock. Who is he to deny you though? Yuji just wants you to be happy here with him.

—

Yuji didn’t mean to walk in on you but he’s frozen watching you. Your fingers slipping between wet folds playing with your clit and tugging it slightly before sliding down to your entrance to tease. The breathy sounds, the whimpers, he wanted to paint a picture because how could something so amazing exist?

The way your body shook and twitched, at such light touches, the noises that spilled from your lips the chimes of the heavens. How you laid on your side legs pulled to your chest, a hand snaked between your thighs playing with those pretty puffy wet folds, the creamy arousal dripping from you. The icing on the cake, the big sweater you’re holding, HIS sweater.

Yuji wants to move to get a better view, to come closer to you, to touch even! His legs won’t move though, and every word is caught in his throat. There’s a tightness in his pants that makes him squeeze his eyes shut from how hard he was getting just watching you.

You on the other hand, huff and pant having given up over a month ago on holding onto dignity. You knew it was your brain becoming victim to Stockholm, trying to help you make best of the situation, but at the same time could you not be delusional and enjoy this for your own sanity? So what if it was delusional, maybe things could get better, become healthy even!

For now though, you chase pleasure, his moans from lonesome nights guiding you in your fingers dance through draperies to your home. You imagine his embrace, hands touching along you so sweetly, nervously even. His whimpers against you and how his hands would feel against you, and pushing into you.

You gasp finally slipping a finger in, lips quivering from what felt like hours of teasing, a sweet song singing from them, “a-ah~! Yuji!”

Yuji straightens. He heard you, correctly right? You just moaned HIS name right?

He swallows a hand moving to his pants tugging them down just enough to free his cock. He bites his lip holding back a whimper as he twitches and takes himself into his hand pulling back the foreskin and starting to stroke his length as it twists and curls around his fist.

He’s trying to match your pace, and as much as your fingers go in the same amount he strokes of himself. You’re whimpering trying to pick up the pace, that high so far but so close if you can just find the right rope to climb. Both of you coming more undone the more you both touch and languish in the pleasures of the body.

Finally Yuji can’t hold back a gasp, and you jolt to cover yourself and hide the sweater. He jolts as well seeing you jerk up and see him, much like you he’s trying to cover himself and you’re both stammering for words. Finally he speaks up, “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to peep or perv on you- I got back early and you said my name- you looked so lovely- I’m so sorry-“

“No no- I- Yuji-“ you stammer embarrassed flushed, and sweaty. You were getting so close but now you had a chance for something better. Swallowing you glance down and murmur, “Please… please help me finish, Yuji.”

Yuji snaps his gaze back to you eyes widening and he opens his mouth just to close it again. Almost to excitedly, he’s pushing into the blood and wading through to get to your pool float. You sit up a bit startled by how quickly he’s moving but relax a bit when he stops at the edge waiting for your permission first.

You nod and he crawls on moving to loom over you, you glance down eye widening seeing the tentacle writhing between your legs. It’s slightly glowing with a wine color and dripping pre- blood? You’re not sure. The tip reaches down and licks up your folds with a shaky nervousness.

Both of you shudder, and you reach up to push him off getting a small surprised and sad noise from the curse. You push him onto his back and Yuji’s eyes widen as you straddle him rubbing his length between your folds. Both of his hands fly to your hips and his tip curls around your clit squeezing and rubbing it.

Again you both tremble in pleasure but you lift your hips and his eager length follows with the tip tracing to your entrance. You roll your hips teasing him in, giving shaky breaths and he’s squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise his chest rising and falling with very quick breaths. You push down more and more and he’s shaking choking on the pleasure, you can tell he’s holding back but how long will that last?

Not long is the answer, because once he reaches full hilt inside of you he’s lifting your hips up and bringing them down to meet his again midway. You gasp and squeeze in pleasure and slight pain, still relishing in the full feeling of him inside you, but he’s to eager. His hips are smacking up into you feverishly, he’s panting and moaning as you lean over gasping, “Y-yuujjii~! Slow! Slow down!”

“C-can’t! You feel too good! So wet, so tight-“ Yuji pants thrusting and squeezing at your ass trying to milk you for all of your noises and the lovely creaminess of your cunt. You both are still riding the pleasure from the solo so it’s not taking much for both of you to get back to the high again. Yuji’s second set of arms wrap around you and pull you in tight as he starts kissing up your neck, “Fuck- I feel- I feel so good, please- please I wanna cum in you so badly!”

