#i think about it for more than a second and Oh I Have Stopped Breathing <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[formulawolff]

“you taste sweeter” — m.v.

pairing -> social worker!reader x max verstappen

word count -> 3.3k (oopsies!)

warnings -> cussing, slight angst, mentions of hate comments online, desperate + needy max, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, sweet moments, slight praise kink, tender max, yadayadayada

a/n -> the win in brazil today inspired me to write. it’s probably not my best work buttttt someone asked for a part ii to this fic here. i hope you guys enjoy! <3

"i'm sorry that this weekend has been a shit show."

lips press against your knuckles, carefully caressing them one by one.

"stop it," your hand darts out, cupping his cheek, "you're always so hard on yourself."

a chuckle rumbles in his chest, and you catch the hint of stars in his gaze as your eyes meet.

"i think i deserve to be a little harsh on myself. p17 is ridiculous."

you exhale, shaking your head slightly, "but you have to remember that was not your fault. you cannot control the weather, and you sure as hell cannot control what happens when the track is slick."

"i just feel terrible," he shrugs, folding his arms against his chest, "you flew all the way out here to just get drenched. you had to wake up with me at god knows what time to make it to the track. i'm supposed to be up in the fucking front and now i don't even feel like i have a chan-"

"stop it," your jaw clenches, "i wouldn't have flown out if i didn't want to be here. i wanted to be here and support you, max. there is nowhere else i would rather be than by your side."

the corners of his lips twitch into a meek smile, the dutch driver leaning in, "you're so fucking cute when you're all riled up."

"only because i hate to see you be so hard on yourself!" you protest, throwing your hands up in the air, "you are a generational talent. i wish you could see that."

"thank you baby," you can't help but notice that he's beaming now, "thank you, for being here."

"like i said," you murmur, your heart skipping a beat as you find the space between the two of you dissipating by the second, "there is nowhere else i would-"

"maxxxx! it's time for -- oh my god i am so sorry."

gianpiero's voice cuts through the space, the two of you shrinking back as he stands in the doorway the driver's room, a hand over his mouth.

"don't worry about it," max clears his throat, shooting you one more look before turning to gianpiero, "is it time?"

"it's time," max's race engineer confirms, checking his watch, "we need to get moving."

"all right," max sucks in a breath, rising to his feet, "i guess it's time."

you mirror his action, ensuring that you have your race day bag before shifting toward him. his arms wrap around your frame, bringing you in for a tight embrace.

for a moment, he's still, not moving a muscle as you bury your head into his chest. his fingers knead into your shoulder blades, strands of hushed dutch filling your ear. the words are tender, almost as if he was promising you something.

you weren't quite sure what, though.

"good luck out there tiger," you whisper, "i believe in you."

his arms pull away, the driver's lower lip trembling ever so slightly as he begins to follow gianpiero. before leaving the room, he ensures that gianpiero's back is turned, nearly bounding back toward you.

lips crash into yours, a hurried but passionate kiss. forceful enough to leave your knees buckling, yet laced with a sweetness that you couldn't quite place your finger on.

"i love you."

heat flourishes into your cheeks as he departs, looking back over his shoulder one more time before jogging down the hall, in efforts to catch up with gianpiero.

your heart flutters, a coziness seeping into your chest as you catch your breath.

max was never one to let his emotions get in the way of race day. he was always so poised, so focused on what was ahead. he was never privy to publicly showcasing his affection to you either. especially on sundays.

it never bothered you, really. you knew the stakes involved. you knew how important this was to him. you were well aware of the way people spoke about him online and in the media. lately, it had been nothing but negative energy. not only from the press and commentary, but from the fans as well.

you never overstepped. you never teetered over the boundaries he set in place for race weekends. you always ensured to keep your affection away from the public eye.

so, to witness that desperation to kiss you one last time. to hear those three words before he left. to feel him against pressed against you, reluctant to let go.

to you, that was everything.

and as voices buzzed in the air, the tension nearly electric as members of the crew paced around the garage as the rain pounded against the tarmac, max verstappen could only think about one thing.

and that one thing, was you.

─── ��� ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

droplets of water scatter about, the team rushing toward the car as a shiver runs down your spine.

max slips out of the car, nearly tumbling as he makes his way to the ground. your limbs itch, from your fingers to your toes, nearly screaming to take a step forward.

to make your way toward him.

he's drenched, the color of his suit a few shades darker as he claws his helmet and balaclava off, running a hand through his hair. his eyes scan through the garage briefly, picking through the throng.

his brow is furrowed, lips wound tight together with concentration.

you know he's looking for you.

yet, you don't move.

there was too much to risk if you approached him. in the aftermath of colapinto's crash, a red flag was issued on the track. with max's current position behind ocon and the ability to change tyres, there was a new opportunity presented before him.

the opportunity to overtake ocon from p2 to p1, therefore maintaining the lead and potentially winning the grand prix.

however, there were other factors present.

with a fresh start, the other drivers were presented with the same opportunity. lando norris in the rocketship of the mclaren would also be able to overtake as well, potentially threatening max's chance of a win. and with the current conditions of the track, who knew what would happen in the final thirty laps.

there was so much to consider. so much to speculate. so much to lose.

and because of that, you knew you couldn't interfere.

you couldn't do that to him.

to max, winning meant everything.

and to risk throwing him off over a simple hello or you're doing great? you couldn't bear the weight of knowing you had something to do that. you couldn't be the reason he lost momentum.

so, you stayed put, now blending in with the crew as they returned back into the garage, max sailing off down the pit lane, back in the direction of the track.

yet, as the dutch driver clutches the wheel, his heart thumping against his chest, he could only focus on one thing.

that bright, beautiful smile plastered across your face the moment you saw his car rolling up toward the pit.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

"come here!"

he practically barrels into you, sweeping you into his arms. tears stream down your cheeks, cries of joy bubbling up in your throat as he squeezes you.

"i-i love you," he sputters, "fuck i love you."

your head tilts back, lower lip quivering as you take him in.

his eyes are tinged pink, glossy as your fingertips trace along his jaw. there's a swarm coming any minute now, ready to hoist him up on their shoulders, jeering his name. in the grandstands, there's the dull roar of the crowd, chanting along with the crew. his suit is soaked through, leaving a wet imprint all over your clothes.

yet, there is nothing else that matters but him.

"i love you m-more, maxie," you sniffle, wiping away a tear, "y-you have no idea how fucking proud of you i am."

his mouth collides with yours, a heated, heavy kiss as the rain patters. your hand wraps around the base of his neck, tangling into his hair as his mouth opens, deepening the kiss. his tongue slides along your lip, seeking entry.

you're about to let him in before he breaks away, nearly panting. a crimson hue paints his cheeks, his chest heaving.

"fuck."

"what?" you press, your brow arching.

"nothing," he shakes his head, nearly bewildered as he studies you, "you just look beautiful. so fucking beautiful right now in the rain."

your own clothes are beginning to cling to your body, damp from the stormy morning. your makeup is still intact, but smudged slightly from the kiss and the humid atmosphere. he can sense your exhaustion, but your eyes are wide, nothing but adoration swimming in their depths. drops cling to your hair, glittering as you cock your head.

"you just won a race and you're worried about how beautiful i look?"

to max, there was no other word to describe you in this moment but ethereal. a stunning ray of golden, pure light as the clouds hung low in the sky.

not just any light.

his light.

at your sentiment, his gaze hardens, the dutch driver's jaw clenching as the pad of his thumb grazes your cheek.

"y-you have no fucking idea what you do to-"

"max!" a voice cuts in, nearly grating through all the noise, "what a hell of a race that was!"

you bite down on your tongue as christian horner comes into view, along with numerous members of the crew. max's eyes dart to you, but he's swiftly whisked away, the sensation of his warm hands merely a phantom.

however, your mind can't help but replay the kiss. the way his hands roamed, desperate to bring you in closer than you imagined possible. the adrenaline coursing through your veins, the two of you floating from the euphoria. the way you swore you could see stars gleaming in his stare as you cried, overwhelmed with pride.

pride for your man.

the man who managed to go from p17 to p1 in a single race. the man who made a statement.

the man who managed to pull off the impossible.

and he was yours.

all yours.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

"you have no idea how much i've been looking forward to this."

sweats cling to his hips as he is snuggled against you, arms wrapped around your waist. his head rests on your chest, lashes fluttering as you run a hand through his hair. you're almost underneath him, his body nearly squishing you. but you don't mind, as you were savoring the minutes.

the final hours together before you would inevitably have to part ways, saying those goodbyes at the airport.

oh, how you dreaded that moment. more than anything.

you would have to return to work, and he would be halfway across the world, enjoying a brief break before the final few races.

at least you would have vegas together.

but that felt so fucking far away, especially with the race scheduled at the end of the month.

"what are you thinking about up there?"

max's voice is merely a whisper, catching you off guard. you flinch, his head lifting, swiveling so that you're forced to meet his concerned stare.

"nothing," you shrug, "nothing important."

"hmm," he hums, leaning in for a peck, "that's a lie. you're always thinking about something. important or not, i want to know what it is."

"i'm just thinking about tomorrow," you lower your head, careful to avoid eye contact, "i just had such a perfect weekend and-"

"it's not over yet," fingers grasp your chin, "we still have the night together."

"but we have to get up early and make sure i'm at the airport on time and-"

lips connect with yours, his body shifting so that he's on top, practically pinning you to the plush mattress. a whine rises in your throat at the fierceness of the kisses, the way they send a fiery sensation burning throughout as his tongue explores your mouth.

his mouth pulls away, drifting to your jaw. instinctively, your hips buck forward, brushing against his as places sloppy, wet kisses along your neck.

"don't worry about the morning," his mouth hovers by your ear, "just focus on me, okay?"

you nod, "o-okay."

"is this okay?" his brow furrows momentarily, "i don't want to make you feel-"

you lower a hand, fingertips brushing along the waistband of his sweats, "this is okay. i promise."

at your action, max's breath quickens, the driver finding it difficult to string the words together, "i-i just can't help myself around you. seeing you after my win today, looking so fucking beautiful in the rain. i couldn't fucking control myself."

"that kiss was very unlike you," a giggle rings through the space, "i almost thought i was dreaming."

"you weren't," the corners of his lips curl into a wide smile, dimples and all, "i was right there, kissing you, wishing i could just get down on one knee right then and there."

"m-max," you stammer, the temperature of the room almost skyrocketing, "y-you don't-"

"i do," his voice is firm, "i want to marry you. i knew i needed you, but seeing you there, just waiting for me, with that gorgeous grin across your face.. it made me realize that i wanted to see that smile for the rest of my life. we don't have to rush, but i want you to know what my intentions are.

i want you to be my wife, but i don't want you to feel like you have to abandon everything to be with me. i want you to still do what you love, and i want you to still make a difference in people's lives. just how you've made a difference in mine."

"i love you," your vision is blurred, your throat tight, "i-i love you so much m-max."

"my sensitive girl," he lets out a chuckle, carefully wiping away your tears, "i love my sensitive girl. more than she'll ever know."

"i'll be your wife one day."

"one day?" he cocks his head, "is that a yes?"

"yes," you affirm, "that is a yes."

"now this has truly been a day to remember."

"is that so?"

"yes," max responds. taking your hands, he raises them slightly, so that they're on either side of your head. intertwining your fingers together he continues, leaning in once more.

"i'm going to hold on to this memory for the rest of my life. i'm going to hold on to you for the rest of my life."

"there's nowhere else i would rather be," you whisper, "i mean that."

"oh i know," his mouth ghosts over yours, "you were so fucking ecstatic earlier. it was adorable."

"i was just happy for you," your lips form a pout, "you have to remember it's been a long time since i-"

he kisses you, this time a little more hungry than the last. as his tongue slips in, between your thighs, you feel your clit throb, desperate for his touch as he deepens the kiss, squeezing your hands. his hips grind against yours, sending a shiver down your spine.

"m-max," you nearly moan, "please."

"what?" he coos, "what is it baby?"

"i need you," the words are breathy, "i really need you."

"don't worry baby," a hand begins to drift lower and lower, savoring your heated skin along your stomach and abdomen, "i'll make sure you're taken care of."

"p-please," your head rolls back as his thumb meets your clit, dragging in slow, circular motions.

for a second, he's thrown off his game, completely and utterly bewildered at the stickiness coating his index finger as he plunges a finger deep inside.

"y-you're this wet for me? i've barely fucking touched you."

"like you said earlier," you grit your teeth, fighting a whimper as another finger slides in, your walls adjusting, "you have no idea what you do to me."

at that statement, max's jaw tightens, the lust that was merely a few flames now burning throughout, threatening to consume him whole.

fuck, was he going to ruin you.

his fingers pull out, hooking the hem of your own sweats, "i need this off of you. now."

sitting up, you kick off your pants, fumbling with your tank top in the process. your nipples are almost swollen, hardened from the brisk air. between your thighs, he can catch the glisten of your slick cunt, aching for him and only him.

in that moment, max nearly comes undone.

"let me taste you," the words are nearly a beg, "please baby, let me get a taste."

you nod, almost a little too enthusiastically, "please do."

he situates himself so that he's between your legs, his hands roaming your soft skin, spreading you open. he lowers his head, hands cupping your breasts as his tongue flattens against your weeping cunt. the tip of his nose brushes against your clit, earning a groan from you.

at that, a guttural noise rumbles in his throat, his fingers now gripping your hips, pulling you closer and closer.

there was no word that could describe the way you tasted.

the only thing that came close was heaven.

sweet, sweet, heaven that coated his tongue.

your back arches as obscene, filthy noises flood the room, hands in max's hair, tugging at the locks as his mouth envelops your clit, sucking lightly.

"that's it pretty girl," the words are ragged as you squirm, his lips shining in the dim light, "that's it."

"m-max," there's a feeling pooling in your abdomen, a feeling you knew all too well, "p-please."

"what?" his mouth curls into a smug smirk, "what is it pretty girl? you wanna cum?"

"yes. please."

"well since you asked so nicely," you're wound up tight now, merely seconds away from release, "i'll make you cum."

his mouth reconnects with your clit, applying the right amount of pressure as it dances. you writhe beneath him, stars bursting in your vision as you cum, bliss crashing over you like a tidal wave.

he pulls back, his cock twitching in his sweats, begging to be set free as he admires the way your chest heaves, your thighs almost trembling, overstimulated from the orgasm.

he wants to go back for seconds, lapping away until you're crying, pleading, begging for him to stop. if only you didn't have your early flight in the morning, then he would eat your pussy for hours, going all throughout the night.

"good girl," sliding off his sweats, his jaw nearly goes slack as your hand wraps around the base, pumping slowly, "good fucking girl."

as you jerk him off, two dingers dip inside, ensuring that their soaked before pulling out.

"here," he murmurs, pushing the digits against your lips, prompting you to open your mouth, "taste yourself."

as you take them in, tongue swirling along their length, the sweetness lacing your tongue, a groan tumble from his mouth.

"oh fuck."

"you like?" batting your lashes, you can't help but feel a grin form as he nods fervently, one hand gripping the heard board while the other rests on his shaft.

"victory tastes sweet, but fuck you taste sweeter. there's nothing like the way you taste and i'm addicted."

"is that such a bad thing?"

you nearly choke on a gasp as he pushes into you, stretching you out as his hips roll. he bites on his lower lip, fighting a smirk as your head hits the pillow, eyes squeezing shut as pleasure fills you to the brim.

"not at all," he's plowing into you now, "it's not a bad thing at all."

addicted was not even the word that described the way max craved you.

it was a hunger.

a hunger that would only be satisfied by your perfect, tight cunt.

and god, was max was going to savor the way you felt. the way you wrapped around him, practically begging him to go even further and further.

if only he could stay here, entwined with you. if only he could feel like this, forever.

however, vegas was quickly approaching.

and after that, who knew what the future would bring.

but for now, he was going to relish this moment.

tonight, and perhaps for the rest of his life.

[paarksunghoon]

part two for this (https://www.tumblr.com/paarksunghoon/764887604741210112/heeseung-with-a-corruption-kink-and-maybe-size?source=share) please…Heeseung corrupting her into fucking 🤤

part 2 to this drabble

warnings: subtle (?) manipulation but not really because she wants it, she’s just shy

***

Heeseung’s got you on your back with the pillows situated underneath your head for support while he leans down to kiss your lips once before pulling back. He’s bare from the waist down and all you’re wearing is sheer tank top. His breath touches your lips. Paired with the way his dick is sliding between your folds, it almost makes you feel like you’re losing your mind.

“Let me stick it in,” he whispers, pushing his lips to kiss your neck softly. His feather-like touches make you shiver.

You don’t say anything yet. The boy on top of you keeps his ear close to your mouth and your soft whimpers make him hornier by the second. You hear the wet splashes and how it sounds as he glides right against your wet pussy, and it almost convinced you to give in.

“It’ll feel so good,” he says against your neck. “Are you scared, baby?”

“A little…”

Heeseung brings his head up and pushes your bottom lip with his thumb as his dick catches your clit. “Are you a virgin?”

You shake your head. “It’s just…it’s been a while.” Heeseung grunts from above you. His warm cock feels alright against you. You’d probably be really tight, tighter than the girls he sleeps with.

“I’ll make it feel like the first time.” He grinds even slower, letting his dick make its way up to nudge your clit at its own pace. “I’ll make you come as many times as you want, I swear.”

You bite your lip and look up at the ceiling. “You already do.”

“Mm, yeah I do. But I’ll make you come with my dick inside of you. Don’t you want to feel good too?”

“I don’t know…”

“I love grinding, don’t get me wrong, but…” Heeseung lifts his hips just high enough to rest the tip of his dick against your hole. “Grinding only does so much, ya know? Fucking though…your pussy’s gonna love it.” He pushes the head inside and loves the way you gasp and clench his biceps.

Ever since that might a few weeks ago, Heeseung hasn’t been able to get you anywhere farther than grinding, sometimes with or without clothes. He has his share of girls to hookup with when he needs hard and fast sex, but he can’t deny that the slow pace you set keeps him on his toes. He loves that lovey dovey shit in between his rough hookups but he won’t admit that to you. You’re a pallet cleanser for him.

He thinks he might be addicted to the change in pace when he’s with you because you don’t really expect him to be anything or anyone when you’re both together. You let yourself be pleasured in a way other girls don’t. Heeseung enjoys the high intensity he gets with other people but, mostly, he likes that he doesn’t have to think too hard when he’s with you. It’s probably why he keeps coming back even though you haven’t let him fuck you yet. So far, you’re the only person who can get him to stop what he’s doing or leave whoever he’s with for the chance to actually hook up.

“See?” Heeseung says when you clench around his tip. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah…” His tongue licks against yours and captures another moan from you when he starts to thrust only his cock head into you.

“You’d love the way I fuck.” Something about your silence and compliance underneath him makes him crazy. Heeseung seems to let go of his demanding person when he’s got you in his bed and finds himself talking you through it.

“Oh yeah?”

Heeseung smirks against you. Hook, line, and sinker. “Yeah. I know you want that kind of sex, baby. I feel it every time you sit on my lap and get yourself off.” You feel him push another inch in when he speeds up his hips. “I’ll make you come as many times as you want. I promise.”

“Do you…do this? With other girls?”

Heeseung raises an eyebrow. “Do what? Fuck?”

You look always. “N-No…do you make them cream?” He pushes even more of himself inside you just thinking about it.

“All the time,” he moans. “Love it when my girls get all wet like that. It’ll be hot when you do it too.” You clench again. “Ohhh. That felt good. Do you like it when I talk about how I fuck?”

You suck even more of him inside of you. He grins wickedly. “You’re so dirty, aren’t you? My shy little thing, have you been hiding?” Heeseung laughs. “I prep them all nice so they’re sopping wet. Some like it when I fuck them dry at first. Others like it when I show no mercy and make them all creamy.

“Everyone loves it when I come inside, though. They always tell me it feels so good. It’s good for me, too. Love watching it drip out of their pussies.”

Your legs wrap around his body as his hand comes to grip one of yours. Heeseung pushes the rest of himself all the way in and drinks in the way you moan into his mouth. His pelvis touches yours and he grunts right into you.

“I like the slow sex with you, though,” he says honestly. There’s a lot of truth behind it, even if he can’t figure out why. “I don’t do the whole kissing thing, you know. Just with you.”

You snort. “Sure.”

“It’s true.” He bends down to kiss you and mumbles against your lips. “I’ve wanted your pussy around me more than anything.”

You barely speak above a whisper. “I want you.”

“Yeah?” Heeseung picks up the pace and feels your chest bounce against him. “Want my dick?” He moves like he’s on autopilot when you nod, keeping the slower pace until you give him a signal to go faster. “We’ll get you up there soon.”

“To where?”

He chuckles. “Rough sex, sweetheart. I know you want it. You clench every time I talk about it.”

“Mm, yeah…”

“Don’t worry, baby.” He kisses your lips again. “It’ll take some time but that’s okay, right? I’ll have you get used to me until you’re ready. We can practice until you get there.”

“We can?”

His cock slides in and out of you like some kind of physical prayer. “As much as you want, sweetheart. All day and all night. Whenever you want.”

You don’t say anything. He feels your arms encircling his shoulders and that tells him everything he needs to know. Speeding up his hips, Heeseung fucks you well into the night and you lose count of how many times he makes you come.

