#i was exhausted but ever a man of my word

[connorsui]

In the Quiet Afterhours

Zayne x reader

Synopsis: In the quiet of afterhours, you and zayne find solace in the intimacy of simple acts of care, your love unspoken yet deeply felt through the tenderness of shared moments.

Genre/warnings: pure fluff, silence of intimacy, zayne wanting to drown himself in your warmth, you are the light in this manz life, no warnings tho …zayne has suffered enough

note: I just wanna take care of him...like plz let me give my man his needed care..

w.: 1,180

There was, perhaps, no greater feeling than the quietude of love that existed in those moments where words fell away, leaving only the hum of companionship to bind two souls together. Zayne had always been a man of few words—practical in his pursuits, level-headed in his judgments, and ever the picture of self-possession. Yet, beneath that stern exterior, there was a tenderness reserved solely for you, a tenderness that revealed itself not in grand gestures or fervent declarations, but in the subtleties of shared moments, and the warmth of a gaze lingering far longer than propriety might allow.

This evening was no different, save for the weariness etched into his fine features, the faint shadows under his hazel-green eyes telling the tale of a long day spent in service to duty. He returned home as he always did—quietly, with little fanfare, his shoulders still squared despite the obvious weight that pressed upon him. And yet, when his eyes found yours, there was a softening in his expression, the firm lines of his brow relaxing as though the sight of you alone was enough to ease the burdens he carried.

"Welcome home," you murmured, the warmth of your voice drawing him nearer.

"Hello, love"

Zayne, ever pragmatic, offered a small nod, but it was the way his hand rose to brush a stray lock of hair from your cheek that spoke volumes more than any pleasantry could. There was an intimacy in that touch, in the way his fingers lingered against your skin as though reluctant to part, as though you alone were the balm to his tired soul.

He said little as you coaxed him toward the shower, his resistance nonexistent, for he had learned, in these quiet moments, to let you care for him. It was a remarkable thing, this unspoken understanding between you—a partnership built on the most delicate threads of love, trust, and respect. You, in turn, had come to know that behind Zayne’s pragmatic exterior was a man who cherished the simplicity of your presence, a man who allowed himself to be vulnerable only when the world outside had no claim on him.

The warm cascade of water was a gentle relief, steam curling in the air as you worked the soap into your hands, your fingers gliding over his tense shoulders. The muscles beneath your touch, though firm, betrayed a quiet exhaustion, and as you began to wash him, you could feel the faint tremor of relief in his body, the tension slowly unraveling.

He closed his eyes, his lips parting in a near inaudible sigh, and for a moment, he was not the stoic officer, nor the pragmatic strategist. He was simply Zayne, a man who found comfort in your touch, in the way your hands moved with careful precision over his skin, tracing the curves and lines that you had come to know so intimately.

In another’s eyes, this scene might have seemed mundane, but there was an indescribable beauty in the familiarity of it all—a beauty that lay not in grandiose acts of affection but in the quiet devotion with which you attended to one another. It was a love that needed no embellishment, no flowery language to justify its existence, for it was rooted in something far more profound.

When your hands drifted lower, the soap lathering between your fingers, Zayne’s eyes fluttered open, and there it was again—that look of quiet reverence that always seemed to accompany his gaze when it fell upon you. It was not the gaze of a man merely admiring your physical form, but the gaze of a man rediscovering you anew each time, as though the sight of you was enough to set his soul alight in ways words could never adequately express.

He said nothing, but the faintest upward curve of his lips betrayed him. “Spoiling me again?” he murmured, his voice low, teasing in a way that would have seemed foreign to anyone but you.

“And why shouldn’t I?” you replied softly, smiling as your hands worked the soap along the lines of his body. “You work so hard... At least let me take care of you.”