You gasp at the words, the kisses, his warm embrace- and cum hard. Squeezing and fluttering you cry out in pleasure and he gasp milking your orgasm until he can’t hold it in. He pulls out and you can feel his length squirm and rut up against your ass as thick hot ropes of cum spurt onto your back.

Finally you both are twitching and panting, sticky and messy. You close your eyes, deciding to ignore any talks that would need to be had or things to think about for now focusing on rest. Which Yuji is happy for because you’re falling asleep on top of him, and he can protect you so good like this.

[supernova-17]

It’s a normal enough day, date night, and you’ve dragged Rin to the arcade to indulge in your crane game addiction, pulling him all around the area as you try (and mostly fail) at hopefully acquiring more stuffed animals to add to your already overpowering collection (a collection that oftentimes blocks Rin from his reach if you at night much to his annoyance).

You both take a break, lounging at the pizzeria located inside along with your ever growing bags of prizes (mostly won by Rin, he’s ridiculously good at these games much to your slight disappointment, then again you can’t feel too bad when it’s his money your spending).

Eventually though, after happily munching at your pizza, you start looking at him with this look, a look that he knows all too well as you itching to say something insufferable, and he just sighs.

“What.” He asks, his voice somewhat dry as he looks at you.

“I just want you to give me a kiss!” You say with a cheerful little smile.

“No.”

His blatant refusal startles you for a moment and he can see the weight of disappointment sink into your chest, your expression faltering a bit.

He sighs for a bit before speaking again, his voice a bit sheepish.

“I just— I mean… you can’t just ask that here…” Rin mumbles vaguely gesturing around the arcade.

“I didn’t mean anything crazy by it, I just meant a peck.” You say, with a slight pout on your lips. “But if you’re not okay with that I won’t push you.”

“You’re so dumb.” He says, his cheeks flushed slightly. “I can’t just give you a peck.

You blink up at him, trying to understand what he’s getting at, before a smug smile pulls at your lips.

“Ohhh, so it’s like that is it?” You ask, clearly smug to which he scoffs at.

“Shut it.”

“Nooo, you can’t resist me, you adore me, you loooove me don’t you?”

“I’m leaving you here.”

“You’re full of shit.”

He glares at you but you just smile at him, giggling a bit when you see the slightest hint of softness in his eyes (but if you were an outsider you’d know he always looked at you like a lost puppy).

“Don’t worry, I’ll kiss you a whole bunch when we get home.” You say with a smile.

He doesn’t respond verbally at first, but you can see how the tips of his ears flush red.

You still don’t get it. Not really, at least if you think it’ll stop at just a few fast kisses and cuddles, but you’ll understand when you both get home, the all encompassing desire he feels for you every time he sees that ridiculous cute smile on your face everytime he wins you a prize or the way your eyes light up whenever you see the next stuffed animal that attracts you.

You’ll never truly understand how deep his affection goes for you, but he thinks you might feel a fraction of it when he proves it to you later tonight with your glassy eyes looking up at him as he hits that spot deep inside of you, that spot that has you curling your toes and calling his name the way yours echos in his mind.

[stargazer-sims]

The Burglar

This is the chaos I signed up for, and we need more stuff like this! I had the burglar experience while I was playing yesterday and it is hilarious (although I'm not sure Yuri and Victor would agree with me).

I only had to play through about one and a half sim days before this happened:

Here she comes!

This isn’t Robin Banks. From what I understand, Robin herself only appears in fresh saves, not pre-existing ones. This old thief was called Opal Anderson, and clearly she’s made a lifelong career of it.

Opal sneaked into the house…

…and scared the crap out of Yuri, who was the only one up. Victor and Caroline were already in bed, resting up for a big day of snowboarding ahead.

Yuri panicked and ran outside. He had to call the police!

Meanwhile, Opal recognized she was in a Japanese home and took off her shoes before going through the house, browsing for valuables.

Opal: Let’s see. What looks good?

Opal: Nice oven! I could use an oven like that.

Opal: hahahaha! No more oven for you!