Despite himself, he stays the night.

***

[vivwritesfics]

The Devil Dances With A Smile

Chapter Two

He can't kill you. He can't bring himself to lay a hand on you. So, he falls for you instead (its a shame his employer really wants you dead)

Hitman!Max x reader

Chapter One

The teachers lounge was rarely a good place to nap. Somebody was always yapping about something. On any day but today, that would have been Max. Yapping at Charles, who would yap back. 

Today, though, he was far too tired to yap. He laid his head down on the table, his energy drink forgotten in front of him. The teachers lounge was the only place he could enjoy his much needed energy drinks, especially if he didn't want the kids to see. 

"You look like shit," Charles muttered as he joined him, sipping his coffee. 

Max looked up only to glare. He quickly laid his head back onto the table and shut his eyes. 

"Jim and Sass keep you up again?" 

Oh, that was right. Back when he and Charles first started their jobs, Jimmy and Sassy were his excuse for everything. It was better that way, though. If Charles knew what he was really doing, he'd never look at him the same way. 

"Just let me sleep, Charlie," Max mumbled through a yawn. 

Leaning back, Charles sipped his coffee, but he said nothing more. He kept his eye fixed on Max, just watching him. When the bell went, he woke Max up. Snapped his fingers in front of his face to make him just a little more alert and sent him in the direction of his classroom. 

Mac moved through the day like a zombie. He barely got through it, his only aid being the red bull he kept hidden in his thermos. 

The thing about Max was that he hated coffee. Last night had been a charade; he hid every grimace behind what he hoped was a charming smile. When you topped him up for a second cup, he guessed that it worked. 

Still, he wouldn't be ordering another from you. But he would be going back. Research, he told himself. To find out why somebody would want you killed. Were you really that bad a person? So bad that somebody was willing to pay a lot of money to see you dead at his hands? He just couldn't see it. 

The school day came and went as it always did. Max stayed behind and tidied his classrooms. Put the text books back on the shelves and picked up paper left behind by the students. 

A drawing. He knew immediately which student had done it. A talented artist who had spent the lesson drawing him and Mr Leclerc from history locking lips. 

Chuckling to himself, Max shoved the drawing into his drawer. He grabbed his bag, the Red Bull disguised in his coffee thermos, and headed out. 

Max had never dreaded going to his second job before, not since his first day. But tonight? Tonight was different. 

For the first time ever, he hadn't completed the job. 

He moved slowly as he got himself showered and changed, making dinner for himself and feeding the cats. Jimmy and Sassy fussed around his legs, and Max took his time to give them attention, putting off the inevitable. 

Christian was gonna have his ass. 

Tying his shoelaces took longer than normal, but that was because he was stopping every few seconds to give his cats kisses. “I love you both,” he assured them, running his hand along Jimmy's back and up his tail. “If daddy doesn't make it home, uncle Charles is gonna take care of you, okay?” 

He swallowed the lump in his throat and headed out the door. 

Never before had Max wished for traffic. Never before had he wished for his commute to his second job to take longer than the usual twenty minutes. 

But it felt all too soon that he pulled into his parking space. He sat there for several minutes, making sure he had everything that he needed. Keys, wallet, phone. All already in his pocket. Convenient. 

He forced his brain to think up the worst that Christian could say and do as he walked towards his office. Shoot him dead was the worst he could do, tell him he's fired was the worst he could say. 

Max sucked in a breath. He pushed down the handle and opened the door, letting himself into the office. If he was a weaker man, his legs would have been buckling as he approached the desk. 

"Your target is still alive."

Max nodded as he sucked in a breath. "I know," he said. "But she's tricky," he finished. 

Christian blinked at him. "She's a waitress," he replied. "Can't you shoot her dead when she's behind the counter?" 

A sigh left his lips. "Just trust me, Christian, it's not that simple. She's got colleagues and customers, people  that care about her. I can't just kill her there; I've got to gain her trust first." 

Christian levelled him with a look. Unimpressed, but accepting. "Fine. Just get it done," he said and sent Max on his way. 

He couldn't keep putting it off, he thought as he drove towards the café. He immediately spotted you, clearing the tables by the window. He watched you pause and look out across the lamp lit street. 

Climbing out of the car, Max started towards the café. His mouth was dry as the bell above the door rang, signalling his arrival. 

You looked up as the bell rang, a smile splitting across your face. "Well hey, stranger," you said, your grin widening. Any more and your face would have hurt. 

"Nice to see you again," Max said as he slipped into the nearest seat. 

You leaned against the table. It wasn't like you were trying to flirt, trying so hard to appeal to him. But it was working. Your pretty eyes, your pretty smile. He could have stayed here all day staring at you. 

You took his order, just a coffee. But you threw in a pastry for him, a treat, on the house. 

For the first hour, Max sat there. As much as he wanted to talk to you, you were too busy working him to give him the attention that he wanted. But you met his eye, gave him a warm smile as you cleaned the rest  of the cafe. 

Finally, you leaned against the table once again, your palm flat as you angled your body towards him. "So, what? Are you stalking me or something?" 

For a moment, Max panicked. But then you laughed and his entire body relaxed. "It's not every night you meet a pretty girl in a dingy café," he replied and your cheeks heated up. The little 'no offense' he added at the end was so endearing, you couldn't help but slip into the seat. 

Max was easy to talk to, but you knew that from the day before. He showed you pictures of his cats, telling you all about them until you got called into the kitchen to run food. 

As soon as table 43 had their food, you returned to Max's table. "I still don't get what you're doing here," you said to him, not bothering to sit down this time. You only had five minutes left on the clock. "You're a teacher, a local one. You don't get the train anywhere, so why are you here?" 

His face was bright red and he pushed his hair back, swallowing. "The first time, I was just looking for something to drink. I came in today because I wanted to see you," he confessed, scratching at the back of his neck. 

You checked your watch. "Let me clock out, and then you can walk me to the bus stop again." 

Before you could walk away, before you could get changed and walk back towards him, Max grabbed your arm. Your immediate instincts had you quickly pulling out of his grip and taking two steps back. 

Max dropped his hand. He didn’t say anything, didn’t call out your behaviour. Instead, he fished his car keys from his jacket pocket. “Or I could drive you home, if you like.”

He didn’t drive you home that night. But he did walk you to the bus stop again. You stood closer to him than you would to any of your other customers. “I want to take you out at some point,” he said, staring down at you. The bus was pulling up, he only had a few seconds. “On a date.”

You didn’t gasp, you weren’t surprised. But your cheeks still heated up. “Tomorrow,” you said and smoothed down his jacket. “We’ll arrange it tomorrow.”

Max watched as you stepped onto the bus and paid for your ticket. He watched as you sat somewhere near the back. 

As soon as the bus pulled away, Max headed back towards the car. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out, swiping his thumb across the screen to answer it. “Soon, Christian,” he said, before Christian had the chance to say anything to him. “She’ll be dead soon.” He swallowed the lump in his throat as he climbed into the car. 

Christian paused for a moment. An anxiety inducing moment. ‘Lando is gonna take on the job’, that was what he was ready for him to say. “Our employer wants her dead within the next two weeks. Get on with it.”

The call ended and Max dropped his phone onto the centre console. A sigh left his lips and he began to drive, heading in the direction of the bus. There weren’t many occasions that called for Max to tail a bus, and it wasn’t all that easy. Every time the bus stopped at a stop, he parked where he could until the bus moved on. 

But then you got off of the bus and began your walk. As you got off of the bus, Max parked his car and climbed out. He followed you, ducking behind bins and bushes. You didn’t turn around, had no idea you were being followed. 

You weren’t expecting any sort of danger. Maybe it made you naive. You had no idea of the danger you were in. Max kept following you until you made it to your apartment complex. The sun was rising, the streets no longer dark. 

You were in so much danger, so much fucking danger. Max swallowed the lump in his throat. He couldn’t let anything happen to you, he knew that much.

a/n: part two! it actually feels so good to be working on a series again. for those that don't know, i'm currently working on a lestappen werewolf series (that i hope to have posted in the next week) so keep an eye out for that!

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[nvuy]

hi! back with my bullshit. i've been feral about jing yuan lately, AGAIN. this man never leaves the crevices of my barely-wrinkled brain. this time, i'm thinking about sparring with him... you're both grinning and out of breath and you swear jing yuan is trying to rile you up even more with his constant grabbing you whenever he can. and then you end up pinned under him, with his big hands squeezing every piece of your skin he can like he's trying to tear you apart.. oh i'm drooling

punching bag — jing yuan

summary. you regret day in and day out that you asked general jing yuan to help you work on your swordsmanship, and it doesn’t help that he barely takes it seriously.

notes. hi mords my little goober this is for u. also for anyone that likes jing yuan. and praise. and ummm. sweaty sword fighting and making out. i guess.

warnings. minor innuendos. you can tell how i feel about jing yuan just by this piece alone.

“Stick it, old man.” Your sword blocks his, and you gasp in triumph. His blade is inches from your throat, but your own keeps it in place.

It is heavy, though. You geniunely wonder how he’s able to even fight with something that can crack a tree log in two faster than an axe can.

You pant in exasperation, and you almost choke on your spit with excitement. Though you feel as though to your face is on fire and your hair is matted with sweat, the smile on your face is golden.

General Jing Yuan grins. His teeth flash. “Well done.”

You pull back the weapon after a moment, exhausted as you swallow thickly. There’s adrenaline coursing through your veins, and your heart is pumping so sporadically you’re sure it’s about to escape from your throat.

Then, you do it again, and again, and again, and again, and your triumph slowly moulds into something worse. You feel utterly pathetic, being able to fend off the General of the Luofu as if it’s like spreading butter on bread.

To that, you lower your weapon after what seems like hours, but was only a few minutes. “Are you even trying?”

Jing Yuan teases you with a taut smile. “Why would you think otherwise? What if you’ve just dramatically improved?”

You scrunch your face up at that.

His eyes light up with mischief before he raises his weapon. “Come. Again.”

Hesitantly, you draw your blade once more. It’s the same cut as his, you’re sure, for a more even match. It’s hardly ‘even’ though, when one wrong move will have his weapon cracking yours into two. And you feel it every time you manage to stop him.

You clear your throat and stumble back for a moment. Maybe a second of pep talk and talking down to yourself. That usually works

Jing Yuan yawns when you take too long. He’s not even looking at you; rather, he’s busy observing his weapon for any impurities on the blade.

That sets you off.

Your face burns with fury and you reel your fist backwards until it flies at his stupid, dumb, handsome face.

He catches your knuckles easily with his palm. “Someone’s growing claws,” he whispers. He taps you lightly on the leg with his blade. “I am teaching you the way of the blade, first and foremost, before hand-to-hand combat.”

“Scared I’ll land a punch, old man?” you spit, trying to swipe at his face again.

“Terrified,” he responds. “Now. Shoulders back. Again.”

You huff.

Again.

He blocks.

He dodges.

You curse at him at first. He only replies with a fond chuckle.

Then, you stumble, over and over again. He manages to trip you with his foot about ten times. On the eleventh attempt, you stop his attack with a stomp on his blade, but he simply pulls it out from underneath you.

You pull the blade forward and try to slice his face in half. His weapon stops yours almost too easily.

You grow frustrated and almost throw your weapon to the floor in defeat.

“Start trying a little less?” you ask him through bated breaths.

“Having a rough time?” he teases before simply side stepping your next manoeuvre with his eyes shut, before one gentle shove of his finger against your back as you stumbling right to the floor. “Again. You aren’t balanced.”

You try to stand up, but your legs give out, and you crumble to your knees again. He’s not even holding you against the floor, and embarrassment flares in your stomach.

You try fanning at your face with your hands. The afternoon sun is beating down hot and hard, and you’re clearly not the only one struggling. Jing Yuan busies himself untying his hair to retire it since it has come loose and has begun sticking to his face.

You swallow distastefully as you stare up at him from the floor.

He straightens the ribbon in his hair and shakes out the sweat thats beginning to matt in his roots.

You’re too busy admiring his arms to give a shit about what he’s saying, considering his lips are moving. His stupidly big fucking arms. That you want him to squash you with until you can’t feel your face. And can’t breathe.

“Is that all you can take?” he hums. His palms must be sweating as he readjusts the fingerless gloves he’s wearing. He breathes out once, evenly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you huff and manage to stand to your feet. “Some people aren’t immortal beings with ridiculous spouts of stamina.”

“The stamina comes from training,” he reminds. He’s retrieved your weapon, and he holds it out to you. “And discipline.”

Whatever. Begrudgingly, you snatch it from his hand and raise it.

“Imagine as if this is a fight to the death,” is all he tells you.

And you try. You really do try.

It’s almost as if he grows extra limbs when the time calls for it. Just when you believe both his hands are busy and you find an opening, he suddenly grows a third leg, or an extra finger, or something, and he’s magically stopped your next move. He can predict your every move; he can read every time you’re thrown off guard or you’re distracted or your foot stance is off. He doesn’t so much throw you to the floor, but rather allows gravity to do the work for him.

He does ensure you have a soft landing, however. So, you suppose he can play nice sometimes — that, and the last time he offered to be your punching bag, you’d ended up hitting your head so hard on the ground that you were stuck in the hospital for three days with a horrible concussion.

“Feeling any better?” he asked curiously a few hours after you’d been admitted. He’d been kind enough to visit your little room and was busy poking at a small teddy bear one of your friends had gifted you, alongside three cards and a bouquet of flowers.

That… he’d given you. Well, you think he did, because you don’t remember seeing them before he showed up. You were too miserable to really ask about it, though, so you kept your mouth shut.

“No,” you mumbled. “I feel like… shit.”

He hums sympathetically.

“I apologise again,” Jing Yuan said softly, slotting next to you on the bed and resting a hand on your arm. “If you need me for anything, do let me know.”

You take a deep breath to try and settle your queasy stomach.

“Yeah,” you slurred. Watching him is hard work as it is; you’re already dizzy and nauseous and you were growing antsy and worried that you’d need to puke again. Negative points if the General had to witness it. “Fuckin’ catch me next time.”

He grinned and lightly pinched your cheek, much to your chagrin. “Yes, General.”

You almost fly to the floor again, and Jing Yuan grabs at your hips and straightens you quickly.

You murmur, “I’m not gonna die if I fall.” Your face is hot with blood and you try to turn away from him to hide it.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” He’s even dusting off your shoulders and slicking back the short hairs stuck to your forehead. “You’re a fragile thing. I’d hate to see you get hurt again.”

You try and throw another punch.

He clicks his tongue when you almost crash your nose into his chest plate. And you’ve done that before — and Aeons, that hurt, too.

Miserably, you drop your sword and it clatters to the ground with a terrible noise.

You raise your arms up and thwack him in the chest lightly.

He hums. “Have I told you your arms look better?” He reaches and squeezes at one of your biceps. “Much better.” He looks content, and there’s a coy smile at his lips.

Your face burns.

Your eyes are sparkling, but disdain curls over your tone. “You’re a riot, General. Do you flirt with everyone like this?”

“Maybe,” he responds quickly.

You step back and clear your throat as you retrieve your weapon. “Don’t make me jealous.”

He’s just simply dodging everything, and the flat side of his sword smashes against your stomach, neck, thighs, ribs, anywhere he can reach.

It doesn’t help with every soft land he hits on you, he follows it up with a quick, “dead.”

He taps your ankle at one point and does it again. Your teeth grit and you try to slice his hand clean off.

He easily removes himself.

“I can’t block every angle,” you defend as he straightens up. “How can I block my face and my feet at the same time?”

“By foot stance,” he chimes in lightly. “Here’s a tip: stand back. A sword as deft as this one—” He reaches forward and pinches the tip of the blade between his fingers, “—can be used decently at a distance. Don’t stand directly in front of me.” He presents his own weapon. You don’t even try to hold it up. “Because of its weight, you have a distance advantage over me. And, I have to work around it.”

You listen. You don’t want to, out of spite, but you do. You know he’s not purposefully making you feel useless; he’s told you many times he thinks your skills are impressive. He’s more so attempting to rile you up.

And it’s working.

You’re too busy admiring his biceps to care. “Nice arms.”

He displays a boyish grin just for you. “Thank you.” Then, he readjusts his grip on the hilt. “If you weren’t so busy ogling, you’d have an opening.”

“I play nice, General,” you remind him. “I’m not going to cheat.”

“If you say so,” he taunts.

And then, he lunges for you.

General Jing Yuan hasn’t once initiated a fight on his hand, and it nearly takes you off guard. It’s been a back and forth of you trying to land a clean hit, and him easily avoiding your shots.

You just about manage to hold him off when you almost trip backwards. You regain your footing and nerves wrack up your spine. He swings again. He barely misses your neck when your sword clashes with his blade.

“Good,” he murmurs. “You’re learning.”

“Ooh,” you whisper. “I love it when you stroke my ego.”

“I know.” He tries again, this time reeling back and switching the blade to his left hand to try and catch you off guard. You block that one, too.

You giggle like an idiot.

Then, you shove him backwards with your sword and go for a swipe at his nose.

It doesn’t exactly go the way you planned. Not on your part. Jing Yuan praised you afterwards for the execution, but this is the General of the Luofu, and if he wanted to win, he would win. At any cost.

He trips you over just as easily as he had the other eleven times. Your hands instinctively fly out towards the ground to cushion your fall, but you don’t quite make it all the way into the grass this time.

He catches you again, this time in some makeshift position as if you’d been dancing instead of trying to literally kill him, but he does keep your head from smashing into the floor again. You can feel the headache forming just thinking about it.

Jing Yuan knocks the sword from your hand and it falls by your feet.

“I was having fun,” you whine lowly to him. “You always spoil everything.”

There’s exhilaration there, and you feel it surge in your heart, hot and heavy. You’re excited, somewhat. The adrenaline pumps through your veins, and your skin is so warm and light you feel as though you could pop at any moment.

It doesn’t help your case that the general is so close to you, and has a smile so wide you’re worried his face will split into two.

You admire him for a moment too long.

A moment so long that his grin grows impossibly wider, and mischief flares in his eyes.

His grip loosens.

Your heart drops to your stomach.

You scrabble in a panic and your arms swing around his shoulders.

He holds you again with a snicker.

“You win,” you declare finally. “I’m going home.”

“Sure.” He doesn’t move. “If you can free yourself, that is.”

You barely try to wriggle from his grasp before sighing. “C’mon. I���m tired.” His grip doesn’t even loosen his hold in the slightest. “We can do this tomorrow.”

“This is your last test,” he announces, somewhat dramatically. “Imagine that this is your final moment to choose between life and death.” With one hand still encircling your waist, the other lets go reach downward just enough to retrieve your sword. “There is very little you can do.”

The sword gently taps against your sternum, angled just enough for the tip to barely threaten a carving into your chest.

You claw at his arms, but he doesn’t budge. Your back strains with the position he holds you in, and your legs barely have enough leverage to keep you standing.

You are quite literally at his mercy.

And again, your footwork is off.

You grunt when he leans in close. Way too close for comfort. You feel somewhat like a caged animal, and you’re sure you look the part.

“There are decisions you can make, however,” he chides. “Five seconds. Think.”

You glance down at your weapon pointed at your chest. You hesitantly unwrap your arms from around his neck and try and grab at it.

In the time it’s taken you to muster the courage to let go of him, his grip loosens around your waist again. Your heart drops and you quickly curl your arms around his shoulders again.

“Too slow,” is all he remarks. “Four.”

You make a desperate attempt at wriggling from his grasp, but he only chuckles at your futility.

“Three.”

You almost give up. “This is dumb.”

“Two.”

You narrow your eyes at him. The worst idea springs to mind, and for the final second, you second-guess yourself.

“One–”

Your hands shift from his arms to his cheeks, and you draw him as close as you could before you strained your neck upwards.

Your lips press against his in a last ditch effort as a distraction, and for a moment, you believe it doesn’t work. He completely freezes up and stiffens in your grasp like a corpse.

The sword still presses to your chest, and you find it uncomfortable to inhale for a moment. It feels as though one wrong move will send the sharpened blade driving forth into your skin.

And then, he drops the weapon in favour of slotting his hand behind your head and keeping you on him. The sound of metal hitting the floor rings distantly in your ears.

His lips are coated in sweat, and you taste salt and oranges. The scent is addicting enough, oddly, and you sigh into his mouth with relief.

His hand wanders. Not dangerously, but enough to keep you alert. It slides from your hair to your throat, and it remains against your jugular for a good long while. His thumb then flutters to the notch and keeps you still and placated.

Then, he rubs gently at your sternum, as if in apology. You pay it no mind. Your hands are still, save for the gentle stroke at the nape of his neck.

He’s teasing you, you figure out, even when he’s all wrapped around your finger like the ribbon in his hair. He pulls away constantly to see if you’ll give chase, and of course you do.

You’d feel almost pathetic if he wasn’t eagerly returning the kiss like an idiot.

He then pulls away. Much too quickly for your liking.

You frown and try to tug at his hair to bring him on your tongue.

Jing Yuan presses his fingers to your lips. “I thought you said you played nice?”

“Whatever, handsome,” you mumble. You reach upwards and tussle his already messy hair.