There was a moment, brief yet timeless, where Zayne’s eyes softened even further, the weight of his exhaustion giving way to something deeper, something far more tender. It was in these moments that you truly understood the depth of his affections. He would never speak them outright, for it was not his nature to indulge in the overt declarations that many sought in love. Yet, in the way he stood before you, allowing you to see him in his most vulnerable state, you knew. You knew that his heart, so often guarded, was entirely yours.

When it came time to wash his hair, Zayne bent forward with practiced ease, his dark hair falling over his brow as you lathered the shampoo into his scalp. You laughed, as you always did, at the way his hair fluffed beneath the suds, your amusement drawing a faint smile from him.

“You look cute like this,” you teased, the lightness in your voice a welcome contrast to the quiet of the room.

He glanced up at you, one eyebrow raised in mock indignation. “cute?...another word for you to describe me...” he echoed, his voice dry, though the glint in his hazel eyes betrayed his amusement. “If you could see how I invision you, the roles would be reversed"

Yet he made no protest, content to let you have your moment of playful teasing. For all his stoicism, Zayne had always had a soft spot for the way your laughter lit up the room, and though he would never admit it aloud, he found your teasing far more endearing than he let on.

When the roles reversed, and it was Zayne’s hands that worked the soap into your hair, he was as gentle as ever. His fingers moved with a precision that was unmistakably him, careful to ensure no soap slipped into your eyes. “I know you say I deserved to be spoiled but allow me to give that in return, ten times fold ” he murmured, his voice a quiet caress, his touch so tender it felt as though you might melt beneath it.

You didn't argue.

Once the water had washed away the last traces of soap, he reached for a towel, and in the same unhurried manner, began to dry you off with the utmost care, as though each motion was imbued with the love he so rarely spoke of. It was in these moments, in the quiet spaces between words, that you truly understood the depth of Zayne’s love for you—a love that, like the stars themselves, was constant, enduring, and far more profound than words could ever convey.

Even after the task was complete, he lingered, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close in an embrace that spoke of more than just comfort. It was connection, the unspoken promise that even in silence, his heart was yours.

His breath, soft against your neck, mingled with the warmth of your skin, and there, in the quiet afterhours of the day, there was no need for words.

Just the two of you alone.

Gimmie a tired zayne I would take care of him

[scribblestatic]

I promise y'all I'm not trying to slow burn y'all to the confrontation; I just thought of this situation considering Liu Qingge's dead in this universe and I had to write it first qwq

As an apology, this one is much longer than the others. I even put a Read More on it, it's that long.

Prev: Part 3

---

Luo Binghe isolated Shen Yuan for a while at the beginning. He was exceptionally unhealthy and had a hard time holding conversations at first due to exhaustion. However, after a few weeks, his body started filling in and his hair wasn't nearly as fragile.

By this point, the wives had heard that Shen Qingqiu was removed from the Water Prison and taken to Luo Binghe's quarters. Of course, some of the ladies wanted to know why, considering all of the horrors Shen Qingqiu forced on his young student. Little Palace Mistress in particular was ready to whip him to shreds like she had done several times before.

However, instead of the others, the first one to see him is Liu Mingyan.

She had snuck in, back before Luo Binghe more heavily warded his quarters from his still-large harem.

She found him in Binghe's bed, still sallow but looking healthier, hair spread out on the pillow, both eyes closed. The one without an eyeball had a flattened, drooping eyelid uncovered by an eyepatch at the moment. She stared down at him for a good while, noting how the sheets didn't fill with his limbs like they did for others. Gazing at how his chest moved with each breath.

Eventually, she started to move, raising the dagger she had in her hand.

"...Excuse me."

Her eyes flicked up to his face, seeing his remaining eye open.

From his gaze, she ended up freezing.

After all, there was no way the Shen Qingqiu she knew had such a calm, almost kind look to him.

"This one would usually not hinder you on your quest for revenge... However, it seems Luo Binghe desires this one alive. I, ah, cannot say how he would react upon returning to see me dead." His eye looks away. "And, this one isn't the Shen Qingqiu you are familiar with. Apparently you can tell from my qi? Please check as you wish."