Outside, Yuri was terrified because Victor and Caroline hadn’t come out yet. Before phoning the police, he texted Victor to tell him to get out because there was someone in the house.

Yuri: What if he’s still sleeping and didn’t get my message?! I’ll have to go back inside.

No sign of the police yet, either.

But Victor did get the message. He was about to wake Caroline and try to find a way to sneak out with her, but then he heard some strange noises and decided to investigate.

He caught Opal in the process of stealing the oven.

Victor: You put that oven back right now!

Opal: I won’t, and there’s nothing you can do about it!

Unfazed, Opal made her way upstairs to see if she could find any more good still to liberate.

She didn’t realize Victor was persistent enough to follow her.

Victor: That’s Caroline’s room! You stay away from my daughter, or else!

Opal: Ooh… or else what?

Victor: Don’t try anything, or you’ll find out.

Opal: I feel like stealing a lamp. Does your daughter have any nice lamps in her room?

Victor: Leave Caroline’s lamps alone!

Opal: Make me.

You asked for it, Opal!

On the plus side, he won the fight and got the oven back. On the negative side, the police never did show up, and Opal ran off.

I have a feeling she’ll be back, though.

[i-dared-myself]

War and Ice Cream

Ateez x reader

In which sacrifice becomes too much.

Cw: Crack taken seriously. This is like really angsty for no reason? Like there’s violence in this, but it’s not actual violence.

This is war. This is bloodshed, with no mercy.

Children are not spared. The elderly are executed. And women…

“I’ve never understood the whole ‘spare the women’ thing,” Jongho tells you. “If this is a truly equal world, you shouldn’t be sacrificing yourself for women. You should be sacrificing women for yourself.”

You squint at him. “I don’t think that’s the definition of gender equality.”

Yeosang examines his rifle, hitting the side of it with the palm of his hand. “What if I aim it the wrong way?”

“You won’t,” Hongjoong tells him. “That’s really not how guns work. You can tell which end is which.”

You adjust your vest, pursing your lips. “And Jongho, I think sacrificing women goes against gender equality.”

“No…” Yunho slowly says. “I’m on his side for this. Because if we sacrifice ourselves for women, that means we think they’re the weaker sex.”

Jongho nods along. “Exactly. But if we push them into the line of fire, that means we see them as strong. As capable people.”

You glance to Hongjoong, wanting his opinion on the matter. “What do you think?”

“I think,”’Hongjoong rolls his eyes, “that you all need to be quiet. I will not lose to Seonghwa’s team.”

“I’m still a bit unsure about this,” you warily say. “Are we sure that paintball is safe?”

“Hey.” Yeosang places a hand in his arm to reassure you. “It’s a team bonding experience. So what if that means you take a bullet to the head. It’s bonding.”

“Which is why we have helmets,” Yunho gently reminds you.

“I just don’t understand why we couldn’t do normal team bonding. Like Mariokart. Or literally anything else.” You sigh heavily.

Jongho tightens the straps to your helmet. “You’ll be okay. Just remember: We leave the weak behind.”

You laugh, thinking he’s joking, but when he doesn’t smile you freeze. “Oh. You won’t- What happens if they get me?”

“We’re simulating actual battle,” Hongjoong explains. “If your leg is shot, you can’t use it. If it’s directly to the head, you’re out. First team to eliminate all of the rest wins.”

“Okay.” You nod confidently, even though your helmet shifts at the moment. After you adjust it, you stand up. “Let’s do this!”

So your team charges into battle, unaware of what the other team is planning. You’re so unprepared for what’s about to come your way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Left!” Hongjoong screams at Yeosang. “No, your other left!”

Yeosang squeaks as he dives to the side, narrowly dodging a spray of paintballs. They dye the dirt bright colours, and you stare at them blankly.

Your back is pressed up to a crate for cover, and you squeeze your weapon to your chest tightly. Your heart is racing and adrenaline is pumping through you. You never want to play this game again.

“Go!” Jongho screeches. ��Run!”

You tremble, wholly controlled by fear. This is not how you wanted to spend your day off.

With your teammates shouting at you, waving from the safety of a shed, you get to your feet. They shake beneath you, threatening to collapse. You take a few wobbly steps as they provide cover, shooting back at your opponents.

You get shot on your thigh, and your leg gives out. You’re on the ground now, blinking dust out of your eyes. The pain is quickly fading, quickly being replaced with anger.