His lips are red with spit. Your spit. You did that. Gross.

Your heart flutters and you giggle.

“That would’ve been a good time to throw a punch,” he says after a moment.

You think about it. Then, you reel your fist back and aim at his face. “Sure.”

His other arm holds strong wrapped around your waist when he catches your wrist. Instead, he places soft kisses along your knuckles.

Something hot bubbles in your stomach. Easy.

“Will you kiss every opponent that bests you like that?” Jing Yuan asks quietly, a sneaking grin growing on his reddened lips.

You hum softly and cup his face gently. “Maybe.”

He scoffs lightly. “Don’t make me jealous.”

[mrrecaswife]

Is he smart, or is he...

(In which Reca worries about how his child will turn out)

(CW: Pregnancy because AFAB reader, insecure Mr Reca because, well, he has feelings too and it's my interpretation (don't like don't read), but fluff too because I think you suffered enough in my last couple of posts, have a 🍪 if you got the title reference, but please don't make me run out of them because there will be a lot of movie quotes as post titles-)

When Mr Reca got the news that you were pregnant, he was ecstatic! It somehow had managed to happen, despite him being a memokeeper, and he swore up and down in his usual dramatic way that he'll protect you and your child no matter what.

But, lately, he has been getting somewhat second thoughts.

It's not as if he didn't love you, oh no! Despite everything he made you endure, his love for you never once wavered.

But...

What if the child turned out like him?

He didn't mean it in a bad way, but he knew that he was high maintenance. He couldn't stop yapping and getting passionate about his work, which you did admire. But, sometimes, when he looked back, you seemed tired and he still kept it up, as you didn't say anything.

He knew that his work was irreplaceable, but you were, too. Actually, you were more important than his work.

But what if the child tired you out like he did with you?

What if you couldn't handle it and left?

When you found him in your bedroom later that day after returning from meeting with a few friends, he was oddly contemplative. Hm. Must be about one of his projects again.

As you tucked in later that evening, he clung to you as usual for the night, and asked you something that made you sit up right as you heard it.

"What if the baby turns out like me?"

You stared at him for a moment, and said nothing. He took that the wrong way.

"You know what, forget it-"

"And what if it turns out like you?" You pressed gently.

Reca looked down for a couple of seconds, and ran his hand through his hair. He took a deep breath before staring in your eyes with his luminous orbs, his play button irises shimmering under the moonlight.

"What if you end up tired of having to listen to us?"

You considered his words for a moment, before gently cupping his cheek.

"So what? It simply means that I'll have two of my favourite type of people with me. What's the deal?"

When Reca stared right in your soul, he could only see earnestness and sincerity. He snickered, then chuckled, then burst out laughing as he cradled you to his chest, carefully avoiding your stomach.

By the Aeons, you'd be the death of him. Of course you wouldn't leave, if just because you like how peculiar he is.

So naturally, he has to protect and cherish you for that.

And, you know what?

He'll never let you go too, for as long as you'll have him.

[iichfilwypj]

take me home | percy jackson

ღ percy jackson x daughter of hypnos! reader ღ warnings: none! pure fluff ღ wc: 832 i tried to make it shorter sorry :( pt 1 - pt 3 - pt 4

The dining hall was especially… noisy. 

By next week, many campers would be heading home, and everyone was excited. She wasn’t happy about it; with no one to return to, she planned to stay at camp alone and sleep—just sleep. 

“What? I’d win!” she sat beside Percy at his table, engaged in a silly conversation. His confidence to defeat Superman was stupid; he was aware of how unlikely his victory was, but he remained stubborn.

“Percy, he can fly. You can’t walk a straight line!” 

“I can swim.” she burst out laughing. It echoed through the dining hall, drawing a few amused glances from other campers. 

Percy glanced at her, a grin creeping onto his face that he tried to suppress by frowning his eyebrows. He couldn’t let himself be exposed. 

Did he think he’d win against Superman? No, that man would wipe the floor with him. But she was laughing, so he wouldn’t mind coming up with more arguments. 

You'd think that the stronger your feelings grow for someone, especially if it's your best friend, the further you’d distance yourself. 

What's the point of getting your hopes up? 

Well, that was not Percy’s case. Ever since what happened last week in his cabin, he couldn’t manage to stay away from her. He made it his responsibility to wake her up, help during her tasks, and ensure she got enough sleep. He chatted with her, made plans, and even shared naps with her. He was sure he had managed to get at least fifteen hours more of sleep than he usually did. 

It didn’t matter, nothing did. He just wanted to be with her. 

But he had started to grow desperate. The desire to be with her had escalated into a need he couldn't ignore. And he was exhausted from holding back. ‘You have to tell her!’ his friends insisted, but how? The idea of confessing made him sick.

‘Hey, I’m in love with you. Wanna be my girlfriend?’ Yeah, no, that is cringe.

“Beth could totally beat Superman” the sweet voice of his friend jolted him from his thoughts. The dining was now empty, and the silence was a bit scary. “She’s very stro-”

“Do you wanna come home?” he stammered, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. His mouth fell open, his eyes wide open. 

OMG? WHAT THE FUCK PERCY!

“What?” she asked, also confused. He stood quiet, not wanting to look at her. 

Weird, considering it was the only thing he wanted to do lately.

“Not any home. To my house, during the holidays.” he dared to say. She was silent; did he overstep?, was it too soon? “I don’t want you to be alone, and I’m sure my mom would love to meet you. You can say no if-”

“Ocean breath” he immediately stopped talking, examining her features for any hint of rejection or disapproval. What he found in her eyes was something that resembled gratitude, fondness –he wouldn’t dare to say love yet. They were glossy, and while she wiped them, he wished it was just because of her tiredness. “I would love to.”

NOT A CHANCE! She said yes! And not only yes, she said she’d love to!  

“Oh, cool” he couldn't find any more words. His heart raced, and a smile settled on his lips, the joy he felt was something he had never experienced before.

She leaned her body against his side, eyes closing and letting out a soft sigh. However, he couldn’t stop himself from making a joke.

“You'll have to sleep on the balcony. You know, safety reasons. A stranger in my house? Pff, what a scandal!” 

“Oh, cool” she mocked him, and he nudged her in the side. 

Percy leaned his head against her shoulder, and softly rubbed her back, knowing she loved that. A few seconds later, soft snores could be heard, and her head would have hit the table if he hadn’t caught her. He leaned her head onto his shoulder now, before leaving a small kiss on her temple. 

He closed his eyes. For a moment, he was sure this was what heaven felt like.

hi hi hi! :) i'm very bored, please recommend me books! love u all, have a pretty day.

[kinascum]

ZIP-TIEDᯓ★

Hank Thompson x PoliceOfficer!Reader (sorry)

wc: 3.1k | summary: oh you won't confess? alight ill make you talk, pretty boy. | nav ♡ taglist

18+ MDNI. DUBCON. interrogation. coercion. sexual content. explicit language. power dynamics. authority abuse. dark themes. talk of crime, stealing. talk of sickness. violence. restraints while engaging in sexual activities.

A/N: thanks m girl @aust-een for fueling this idea lmao

You stand outside the interrogation room, watching through the one-way mirror as Hank Thompson slumps in the chair, his eyes hollow, his jaw tight. The room is stark, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead casting an unflinching glow on the cold metal table and the two chairs. The air is thick with tension, a palpable silence that seems to hum with anticipation. You know he's the one—the infamous thief that's been taunting the city for months. The bookstore heist was just the latest in a string of burglaries, each more brazen than the last. But here he is, caught red-handed.

As you enter the room, the door swings shut with a heavy thud that echoes off the concrete walls. You don't bother with pleasantries or the reading of rights. He knows why he's here. You've studied his file, watched the security footage—his graceful moves and calculated precision. His reputation precedes him, and so does your resolve to get answers.

"No cameras," you say firmly, looking him in the eye. "No microphones. Just you and me."

He smirks, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for a brief second before dropping back to the floor. "What makes you think I'll talk?"

You lean against the wall, crossing your arms. "You will. One way or another."

He chuckles darkly, the sound barely audible in the stark room. "Is that a promise or a threat?"

You don't answer, instead you start pacing the floor, the soles of your shoes squeaking on the clean tiles. The silence stretches, taut as a bowstring. You can almost feel the tension coiling around him, tightening with every step you take.

After a moment, you stop, your eyes locking onto his. "Look, Hank. We can do this the easy way or the hard way." You let the words hang in the air, a silent ultimatum.

He remains unmoved, his gaze unwavering. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

You take a deep breath, then cross the room to stand directly in front of him. You lean in close, your voice low and measured. "It means I'll get the answers I need, whether you give them to me now, or I have to... coax them out of you."

You can see the doubt flicker in his eyes, the beginnings of fear. Good. It's time to turn the heat up.

You start with simple questions, a dance of words meant to unravel his defenses. His replies are monosyllabic, gruff, but they come. You press on, your tone even, your gaze never leaving his. The room feels smaller with each question you ask, the air thickening like the plot of a noir thriller. The silence stretches taut between you, a tightrope of anticipation.

You decide to change tactics. You pull out a chair and sit down across from him, your eyes never leaving his. The chair scrapes against the floor, a jarring sound in the quiet room. You lean forward, your elbows resting on the table, your fingers steepled. "Hank," you say, your voice softer now, "why don't you tell me about the bookstore?"

He snorts, his eyes flashing with annoyance. "What's there to say?"

You lean back, your chair creaking under the weight of your frustration. You've seen his type before—slick, smug, thinking he's smarter than everyone else. But you're smarter. You've read his file, studied his patterns. You know he's hiding something. So you wait, watching the play of emotions across his face. And when he doesn't speak, you stand up, your movements deliberate, and pull the zip tie from your pocket.

You circle the chair, his eyes following you as you do. His breath hitches as you pull his arms behind his back, the plastic biting into his wrists as you secure them to the chair. He tries to jerk away, but you're stronger, more determined. "What the hell are you doing?" he snarls.

"Just making sure you don't go anywhere," you reply, your voice calm, almost casual. "You see, Hank, I've got all night."

He struggles against the restraints, his face reddening with rage. "You can't do this!" he spits.

You lean down so your face is inches from his. "Oh, but I can," you murmur. "And I will."

You start with the basics again, asking about the bookstore. His responses are still defiant, but the edge of fear is there now, sharper than before. You can see it in the way his eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape. But there isn't one. You're in control here.

You lean back in your chair, watching him squirm under the plastic. His breathing has become shallower, faster. The tension is palpable, a living thing in the room with you. "Let's try this again, Hank. What can you tell me about the bookstore?"

He clenches his jaw, his eyes narrowing. "Nothing."

With a sigh, you stand up and walk around the table. He tries to lean away from you, but the chair is bolted to the floor. "You know, Hank," you murmur, your voice low and seductive, "I'm not a big fan of playing games."

You place your hand on his thigh, feeling the muscles tense beneath the fabric of his pants. He jerks at the sudden contact, his eyes snapping up to yours. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Your smile is cold, calculated. "I'm making sure you understand the gravity of the situation." You slide your hand up, your fingers brushing against the growing bulge in his crotch. His body responds despite his protests, his cock stiffening under your touch.

He bucks against the chair, trying to break free, but the zip ties hold firm. "You can't do this!"

You lean in close, your breath warm against his ear. "And what are you gonna do?"

Your hand starts to move in slow, torturous circles, your grip tightening just enough to keep him on the edge. His eyes roll back in his head, his teeth gritted as he fights the pleasure you're giving him. But you're in no rush. You've got all night.

You whisper in his ear, your voice a silky promise. "Every time you lie to me, I'll make it harder for you. But every time you tell the truth, I'll make it feel so good."

He grunts, his body straining against the restraints. "What do you want to know?"

You lean back, your hand still wrapped around his cock, stroking him with a maddening gentleness. "The truth, Hank. That's all I want."

He grits his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck you."

You increase the pressure slightly, watching as his body tenses. "The more you resist, the more you'll regret it."

You can feel him fighting it, his hips pushing against your hand, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His voice is strained, desperate. "What...what do you want to know?"

You lean in closer, your breath hot on his neck. "Everything."

You start with the night of the bookstore heist. Your hand moves in a steady rhythm, each stroke bringing him closer to the edge. He clenches his fists, his knuckles white. "What happened that night?"

He groans, his body betraying his resolve. "I...I went in...for the books."

You tighten your grip, slowing down. "And?"

He swallows hard, his voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to...to take the money."

You feel his cock pulse in your hand, but you don't let him finish. "Why did you do it, Hank?"

He pants, his eyes wild with need. "I needed it...for...for my sister's medication."

You ease up, his erection subsiding slightly. "Go on."

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I...I had no choice. She's sick."

You nod, your grip loosening slightly. "What did you do with the money?"

"I...I gave it to her," he gasps out, his voice strained. "I didn't keep a dime."

You resume the slow, torturous strokes, feeling him harden again. "What about the other jobs? The jewelry, the art?"

He shakes his head, his eyes pleading. "I don't know what you're talking about."

You squeeze harder, his hips bucking. "Don't lie to me, Hank."

He lets out a strangled cry. "Okay, okay! I did them. But...but it was always for a good cause. I never kept anything for myself."

You lean back, studying his face. The lies are coming easier now, his need for release overwhelming his pride. "Who did you sell the items to?"

His breath catches, his body trembling. "A...a fence. I don't know his name."

You don't buy it. You know he's holding out on you. You lean in, your voice a whisper. "Hank, I'm not going anywhere until you tell me everything."

He growls, his eyes flashing with anger and desperation, his release inching closer. "I don't know! I swear!"

You lean back, your hand leaving his crotch. He gasps, his eyes snapping open, his body rigid with unfulfilled need. "What?" he pants, the question a mix of disbelief and frustration.

You lean back in your chair, folding your arms. "I said I want the truth, Hank. No more games."

The room is silent for a long moment, the only sounds his ragged breaths and the distant murmur of the precinct. His eyes dart around the room, searching for something—anything—that might give him a way out of this. But there's nothing. Just the two of you and the truth that hangs heavy in the air.

"Please," he whispers, his voice cracking. "Please don't do this."

You stand, walking around the table to stand in front of him again. You lean down, your hand resting on the zip tie, ready to tighten it. "The fence's name, Hank."

He closes his eyes, his jaw clenched. "Vic," he says through gritted teeth. "Vic Castellanos."

You straighten, a flicker of satisfaction crossing your face. That's a name you recognize. A big fish in the city's criminal underbelly. But you don't let him see it. Instead, you lean down, your voice a seductive purr. "Good boy."

You run your hand along his thigh, your fingertips dancing up to his crotch again. He jerks, his body begging for release. But you stop just short, your hand hovering over him. "But that's not all I need to know."

He groans, his eyes pleading. "What...what else?"

You smile, a wicked glint in your eye. "Everything, Hank. Every detail."

With a flick of your wrist, you unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. His cock springs free, hard and desperate. He tries to struggle again, but the chair holds him firmly in place. You take a moment to appreciate the view, the way his erection juts out, pulsing with the rhythm of his racing heart. Then, you wrap your hand around him, your grip firm but gentle.

You start to stroke, slow and deliberate. His eyes roll back in his head, a strangled sound escaping his throat. "The...the...other jobs," he gasps. "They were...for charity. For kids, for the homeless."

You keep your rhythm steady, your eyes never leaving his face. "Go on."

His breath comes in ragged pants now, his hips moving with your hand. "The...the diamonds," he whispers. "They...they were for a children's hospital."

You nod, your hand moving a little faster. "And the art?"

"A...a museum," he chokes out. "They needed...needed funding."

You lean in, your breath hot against his ear. "Why steal for them?"

He swallows hard, his body tight with need. "Because...because no one else would help."

Your hand speeds up, your grip tightening. "What about the people you hurt, Hank?"

He opens his eyes, the reality of his actions crashing over him. "They...they didn't matter."

You stop, your hand hovering just above his cock. "What makes you think they didn't matter?"

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with pain and desperation. "Because...because the ones I was helping mattered more."

You resume stroking, your touch a little softer now. "But they were just pawns in your game, weren't they?"

He nods, his eyes squeezed shut. "Yes," he whispers.

You lean back, watching him. His body is taut with tension, his breathing erratic. You know he's close, so close to the edge. But not yet. "Tell me about the last job, Hank. The one that went wrong."

He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "It...it was a mistake. I didn't mean to get caught."

You cock your head, your eyes gleaming. "And what did you take?"

He grits his teeth, the struggle clear on his face. "A...a necklace. For...for my sister."

You nod, your hand moving faster now. "And why did you choose that necklace?"

"It...it was her birthday," he gasps, his eyes filling with tears. "I wanted to make her happy."

You lean in, your voice a gentle caress. "What was so special about that necklace?"

Hank's body jerks as he fights back the sob that threatens to escape. "It...it was one like our mother's. She...she never got to wear it. I wanted her to have something of hers."

The room feels heavier with the weight of his confession, the air thick with unshed tears. But you don't let up. You need all the information he has. "Where is it now, Hank?"

He shakes his head, his eyes squeezed shut. "I...I don't know. I had to ditch it when you...you caught me."

You stroke him a little faster, his cock hardening in your grip. "Where did you hide it?"

He moans, his hips bucking involuntarily, a tear slipping from his eye. "In...in a locker at the bus station. Number 43."

You nod, your hand moving faster, your strokes now a blur. He's close, so close. You can see the sweat beading on his forehead, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. And then, with a strangled cry, he finally breaks, his body convulsing as he climaxes, hot cum spurting into the space between his stomach and the chair. You watch with a detached fascination, your hand still moving until the last tremor passes through him.

As he pants for breath, his body limp with exhaustion, you lean down and whisper in his ear, "Good boy." You give his cock one final squeeze before releasing it, watching as it goes soft again. You step back, your heart pounding in your chest. You've got what you wanted—his confession, the fence's name, the location of the necklace. But the game isn't over yet.

You pull a handkerchief from your pocket and offer it to him. He looks at it with a mix of disgust and gratitude, using it to clean himself up. You watch, your expression unreadable. "You know, Hank," you say, your voice low and calm, "you're not such a bad guy. Just...misplaced."

He glares up at you, his wrists still bound by the zip tie. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

You shrug, tucking the handkerchief back in your pocket. "You had a reason. A good one, even." You lean back against the wall, crossing your arms again. "But you're still a thief."

The anger in his eyes fades to something else—despair, maybe. "What are you going to do to me?"

You smile, a cold, hard smile that sends a shiver down his spine. "Oh, Hank. That's not for me to decide."

You leave him there, the room echoing with the sound of his labored breathing. You've got your answers, but the night is still young. And there's so much more to uncover about Hank, the man behind the mask. As you walk back to your office, you can't help but wonder what other secrets he's hiding. And how much more of himself he'll be willing to give up before the dawn breaks.

taglist! @baileysturns @joyouswonders @eternal-love

[strab3rr]

hi love,

How did you induce pure consciousness xx

i know u guys love big stories -i love those things too- but im sorry i don’t have any

but i can try to make it seem bigger 4 u.

it was a sunny day

it was a normal day

at least i thought it was…

i make a brunch w my mom and then we go buy some groceries

did i mention it was a sunny day..

there was so much sweat blood and tears(i was on my period)

then we got home

i dayreamed while i study russian and math(tears again)

than i watched my fav show(supernatural)

and finally dinner time w my family 🎉🎉🎉🎉

i got dishes and go straight to my room

usually we have some tea after dinner

but i had cramps so i just go to bed w a pill

when i realized the pill worked i tried to sleep and get some rest

but i couldn’t so i thought i can do pinteresting🎀

i add some pins to my silly little boards(therapy)

then i saw a pin/tumblr post(wait im gonna try to find that)

after reading this pin, i remembered the posts i was readin on tumblr (b4dprincess’s posts)

then i opened tumblr and continued to read those

when i was done w reading i was like 👍 ok this is it

its my reality how hard can it be?

i put my phone down and take one deep breath

(oh noooo theres only 10gif/image allowed on mobile, i was havin fun aaaaa)

life saving emojiiiss

😮‍💨

and thats it

i did nothing but taking that one deep breath (physically)

i focused on everything but my body

i think about the dates i will have w him

i think about my house, neighborhood

i daydreamed my pets

the clothes

friends and the more i think about these things i was feeling closer

some point i felt like im levitating and drowning at the same time, this is the part i got scared but be cool abt it

affirmations ive said while being cool:

i am detached from any realities

i am here and there, everywhere and nowhere

i am everything and nothing

i am, i am, i am

i am nothing but my soul

i am beyond of any physical world

i am i am

i induced my pure consciousness within seconds

i am

i am

i am

i said ‘i am’ till i felt nothing

for a second i thought i didn’t make it but again be cool abt it (bc: dont let them know ur next move)

i felt ready and opened my eyes and finally i was there and just as i imagined i felt everything and nothing at the same time

it felt forever and not even a second at the same time

guys

it-was-awesome 👏🏻

(for the clarification: i didn’t mock w anything with all those gifs)

its just im trying to tell you, i mean u want a recipe but there isnt any

there’s nothing literally nothing to do for enterin your void

well theres one thing: relax.

just relax, you got this, stop overcomplicating it. its inside of you not in the space, not in the underground not in the air not in the fuckn atmosphere its within you, so you dont have to worry about anything because its there. its always there and it will always be there

stop searching for some magic key. because you are the key. you are the void you’re searching for.

i know, having a lot with your life and everything is hard and you have goals to achieve, moments to live

well good news

you can change this and you should because you deserve better

only you can change this

(i talk a lot and most of them are nonsense but i am right abt one thing, and that is, you deserve better. so act like it)

loves, siena.