He shifted a bit, raising his right arm before pausing. After all, he only had about half of his bicep left.

"Ah. Right. I don't have wrists anymore."

They paused in an awkward silence, and Liu Mingyan lowered the dagger.

"...Your voice sounds different."

"Does it? For some reason, I can't tell. It sounds like me, but also doesn't sound like me. But I guess this one doesn't sound like Shen Jiu."

"Who is that."

"Ah, Shen Qingqiu. Or, well, he was." The amputated man in the bed smiled waveringly, and expression she never once thought she'd ever see on such a face. How did he manage to make such sharp eyes soften like that? "This one is Shen Yuan though. Luo Binghe summoned me here... Not exactly sure why, but I'm sure it's for a good reason."

His manner of speech was still polite, but his tone was more casual. And tired, a little like it took some effort for him to interact with her. There were also bags below his present eye, the eyelid to the other one having lifted slightly from muscle memory. She saw the scarring inside, her own eye twitching in unwilling sympathetic pain.

The eyelid shut tightly a moment later.

"Ah, excuse me. This one is sorry you have to see me in such a state. I'm sure it's quite ugly."

She stared down at him a while longer before she left without saying anything else.

Of course, once Luo Binghe returned and Shen Yuan talked about Liu Mingyan's visit (sans the dagger, of course), the demon emperor responded by more heavily warding his quarters and giving a firm talking to his harem about not visiting his shizun.

(Why, they wondered, did he say that word with affection now when it previously only curled from his mouth doused in hatred?)

Still, while Liu Mingyan pondered over the strange spirit taking up residence in Shen Qingqiu's body, the spirit, Shen Yuan, asked to be able to visit her. Luo Binghe told her this, his arms crossed and appearing very unsatisfied.

"He cannot come to you. So you go to him."

Luo Binghe wasn't one to order her around, not usually. Unless he needed martial assistance, for her to follow him during the many battles they fought in together at that point, or they wanted to share body heat, he left her to herself. She had a firm position in the harem, a powerful one at that, so it was not often she received any sort of order.

But he ordered her to visit Shen Yuan, who had wanted to somehow visit her himself.

Strange...

--

"Ah, this one didn't really think about his mobility when I asked to visit you. This one apologizes to have disturbed you."

This time, he's dressed in more layers than just his night clothes. He also has an eyepatch over his empty right socket. Instead of a top-do, his hair is tied with a ribbon along his lower back, still going easy on the styles as his hair recovers. He seems more comfortable than he was when she first saw him.

Again, that sheepishly polite look on his face. The likelihood that this was just some other scheme by Shen Qingqiu to harm Luo Binghe in some way seemed increasingly less likely. Besides, he had said something about being summoned into the body.

She really should've checked his soul that night. Luo Binghe had told her not to touch him, and at that moment, he was currently sitting in a nearby chair, acting as though he wasn't paying attention by reading a book.

"...Hmm. You haven't disturbed me. This Mingyan was also interested in seeing you again."

"For certain, you must have questions. This one probably produced more than answered them when we first met. I hope to clear up what I can."

So, she asks about what he meant that he was Shen Yuan, and he said he wasn't Shen Jiu but someone else. He's dodgy when she asks where he came from, but he does at least say that he's from another world, which...sounds quite like what Luo Binghe had said after he temporarily disappeared after a battle, instead replaced by some strange replica of him.

The other him had been tall, his hair curling like a curtain of waves along his back. His skin was darker, body more built with muscle and health. He was, indeed, incredibly handsome.

If not for the fact he had been extremely hostile.

He fought viciously, nearly killing Sha Hualing in one of her usual attempts to fight their lord husband, only realizing that he wasn't him and shifting to fighting him with the intent to kill. But instead, he used a sword that seemed to be Xin Mo, but wrapped in bindings that hindered its presence and power. Moreover, the moves he used, the talismans, the sword forms...