Anger with yourself for being shot, and anger at all these fuckers for getting you in this position.

Then you’re being straddled, and Mingi’s grinning down at you. 

“You’re lucky we take prisoners,” he says, ignoring the whizzing of paintballs past his head. None of them hit him, and you curse your teammates for having such poor aim.

You’re thrown over Mingi’s shoulder, letting out a huff as he throws your rifle away. It lands with a clatter, and you catch Jongho’s look of satisfaction, with a mix of remorse.

“You bastards!” You shake your fist at them as Mingi carries you away. “I should’ve known this was your plan! It was to eliminate the weak, wasn’t it?”

Mingi roughly deposits you in an empty room. The windows are boarded up and there’s a singular chair. 

“Sit,” he orders, pointing to it and staring out the cracks in the door. 

You carefully perch yourself in it, leaning back into it. “What’s going on?”

Mingi opens the door, and Seonghwa glides in, eyes glittering dangerously. He approaches you before crouching so he can be at eye level with you.

“I have a proposition,” he lowly says, voice dripping with promise. Promise to give you the vengeance you crave.

You swallow thickly. “Yeah?”

Mingi slips out of the door, certain now that you won’t try to escape. It clicks behind him softly, louder than Seonghwa’s voice as he tries to tempt you away from honour.

“They abandoned you.” Seonghwa’s bottom lip juts out. “But we… We would never. We would cherish you, and appreciate your true value.”

And you want it. You want victory, and revenge, and all the sweet, sweet glory that comes with it.

Maybe it wouldn’t be the cleanest glory, but it would be yours nonetheless.

You gaze into Seonghwa’s eyes, nodding. “I’m in.”

He stands to his full height, reaching down to help you out of the chair. Seonghwa’s fingers lace with yours and he smiles, gentle and steady.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” you vow, more so to yourself than him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

San strokes your hair to make sure you’re comfortable. When you hum in confirmation at him, he steps out of the safety of cover.

“We have a hostage!” San announces. You can’t see anyone else, but you know they’re there. You know that they’re watching.

San jerks you a bit, and you stumble, only to tense when his paintball gun goes to your helmet. He won’t actually shoot, since this is all part of the plan, but it sends a shiver down your spine regardless.

You praise yourself for being such a good actress when a rear rolls down your face. “J-Jongho? Yunho? Yeosang?”

San chuckles darkly. “You hear that? She’s begging for help!”

“H-Hongjoong?” You make sure to have your voice waver at the end. You know he’s feeling guilty right now, and hearing his name come out of your mouth like this will break him.

Wooyoung stretches out from behind a crate, strategically waiting. Seonghwa has him placed there for the next step in the plan.

Wooyoung catches your eye and gives you a thumbs up, though it does little to calm your racing heart. You force your gaze away from him, and you catch a flicker of movement behind a shed.

Mingi seems to notice it as well, and he perks up from where he’s hidden in a bush. You watch as he readies his gun.

You sniffle, shaking in Sam’s hold. “I- I’m sorry. Can I- I just go home now? I want this to be o-over.”

Hongjoong walks out from where he had been hiding, his hand sup in surrender. His eyes flick to your face and his expression tightens. “Let her go, and I’ll come willingly.”

Seonghwa laughs, also stepping out from where he had been hidden. “Right. Like we trust your word.” He spits out his words. “You abandoned your teammate, leaving her to die.”

A single tear trickles down Hongjoong’s face. “I had no choice. If we went back for her, there would be none of us left.”

“So you left me to die, for the greater good?” you demand, a hint of your fury poking out. “Because fuck you. Fuck you and them, and fuck your ideology. I’m a person, not a pawn on a board!”

Yunho keeps his weapon raised as he reveals himself. “We’re so sorry, but- but it was either you, or all of us.”

Seonghwa’s lips curl. “Oh, really? You can honestly say that this wasn’t your plan the entire time?”

Yunho chokes for a moment, eyes locked on yours. Guilt swirls in them, and you turn your head away, not wanting to hear his empty words.

Hongjoong falls to his knees, clawing at the dirt. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I never meant for this to happen.”

Yeosang and Jongho both throw their guns down beside Hongjoong’s. They look at you apologetically.