[rex-meshla]

Brat Summer

Commander Wolffe x Reader

You'd think working with Commander Wolffe would mean a constant stream of orders, all barked in that gruff. But no, that’s not how this goes. Not this summer, anyway.

"Not bad" he mutters as we finish a sparring drill under the hot afternoon sun, his voice low and gravelly, but his smirk gives him away. “You’re almost getting the hang of it. Almost”

"Oh? That's funny. I'd say you're almost keeping up, Commander" I shoot back, giving him a look. It’s a game we’ve played a thousand times, but this time, the heat in the air makes it feel like more.

"Maybe I should push you a bit harder then" he says, stepping in closer, that spark in his eye growing.

Classic Wolffe. He loves a show of authority. Probably thinks it'll throw me off.

I just cross my arms, smirking. "Bring it on"

He chuckles, a low, almost growling sound, and then he closes the gap between us, stopping just close enough that I can feel the warmth coming off him. "You'd love that, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, you bet" I say, nudging him in the chest before he can lean any closer. "But don't go thinking you're the only one calling the shots here, Wolffe"

He raises a brow, amused. "You think you're in control?"

"Absolutely" I say, poking his chest just to get on his nerves. "I know it drives you crazy, but you wouldn't have it any other way"

“Real confident, aren’t you?” His hand hovers near my waist, his lips twitching up in that knowing smile. “Maybe I just keep you around because you give me something to laugh at”

I roll my eyes, refusing to break. “Laugh all you want, but we both know you’d be bored without me” I lean in, voice dropping, just to tease him. “Face it—you like having someone around who can actually handle you”

“Handle me?” He scoffs, eyes flashing, a mix of irritation and amusement. “If I wanted to, I’d put you in your place in two seconds flat”

"Oh, sure" I say, cocking an eyebrow. "Any day now, Commander. Still waiting for you to actually do something about it"

His mouth quirks, and he leans in, his voice dropping, almost challenging. “Careful what you wish for”

“Promises, promises” I say, meeting his eyes with a smile that dares him to take that last step. “I’ll believe it when I see it”

And that’s all it takes. His hand finally lands on my hip, warm and firm, pulling me that final inch until there’s no space left between us. His other hand brushes up my back, fingers pressing lightly, and he dips his head, gaze locked on mine with an intensity that’s nearly electric.

“Still sure you can handle this?” he murmurs, his breath warm against my cheek.

For a second, words fail me. His dark gaze, his hand on my hip, his hold on me—all of it sends my pulse racing, each beat louder than the last. “More than sure” I manage, my voice softer than I intended, but he’s left me no room for anything else.

A short laugh rumbles low in his chest, his eyes glinting with satisfaction as he dips his head, his lips brushing mine with a teasing slowness. The kiss starts soft, almost experimental, but the next second, it deepens, fiercer, like he’s done waiting, done playing games. My hands slide up to his shoulders, and it’s like the rest of the world melts away, leaving just the heat of his mouth on mine.

As the kiss deepens, his fingers find their way to the back of my neck, pulling me in closer. There’s a hunger to the way he holds me, something raw, brash, and yet, somewhere in the fierceness, he’s careful too, like he’s been waiting for this just as long as I have.

I can’t help but smile against his mouth, letting a laugh slip out as I pull back for a breath. “That’s the best you’ve got, Commander?”

His eyes narrow, that usual sharpness softened by something else. Something almost like pride. “You’re really asking for it, aren’t you?”

“Maybe” I say, fingers trailing down his chest, feeling his breath hitch under my touch. “Or maybe you just have to work a little harder to keep up”

That challenge lights up his face, and in an instant, he pulls me back in, his lips brushing mine again, this time with a fiercer edge. He murmurs against my mouth, “Careful what you wish for, brat”

_____________________________________________________________

I hope you've enjoyed this little drabble. You can find more here.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

more laughingstock pleaseee? 💙 💚

Yes Yes Yes i have this very small soft scribble to offer <3

[tonycries]

Something Stupid - G.S.

Synopsis. Five times the strongest would rather díe than tell you he loves you, and the one time he almost does. Almost.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, friends-to-lóvers, canon fix-it, PINING, dry-húmping, face-sítting (fem receiving), creampíe, overstím, PÚSSYDRUNK GOJO, ríding him until he whínes, no smút until they’re adults obvs, slight ángst, manga spoilers, found family, THE HAPPY ENDING WE DESERVE, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 9.6k

A/N. Tumby lemme post this pwease? What canon? This is the only canon I know.

“Catch me if you-”

Sixteen-year-old Gojo Satoru doesn’t have the privilege of finishing his sentence - hell, he doesn’t even have the privilege of standing, apparently.

Because in the blink of an eye, his back is hitting the soft grass of Jujutsu Tech, followed very shortly by a bewildered you. Foreheads knocking together, your hands grabbing at his broad shoulders, his own wrapping around your waist for some sense of stability.

Years later, Gojo tells everyone that would listen - and anyone that won’t - that life became just a bit brighter ever since you crashed into his life that day - literally. 

But right now, he’s opening his mouth to spit an irritated, “Watch it!”

It’s the first words you ever say to him, a shrill - almost hysterical - “Huh? No, you watch it-”

“Nuh uh, you-” Head spinning, shades skewed, it takes Gojo a few seconds to screw his bleary eyes open to the sudden newcomer straddled on top of him. And a few more to register that no, he wasn’t in heaven and hey, that uniform looks familiar. And, unfortunately, not even a split-second longer to breathe out something stupid, “I…I think I love y-”

“You stupid, moronic- wait what?”

The next few words out of his mouth are just as bad as the last ones, if not worse. Because yes he knows - for once in his life - that maybe he should just stop talking. He knows that even a moment longer with you is gonna turn his mind into more of a melty, honeyed mess than Six Eyes ever could. 

Which is exactly what he blames when jumbling out a garbled, “Dinner tomorrow?” Wincing, Gojo swallows them back almost as quickly as he wished he was swallowed up by Geto’s rainbow dragon instead. 

To your credit, you look a lot less bumbling than the strongest currently pinned underneath you. That look of annoyance on your pretty features melts into something of concern. And before he can dig a deeper hole for himself, you’re raising the back of your hand to splay out across his forehead.

“I didn’t think you hit the ground that hard but-” you raise a brow, head tilting to the side. “-I think you’ve got a concussion.”

Oh, yeah he’s definitely in heaven - that or actually concussed. Maybe both.

A low whistle sounds from his right - and soon enough he’s staring at the shoes of the other first-year he’d met just today. Low bangs hanging over his face, jostling with light cackles, “Haven’t they told you not to confess your undying love until at least the second date, Gojo?”

Nevermind, he was in hell.

“Ieri!” Geto turns towards the other girl, who was busy typing away on her phone. But Gojo could’ve sworn he heard the shutter of a camera coming from her way. “He was flown out of bounds, that’s gotta count as one point for me, right? And another for the pretty girl. You keepin’ score?”

She only sighs, “No.”

What’s a first day at high school without a duel between two of the proudly self-proclaimed strongest? And, of course, you - the fourth addition to their little group, hastily scrambling off of Gojo’s lap at the jeering laughter from above. 

Dammit. 

Later, he might apologize for running headfirst into you - might. Ignoring the pointed giggles, and the burning rouge at the very tip of his ears, to find out your name. And to make up some stilted excuse about how that was completely the concussion talking and he totally wasn’t serious about having dinner so please, please, please don’t snitch to Yaga about the impromptu matches taking place on school grounds…unless? 

But for now, Gojo’s only lazily turning to look up at Geto, bringing a hand up to squint against the harsh sun beating down. Or, at least, that’s what it was meant to look like - “Technique amplification: Blue!”

He only hopes the property damage isn’t as high as what his poor heart had just gone through. Detention with Yaga be damned - and if by some grace of the universe he actually does end up escaping before he’s caught then, well, he’ll actually ask you out to dinner tomorrow. 

---

Gojo Satoru is almost eighteen when he thinks that not even the Gojo family’s most expensive insurance will cover whatever curse you’ve casted on his poor heart.

You’re both well into the second year, and by now he’d been to twelve different doctors, five shamans, and Principal Yaga himself before Geto smacked him upside the head. 

“Satoru, you complete imbecile-”

“Hey!” He fights out of his best friend’s grasp around the scruff of his uniform, crossing his arms over his chest with a whine, “I’ll have you know that I got the highest exam score last week, and I cheated only a little bit-”

Geto cuts him off with a sigh, wearily pinching the bridge of his nose, “No- you idiot. What do you mean you went to Yaga to girl-talk with him about your crush.” And when Gojo’s mouth falls slack, he’s smirking, “Oh- my bad, I meant your love-”

It’s said that Gojo’s gasp echoed all throughout the wooden corridors of the school - maybe even the entire grounds. Hotly, he’s sputtering out broken little excuses, “I don’t- what do you-” Before turning away to cool the burning of his sweetly rosy cheeks, “You’re the imbecile for spewing out such nonsense, Suguru.”

“Are you sure?” Geto turns to get a better look at the way those pretentiously expensive glasses fail to cover even the half of it. He’s never been able to, when it comes to you. “Because that’s quite literally the first thing you said to her-”

“I had a concussion!”

“After she touched you?” 

And for perhaps the first time in the years he’s been wreaking havoc on Earth, Gojo is speechless. A welcome change for Geto, who mulls over in the silence while they loiter - very much missing whatever mission was assigned right now. 

“I…” he starts, voice small. Pathetic, even. “...was concussed.” And before Geto can let out the same frustrated, dragged-out groan he often does whenever he’s around the two of you, Gojo’s plowing on, “But if I did lo- like her - hypothetically speaking - how would I even tell her?”

Usually, the other’s first reaction would be to tease his best friend. But at this moment he sounded so…young, painfully sincere in a way that was so disgustingly un-Gojo-like that he can’t help but cringe.

“Well, Satoru.” he muses, throwing a hand around his shoulder. “You just gotta…tell her my man. Preferably before that big mission coming up because I am not dragging your moping self around.”

He rolls his eyes, scoffing, “Gee, thanks. I’ll totally get on that tomorrow.”

“You’re welcome.”

BANG!

Yaga’s voice bellows, “Can you two stop doing this outside my office!”

And as much as Gojo hates to admit it, Geto was right - he usually was. 

Well - perhaps not about the love part, but subconsciously, he found himself seeking out every tiny moment with you. Every second by your side - ignoring the other two bothers - was a new opportunity to just tell you. To break that thick solitude inside your little bubble with those little words. Ones that would go and spoil it all. 

Not to be dramatic, but Gojo almost made a game out of it. Mouthing out the words whenever your back was turned - it started from “Dinner tomorrow?” to “I like you.” to something stupid that only gave Shoko aneurysms. 

And, expectedly, “tomorrow” doesn’t happen to be tomorrow. 

Tomorrow isn’t in your next class, or whatever mission Gojo tags along with you for “moral support.” Tomorrow isn’t the cozy little detention the two of you attend after catching Yaga’s interpretive dance routine - “that’s the scariest thing I’ve ever seen- even more than any curse.” you whisper fearfully to him, and he thinks he might just blurt it out right then and there.

Tomorrow isn’t when he’s just about to leave on some confidential mission with Geto, bidding you goodbye with a roll of his eyes and a hug he pretends he doesn’t like as much as he actually does. Tomorrow isn’t even when he’s baking in Okinawan sun, or strewn out bloodied and left for dead on the very grounds he met you on. 

But oh how he wishes it was.

In that moment, incapacitated by Toji Fushiguro, and wondering where it went wrong, he thinks of you. Gojo thinks he’ll always remember you in every moment, and especially when they’re his last.

The Star Plasma Vessel mission and its aftermath takes up most of his mind afterward, even when he didn’t want it to. And all he can remember about tomorrow comes only a few months later, when an ashen-faced Gojo Satoru slams open the rickety door to your dorm.

“G-Gojo?” you sputter, sitting up in your bed. But before you can even think of reaching him, he’s crossed your floor in a few long strides. “Are you ok- mmpf!”

In an instant, he’s splaying out on your mattress, legs dangling off the end, strong arms wrapped tightly around your waist. 

Your first instinct is to snap something snarky - but every tease at the very tip of your tongue vanishes when he buries his head into your lap. And you feel something wet, something drench though your skirt heatedly. 

“Is…” you’re gulping thickly. “Is everything okay, Satoru?”

Ah, his name sounds too perfect on your tongue. 

“Suguru…” Is all he shudders out wetly, jittery hands looping even more vice-like around your figure. “He-”

It’s just about the only thing he can get out, and it’s just about everything you need to hear before bringing his shivering body closer. Quiet. Steady. Rocking the strongest gently, while you hum a wordless melody. “S’alright. S’gonna be okay.”

Now, he thinks. Now now now now - tell her. Tell her. But when a tear of your own stains his shirt, he knows. Hauling you in even deeper to his chest, he prays you don’t hear his thundering heart. Perhaps tomorrow. 

---

Gojo is twenty-one by the time he’s dragging you hand-in-loveable-hand through the winding hallways of an apartment in the heart of Tokyo. Mumbling excited little mutters, and almost tripping over his own feet with how fast he was navigating the corridors. 

“Sato- S-Sato-” you’re squealing out, grimacing at the tugging burn of your hands in his. “Toru! Where are you- taking me?” 

Sheepishly, he looks at you over his shoulder, “Whoops, did I forget to tell you- I have kids!”

He doesn’t know what’s louder - your shocked shout of “What? When?...By who?” or the screeching of his own two shoes skidding to a halt in front of that familiar door. 

“Well, they’re not mine.” Gojo sighs ultimately, with a hand at the door. And that makes you quieten down just enough to hear his barely-audible little whisper. Determined. Reverent, almost. “But they’re mine.”

And when he finally opens the door, just one look at the tiny, black-haired little boy and his sharp scowl is all you need to understand. You’re whirling your eyes back to his beaming gaze, oh, Satoru.

Only mere moments later the two of you - accompanied by a very begrudging Megumi, and his sister - sit by the booth of one of your favorite cafés. Embarrassingly, he finds himself sighing while watching you crack jokes with the little girl. Turning to the server to order for her - it almost felt like a little family. Oh you’d make such a perfect mother. A completely objective observation, of course. Completely. Unless- 

“You’ll never do it.” a tug on his sleeve has him facing Megumi’s leveled stare. How the hell does a kid manage to look like he’s seen the monstrosities of the world already? Gojo blames the father.

Baring his teeth, “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Little did he know that all it took was watching him seethe whenever the waiter by your side was just a bit too talkative, a bit too lingering with his gaze. In his little reverie, Gojo had accidentally croaked out a low, “I-” before you’d turned those pretty eyes his way, only to choke back embarrassingly on every syllable. Gesturing at you to ignore his little mishap. 

“Tell her, I mean.” Megumi hums. Taking a wizened sip of his milkshake, “She’ll date that waiter before you if you don’t tell her.”

“That’s so…so stupid.” Gojo whispers back hotly. “I will tell her.”

“Will not.”

“Will too.”

“Will not.”

“Will-” 

“Boys!” Your scolding tone makes them both jump - mainly Gojo, however, caught off-guard. Who scratches behind his neck when you wag a finger admonishingly, “Stop arguing, we’re in public. Now, as for payment-” Before turning back politely to the waiter.

“See?” Megumi counters, back to appraising the last of his cupcake. “You’re such a loser.”

Gojo’s gaze, however, stray back your way, as he found them often doing these days. Only to find them already on him, scrunched into crescents with a smile and twinkling so bright that he could almost catch his idiotic gawking in them. 

Very pointedly he ignores the knowing roll of Megumi’s eyes, the exact type he’s seen too much with Shoko, and Nanami, and Utahime, and Yaga - and every single being to come into contact with his almost-tangibly hopeless feelings for you.

Instead, slamming that shiny new black card of his down in front of him - with enough fervor that the tabletop jostles, and you jolt out of your conversation with the waiter. 

“I’ll be the one paying for myself, and my two kids and-” His burning eyes drink in every shred of surprise on your features. “-my wife.”

Somewhere in the distance, Gojo can hear Tsumiki giggle, and Megumi smack a hand onto his forehead. But right now he’s too busy remembering the exact degree to which your lips curl up, the way you hold back a laugh at the waiter’s jaw dropping. Nevermind the fact that the two of you were way too young to have two kids of this age. 

“He was getting a bit pushy.” you’d conspire afterwards, now completely full and fatigued after a long day. “Thanks for that, Toru.”

Gojo sighs, flashing you a megawatt grin. If there were ever a time he thanks his Six Eyes for being able to memorize every little detail - every little feature in this picture - then it would be right now. He’s reveling in the bittersweet perfection. Yeah, he thinks, holding up a sleepy Megumi in his arms, maybe tomorrow.

---

There’s actually been about sixty different times over the years that Gojo knows you’d wanted to punch him straight in his face - and he’s sure, at the age of twenty-seven, that this is the very latest one. 

“How did you get hit, don’t you have limitless?”

He shoots a wink your way, “Maybe I wanted you to patch me up?”

You scoff, “You stupid, moronic-”

“-no-brained, glasses-wearing dumbass.” he finishes for you, flashing you a cocky smirk that wouldn’t have been endearing for anyone but him. Gojo makes himself more comfortable on the hard infirmary bed, “You know, you’ve really got to update your list of insults, sweetheart. I don’t even wear the shades that much anymore.”

It was new - as soon as you’d cackled at the idea of him being a teacher with perpetual sunglasses, he’d wrapped that blindfold around his head. It was a slight shame, frankly, he was always honest with his eyes - but what was more important was that change.

Sweetheart.

Sometime after you’d intertwined seamlessly into Gojo’s mishmashed little family, he’d taken to calling you syrupy sweet nicknames. It’d started out as a joke, you think - with “sugarplum” and “honeybuckets” and whatever grocery item he could think of, before turning into something very, very real. 

Though, they still made poor Megumi grimace in disgust just the same.

“Zoning out on me, babygirl?” 

Yeah, sometimes they made you grimace in disgust, too. 

“No-” you’re rolling your eyes, putting a little bit more force than necessary when you dab the warm napkin at those tiny specks of blood on his lip. “Just hoping you’d shut up.”

Gojo hisses, eyes crinkling at the edges - and you can’t help but think of how much older he looked than the disgruntled sixteen-year-old that swore at you on your first day. 

“What?” his snowy brows raise, catching the hints of your laughter. 

You take a moment longer to bask in the memories, before sighing. “Nothing. Just thinking about when we first met, s’been ten years already, hasn’t it?”

Of course, it has - it’s not like something the great Gojo Satoru could ever even think about forgetting. He remembers it in every cheesy selfie from high school you show him, he remembers in each and every one of your laughs at his overused jokes - the same ones he’d cracked way back then. 

“It has.” he’s settling on after a few rare beats of silence. The thick white sheets on the bed rustle as he grasps your hand in his, “And I think I remember that today more than any other.”

It was impossible not to, when you’d just met your best friend after ten years. When you’d just killed your best friend with your own two hands.

Your pretty eyes shine with all the tears you’d been hiding, “Yeah? Guess so, huh?” Without warning, you bend down to meet your forehead with his, gulping back heavily. You knew he didn’t just want to be patched up, you knew better. And you knew that even the strongest gets lonely. Especially the strongest. Your voice is strained, quiet. “Do you think he’s happier now, Toru?”

Truthfully, Gojo doesn’t know. 

But he whispers anyway, “I think so.”

To soothe you - and himself - if anything.

His eyes burn, and he’s scrunching them shut. A lump forming in his throat, Gojo can feel his entire being just rattle with the sudden wonder whether you’d feel it just the same when - if - he dies. Would you ask if he’s happy, too? Thinking he did and had everything he wanted in this life - not knowing he’s searching for you in every one? This life, and the next, and each one after.

“Sweetheart.” Gojo mumbles, eyes widening when you’re raising your head to look back at him, as if he didn’t even expect the words to fall from his lips. His jaw clenches, eyes flitting between your eyes and your lips like the rest of it was just threatening to wrench from his throat. “He- Suguru. Back in high school - before he…left- he told me-” 

“Gojo sensei, where is the- Oh!”

The two of you jump apart as if it burned, and for Gojo, the angry split on his lower lip hurts infinitely less than losing your touch. Holding back a silent whine, he turns towards the dark-haired boy fretting by the doorway, “Yuta? Something wrong?”

“Oh, you’ve done it, newbie.” Panda’s deep voice sounds from behind the doorway, and he peaks his large head in. “Gojo’s got his serious voice on, should’ve just spied silently like me. I told you not to interrupt him and his wife.”

“You’re married?!”

“We’re not married!”

“Tuna.”

The room erupts in far too many voices, and before long you’re clapping your hands in that strict teacherly manner that Gojo teases you always learned from Yaga himself. 

“Okay, that’s enough.” you call out, before turning to the newest first year. “Okkotsu, do you need help with anything? I’ll be right with you.” 

“I…I really didn’t mean to interrupt.” he’s bowing with apologies, ones that you only wave away with a chuckled-out, “It’s okay, Panda’s joking. We’re not married or anything anyway.”

And Gojo doesn’t know whether the look Yuta gives him is more akin to pity or understanding - he prefers it be neither, which is why he’s covering his head with the blanket. Groaning dramatically until you’re turning your attention back to him. 

You ruffle the amount of his hair peaking, and he has to screw his glassy eyes shut. “Toru, what is it that you wanted to say?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s stupid.” His tone is unreadable, “I’ll tell you, hope- hopefully tomorrow.”

---

“Stay.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Stay.”

“Sweetheart.” 

You’re barely holding up the clingy mess that is a twenty-nine-year-old Gojo Satoru. Huffing and puffing in a way that makes his heart and his arms around you just squeeze, “It’s not an option. You know I have to do this.”

How he wished he didn’t.

How he wished he could grab your hand and run away from the fight with Sukuna, hide in the countryside of his hometown and build a new life with you.

It’s already been a hellish few weeks trying to get Gojo unsealed, and you can feel the last few months pounding at your temples. You let out a sigh, one that has him holding back a strangely giddy laugh. But before you can open your mouth to yell at him to not go - or more accurately, beg him until he doesn’t - there’s a tentative voice speaking up from behind you. 

“Um…sensei?” Yuji’s wide eyes sweep over his two teachers, being at Jujutsu Tech for a few months, he’s seen everything there is to see about the two of you. He saw the way you smacked the strongest when he got too mouthy, the way he let down limitless just so you could smack him. He saw the laughs, the looks, the way you’d flown into a frenzy when Gojo was sealed. 

Everyone saw.

It was like you were crazed, and right now, only a month after his return - you were gripping onto Gojo like he was the only thing keeping you anything but. 

So, it shouldn’t be new at this point. But he still can’t hold back the wonder in his voice, “I uh- wanted to ask about your robes for tomorrow- but maybe I can come back another time?”

“Yes yes, come back another time-”

“What robes?” 

You narrow your eyes at the man, and that sheepish little curl of his lips does everything but soothe your worries. He knew you saw right through him, you always did. 

Gojo’s exclaiming out loud, “Well- remember Toji-?” He waves his hands around, trying for a slightly softer way to say ‘the sorcerer killer and father of our honorary kid, who just-so-happens to be on a rampage right now’, before ultimately settling on, “-the worm guy? Well, I just figured I might as well take a page out of his book and dress like him, y’know since I’m fighting…Megumi after all.”

It takes a few seconds of stunned silence for you to find your voice, “You stupid-” 

“-moronic, no-brained, blindfold-wearing-”

“-dumbass! You remember what happened to him!” 

He bats his long, long lashes at you, “Why? Would you get this heated if I died just the same way he did?”

“No!” Your voice makes even Yuji flinch, which in turn has you reaching over to pat his head, “This is not on you, darling, of course. But your teacher here-” And it was comical, almost, the way the strongest stands up ramrod straight at just a leveled glare from you, “-will be getting it when he comes back from the fight.”

Comes back.

Oh, as much as Gojo throws his head back with chortles, he can’t help the way his heart twinges at the very thought of leaving you. 

And he can’t be sure of just how long.

“Ah, you talk too much, pretty. I’ll tell Megs how much you miss him.” You’re not given a second’s warning before you’re back in his embrace - more steady, this time. His arms securely around your waist, like they’d been twelve years ago and never wanted to leave since. Lips pressed up against the thundering pulse at your neck, Gojo’s voice dips just a bit lower than you’re used to. Breathing you in, “I will, too, y’know? Very much.”

Jittery, he could feel every slight tremor in your nervous fingers when you run them through his hair, dipping into the ends of his black blindfold. 

“Wh-what do you mean? S’only for a few hours, Toru.” you hum. “You better be back or so help me.”

“I know…” he heaves out, only pressing you close up against his broad frame. “But just in case- I-” Gojo’s voice cracks pathetically at the end, and he’s instantly too aware of Yuji’s keen eyes still watching. Edging up against the corner of the room like he wished he could have Gojo’s teleportation powers right about now. “-have something stupid to tell you. So I’ll hurry home anyways.”

You’re pulling back to quirk a brow, “Why not just tell me now?”

How he wished he could.

“Because it’s stupid.” 

Later, Gojo will find himself strewn across jujutsu hall with Yuji himself - the only one, other than you, he thinks, that can stand to be around a weapon like him right now. Listening to the hum of cursed energy in the air, he gets himself ready for the fight.

“Why didn’t you tell her? Especially now?” His student pipes up, suddenly, and Gojo remembers with a sigh just how uncomfortably in tune he is with everyone around him. Fearfully, so. “That you lov-”

“Because it’s stupid.” the older one grins. Such a sad, warmly smile - and for perhaps the first time, Yuji thinks that Gojo Satoru looks his age. “And I don’t think she’d want to hear it if I don’t make it to tomorrow.”

---

“Stupid.” you mutter, biting angrily at your nails. Hot tears burn behind your closed lids, and you can’t help but tighten your hand even more around his cold, cold ones. Limp. Like death. “You’re so, so stupid.”

There’s no response. No sing-song voice finishing off your insults, no large and ruffling your hair until you have to bat him away. 

Gojo Satoru was deathly still. 

Laid out on the cold mattress of his room, you’d bugged Shoko enough to let you move him here, knowing how much he hated the infirmary. 

“Being so reckless- having Yuta use your body-” in your fit of anger, you’re whirling your head up. Only for the pang of regret and grief to hit you tenfold all over again - because like this, he was too statuesque. A pretty mask of pale, what you’d give to have those eyes wink at you once more. “-if- when you wake up, I’m gonna kill you all over again.”

They told you he was dead - there was no point in waiting. In fact, you were sure there was a grave dug already, it was just a matter of how soon they could get to you. 

It was a strange thing, to be loved just enough to get a burial. In the end, it was lonely.

And so stupid. 

And at times, you felt that way, too. But all it took was one visit to where Geto’s grave was, a few long hours sat by his side, and you knew you couldn’t let Gojo escape you that easily. Not after everything, not after what he hasn’t told you, yet.

“Just wake up.” you sigh, the defeat bleeding into your every word. You run your thumb over the pronounced knuckles on his hand, calloused and scarred from his fight. “There’s so much to hear about. Higuruma’s alive, Nobara’s alive, pulling off that eyepatch. Like father, like daughter, huh? And Megumi- I saw Megumi laugh today. Yuji, too.”

Silence. Only stone-cold silence. He didn’t even move - not even the barest twitch of a finger.

“I just need you to wake up.” Your words are tumbling out a mile a minute, distantly, you wonder whether this was how Gojo felt when he first met you. How he couldn’t stop talking. Couldn’t stop wanting. “Shoko’s mad at you, y’know? But I know she misses you, no matter how much she pretends not to. I know that Jujutsu Tech can’t go any longer without Yaga, we- I need you. Didn’t even get to tell you-” 

It’s all croaked out into a deafening silence, at least if you were in the hospital room then maybe the pinging of the heart monitor might’ve accompanied you. But they’d pulled him off that, too. 

Unmistakable. 

“And I know that I…” You bury your face into the now-damp blankets, “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

There’s only the split-second you take to snap your head up before lips are crashing onto yours - plump, slightly-chapped but something so sweetly Satoru. Before you can even think about kissing back, however, he’s pulling away. 

Only to press hasty, chaste pecks again. And again. And again and again and-

Gojo kisses your wet eyelids, “I love you.” Your forehead, your cheeks, the corners of your lips. “I love you I love you I love you- and you beat me to it.” Those strained little words strike your very core - because it’s unmistakably Gojo. Sounding anything but, they’re broken and wrenching painfully out of his wracking chest. “So I just- I just had to-” Big, strong arms wrap around your middle - when did they even get there? It pangs somewhere in your hazy mind that you’re basically hoisted up on Gojo’s bed now, “-to do exactly what I’ve been wanting to since we were like this, thirteen years ago. Everything I’ve ever hoped for.”

“Everything?” you whisper.

“Everything. Even the strongest has dreams, y’know?” And he flashes you that smile you’ve missed so much, one you don’t think you’ve quite seen in years. “Even something stupid like ‘I love you.’”

That makes you cautiously glide over your palms onto the planes of his muscled chest, lightly pushing away to take in all of him. 

It was him. Alive. 

Really alive.

“Gojo…” you whimper, tears welling up behind your eyelids all over again.

“Ouch. Really?”

“Satoru.”

“Hmmm…”

“Toru.”

“That’s more like it.” The circled warmth around your waist crashes you even closer onto every ridge and divot of his hard chest, into the sweetest embrace - the kind you really couldn’t be mad about after your best friend had almost left you forever. “Told ya I’d come back, sweetheart.”

You could practically hear the sunshiney smile in his words, and his entire hulking body shook with emotion. 

“You’re back.” you breathe, dancing your arms upwards to wrap around his neck. “You’re here.” It takes only a second longer of being in his burning proximity, to catch that pearly white smile - tired, and infinitely harder than before - to have some semblance of rationality dipping into your mind. “-and- and we have to tell everyone!” you’re yelping. Moving to scramble off of his lap, “Oh- fuck, and they thought I was crazy. We have to- have to have Shoko give you a check-up and have Kusakabe finally ditch those funeral plans and-” 

You’re being shut up by Gojo’s lips on yours again, slow and sensual. It’s deeper this time, and he’s taking the time to part those candied lips of yours, sucking gently on the very tip of your hot tongue. 

“My funeral is the last thing I wanna think about right now.” he chuckles against your lips.

“But-”

“Tomorrow.” Gojo soothes, craning his weary neck to kiss your forehead. “We can do all that tomorrow. But right now, I just want to spend time with the love of my life.” His cerulean eyes just gleam with unshed tears and even more unspoken words, “Doesn’t have to be forever. Just right now.”

As promised, he’s petting up and down your body lazily. Kissing you until even smiling felt bruised and raw. But it’s only when the air grows thick, when the slight jostle of your body on top of his becomes hot, his own skin burning soon after that Gojo lets out a sullen hiss. 

“Toru-” you pull away panickedly, delicate strings of saliva snapping in the nonexistent air between you two. “We should really-”

“No- no no no no. Please wait-” Hastily, he’s bringing down a jittery hand to his hip, the buzz of reversed curse technique flowing through his thrumming veins. Meeting your uncertain gaze, “I’ve waited so long. Wontcha just let me worship you right now?”

As if to prove his point, he’s bucking upwards ever-so-slightly. The momentum teetering you precariously on his lap, dragging the heated core between your legs down in such a sloppy drag.

You’re gasping when the very outer edges of your panties rub up against something so hard, and rotund. Feeling the wet squelch of his angry tip gush out in a dripping wet wave at the friction. “A-are you sure?” you’re stammering, trying to hold back the way your greedy thighs were trying to rub together. Only achieving heavy, languid gyrations on top of the rock-hard outline of Gojo’s cock. “How about tomorrow? When you’re feeling better?”

It’s a slow, steady rhythm. There’s a ringing schwf! schwf! schwf! of sopping wet fabric, and it was driving him crazy. 

“Right now please- haaa-” Gojo’s tongue lolls out so sluttily to graze against your own, dazed blue irises rolling to the back of his head. His spine curves upwards, abs rippling with a harsh drag of your clothed pussy down his weepy shaft. “Whenever you’d have me.”

Almost tentatively, your hips roll forward. That flimsy excuse of your panties bunching up with each grazing rub, it’s all you can do to not just keen at the utterly delicious curve of his thick girth. Throbbing and twitchy under each of your motions. 

He’s hissing when your underwear snags on the very divot at his thick head, sitting up on two elbows, “S-sweetheart.”

“No, Toru.” your palms are back on his pecs, easily pinning the strongest down with a gentle push of your own. “Jus’ let me do all the work, m’kay?”

Gojo wasn’t all too happy - and the sullen pout jutting on his spit-glossed lips told you more than enough. But he wasn’t going down without a fight - that was for sure. 

“F-fine.” he grunts at a particularly harsh grind of your hips. Fuck, he felt like some animal, humping up into you like he was out of control. He could practically feel your puffed-up pussy lips through his pants, he could almost taste it. Two rough hands come to rest on your hips, grabbing and kneading a handful of your ass. “But then you’re not just hah- sitting there, pretty.” 

And, shit, even like this, you should’ve known better than to underestimate Gojo Satoru himself. Because whatever he wanted, he got. The one thing he didn’t was you - and now, since he had you, too, fuck- he might just be going insane. 

Not a moment’s wasted before you’re being so easily hauled up, up, up the entire expanse of Gojo’s body. Jittery body being balanced easily as if you were some type of toy, up from the slender curve of his toned hips, up around where his broad deltoids were spread, all the way until your cunt was hovering over his needy mouth. “Can’t believe I hngh- almost died without havin’ a taste of this pretty pussy.”

“Toru.”

“Sweetheart.” he mocks.

You shiver with each feverish puff of hot breath blown right onto your clothed cunt. And even more so when you’re feeling such a long, slender finger slide in through the translucent fabric. 

Fuck, Gojo swallows thickly, bunching up your skirt. You were so sopping wet he could almost see the outline of his index through your panties. He slides the back of it slowly up and down. Heavy balls squeezing painfully at the volume of your saturated slick collecting on his digit, just trailing glossily down to his deft wrist. 

Mesmerized, your jaw falls slack at the sight down below of Gojo - cloudy hair mussed, cheeks all pink and burning a blushing rouge, tongue darting out to catch each stray drop of your sweet sweet juices. Drip! Drip! Drip! 

“Oh- sh-shiiit-” he rasps, lowly, mulling over your honeyed taste. Sounding so awed, breath hitching when Gojo tugs your panties just enough to the side to catch a mere glimpse of your messy cunt. Glistening and winking down lewdly at him. “S’jus’ you n’ me right now, huh?”

You don’t know who exactly he’s talking to - and you don’t get to find out, because that’s all it takes for Gojo’s kiss-bitten lips to clash messily against your cunt - panties and all. 

A soft swipe of his tongue glides the fabric to the side, so depraved, so needy that for that split-second he’s tasting you, he can’t even think of removing it. One taste of your sweetened pussy and he can’t even bear the thought of breaking apart, licking up in long, languid stripes that wet the very front of your swollen folds. 

Just the taste of you had him palming desperately at the tent in his pants, rubbing up and down at a pace that matched his rummaging tongue.

The very edge of your tastebuds rub so deliciously in teasing circles around the corners of your dripping silt, your inner thighs. 

“S-s’toru-” you’re letting out such throaty, dragged-out groans that send every drop of blood in Gojo’s body thumping to his achy cock. “Don’t be such a- a tease.”

You’re locking your glassy eyes with him and he feels like he could pass out. Groaning and smacking into your cunt, “Tell me- fuck fuck fuck- tell me what you want, sweetheart. Anything.” Your entire body arches into his hot mouth like such a slut, when he bullies between your folds. Barely flicking against the sensitive nub of your clit. “Everything. Anything for you.”  

When you’re weaving your fingers deliriously through his silky soft strands, he babbles, “Oh fuck- yeah, pull on my hair.” One of his hands come down to grip onto your panties, pulling the fabric so that you revel in the filthy friction. “Use me while you ride m’face, okay?”

With that, his mouth is sagging open even further letting your thighs straddle the entirety of his face so easily. So close. So messy how he was carding his tongue from the very base of your pussy, up into your quivering entrance.

“Fuck–” you’re whining, grinding into his touch when he wraps his soft lips around your clit. Barely even easing you with syrupy, wet circles of his heated tongue before sucking. Harsh. Depraved. But so, so him. “Don’- don’ stop, feels too good–!”

You didn’t know if he heard you, fuck you didn’t even know if Gojo was even breathing. 

Even if he wanted to stop - he didn’t think he could. Because he was so ravenous between your legs, forcing your pliant body into such smooth gyrations on his tongue. Silken, soft, such sultry licks of his tongue on your clit. 

Electricity sparks behind your eyes when with a wet slurp! he smacks away from your pretty pussy, “You think- you think I can stop?” And he sounds so genuinely in disbelief, as if the very thought of it was appalling. Through heavy, lingering kisses and sucks onto your clit, Gojo’s managing to get out, “I can’t have enough. Fuck- please.” The very rounded pads of his fingers dig so bruisingly into the flesh of your ass, jiggling and kneading with every drag of your hips. He’s begging at this point, “Fuck yourself on my face. Rougher, faster, c’mon now. You can do it, my sweetheart.” 

He was so fucking desperate, big fat tears almost welling in his eyes while he whined underneath you. Groping so obscenely at his sweltering hot erection. How could you not listen?

“If you say so.”

Using the vice-like grip on his locks, you’re managing to leverage your motions even deeper. Rougher, like he’d wanted. Every protesting creak of the bedpost was accompanied by a synchronized whimpering of ah! ah! ah! coming from both your mouths. 

“S’it good?” he gasps, and all you could see was the flushed upper half of his features. And the lower half - fuck, though the peaks and cracks you could make out just how glisteningly wet it was with all of your messy cunt. His lips were just drenched, slick-soaked mouth making out harshly with your pussy through your panties. Trailing all the way down in a glossy sheen over the lower half of his face, dripping off his chin, fuck- up to his cheekbones- 

As if that wasn’t enough, the massive palm resting at your thigh comes dancing down to tease around your sopping wet entrance. 

If you were in the right state of mind, you could’ve sworn that you heard a sharp rip! coming from that poor tattered fabric of your underwear right then and there. 

“Tell me- fuck fuck fuck- use that pretty voice of yours please.” Still suckling lewdly on your clit, his cheeks hollow out . Entire body just jolting upwards, forcing you to press down harder with your motions. “Use me. Use me.”

“S-so–” you mewl when his slender fingers bully easily past that first ring of muscle. So many cold inches of his digits, feeling around determinedly inside your heated, gummy walls for those sweet spots that will make you whine. “So loud, Toru-” you’re spitting, meshing his mouth even harder with yours down below. And you can practically feel him smirk against your cunt. “For someone that wants this s-so hngh! bad you sure are-”

There.

Right there.

Gojo Satoru had just crashed into the spongy cavern of your g-spot - easily, at that. And there was such a crazed, sloppy sting to each of his movements. Smashing in over and over-

“Heh…tha’s how I l-like it.” he’s spying up at your trembly thighs, the way his overworked lips were being coated with a fresh wave of our honeyed slick with each passing second. “Good girl- gooood fuckin’ girl–” 

Hazily, you’re wondering whether it doesn’t hurt. Whether his weepy cock ached just as badly as it looked, how his tongue isn’t fucking cramping up by now. 

But he goes on - like he couldn’t stop, like he was out of control. A greedy little push and pull, dragging his tongue all over until you saw flashes of white. Until you could only scream out his name like a mantra. Until you were cumming. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck- Toru!” your slurring out a mile a minute. Both of your hands now steadfast on his head, riding out your high all over Gojo’s pretty, pretty face. And he let you - fuck, he let you. “M’cumming- shit, feel so good. M’cumming-”

So good, so filthy that it made your toes curl, your hips stutter sloppily. Arching like such a slut, you could barely even see properly. Your breath was coming out in such labored heaves at this point, and Gojo wasn’t any better. 

It was like he couldn’t stop, happily drinking up every single, sticky drop your cunt had to offer. Pussydrunken eyes drooping shut, unable to let out anything but satisfied grunts. The muscle of his tongue is just frenzied in eager slips and slides along your cunt - absolutely no rhythm or method right now. Sucking, licking, biting anywhere he could possibly reach. 

“F-fuck–” you’re crying out tearily once the very peak of your orgasm fades, and all that’s left are a few overstimulated tingles being wrenched out by a greedy Gojo. “Toru, m’done.” You tug desperately on his hair - but even that doesn’t bate him the slightest bit. “S’getting too much- fuck-”

“Awww, too much for my girl?” he’s cooing, the words jumbling together in his drunken state. There’s a glossy mess of spit and slick drooling down the corners of his smirk. “Does this cute cunt of yours need a break?”

At your barely-lucid nod, it only grows wider. Smugger. “Too bad-” And Gojo’s just taunting you with a final, long lick up the very core of your pussy, “Because if I almost hah- died without her once, then you best believe m’gonna c-crawl back from death for ya each and every single time.”

It takes his strong arms - even bruised and battered through battle - only two whole seconds to plop you back down prettily onto his lap. Right over where his angry cock was just weeping for attention. And suddenly, it hurts without you. “So you’re not getting a break anytime soon. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Ha ha.” You’re rolling your eyes, “Very funny.”

“Mhm.” Gojo looks up at you through his white lashes, and you can only watch when he brings up his syrupy-sweet, glossy fingers up to his mouth. One by one. Sucking. Slowly, looking right into your eyes. It makes your mouth just salivate. “Got that right.”

The sheets billow behind you when you’re fumbling deftly with his shirt, all but ripping - tearing that stupid thing off of his form. Your skirt and top are soon to follow - his jaw clenches with the slight strain, leaving it in poor tatters on the floor.

“Shit- shit you’ve been-” his mouth just waters when your tits are released from your bra. Jiggling tantalizingly in his face in a way that makes him bury into it. “-been holding out on me.”