Then they all take the paintballs. As their chest plates are splattered with colour, they don’t let out a single sound. You feel your chest ache for them, suddenly regretting your decision.

Seonghwa faces you. “We win. Are you happy, now? You got your revenge.”

You sob, and as San releases you, you collapse onto the ground. You cry for what could have been, and everything lost in this merciless war.

“Ice cream?” Seonghwa brightly says. “My treat, since we did beat you guys pretty badly.”

Hongjoong sighs and gets to his feet, dusting himself off. “Yeah. I’m getting two scoops.”

And so you all go out for a frozen treat, very quickly forgetting about the events that just transpired.

Taglist:

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret @hansmic @imeverycliche @iwuberic @strawberryscentedd @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @mbioooo0000

[daredevils-stuffed]

One Shot - Help a Girl Out

Matt is sick of hearing how you’ve been unable to come. From men and on your own. So, he takes it into his own hands.

Relationship: Matt Murdock x Reader

Tags: boss/ employee vibes kinda not really. There is an actual like story, not just smut. But, Smut. A little kinky if you squint. He counts your orgasms. Office sex.

•••

Authors note: Happy Daredevil: Born Again Eve to those who celebrate. Very excited for tomorrow.

•••

The first time Matt hears of your issues. It’s early on a Monday morning.

Matt first learned about your issue on his way into the office.

He doesn’t mean to listen—doesn’t want to listen—but the moment your voice filters through the air, he can’t stop himself.

You’re perched on the edge of Karen’s desk, your morning coffee barely making a dent in your exhaustion. It had been a long night, and Karen needs to hear all about it to make yourself feel better.

“So,” you sigh dramatically, “I don’t think he was confident enough to use anything other than his hands. It was like I was his guinea pig. Just kinda laying there pretending to moan, pretending to feel something.”

Karen pouts back at you, understanding your predicament like most women would. “Oof, that is bad. At what point did you call it?”

“When he kept trying to make eye contact with me…from down there, it gave off weird vibes. So, I just patted him on his head and got up.”

“You did not!”

You groan up at the ceiling, covering your face with your hands. “It gets worse…after he left, I tried to help myself -yah know. And nothing.”

“I think you might be cursed.” Karen has already given you all the advice she could. What helped for her, what didn’t, even which brands of lube that might help. But nothing. Literally nothing has helped.

“Yeah, no shit! I’m convinced I’ll never know how it feels to have my own mind blowing, out of this world, orga- “

You stop dead.

The weight of your stare pressing against him even though he can’t see it. He clears his throat, adjusting his glasses as he enters the room.

You quickly shoot a look to Karen who just smirks.

“Morning Matt” you both chime, dripping with innocence.

He grumbles a response not really stopping to interact with you. His mind running a mile a minute. Have you never had an orgasm? Maybe I could help?

Matt doesn’t know why that gets under his skin as much as it does. But it does.

He drops into his chair, flexing his hands at his sides. Your voice is still there, looping in his head, and it shouldn’t be this distracting.

I’m convinced I’ll never know how it feels…mind-blowing, out-of-this-world…

Christ.

He doesn’t need this. He’s had a hell of a week already—barely any sleep, too many cases piling up, and now? Now he’s going to spend the rest of the day haunted by the mental image of you—spread out, breathless, wanting.

Matt knew the dynamic between you went beyond friendly colleagues. There had always been something there, an unspoken tension simmering beneath every playful jab, every stolen glance. But he had never taken it seriously.

That changes now.

He moves before he can stop himself, heading to the office kitchen. Two cups of coffee—one for him, one for you. It’s a rare gesture, but he knows you’ll appreciate it.

“For you.” He grunts shoving a mug towards you. Your fingers brush his as you take it. Matt lingers for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes boring into yours intensely. The telepathic message he’s sending not quite reaching you.

Just when you think he is going to say something his lips smack closed and he’s walking away.

The words I can help lost in his throat. Matt scowls at himself for chickening out. He couldn’t embarrass you like that. It really is none of his business.

All you notice however, is how his fingers are flexing at his side, as if your quick brush has stung him. The gesture of coffee confuses you, but you’re too distracted by his hands. You picture what they can do for you, take you to an edge you’ve never experienced before.

“Well, I don’t get coffee like that” Karen snides from her side of the room. You flush and hide behind your stack of papers. You take a sip and hum. It’s just how you like it, Matt always knows how you like things.