“Oh-” you let out, traitorously, at the first sight of each curve and divot along his milky sculpted body. Gojo Satoru was serious about dressing up like Toji, and no matter how much his t-shirt looked so sinfully painted on - actually seeing it was something else. “You’re so pretty, Toru.” You smooth your palms down his large shoulders, the faint scars between his pecs, his abs - that scar. Stark and large, Shoko had done her best work, but it still looked so painful. It must feel so, too, being sewn back together like some ragdoll. He catches the way your expression dampers - of course, he does. “Toru…”

Gojo winces when your fingers glide over that jagged scar. But if that was pain, then it was absolutely nothing compared to the pure, unadulterated fear when you abruptly pull your hands away. 

“S-sorry- I didn’t mean to-”

“No!” he cuts you off, wrapping his long fingers around your wrist. All but dragging it - right along with you - to his still-healing body. “Touch me. Hurts more when you don’t.”

You’re batting your lashes up at him in a way that makes his heart stutter, and his poor, angry cock twitch. “Hurts me when you lie.”

“M’not lying, see?” With a low nod of his head, he’s gesturing you to look down - where it was unmissable. 

Because straddled right in-between your pussy lips was Gojo’s erect cock - proud and so prominent, even through his pants. With the sheer girth bulging upwards you could feel your greedy pussy dampen over the cloth in anticipation. 

“Well…” He’s throwing his head back when you knead your palm over the very end of his print, “I can’t quite see-”

Gojo takes the hint - and you have to bite your lip from teasing that it was quite possibly the only hint you’d thrown his way that he’d actually understood. But it was so hard to - not when he was this eager. 

And, on those long, lonely nights, you’d imagined that your best friend would be suave, infinitely collected with things like this. 

But, no, he was fumbling and jittery with his movements. So needy to please you that it takes you to help him pull down his tight, sticky boxers over the curving muscle of his thighs. 

“O-oh fuck–” you breathe out, when he finally springs out. Sweeping up and down each and every long, thick inch of him - Gojo was as hard as if he was carved out of fucking diamond. Such a furious, rosy red at his leaky tip, glistening down, down, down into the most mouth-watering shade of creamy pink at his thick hilt. He was so big. Your thighs squeeze together in sultry need - with a slight tinge of fear. So unfairly pretty - even like this. “You’re- you’re so much bigger than I’d imagined, Toru.” 

No sooner are the words out of your mouth that you’re being flashed with his dark smirk once more, “You imagined this?” There’s a slight reverence to his voice, scared. 

It almost makes you shy - and Gojo can practically sense the waves of embarrassment rolling off of you. 

“Awww, come back to me, please, pretty- Please-” he purrs, cupping your cheeks. “I came hah- back, didn’t I?” You’re being jostled to and fro when he rests himself more comfortably on the bed, leaning back to admire you further. “And now-” Your breath hitches in your throat when he situates himself right in-between your thighs, the fat curve of his head so swelteringly kissing your folds. Drenching it in his thick precum, “-now m’never gonna let ya go.” 

Fuck, you know you should heave in a few gasps of hair, you know you should relax, maybe even stretch your legs wide open.

Because Gojo was so fucking big, it felt like he was splitting you from the inside out. Just the slight push of his tip bullying between your folds has you moaning - crying.  

“You- you’re so big-” Your nails dig into the plush of his pecs for stability, leaving neat crescent patterns that stand out redly. “S’like you’re reaching into my hngh- l-lungs-”

Just those words have him expanding even deeper, ruddying even more furiously. Gojo gets so much bigger that you just can’t help but sink yourself down his shaft, feeling your elastic walls contort so easily around his length. 

“H-heh– ohhh-” he breathes out - baritone voice lilting a few pitches higher than usual. The hands around your waist grab you even harsher, feeding you each inch by fucking inch of his fat, pulsing cock. “You got me- so–” His hips thrust upwards in mindless little jabs, “-fucked up, right now, sweetheart.”

And while all you can do is whine and moan around his unforgiving cock, Gojo babbles on, “B-better get ready ngh- because I’m gonna be riiiight-” His thick index draws and invisible line up, up, up to somewhere midway up your stomach. Before pressing down. Brandingly. “-here.”

The pressure is enough to have your hips just slamming down with a wet smack! all the way to his hilt. The slap of skin-on-skin rings through the heady air and into both your drunken brains, making him just throw his head back into the plush pillows. 

“Yes-” you’re keening, your fingers wrapping subconsciously around Gojo’s pretty throat to have him facing you once more. He was so gorgeous this way - blue eyes falling shut with pleasure, mouth bitten raw and parted into a soft oh! pale muscles twitching with each breath. So fucked-out already that it almost made you think the sight alone could have you cumming. “Look at me, Toru- hah- gonna make up for lost time, right? Gonna fuck me good?”

His answering nods are more than enough, but Gojo doesn’t just stop there - no, he’s putting in every bit of last strength he has to just hammer into you upwards. Meeting every one of your relentless bounces down on him, he just clashes into your ravaged g-spot.

“Oh yeah, my girl.” he spits, a twinkling trail of drool dripping down the side of his lips. Crushing you so tight to his hardened front, “Ride me- ride me jus’ like that. Fuck- thought I saw heaven on the battlefield but it might jus’ be this pussy-” Over and over.

The back of your hand ends up on his forehead, “I think you’ve got a concussion.” It was in every little touch - that “something stupid.”  

At your surprised giggles, he’s rummaging your insides even more ferociously. Smushing the very end of his thick head against your spongy cervix. It was so soft, so swelteringly hot having him inside you. Clashing in long, wet glides against every inch of your pussy. 

The stretch was dizzying - and if it hadn’t been for Gojo’s lips attacking yours, then you’d have let your head loll backwards. It’s like he was marking you from the inside out, bruising the plushy insides of your cunt to every ridge and thumping vein down his possessive cock. 

“Spit on me.” 

His sudden plea puffs out of his plump lips, startling you out of your cockdrunk little reverie. “Spit on me, please, pretty. Mmpf-”

Gojo whimpers - whimpers - when the thick wad of your saliva hits his pink tongue, and the action has him delving into you impossibly deeper. Planting two feet onto the mattress, he angles his hips into your tight channel even harsher. Grimacing at the slight twinge of pain, “Shit-”

“Toru–”

“Wait wait- please- let me-” Expectedly, he’s cutting you off frantically. Begging, pleading with everything he had before activating reversed curse technique more. “Wanna fuck this gorgeous cunt so bad- fuck fuck fuck-”

But you’re only grinding your hips down faster - all the way from the pretty pink tip of his cock, until your ass massages against his tight, cum-filled balls. Thwacking! against your skin deliciously, pushing you up to scratch your clit against his snowy pubes. 

A few more unapologetic kisses up against your sweet spots have you blinking back stars, “Toru–” Your swiveling motions have him so hypnotized, following every move where his massive cock was disappearing in and out of your snug hole. “Kiss me-”

Oh, you didn’t even have to ask.

It’s such a sloppy kiss - all teeth and lips and Gojo grunting gutturally into your mouth. Letting you just use him like your favorite toy, fucking him until the bed creaked with effort and Gojo’s balls just smacked! angrily.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispers. Drinking in your saccharine sweet gasps when he dips down one of his hands to your puffy clit, rolling the soft edge of his thumb in slow, methodical circles. “You’re gonna be the ah- d-death of me.”

Your hand around his throat tightens, making his eyes just roll back in ecstacy. “Better not die on me just y-yet, Toru. Not now, not tomorrow.”

For this, you’re being gifted with such a tight squeeze of his two fingers around your sensitive nub. Wracking your body forwards - exactly where he wanted you, exactly where he needed you to smash his sobbing tip into your g-spot. 

The stimulation is too much, and each of your pressurized slams down onto the sharp bones on Gojo’s v-line have him moaning. Bucking up helplessly whenever your heavenly walls drag sloppily up his shaft, like it hurt to not have each and every one of his heated inches buried inside. 

“Well- then-” You’re riding him now just as much as he was fucking up into you, leaving a damp puddle of slick and dredges of precum on the sheets below. Gojo’s punctuating each word with a harsh battering ram, “Better- cum f’me soon, huh? Because m’not gonna- fuck-” His nagging tip jolts into your sweet spots as if being zapped with white-hot electricity, in such a sloppy staccato with his feverish fingers. “-fuck I don’t think m’gonna last long.”

You’re nodding your head, clinging onto him like a second skin. “Mhm- m’so close, Toru.” Biting down wetly on his lower lip, “-gonna cum soon.”

Just the thought of it has him keening, stuttering up so messily. His precum coats your insides even more slippery slick, so heated in a way he thinks he might just explode. 

“I know, I know, sweetheart–” he’s simpering down in your tone, though his hips were anything but. Letting out some of the lewdest slurps that made your ears ring. “I got you. I got you, cum all over my cock, yeah?”

It only takes a few more mess strokes from both of your sweat-sheened bodies before you finally reach your high. Electricity thrums down your veins, your body arches so deeply into his. Bending into the perfect bow that has him spying down at your quivering folds, the way your gushing cunt expands and contracts through each and every one of your waves of pleasure. 

And he’s fucking you through it so filthy, fingers toying so erratically on your clit. Still reeling, still smashing the very divot of his cock into your bruised g-spot. Again and again.

“Ohh- fuuuck—” Gojo whines, eyes scrunching shut. Strained. Depraved. “Fuck fuck fuck me- please, please m’gonna-”

He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before he’s stuffing your snug pussy full with ribbon after ribbon of thick, velvety cum. Potent seed coating your gummy walls in such a milky sweet gloss, the squelches from below are so loud. So soppingly wet. 

The hand at your waist moves down to where your poor cunt was just bulging with all inches of his spazzing cock. Gojo’s thumbing apart the corners of your slit just enough that his swelteringly hot cum oozes out of you in a slow trail. Sinful. 

“Oh my god-” he breathes, eyes unwavering. Hips thrusting upwards to push his cum up into you even deeper. It glistens opaquely down his length, forming a creamy ring at his thick base. “Oh my god love you- fuck!”

“Toru- m’so full-” you whine. A hand of yours coming up to press exactly where he had before, except now you could feel the nudging pace of his ruthless cock, the sloshing of Gojo’s seed all up inside you. “-really can feel you right here.”

“Tha’s the point, girl - my girl, should I say.” he’s pressing such a chaste kiss to your lips. And it would be swee - almost - if it wasn’t for the way Gojo’s greedy fingers soak themselves in the obscene mess from your cunt down below. Bringing them all the way up, up, up to his mouth. Suckling gently, “But…but you wanna hear something stupid?”

Your eyes widen, “Wh-what?”

And he only grins,  “I hope you know I love you, sweetheart. Because you sure as hell aren’t walking tomorrow.”

A/N. Can y’all tell I’ve been widowed not too long ago? Anyways, last post before kínktober! I tried posting this on Sunday but it refused to work so pray for me this time y’all *SOBS* <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[azzo0]

Can't stop thinking of Katsuki grabbing your hand and stomping to the bathroom with you during the Hero Awards. He couldn't get his eyes off you ever since you walked out of the bedroom in that pretty dress. You denied him a kiss because 'I just did my makeup.' It was driving him crazy.

So when Deku got on stage, he grabbed your hand and dragged you to the bathroom despite your protests and reminders that he was next. He locked the door and pushed you against the door, caging you between his arms, "It's so fuckin' unfair you didn't let me have a single kiss."

"That's why you're sulking?" You grinned amusedly when he grabbed a handful of your ass.

"My pretty girlfriend is wearing a beautiful dress and won't give me a kiss. What do you expect?"

You giggled and put your hands on his chest, pressing a peck to his lips. But Katsuki was not a man satisfied with a peck. He needed to push his mouth onto yours, steal the breath from your lungs and make your legs weak. He cupped your cheek, deepening the kiss, completely forgetting about the awarding ceremony the second he felt your tongue brush his.

Only when he heard clapping did he snap back to reality, eyes widening, "Oh, shit, I'm next."

You quickly peeled yourself off him and fixed his collar. You were going to wipe his mouth with a tissue paper when he unlocked the door and marched out, adjusting his blazer as he went towards the stage. Too late to call him back.

You couldn't help but smile at the sight of Katsuki receiving his award with bright red lipstick stains on his cheeks and lips. It was almost funny how he glared at the cameras while giving his speech, confused as to why they were flashing more than usual.

[etfrin]

⤷❝Mine To Love | Coriolanus Snow❞ˎˊ-

⇢☾Warning: NSFW | Snow is his own warning, mentions of killing, mentions of caging/locking you up (doesn't do it though), hair pulling, breath play if you squint, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), pinv sex, blowjob, male masterbation, cunnilingus, mating press, mentions of Lucy Gray, no spoilers | lmk if I forgot anything!

⇢☾Pairing: young president Snow x fem! Reader

⇢☾Summary: Snow realizing his feelings for you, being fucked up about it and fucks you!

⇢☾A/N: don't romanticize, it's dark romance so y'all are warned! This is set in the same au as The Study (you don't have to read it beforehand but it's recommended)

< masterlist > < bc: @cafekitsune > <tag list>

It started slowly, so slow that Snow didn't even realize it. It started with that night in the study after he had you. He didn't touch you again, denying himself of you. You, his wife, a little bird stuck in a cage. The First Lady of Panem was nothing but a doll, a showcase piece for the country.

You played the role well enough, but you weren't a doll at all. You brought life in what was otherwise a stone-cold mannor. The workers cook your favorite, making sure you're the most well-accommodated. Like a Queen. How their shoulders relax and the smile that springs up when they do the tasks that you assigned them. You earned their respect and their loyalty.

You were dangerous yet harmless. It baffled Coriolanus to no end. It started slow. He coincidentally met you in the hallways more and more. After that night, you couldn't make eye contact with him, no longer did you greet him with an awkward hello or a shy smile.

You look down at the floor whenever he passes you by, your body flushing from the mere second of proximity. So obvious and adorable. He loved how easy you were to read, how open you were. Whatever your lips hide, your eyes show. Whatever your soul hides, your body shows.

It started slow. The monthly dinners with the First Lady turned weekly. Every Sunday now he had you sit across him for dinner and he would ask you about your day. Just to be polite, mind you, don't look into it. He would be annoyed by those one-word answers but would never show it. His fingers subtly grasped the glass of wine tighter than he should, his heart pricking his brain into paranoia. ‘What else?’ he wanted to ask, ‘Stop saying it was good. Tell me what made it good.’

Instead of uttering those words, cameras were placed on every inch of the manner with the audio functions so everything is recorded for his and only his view. He watched you walking through the library, your fingertips touching the spines of the books you already read (which was most of them), you didn't even realize new books were added to the collection, all similar to the ones you liked. He watched you stroll the gardens, your face in a frown at the neverending white roses. A red rose and several other flowers were added the next day.

It started slow. He began to talk about his day more and more trying to fill a silence. He started asking for your opinion and oh, how that lighted your eyes up that you were finally doing what you were meant to do. Supporting him not as a doll but as a wife. You begin to talk about your days more, trusting him with your day-to-day activities. You tell him about friends and family, something he wasn't interested in (he has files on every single person you mentioned).

The nights that were dedicated to his needed sleep turned into the witching hours in which he would stroke his cock over the memory of you. His mouth biting into the pillow to stop his groans, hearing them would mean admitting his need for you and he rejected that notion. His cock was oversensitive because he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop fucking into his fist, again and again thinking about you. Not just your pussy but you. Your desperate moans, your lips marking his neck, your slick walls, and everything of you. Your tears, your head on his chest when he had fucked you. Everything.

He wanted to pin you against a wall. He wanted to bend over during dinner. He wanted you on his lap in his study. He wanted to push you to the bed and fuck you until the bed breaks. He wanted you!

The realization made him spill onto his bed sheets for the nth time. A gasp escaped his lips as he realized how deeply you are rooted in him now. He needed to kill you. He can't afford this again. Whatever this is. Obsession? Love? Was there ever a difference? He needed this to end.

‘You don't deserve to be loved,’ he thinks, you were no Lucy Gray after all, you were different. You could never compare to his first and only (not anymore) love. But he had caged you, he had you and knew your every move. The rumors that spread of cheating were seized along with the man who flirted with you. True to your words, you hadn't fallen to the temptations of the Capitol, rejecting their offers politely rather than basking in their attention like before.

‘Good,’ he thought, he had killed everyone who had touched you and it was hard to hide the evidence. “I am so much better than her,” he muttered, “I could do so much better.” He asked himself, ‘Why? After all the promises I made to myself of never repeating the mistake.’

He didn't get a reply but he dreamt of you.

Breakfast had passed, lunch too, he hadn't seen you once today. A quick peek at his monitors showed that you were sleeping in your room. He clenched his jaw, a part of him hating you for sleeping in because it deprived him of seeing you. A part of his heart warmed because your hair was a mess, the shirt you were wearing while sleeping was his, and you looked so darn pretty.

Coriolanus convinced himself that he was going to your room to wake you up. Nobody should sleep this late into the day. It wasn't healthy, and he needed the First Lady to remain healthy. That was all.

He stepped into the room, his footsteps quiet so he didn't alert you. He sits down on the bed, your sleeping figure beside him. Your mouth had dried drool on the corners which made him disgusted but amusement all the same. His hand went to your cheek, he couldn't control the action of his thumb stroking your cheek.

“I should lock you up forever,” he whispered as softly as possible, almost inaudible. “In this room, so no one can see you but me.”

He knew by now his thoughts weren't normal and it would never be. That's him and he had accepted himself. He leaned in closer, his lips inches away from yours. He stopped right before he closed the gap. He takes a deep breath, taking in your scent before pulling back.

His hand goes to your shoulder, he shakes you. “Wake up, bird,” he said, his eyes softening when he saw you wake up and peer at him with confused eyes. You yawn, and sit up, your eyes wide when you look at him. You rub them with your hand and blink.

“Is there anything wrong, Coryo?” You asked softly, “Anything I can do to help.” “You should shower and eat first,” he said instead, “and next time don't sleep in. I don't like indiscipline.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, “I was finishing a book.” Your eyes flicker to him, “It's nice by the way! I will tell you about it during dinner.” He wanted to hear about it now, he wanted to pull you closer and kiss your lips, he wanted to push you into the mattress and breed you. He wanted to clean you up after and feed you every kind of feed.

He clenched his jaw, trying to get rid of such thoughts. “We'll see,” he said before walking out of the room, accidentally slamming the door. The first sign of Snow losing control.

The second sign of Coriolanus losing control was how his breath hitched when he saw you during dinner. You are wearing yet another one of his shirts (how do you even get your hands on them) and that's it. A white shirt that reached your knees, you had forgone pants and opted for shorts that couldn't even be seen. Your legs were in complete view, the same legs he wanted wrapped around his waist.

He didn't say a single comment even when it was clear you were waiting for one. ‘Were you trying to seduce him?’ he thinks, ‘Or something else.’ He felt paranoid about you wearing his shirt. Did you want him? Want him to bend you over, press your face onto the table and fuck you like you were an animal?

He felt his pants getting tighter from his thoughts, flashes of what he could do to you, what he had done to you. He couldn't focus as you talked during dinner, he made a mental note to watch the cameras later to know the words you had blessed him with.

It hits him like a wave when dinner ends and you come to him with a book. Tabs were spilling out and it was a hardcover of an old classic that he had to read during the academy.

“You once told me that you liked this book, I spent last night annotating it! I did a few finishing touches before dinner…”

That explains your attire, you were busy formatting this gift for him. He took the book from your hand, he wanted to throw it across the room, he wanted to set it on fire. It was now his most precious treasure, more important than Panem itself.

The truth he denied washes over him. Making him take a sharp breath and your eyebrows etch together in concern. He had once a girl dedicate songs for him, now he had a wife dedicating booms for him. ‘It would be a mistake,’ he told himself, ‘It won't be a mistake if I don't repeat the past.’

The desires he shoved at the back of his mind sprang forward and he made a decision. The third sign of Coriolanus surrendering to himself was that he had everyone including the guards leave the dining room. Making your eyes widen from the sudden instruction.

“Is there anything wrong-” you begin to ask before Snow interrupts you. “Here is what's going to happen now. You're gonna be on your knees, you'll take my cock in your mouth and you'll make me cum. Then I will take you to our room and I'll fuck you until you can't remember your name.”

You blink once, twice just staring into his eyes that revealed nothing before you went closer to him and got down on your knees for him. “Like this?” You asked, breathless, your cheeks flushed. He smirked, “Exactly like this, pet.”

“Now part those pretty lips for me,” he said as he unzipped his pants and set his hard cock free. He lets out a chuckle as he sees you eyeing his cock like a long-lost lover. Guess he wasn't the only one thinking about that time.

You part your mouth wide enough for him as he pushes his cock in slowly. No matter how desperate he was a gentleman for his wife. He knew better than to gag you. He stopped when his cock had completely disappeared, his length engulfed into your wet, hot mouth.

He throws back his head as his dick hits the back of your throat. He relishes the sound of your choking around his length. He lets out his groan, trying his hardest not to cum down your throat so soon. His hand is in your hair, keeping you in place like an obedient pet.