Matt spends the rest of the morning trying—and failing—to focus.

The sound of the office hums around him, phones ringing, papers shuffling, the steady rhythm of keyboards clacking. But all he can hear is you. Your voice, looping in his head, the way you sighed when you talked about last night, the frustration laced in every word.

I’m convinced I’ll never know how it feels…

His fingers twitch against the edge of his desk. He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t want to care.

But he does.

And that’s the problem.

By the time lunch rolls around, he needs space. Needs air. Needs to clear his head before he does something stupid.

Because the last thing he wants is to come off as some arrogant asshole who thinks he has all the answers. The last thing he wants is for you to think he’s just like every other guy who assumes he knows what you need.

Even if, deep down, he’s pretty damn sure he does.

The thought twists in his gut as he heads back to the office, rehearsing ways to make a move that don’t end with him humiliating himself—or worse, pushing you away.

But the moment he steps inside, ready to test the waters, Foggy’s voice cuts through the air.

“…I know he knows what he’s doing.”

Matt stops. Freezes mid-step on the stairs.

He’s on about a blind date.

Someone else.

Someone else touching you. Someone else making you laugh, making you moan. Someone else failing you.

Whilst Matt was out Foggy took the opportunity to swoop in, grinning as he flops into the chair across from you. Getting you to spill all the details from last night.

You skim over the basics—the guy took you to a nice restaurant, knew how to flirt, wasn’t exactly your usual type but still tried. Foggy questioned if you managed to get off, which shocked you. You knew you hadn’t told him, which means Karen must have.

The snap of Matt’s jaw tightening echoes in his ears.

He doesn’t remember moving, doesn’t register the way his fingers crush the takeout bag in his grip, barely even feels the splintering pressure of his cane beneath his palm.

All he knows is that when he speaks, his voice is sharp enough to slice through the air.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, can you please leave our paralegal alone to get on with her work?”

Silence.

He’s standing in the doorway now, Foggy blinking at him in surprise, you stare at him like you’re trying to read him. Like you can feel the heat radiating off of him from across the room.

Matt clenches his jaw, forces himself to move, to breathe. Forces himself to walk away before he does something reckless.

It’s not my problem. It’s none of my damn business.

But the thought of anyone else fixing this for you—that is what has his stomach twisting. That is what has his grip tightening around his cane until he’s sure the wood is about to crack.

I know what I’m doing.

Your pulse, however, is unsteady as you turn back to your desk, your mind is spinning.

Matt never snaps like that—not over you.

And yet, the frustration in his voice, the heat behind it, the way he stormed off like Foggy had just personally offended him—

You swallow hard.

No. No, you must be imagining things. Reading too much into it.

But then some time later, as you return from the bathroom, you pause. Confusion flickers across your face as you spot something on your desk—a plate, half a sandwich, some chips.

You glance around, questioning, until Karen gives you a knowing smirk, tilting her head toward Matt’s office.

He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t acknowledge what he’s done.

•••

It’s late. The office is quiet, save for the occasional rustle of papers and the low hum of Matt’s computer. Everyone has gone, leaving just the two of you in the dimly lit space. You’ve been pretending to focus on paperwork, but your mind has been elsewhere- on the weight of Matt’s presence, on the way he looks in the glow of his screen, his jaw tight with unspoken tension.

Matt, with headphones in, is distracted. He’s thinking about you, like he has been all day. Thinking about the way you might touch yourself when no one is watching. About how much he wants to be the one touching you instead.

The thought takes hold, creeping into his veins like wildfire. His hand drifts lower, pal, pressing over the hardness straining against his slacks. He exhales sharply, his mind flooding with images - your skirt bunched around your waist, your body arching against his, the breathless sound of your moans as he drives you over the edge. His fingers tighten. He’s losing himself in it, lost in the fantasy of you, of having you, of making you his.

He doesn’t hear you approach.

You stop in your tracks, eyes widening at the sight before you - Matt, head tilted back against his chair, chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, his hand gripping himself through his trousers. A bead of sweat slides down his temple. Your name spills from his lips in a quiet, desperate murmur.

Heat coils in your stomach.

You should walk away. Pretend you never saw. But you don’t.

Instead, you step closer.