You try your best to take in a deep breath as your tongue swirls around his length as much as possible. You weren't the best at blowjobs, but you knew the sloppier the better. Saliva ran down your cheek as you tried your best to focus on his cock underside, your tongue dragging itself across a pulsing vein that reached his cockhead.

You moan around his length as the taste of pre-cum bursts in your mouth. You close your eyes and try your best, bopping your head up and down. You clenched your fist, trying your best not to gag when his cock gets deeper into your throat.

Meanwhile, Snow was a wreck of a man, the heat of your mouth ruining his capability of having coherent thoughts. You were sucking his soul through his dick it seemed to him. His fingers tangled in your locks, gripping your hair tighter as a way to anchor himself to reality.

His blue eyes dilated to almost black as he looks at you taking his cock so well. Like you were made for it. Made for his cock. Made for him. Meant to be his wife, his bird, his pet, and his love. It's destiny, he decided as he pulls you off his cock and uses his suit sleeves to wipe your mouth and chin.

‘Everything leads to this,’ he thought, as he pulled you onto his lap and pressed a kiss to your lips. The saltiness of his taste in your mouth does not deter his tongue from tasting you.

“Go to my- our room,” he whispered to you as he broke the kiss. “I'll be there soon,” he promises as he nuzzles into your neck, his lips kissing your skin. You nod and get off his lap. Your feet drag you into his room.

Meanwhile, Coriolanus takes a deep breath, trying to maintain whatever pathetic excuse of sanity he had held. It didn't work. His cock was hard enough to hurt and his brain made him think. He thinks of removing you, he thinks of keeping you. He thinks of plans to protect you, backup plans to make sure you remain untouched while still maintaining the image of the First Lady. His true possessiveness and obsession flares up in his mind.

‘It won't be a mistake if I don't repeat the past,’ he told himself, repeating that line to his head.

He takes a deep breath, a glance at the cameras shows workers and guards kept the halls clear and you were in his room and on his bed waiting for him. Waiting for him to ravish you as you kept playing with the buttons of the shirt, and your underwear on the floor. Your face was crimson but your lower lip was in a darker shade of red with how much you bitten it because of nervousness.

He lets out a huff of air before adjusting himself accordingly. Coriolanus Snow was many things, gentlemen included and gentlemen don't keep their ladies waiting.

You freeze as he enters the room. You swallow nervously, your fingers pausing on the shirt button you were playing with. He glances at the panties that were on the floor and he gives you a little smirk. “Take it all off, my wife,” he said as his hands worked to undress him. His suit was on the floor, his shirt joining it soon enough.

You have to press your thighs together as you see his skin again, a whimper escaping your lips at the sight. He was so beautiful, craved by the angels, breathed to life by the devil. Soon, his pants and boxers were getting ridden off.

You check him out, your gaze hungry. Your fingers shake with desire as you take off your (his) shirt. You let it fall, exposing yourself completely to him, like he did for you. His eyes rack you up, causing a flush to every visible inch of your skin.

“Open your legs,” he said, as he walked closer and got down on his knees for you. “I am hungry,” he said, while his lips pressed to your knee and his lustful eyes bewitched you. You had to bite your tongue to not let a moan from his mere words. You spread your legs wide, letting your cunt come into his view.

Your folds that were glistening with your arousal and your slit which was the cause of your juices fluttered around nothing from his gaze. “Exquisite,” he had whispered, the praise warming you up and making your pussy clench harder. “Eager too,” he chuckles, looking up at you but you refuse to meet his gaze.

“Have your meal,” you mumbled, embarrassed. He pressed a wet kiss to your inner thigh, making your breath hitch from the contact. A sharp moan escapes when he bites, his teeth digging into the flesh and your hand falls onto his hair. Your fingers grip the blonde locks but you don't try to push him away. Your legs tried to close around him, but his hands made sure to keep them spread as he liked it.

He pulled away, admiring the mark before he pressed another wet kiss to it. His fingers grip your thighs, they hold tight enough to leave marks too.

He takes in a deep breath, nuzzling into your thigh. Your primal scent makes him go wild, his nail digging into your skin as he brings his lips closer to your pussy. One swipe of his tongue onto your folds and he groans louder than you have ever heard him to do so.

“You taste like fucking candy,” he lets out, as his nose bumps into your clit, his tongue messily swirling around your folds, gathering as much of your juices as possible. Your legs were all on his shoulders now as he all but pressed his face, burying himself in your cunt. He takes in a deep breath through his mouth before he begins to ravish you properly.

His mouth taking in your entire pussy and sucking it with such devotion it made you see stars. He laps at your pussy, his tongue never stopping to devour you. You pulled him even closer, your thighs closing around his head. The action only made him. You couldn't see it, but his eyes rolled back from the lack of air and your taste that quickly became his favorite.

His teeth pulled at the outer lips of your pussy, making you cry out and gush more juices. He licks it all up. Before his attention goes to your little bud, his mouth kisses it at first. Then he takes your clit into his mouth to suck without any mercy.

It makes you cry out, the soles of your feet digging into his back as your hips begin to rut against his face. You have no control over your actions. You were gripping his hair so tight you were afraid that you tore away a few strands. Overwhelming pleasure attacked all of your senses as he didn't stop his merciless actions.

You arch your back, your lips moaning his name as heat begins to gather in your body. You cry out, “Close! Coryo! Fuck!” Pleads begin to leave your mouth as your hips grind faster, your clit nudged his nose as his tongue is now inside your walls, fucking you with his tongue.

Your eyes widen, and you let out a silent scream when his teeth nip your swollen clit. You lay on the bed, panting as your pussy cums on his face. Your arousal makes a mess on his face which makes you even more slick when he pulls back and gets on top of you.

You looked into his eyes, his cold blue eyes that were nearly black now. He was panting, both of your breaths mixing into the air. With whatever senses you have left, you use your palm to clean up some of the mess on his face.

As soon as you finish up, he holds your hand. His mouth on your palm with broad strokes of his tongue he licks the remaining of your juices clean. “Can't let it go to waste, my bird,” he whispered to you as he leaned down. His body caging yours or were you caging him down with your legs around his waist? He pressed a kiss to your cheek. Sweet and gentle, and so unlike him but you don't dare question his affections. May it be sweet or savory, you accept it with your arms wide open.

“Want you,” you whispered to him. “You'll have me when I see fit,” he replied, his mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck before they reached the flesh of your breasts. One of his hands squeezed your breast and his thumb rubbed circles on your nipple. His lips paid attention to the underside of it, licking the skin around the round flesh before his teeth sank in making you gasp. He sucks harshly, his hold on your breast getting rougher as he forms the mark on your skin. When he's assured that a hickey will be formed, his lips pull back and he presses a kiss to the mark.

“You're mine,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin before he takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks just as harshly as before. You moan, “Yours, Snow!” Your hands on his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh. His fingers play and squeeze your other breast while he continues to suck your bud. Your cunt despite having a previous earthsharing orgasm begins to pulse with need. You whimper, “Corio, please!”

Coryo pulls away, his eyebrows etched in annoyance, as much as he likes to hear you beg, he would rather focus on his task of marking you up. He leans up and presses his lips to you. You moan into his mouth as you taste yourself on his tongue. Your fingers tangling themselves into his curls bringing him even closer to you. He breaks the kiss, “I'll teach you to be obedient later, my pet.”

You let out a whimper when he pressed a hard kiss against your lips. His hands travel down to your hips. “Get ready,” he whispered to you, “I meant my words.” I'll fuck you until you can't remember your name. Remembering his earlier words, you whine loudly, “Please!”

His hand grips your hip tightly as his other hand holds his hard cock and guides it to your entrance. Just to be a little tease, he swipes his mushroom tip all over your cunt, his cockhead bumping your swollen clit making you arch your back and your nails dig into his flesh harder, making him moan as well.

He finally pressed his tip into your slit, his cock gliding in smoothly because of how wet you were. He groans as his dick gets sucked into warmth. His head is between the space of your shoulder. He was panting, his hot breath hitting your skin as he pushed in inch by inch. Your hands are on his back, your legs around his waist as you encourage him to go deeper into you with your soft moans.

His teeth sink into your neck to stop a groan, as his cock reaches your deepest spot. While your nails drag themselves across his back to create red lines. Both of you finding ways to anchor yourself to reality, to not go insane with the pleasure you find in each other.

“Move,” you plead, “Please, Coryo, need you to fuck me. Need you!” Snow decided to have mercy on you both, his hips began to move shallowly, and he refused to completely pull back. He refused the concept of depriving his dick of your sweet, wet pussy. “Faster,” you beg, his deep thrust hits at your every spot, some you didn't even know existed. It fried at your senses, your mind going haywire, your body getting desperate for another release.

“No,” he barks near your ear, his mouth biting your earlobe before he begins to kiss your jaw and then to your collarbone. His lips suck purple and blue bruises on your skin while his hips grind into you. Making you go dizzy and insane with how his cockhead kept grazing your g-spot.

“Please, please,” you babble, “You're fucking me so good, Coryo! I can't take it, please! Fuck me harder, love!” His hips had stopped moving as he heard your words. His head leaned up to you, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered, “What did you say?”

You looked straight into his eyes, not hiding the love you had for him, letting it flow through your words and your body. “Love,” you whispered, your lips pressing a delicate kiss that could shatter everything you had built with Snow. “I love you,” you whispered. One of your hands moves to his cheek, caressing him. “You don't have to do anything in return, just know that I love you.” You smile at him, knowing it's more likely that he won't ever return your feelings.

You prepared yourself for a harsh rejection but instead, his hips begin to move again. Harder, faster than before, his cockhead kissing your cervix with his thrusts, his fingers digging into your hips marking it. You won't be able to walk later but that didn't matter.

What mattered was how perfect Coriolanus had begun to fuck you. No, it wasn't a fuck. This was something more. Something changed with your confession, something changed and will remain changed for the rest of both of your lives.

One of his hands reached upward, his fingers snaking around your throat. He pressed it in, not enough to block your breathing but enough to make you lightheaded. Your pussy which was already tight, clenched around him further making him groan right against your ear.

“Lover indeed,” he whispered, his words that you nearly missed, your heart understood what he meant. You gasp, “Kiss me.” You knew that even without him saying those words, he could love you all the same.

Snow complies, his lips clashing with yours. His hips rutting into you as his hands guide your legs into the mating press position, making you cry out into the kiss as his cock reaches even deeper than before causing a small bump into your stomach that neither of you notices.

The kiss got open-mouthed, desperate with how his tongue tangled with yours. It was filth filled with the pathetic, insanity of love you both felt for each other. His thrusts got faster, and sloppier as he was close to his end. Your cunt pulsating around his length as you too were close to shattering again.

What it took for both of you to reach the end was him breaking the kiss to whisper, “I should kill you. I should kill you for making me a lovesick fool again.”

The words even when you know can mean your doom makes you cum like nothing else. Your lips cry out as your walls begin to milk his cock for what it's worth. He groans into your mouth, letting himself feel your fluttering cunt before he thrusts into you once, twice, and finds his release. His cock spilling into you, his cum painting your insides white, marking you.

He pulls out, his back covered with scratches, his curls clinging to his forehead and his lips swollen from the kisses. You looked just as much of a mess as he did, with marks all over your body.

He thinks to himself as he lies beside you. He wasn't going to kill you now. Not in ten years or fifty but your end would only be when he decides.

He loves you after all, in his twisted way.

tags : @stelleduarte @nowitsmissing @lifeonawhim @le-lena @justacaliforniandreamer

[augustinewrites]

“hotter than jennifer lawrence, you say?”

nanami can tell that gojo’s having a hard time holding back his laughter as his student nods enthusiastically. this is the last time he’ll ever let them drag him out for a meal again.

“yeah! and oh man…” 

the blond chokes when yuuji gestures vaguely at his chest. this is why he never stays at the school over his lunch hour. 

gojo, wisely, pats the boy on the shoulder as nanami coughs. “alright, that’s enough out of you. even though i agree, you better stop before the vein in nanamin’s forehead bursts.”

the conversation grinds to a halt, gojo visibly stiffening as nanami's gaze narrows dangerously. “did you just say…that you agree?”

before gojo can open his mouth to defend himself, yuuji pipes up once more to add fuel to the fire.

“but it’s true!” the boy insists through a mouthful of food. “i’ve never had a teacher as hot as—”

“as hot as who?” you ask, suddenly standing at the end of their little table.

yuuji shuts up immediately, face turning as pink as his hair and he averts his gaze to the table and mumbles no one under his breath. 

nanami watches gojo beam up at you, then very bravely lets his eyes drift down to your chest for a split second.

but it’s a split second too long, and nanami is about to reach across the table and knock teacher and student’s idiot heads together when you lean down to press a kiss to his cheek.

“come on, love,” you say, smiling sweetly. “you promised you’d take me to that new dessert shop in the city.”

he’d made no such promise, but he gets up to follow you anyway, stripping his thick, autumn coat off and draping it over your shoulders.

with that, he wraps a possessive arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. 

“yuuji,” he begins. “this is my fiancée. she teaches at the school.”

you glance up at him, confused. “yes, we know each other, i’ve taught—”

“we’ll be off,” he cuts in, sending gojo a sharp look before guiding you out of the restaurant. 

he doesn’t let go of your waist until you’ve walked at least a block. it’s only then that he exchanged your waist for your hand.

he’s suddenly very wary of any other pedestrians looking at you, wondering if they’re thinking about what’s meant to be for his eyes and mind only.

“at first you looked like you needed saving in there,” you hum, using your free hand to hold onto his arm. “but…it seemed like they did, with the way you were glaring at them.”

“i wasn’t glaring,” he lies.

“you glare, darling. you may not notice it, but others certainly do. shoko calls it resting bitch face—”

“i do not have a resting bitch face. this is my…thinking face.”

“oh? then what were you thinking about?” you inquire.

“you,” he tells you truthfully. “and how lucky i am to have somebody so beautiful to come home to. someone hotter than jennifer lawrence, even.”

you smile into the kiss he leans down to press to your lips, looping your arms around his neck to pull him closer and murmur…

“you’re going to get very lucky tonight.”

[screampied]

Sorry this is super specific but angry mean and sloppy hate sex w the jjk boys (specifically nanami) is all I've been thinking about 🥹🥹🥹

໒꒱ ₊˚ ‘ SCREAM, NO BOLOGNA ! ’﹒⺡

sukuna, toji, gojo, nanami, geto

જ warnings. fem! reader, hate séx, implied multiple órgasms, praise, dirty talk, facefucking, hair pulling, choking, overstim, squìrting, implied breeding, daddy kink, the bed kinda… breaks, mdni.

𖬺 — NANAMI KENTO.

“now now sweetheart,” he’d coo. his voice had such a sugary rasp as he spoke. you moan, feeling him casually bend you over with just one hand. you felt him softly caress the soft edges of your ass, lovingly stroking a thumb against your sheer skin before bringing his leaky tip towards your soaked folds. “was that little fit you threw earlier in the mall necessary? told you to wait until we got home.”

“don’t…care,” you huff out with furrowed eyebrows. your breath wafts against the soft material of the cushioned pillow as you pout. nanami raises a brow, making you arch just a little before your lips part. “i was bored all day. just f-fuck me, kento. s-stop bein' all nice ‘n just be rough with me.”

“my oh my, what a filthy mouth you have,” he clicks his tongue, and nanami purposely leans up close to you. you mewled once he grabs a fistful of your hair. he has a good grip before giving it a slight yank. you let off a whimper once the head of his cock skims past your entrance. not once but twice. his words were so rich, coated with pure tease before he lays his weight right up against you. “rough she says,” he whispers, and he brings his free hand to grip your waist. nanami was so precise and slow with his hand movements. you let off a gasp the minute he starts to ease his way inside. “if you wanted me to treat you like this, you didn’t have to be such a—”

he gets cut off by creating a single sloppy thrust against you and you sob out a whimper from how thick he was. a few good inches and you then started to feel yourself stretch. “…brat,” he concludes, and you even hear nanami’s voice get a tad bit lower. his tie tickles against your spine as he starts to move and your eyes didn’t hesitate to quickly rolllll into the very depths of your skull.

nanami didn’t mind being rough, especially if you asked nicely. whenever he was though, his thrusts were just godly. so good…

your maw dangles open as he’s just whacking you in all the right spots, all the right places.

he still had his work clothes on too—you couldn’t wait, you needed him now. his girth stretched you out in every way imaginable, you dumbly jerk against the bed before letting off a cute squeal. “k-kento, harder. choke me. harder pleaseee.”

nanami kisses his teeth, cocking his head to the side as he intakes a sharp concise breath.

“you’re somethin' else, you know that?” and you feel the warmth of his fingers wrap around your neck. his fingers, so thick. you hit back and forth against him—your pussy just squeaking a high pitch tune out in harmony. “rougher baby?” he huffs out, and you moan once he caresses the middle part of your neck. “you—you like bein' arched over like this for your husband?”

“y-yes,” you’d whine out, feeling his gentle touch graze against the fat of your ass. he loved caressing every inch of your body, so gentle. the tips of nanami’s thumbs gingerly press into the sides of your hips before he delivers a mean two second stroke. you gasp, wanting more, more of him being so spry and vigorous with his hips. “fuck me h-hard, ‘ken.”

nanami grows quiet, watching how your torso cutely gets propped up against him.

you were just aching . . . soaked for more of his thick inches plugging inside of your sweetened cunt. he loved the view. such a pretty wife being all arched for him, taking round after round. he wanted nothing more than to just lean right up to you and run a hand down your spine.

he adored getting under your skin, making you all shy and timid. once nanami starts to get ruthless, you’re making all types of noises, such noises reverberate across the entire room — ricochet after ricochet, just bouncing off the walls.

“jus’ like that, kento,” you’d whimper out, and the feeling of his thick cock delving all inside of your walls had you so wet—you were drooling all against the bed sheets. he hit it just right, nanami’s breath became rough and raspy. you wanted him to be a bit rough, so he was more than happy to oblige. you squeezed down against him and he groans, watching your chest slam and jolt against the beat cushiony mattress.

“g-goddamnn,” he throws his head back in pure ecstasy. you had him going feral, he was enticed with how good you made him feel. vice versa, you swallowed him whole. your cunt was just sputtering out sweet noises that made his ears practically pop. he liked seeing you like this, drooling for more cock. strands of saliva seep from the corners of your mouth solely based on how deep he reached inside of you. “sweetheart, you’re gonna—make a mess out of me.”

his voice was so low, it was sweet. how he spoke so rich and smoothly yet his thrusts against your aroused core was the entire opposite. you moaned, momentarily after a while you started to feel a sudden tension build up. a rush of waves went through you, and you whined once his tip kept smacking against your precious g-spot.

again, and again, and again, constant loop. your walls had him in a tight chokehold—quite literally, you were gripping around him like a vice before you squealed out a, “k-kento, o-oh my godddd. i feel, ‘m gonna— right there.”

he chuckles, deepening his hits against you. your cute words were suddenly broken, you couldn’t fully speak a sentence without choking up. he had you throbbing, slick running down your thighs with your jaw cutely open. he was so hefty. his base just rams right into you, it had you dizzy, toes curling and eyes just crossed. your ankle shook before you gasped at the abrupt feeling of you finally reaching your peak. “fuckkk kento,” you’d sob, and you only then realized you’d just squirt all over his cock.

“oooooh,” nanami hums, and he slows down just briefly. he ends up finishing around the same time as you, painting on your your spine with a gorgeous canvas of his own seed. it shot out in thin ropes on your back, you felt so warm and yet empty once he pulled out. nanami had such mahogany eyes full of love, running a hand down your waist once more before having a shy abrupt expression. “did . . my wife just squirt on me?”

a question, a simple question you couldn’t answer but he already knew. he smiles, soft chocolatey irises lingering towards your sopping wet pussy. he brings a hand towards it, giving it a sweet pat.

“mm. appears she did,” he answers for you, and he couldn’t be rough and mean to you for that long. he loved you too much, especially your body. nanami groans, feeling you wriggle your hips up against him, a sign that you wanted him to keep going. nanami’s lips tug up into a smile before he flips you over, slowly prying your legs open before humming. “can you do that again, my love? show me how much of a messy wife you can be.”

𖬺 — SUGURU GETO.

“woah. easyyyy now angel,” geto smirks, and he’d be laid back against the soft cushion of the driver’s seat.

he had you propped up right on his lap. it was tranquil, the two of you being surrounded by a secluded spot with a few streetlights making the scenery a bit more bright. your bottom lip quivered, hovering over his angry tip before swallowing thickly. “hm. i know you’re my ex ‘n all, but with a look like that i’d say you’re still in love with me.”

“just— shut up,” you’d grumble. he chuckles, bringing two rough hands towards the sides of your waist. he loved more than anything to touch you, to run and strum his svelte lengthy fingers all against your skin. it had you weak, he had you weak. geto and you were on and off, sure. but the pent up annoyed intimacy was always amazing. toe curling even, you try to hold back a moan the moment his cock starts to kiss against your folds, his tip gradually going inside. “fuck you.”

geto leers at you before a sly smirk compresses against his pink lips. “…girl, bye,” and his sassiness catches you off guard. with an eye roll, he moves you closer towards his chest—reaching against the left side of the seat to make it recline back. “all this talk for someone who still struggles to take me, even with prep. get serious.”

you glare, not knowing how to reply and he snickers at how quick he made you shut up. your glare turned into a cute eye-widening expression, because that’s when you start to feel his cock massage your inner walls.

“s-shit,” you’d gasp, unhurriedly feeling him sink inside. geto was always so thick, a perfect fit for you. that grip you always gave him. he loved it more than anything.

he still also loved you more than anything, but no one had to know that. “s-so fuckin’ big, suguru.”

“gotta be to stretch my favorite pussy,” he breathes, feeling you start to rock your hips—you moan at how quick he reached you so deep. geto had an upward curve, never failing to locate your most secretive and tender spots with his plump tip. he massaged your gummy walls so good it had your thighs already spasming. it was embarrassing, he had you wrapped around his finger.

you hated it, you hated him, is what you kept telling yourself. alas, you hated him enough to ride him into complete oblivion. “mhm. tug on my hair a bit, angel. always love when ya do that.”

you moue at him, forgetting how much of a slut he was. perhaps an even bigger one than you. you grab onto his silky healthy hair, giving it a nice tug before he slips off a moan. “heh. aw, does me moaning for you turn you on? felt you squeeze all against me jus’ now.”

“s-shut uppp,” you’d huff out, your voice starting to become a bit nervy. geto’s fingers trail against your waist before you start to grind against him. as his seat was reclined—he had such a pretty view of your face.

whilst you’re wrenching and jerking strenuously against him. his dick expands all inside you, his sheer girth, his cockhead that was dragging all through your folds. the more you moved, the more you coated his entire lower shaft with your glistening slick.

you made sure to use your hips in such a sensual motion, rotating them before swerving back and forth. geto grows quiet, your cute moans being the only sounds in the car — replacing the vehicle’s deafening silence with your sweet murmurs.

“still mad at me?” he suddenly whispers, your rhythmic movements driving him to the first street of plain insanity. you always knew how to ride him just right, hands of yours roamed all down his abs that poked through his white tee. “i can see right through that pretty bratty expression. you just wanted to fuck me. admit it.”

“stop—talking,” you’d grouse cutely, narrowing your eyebrows at him. you knew he was right though. geto groans, feeling you start to bounce on his lap . . the lap you were happily straddling. your eyes ran down his perfectly structured body, he wore a simple leather jacket with a white tank top underneath. a pretty figure, his abs were clenched and tightened all because of you. you moan, feeling his dick brush and swipe against your g-spot. it didn’t even take that long. geto’s taken by surprise the minute your fingers wrap around his neck, giving him a tight squeeze.

“well shit,” he gruffs out, giving the right part of your hips a squeeze. slender fingers of his go towards your ass before smacking it. you moaned, and geto hums. “got the audacity to choke me? kinky girl,” and as his pitch grew low and husky, you felt your pussy throb. it was pathetic—just a few words from geto’s mouth and it’s already enough to have you drenched. “if you’re gonna choke me, at least do it harder. i like it rough in case you don’t know, girl.”

he was such a brat, and you thought you were the problem. you didn’t even know if that was possible—you glare at him though, giving his neck a slight squeeze and he moans. “now fuckin’ ride me. and stare at me the whole time too,” and he then grabs you by the neck this time, pulling you into a deep sloppy kiss. it was a mixture of many feelings. a low groan gets caught in his mouth as he feels your hips gradually speed up. geto’s tongue runs against yours, and he can’t keep his hands off you — off your ass. “fuck me. fuck me, f-fuckkk,” and his last words were a bit slurred. you were taking him fully, grinding your hips to where he even starts to stutter.

geto’s ego gets ahead of him, so much so to where he ends up cumming early. it shot out so much that he’s taken aback. dark hooded eyes staring into your soul practically. geto’s out of breath, losing track of time as your spongey walls soaked him for all that he was worth.

“and you call me the brat,” you’d pant, leaning in to press a slovenly wet kiss against his jaw. you paused your hips, letting off a soft moan once you felt him overflow your cunt with a dump of his cum. geto’s the one glaring at you now, and then he stares at you once you kiss near his neck. “still finishing early like always.”

“hmph,” he pouts, not wanting to face reality that you’d have the one up on him. geto was so cute and pouty, beads of sweat racing down the sides of his forehead before he mumbles a pouty, “i’ll take you outside this car ‘n fuck you on the hood, don’t play with me.”

“do it.”

“my girl,” he slyly says.

𖬺 — SUKUNA RYŌMEN.

“foolish woman. the nerve is beyond me,” sukuna growls.

his nostrils flair up, witnessing as you’re happily on your knees for him. not even the slightest bit scared. albeit, you were a bit irked that he pulled out his shaft only to make you—in his own words, ‘clean up your own mess.’ he’d snicker, watching your pout turn into a cute scowl before leaning in to bring a kiss towards the top part of his dick. “oh good. ya know exactly what to do. thought i was gonna have to lecture you.”

as your knees bury themselves into the ground, you take a brief look at the cursed shaft right in front of you.

you stared in awe for a moment, so lengthy. such a pretty swollen mushroom tip, just glistening with droplets of his seed that was just inside you nearly a moment ago. “shut up,” you’d loll out your tongue, tasting the bitterness that resided against his frenulum. “mhm.”

sukuna grunts, the vibrations you purposely made to make him feel bundles of nerves stir up inside. he grips onto the crown of your head before a side of his pearly white canines show.

“watch that mouth ‘n tend to your meal,” and his voice was raspy, a tad bit shaky. you could hear it in his voice how sensitive he still was. his recent release took quite a lot out of him—that much was a no brainer. sukuna had a near curve to him, length decorated with markings all over his skin.

you ran your tongue in each particular spot, staring at him the entire time before giggling. “teasin' whore. stop wastin' time ‘n get it wetter for me. spit.”

with a glare, you part your lips, spitting right on his tip before leisurely taking him into your mouth. again. he was just so thick, sweet girth included. “cute little pout ya got goin' on. what’s the matter? don’t like being told what to—do?”

you abruptly gag, feeling his tip prod against the very back of your throat. sukuna sneers, watching how much of a messy girl you already were for him. so sloppy, strands of spit were already starting to run down your chin and decorate your chest. you kept him so warm inside your mouth, swirling that pretty tongue of yours against the plump front part of his dick. that spot, it made him nearly give your hair a mean rough yank.

“s-shit,” he’d roughly breathe out, and once sukuna starts thrusting his hips into your mouth. you hold onto his clenched thighs, making an attempt to relax your jaw. you felt a vein that ran alongside his fat cock twitch alongside your tongue. he groans once he sees your eyes flutter. “this the only way to get you to s…stop talking back to me, princess? fuck your sloppy mouth until you’re drooling all over me, huh?”

being bratty, you give him a nod and he glares. his glowering gaze quickly turned to a caught off guard look and your tongue’s so playful, skimming all against his tip—sloppily having all kinds of strands of spit run down the crevices of your lips.

“my nasty girl,” he huffs, rolling his bright eyes at how easy you made him get so close again. his thighs started to ache, and he’s still got a firm grip on the crown of your head. “nasty. nasty. nasty,” he enunciates between each vigorous thrust into your mouth. he liked hearing your noises, gulp after gulp. cute lashes fluttering and all.

your spit paid a huge role, contributing to making him all slick — so filthy.

a glistening cobweb of your own lewd saliva trickled off your lips. sukuna grabs your chin, smearing it all over your lips before his own bottom lip quivers. he had a pout. sukuna ryomen was pouting all because of you. he wanted to kiss that bratty mouth, it irked him. you were so pretty, having your tight throat be stuffed like this.

“fuckkk,” he growls, feeling his thighs start to tremble. you always knew right when he was about to finish. his breathing with get irregular and his voice would be super deep and husky. thrusts against your face began incredibly sloppy while your lip gloss smeared all over your lips, ruined. “relax that fuckin’ jaw for me. gonna paint that throat white just how ya like it.”

not even long before he says that, sukuna ends up finishing again. you don’t even realize how soaked you were between your legs, cramped up fingers playing with yourself while your mouth was being salaciously occupied. a nice load coated the tip of your tongue—he pumps a good amount into your mouth, sweet sweet ropes of cursed cum.

“don’t fuckin’ swallow yet,” and you blink twice. sukuna pulls his throbbing now flaccid dick out of your mouth before getting down to your knee-level. “give me that kiss you owe me, brat,” and with a tug on your chin with one hand, you moaned, feeling sukuna sneak a rough yet somewhat passionate kiss.

he tastes the entire mess on your lips, not even being fazed before he pulls you away with a cute scowl. “did you enjoy the meal?” and he squeezes your spit-glossed lips together. you nod with cute puffed up cheeks before swallowing and he narrows his eyebrows, stroking your chin. “tch. good. because now i gotta clean you up. touchin’ yourself without asking me. bend the fuck over and face the other way. yeah.”

𖬺 — TOJI FUSHIGURO.

“soooo much back talk for a slutty arch like this,” toji grumbles. you steadily shudder, feeling him run fingers down the soft skin of your spine—you moan sweetly, gnawing on the bottom of your lip. “you claim you 'hate' me ‘n ya still get this pussy all soaked f'me without me havin' to say anything, baby?” as you spoke, you arched your back, slowly…

oh, you hated it, no…loath was probably a far more better word.

you loathed how easy it was. no matter what, toji had always found himself back in your bed—or vice versa, you in his. safe to say, he couldn’t get enough of you.

perhaps he had a bit of attachment towards you, or maybe the main thing was that he was infatuated with your sweet sopping wet pussy. “fuck you toji,” you huff out, feeling big rough hands grab your ass. he’s playing with the fabric of the string that ran down, taking in your curves before springing his weighty length out.

just feeling his fat cockhead. leaky and all…

casually smearing against your slick entrance, you felt yourself salivating shamelessly, puff after puff, the pants that departed from your lips were never ending.

“fuck you toji,” he mocks your tone, his raspy rough tone trying to pitch to yours—simply humiliating. “dumb words for a dumb little girl,” he snickers, and you gasp once he makes you scoot your ass up towards him. while your chest welts against the bed, you let off a whine once he gently starts to make his way in.

you took toji numerous times, a plethora of times, but it was as if every time was the first. toji was so thick, regardless of if he was barely in yet or fully, you always felt all of him—effortlessly expanding throughout your spongey walls like it was equivalent to an elastic band.

he was so mean and it always turned you on. the way he was the only one to memorize all your sensitive spots. he knew every inch of your body, the specific precise angle to hit with his dick to tear out those cute shrilling orgasmic whimpers from you. “just f-fuck me then. always take fuckin’ forever.”

“i’ll take as long as i want ‘n you’ll still get wet for me, whore,” he coos, burying his massive cock right into you. you couldn’t see him, but you could probably guess he was throwing his head back right about now. he loved that feeling, the salaciously delectable grip your pussy had on him, happily taking him in like it’s missed him — it did, and maybe you even missed him too. when toji’s mean, he’s fucking mean. he fucks mean, and his dialogue is always even meaner. “now be a good girl ‘n open up for me. missed my girl.”

plump lips of yours were all pretty and glossed, parted open with a little drool coming out. it was a sight. once toji’s dick figures out a sensual rhythm, you’re right back to where you started. his pace was simply mouthwatering. striking and snapping against you with such abrasiveness, you could barely keep up. toji’s stamina, it was never something to be taken light either. his hefty base taps near your ass again and again.

that makes you wet, just imagining how full he must be. “d-daddyyy,” you’d gasp out, basically being shoved right into your own mattress. your breathing was very much competitive — having an entire race with your irregular breathy pants. “f-fuck.”

“what’d you just call me, baby?” toji gruffs, and his voice was a deep low. the baritone that resided in his words had you pulsating. he cups your ass with two hands, moving it closer towards him to get a deeper and thorough angle before he sneers at your cute whimpers.

“s-said toji,” you’d whine, dragging out your words. your sweet words were all unsteady and bumpy all due to his thrusts against you. you were bouncing back and forth, mimicking his tempo.

toji sneers. “nuh uhhh,” and then he brings a hand towards the curvature part of your neck, stubby fingers stroking against your skin. “don’t lie to me. tell me what ya said originally,” and then you feel his hips pivot. toji’s dick prods against that spot, his curve brushing past your walls and you moan out. “orrrr do i gotta make this sloppy pussy tell me instead?”

you whine, feeling him bring a sharp sting to your ass. he loved giving you a spank or two, dragging out those sweet whimper from your mouth left and right. your cunt throbbed whenever his palm made contact with your ass cheek and you finally sputter out a, “daddy. called you daddy, toji.”

“yeah. you fuckin’ did girl,” he grunts, his voice was so pitched. such rude hips of his, no manners whatsoever . . snapping right into you, it was so good.

his full balls, hefty and all pressed up against your entrance, you’re in a trance. profusely drooling for him to fill you up, everywhere. leave your sweet hole dripping with nothing but his sticky cum. toji titters, seeing how you were trying to keep up with his pace. you failed miserably though.

despite that though, toji doesn’t realize how good he’s fucking you because not even moments later, he hears the wood of the headboard split. your ears twitch upon instinct, and you sort of sink further into the mattress. his bummy weight smacked right into you from behind.

“whoopsie daisy,” he shrugs, pausing for a moment. toji realizes the bed—well, your bed was now broken. with a sly grin, he makes you lean forward before pulling out to smear his leaky tip over your entrance. you whined, feeling yourself so close before he just departs. “fun time’s fuckin’ over,” and then he spanks your ass for probably the countless time, getting off of you. “mhm. my bad, doll. i’ll throw ya some cash for a new box spring the next time i see ya.”

no he won’t.

𖬺 — SATORU GOJO.

he’d come home pissed off, probably from losing a battle and he’s so annoyed. gojo isn’t used to losing, and he’d rather not talk to you about it in full detail. at least not yet.

“hey baby. was work okay?”

“princess, i need you.”

his voice was richly raspy, gojo sounded kind of needy. you stared at him, and his hair was all ruffled and tangled—a bit of his clothes had a few battling rips and spreads.

he needed you badly. his eyes roaming across your pretty physique only made things far more intense. that sundress you wore, it showed off your curves and he just only then imagined it being torn off of you. “i-i’m so annoyed, but i’ve been thinkin' about you all day…. ‘m kinda hard too.”

“come here then, baby.”

those simple four words that came from your mouth—all it took for him to go straight feral.

within seconds, he didn’t waste no time to press his hot lips onto yours.

gojo was aching, just the way your hands roamed all on his clothes made him shiver. you were the one who started to shiver next, the moment he’s got you laid flat on your back in a simple mating press.

“f—fuck,” he’d groan, and you can’t help but be so noisy. the way he’s jackhammering his thickset cock in and out of you. squelch after squelch, your legs just mindlessly sway and droop over him before you whimper. that’s when you feel gojo dip his hips even further into you. his rhythm, it had your head spinning, mind racing. it was indescribable, your pussy coated his entire length with nothing but your satiny glossy slick. “look at me,” he grumps out. you nearly throb, seeing him get all close up to your face. he’s heavily panting, heaving whilst pretty cerulean eyes stare right back at you. intently.

he was balls deep, his thrusts became extremely vulgar. soft white clouds of breath run past his lips before he grabs underneath your chin.

“damn. ‘s all her fuckin' fault,” he grouses cutely. a near pout then spreads onto his lips. you furrow an eyebrow—confused by what he meant as 'her' before with a free hand, he grabs onto your ankle. his eyes avert towards your sloppy pussy before grunting. “been thinkin’ about this pussy all day. think that’s why i lost, princess,” and his breathing was so hitched, driving such merciless thrusts into you. “got me s-so damn distracted. all ‘cause of a pussy this wet.”

“i’m the reason you lost?” you moan with a sly smile pressing against your lips. gojo’s still maintaining a grip on your chin, he then intakes a sharp breath—only then deepening his jagged thrusts against your entrance. “tell me more baby.”

he’s so careless, such vigorous thwacks going back and forth against you. it gives you whiplash. eyes nearly crosses and tasting your own sweetened saliva salivate inside of your mouth, you return his eye contact. he fucks you like he hates you—when in reality, he loves you more than an anything.

“mhm. right when i was about to get the job done, started thinkin about….about…fillin' you up,” and he swallows thickly at the thought, envisioning the entire thing in his mind. you whimper once he grabs ahold of your ankle, you’re jerking against the sofa with the stupidest expression. “stuffin' you full ‘n then plugging it back in when it spills. was so pissed when i realized i was daydreaming.”

just saying it aloud makes him palpitate. it was an ongoing race with his heart, beating quickly as he gave you such rugged hits against your entrance. your legs, oh how he loved the way they’d just jangle right beside his face. gojo found himself creating soft bike marks near your ankle, groaning out a, “you make it s-so hard to be mad at you,”and gojo’s voice cutely cracksz he can’t help but lean right into you the moment he feels in self grow full to the upmost extreme. he had so much to give you, his kisses—now they were sloppy.

as he’s plummeting solid lengthy inches in and out of your cunt that forevermore gripped him, gojo leans in to kiss you. he whines the moment you kiss back, feeling your legs lock around his slim waist, the heel of your foot skims against all of his forbidden battle scars. he was so sensitive there, he tasted sweet. enchanting.

“mine,” he groans, slowing his hips down briefly before reaching a hand down towards your tummy. his hips stutter before that’s right when he came, licking the side of your mouth before panting once he poured deep ropes of cum inside of you. “s—so pretty like this,” and his hand roams near your belly, so soft and tender. he pulls out just to stare at the pretty ring you had that coats around the base of his dick. a rich sheeny color, he licks his lips before pressing another wet kiss against your mouth. “you’d look so much prettier with a round belly. wanna give you a baby or two,” and then he moans once he feels your legs lock around his waist even tighten. “if—if you’d let me, pretty girl.”

[vampiefemme]

smut! 18+ below, minors dni.

thinking about ellie accidentally sending you a video of her fingering herself.

the video preview is completely dark, so you have no clue what to expect when you click the play button. you assume it’s another one of her rants - lately she’s taken to sending you clips of herself complaining about her family, work, politics. she’s sent a few videos of her trying new foods while completely obliterated on an edible, too, which you’re kind of hoping for. her eyes look so pretty all droopy and red, and she has the cutest laugh when she’s high.

but oh, no. this is… nothing like that.

you’re lounging in bed, head propped up against a pillow, when you get the notification from ellie and click to your text thread. you hit play on the video, watching with a furrowed brow as the camera moves from darkness - the forest green fabric of ellie’s duvet, you realize - to reveal her room. and it’s a familiar sight; you’ve been there a hundred times. but that’s where the familiarity ends.

because this new camera angle shows ellie naked from the waist down.

she’s flushed, her cheeks tinged the faintest shade of pink. her chest rises and falls in a quick rhythm; the light catches on a smear of wetness on her inner thigh, and you realize with a flutter in your belly that she’d been going at it for a while before she’d pulled out the camera.

“okay, fuck,” ellie pants, her voice a bit tinny through the speakers of your cell phone. she lifts one muscled thigh to her bed, which she’s standing before - right in front of the camera. your mouth goes dry as your eyes flicker over her body: heather grey tank riding up her toned hips, the faintest sheen of sweat on her chest, her thigh flexing as she spreads herself in front of the camera.

“i got close beforehand so i wouldn’t… didn’t wanna be nervous,” she says, avoiding eye contact with her phone. “but i’m - wait. why the fuck am i talking? you’re not supposed to talk in these, are you?”

blood rushes into your cheeks, warming your face until you feel like your skin is about to burn off. you should probably stop watching, shouldn’t you? you should click out of the video, pretend you never opened it in the first place. this is clearly not for you to see.

but you can’t look away.

ellie reaches her hand between her legs, and your stomach warms with arousal. there’s a flutter between your legs that leaves you squeezing your thighs together, seeking pressure.

“oh god,” ellie mutters as her fingers play in her own pussy, the lewd, wet sounds echoing. she slips a finger inside of herself, then two, her eyes fluttering shut as a string of curses leaves her lips.

she starts to pump her fingers, the heel of her hand pressed to her clit, and your breath catches in your throat when she looks up at the camera. you know she’s not really looking at you this way, but you tense up regardless. the look in her eyes is sultry, lustful, hungry.

there’s a growing damp spot on your underwear.

ellie’s getting close; her brows are pinched together in concentration, and each of her moans is more ragged and high-pitched than the last. beneath the thin fabric of her tank, you see her abs tense with her impending orgasm. you bite your lip until you’re sure you taste blood.

she comes with a shuddering cry, bicep flexing as her hand stalls between her legs. strands of auburn hair, darkened with sweat, cling to her freckled forehead. she lowers her leg from the bed and stands upright again, still panting. she reaches for the camera and the video ends.

you’re still staring wide-eyed at your phone when a series of texts come through from ellie.

oh my god

please tell me you didn’t see that

holy fuck i’m an idiot

i’m so sorry

i did not mean to send that to you. holy shit i’m sorry

your chest tightens with sympathy - you can imagine how panicked ellie is on the other line, how utterly ruined her post-orgasm bliss must be.

you type out a quick response: it’s okay. give me a second to reply, alright?

finding a convenient place to prop up your phone, you hook your thumbs over your underwear and tug them off, leaning forward to press record on your phone.

read part two here!