“Enjoying yourself, Mr Murdock?”

His body goes rid His body goes rigid. His eyes snap open, unfocused but sharp, as if he can feel your presence more than see it. His breath is unsteady, his arousal still evident, straining against the dark fabric of his slacks.

It takes him a moment to speak. "You’ve done this to me," he rasps, voice rough, edged with frustration. "Drove me to this. I haven’t stopped thinking about you all day."

A slow smirk tugs at your lips. You take your time, stepping between his spread legs, savouring the way his breath hitches. You step closer, the air between you electric. His hands clench at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to pull you into his lap and grind against you until you’re just as desperate as he is.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he confesses, voice tight with restraint. “Every look. Every word. You have no idea what you do to me.”

You hum, tilting your head as if considering his words. “And what exactly have I done, Mr. Murdock?”

His jaw tightens. He’s unraveling, restraint slipping through his fingers like sand. You see it in the way his breathing turns ragged, in the way his control—so carefully maintained—is fracturing before you.

“You already know,” he growls.

Your hands brush along the armrests of his chair, caging him in, your body close enough that he can feel your warmth. His fingers twitch, aching to touch.

“You’ve spent all day thinking about me?” you murmur. “Thinking about what you’d do if I let you?”

His control snaps.

One hand grips your waist, dragging you onto his lap in a fluid motion. His other hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head so your lips are a breath away from his.

“Say the word,” he rasps, mouth ghosting over your skin, teasing, tormenting. “Say the word, and I’ll show you exactly what I’ve been thinking about.”

Heat coils in your stomach. His fingers dig into your hips, firm and possessive, as if grounding himself.

“Then show me,” you whisper.

It’s all the permission he needs.

In a blur, your skirt is bunched around your waist, and his mouth is on you—hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down your neck, each one laced with the promise of what’s to come. His hands roam your thighs, spreading you open, savouring every inch of exposed skin like it’s something sacred.

"You smell incredible," he murmurs against your lips, voice reverent, like he’s memorising every piece of you. His touch is maddening—just enough to make you shiver, but not enough to satisfy the ache burning between your legs.

He lowers himself to his knees pulling you to the edge of the desk. Bringing one of your legs over his shoulder, placing gentle kisses until he reaches your centre.

His breath hitches as he finally—finally—tastes you. A low groan vibrates through his chest as his tongue drags over you, slow and deliberate. You gasp, your fingers threading into his hair, anchoring him there.

“Fuck,” he murmurs against you, voice thick with reverence. “You taste even better than I could ever imagine.”

His tongue moves in long, languid strokes, teasing, savouring, drinking in every sound you make. His grip tightens when your hips jerk against his mouth, an unspoken command to stay still.

But he’s not done teasing you. Not yet.

“You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?” His voice is low, gravelly, sending shivers through you. “Going to do exactly what I say?”

You can barely form words, nodding, breathless.

“Good.”

And then he ruins you.

His tongue works you over with practiced precision—each flick, each stroke designed to drive you higher. Your body trembles, a desperate whimper escaping your lips as pleasure coils tighter, hotter.

“You like this, sweetheart?” he taunts, voice dark and full of promise. “Like knowing how fucking desperate I’ve been for you?”

You moan, back arching, legs trembling as you lose yourself in him. He keeps going—pushing you closer, dragging it out until the pleasure is unbearable. It’s almost a pain mixed with white hot pleasure. You beg for more. For it not to stop. It can’t stop. You grip Matts hair to be sure it doesn’t. He sucks on a spot that makes you want to scream. Or maybe you are. It’s all too much and you need it. And then you reach a point where it is too much, and your eyes squeeze close and your thighs shake.

And then—release.

You shatter, thighs tightening around his head, a strangled cry escaping your lips. He groans against you, lapping up every last tremor, drawing out every aftershock until your entire body is shaking.

And still—he’s not finished.

Before you can catch your breath, he’s pulling you into his lap, large hands tracing slow, grounding patterns along your abdomen. The fabric of his slacks is rough against your oversensitive skin, the hard press of him impossible to ignore.

"That’s one," he murmurs, lips brushing against your temple.

You barely register the words before his fingers are sliding back between your legs—tracing, teasing, pushing inside you with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Your body jolts, oversensitive, but Matt doesn’t stop.

“We’re not done yet, darling.”

You grind against him instinctively, chasing friction, chasing him. His head tips back, jaw clenched, as you roll your hips over him.

"Fuck," he grits out, hands gripping you tighter. "You're going to kill me."

His fingers curl inside you, stroking that perfect spot with devastating accuracy. His breath is hot against your ear, murmuring filth that makes your toes curl, your body tightening once again.

It doesn’t take long until your second orgasm hits like a freight train. "That’s two."

And then he’s standing, lifting you like you weigh nothing, and bending you over the desk.

Your cheek presses against the cool wood, the contrast to his burning heat making you shudder. Light brushes against your shoulder blades as he moves your hair aside, placing slow, reverent kisses down the curve of your neck.

"You have no idea how perfect you are like this," he groans, his hands steadying you, grounding you. "Falling apart for me. Letting me take what I want. You deserve to feel it all."

Your mind is blank—no, not blank, just utterly consumed by him.

"You still with me, sweetheart?" His touch is slow as it glides down your spine, teasing, taunting.

You barely manage a nod.

He chuckles darkly. “Think you can take one more?”

A whimper is all you can offer.

"That's what I thought."

And then he’s inside you.

The stretch is exquisite, overwhelming, a perfect contradiction of pleasure and desperation. He gives you a moment to adjust—to feel every inch of him, to let the sensation take you over.

And then he moves.

Deep, unrelenting strokes, each one angled to wring more from you, to keep you right on that edge where pleasure and pain blur into something devastating.

"So tight," he groans. "So fucking perfect for me."

He fists a hand in your hair and pulls you up, your back flush against his chest. The movement is purposeful—possessive. His free hand finds your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, feeling the way you gasp for him.

You’re babbling, incoherent, barely able to hold yourself together. And Matt loves it.

His rhythm falters, hips stuttering as the pleasure consumes him. "Fuck," he hisses, his grip on you tightening. "You’re going to make me—"

Your body clenches around him, and that’s all it takes.

He groans your name into your neck, the sound raw and wrecked as he tumbles over the edge, heat spilling inside you. His hold on you tightens as he rides it out, dragging you with him, until the only sound in the room is your ragged breaths and the frantic pounding of your hearts.

And still, he doesn’t let you go.

His arms stay wrapped around you, holding you firm against him, his breath still ragged against your ear. His hands, once gripping with desperation, now trace slow, grounding circles over your skin. Neither of you speaks for a moment—just the sound of your heartbeats, the slow rise and fall of your chests in sync.

Then, finally, Matt exhales, pressing a lingering kiss to the curve of your shoulder. His fingers slide down to your waist, squeezing gently, almost reassuringly.

“You okay?” His voice is lower now, softer, a stark contrast to how he had just wrecked you.

You hum, too blissed out to form words. He chuckles, the sound warm and satisfied, and the vibration of it sends a pleasant aftershock through you.

For a while, you just stay like that, his body still pressed against yours, neither of you willing to move just yet. He runs a hand up your spine, then down again, like he’s memorising every dip, every curve, every shiver you give him.

Finally, reluctantly, he pulls back just enough to let you turn in his arms. His face is unreadable, but there’s something intense lingering behind his expression. Something possessive, something tender.

His fingers ghost along your jaw, tilting your chin up. He studies you, like he’s committing this exact moment to memory.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs.

You blink up at him, dazed, still trying to process everything. A small, breathless laugh escapes you, and he grins, brushing his thumb across your cheek.

A beat of silence stretches between you. The weight of everything settles in the air—what just happened, what it means, where it leaves you both.

And then, a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

“So…” he murmurs, a teasing edge creeping into his voice. “Still convinced you’ll never know what a mind-blowing orgasm feels like?”

Heat floods your cheeks, and you swat weakly at his chest. “Shut up, Murdock.”

He laughs, catching your wrist, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. “Just making sure you’re keeping count,” he teases. His lips trail down, ghosting along your collarbone, dangerously close to starting something all over again.

You arch a brow at him, trying to feign exasperation, but you already know the truth.

You’ll never be able to get enough of him. From the look in his eyes, he feels the same. And that? That might just be the most dangerous thing of all.

[wylansvanhendriks]

musical!dmitry isn’t as good as his movie counterpart to YOU. i get him though.