He had been trained properly in Qing Jing's martial arts, only seemingly lacking in some experience. But he overcame her with sheer force of power and technique.

After he managed to leave, their lord husband later returned, a strange braid having made its way into his hair.

He has yet to take it down, even now.

He returned with distress and a renewed anger toward Shen Qingqiu. From what she could hear, he had roared in fury at him, demanding to know why he couldn't have been "like him." Why he deserved vitriol from him at all.

It seemed to hurt Luo Binghe more to have conclusive evidence that Shen Qingqiu could've been different than it had been to imagine it.

...Was this "Shen Yuan" supposed to be a different Shen Qingqiu, summoned into the broken body of another version of himself?

Shen Yuan cringes when she asks, saying he would never have been anything like that "scum villain." Their souls have to be entirely different. It just so happens he occupied this empty body and Luo Binghe...wants something from him, and that he'll do what he can to help with whatever it is.

Liu Mingyan sends a look toward Luo Binghe, who gazes at the back of Shen Yuan's head, not even facing his book anymore.

She understands it then.

She's unsure what spell he'd used, but it does seem Shen Yuan truly is another soul summoned into Shen Qingqiu's body. The child who had wanted a kind shizun...he never healed. Is this his way of getting what he wants now? But, isn't this a loss of some sort?

Sure, the soul inside Shen Qingqiu is polite and kind, if not a bit oblivious, but it's not Shen Jiu (his name before courtesy, apparently). The true Shen Qingqiu never changed, even until he had to be replaced.

And now, Shen Qingqiu no longer has to suffer for the sins he committed, like murdering her brother.

Dissatisfaction curls in her heart... But it's not something to take out on the soul now inside his body. So, even if she doesn't quite return the sentiment, she at least isn't rude to him.

After their meeting ends, she talks to Ning Yingying, who had been worrying about the situation.

She seems relieved that Shen Qingqiu's soul is gone.

--

After several months, here's how some major ladies relate with Shen Yuan:

Liu Mingyan: Good Friendship

After their meeting, they didn't really talk much until she found him reading one of her books and he waxed poetic about its good, bad, ugly, and beautiful points. He turned so pale when she revealed she'd written it, but she also found herself appreciative of his honesty with her work. She starts showing him her drafts, which he reviews just as honestly as he did before, and they become more friendly.

Shen Yuan temporarily recedes from their friendship after he starts having more Shen Jiu dreams, and after she asks him what's wrong enough times, he finally has a sit down with her and confesses that he might actually be Shen Jiu, and he doesn't feel he deserves her friendship. They do become strained for a good minute again, but she eventually asks him to tell her why he killed Liu Qingge.

He was going to lie, but instead, he tells the truth—he hadn't meant to. In the dreams, he's trying desperately to save Liu Qingge, but his own poor control and cultivation accidentally kills him. He never confessed that it was an accident out of guilt and shame and that he felt he basically murdered Liu Qingge. The fact Shen Yuan starts crying during this distresses him further, as he feels it's even more proof that he might be Shen Jiu.

But Liu Mingyan is distressed for a different reason, since it means she took her anger and revenge out on a man who had actually tried to save her brother. They both don't talk for a while again, neither feeling like they deserve to associate with the other. However, when they both try to apologize, they say the other doesn't need to: Liu Mingyan because Shen Jiu was a grown man and should've told the truth, even if he didn't feel he'd be believed, and Shen Yuan because he might not even be Shen Jiu, and even if he was, then she's the one who wrong him more.

Shen Yuan insists that she was only working off what information she received and she couldn't be held accountable for that, but Liu Mingyan says that she would hold herself accountable for her response, and that she has to accept that she was in the wrong. Because Shen Qingqiu never said he had killed Liu Qingge, and had she not been caught up in her feelings, she could've seen how silent he was about accusations toward him, even if they were wild.

That makes Shen Yuan go quiet since he's thinking about how often Shen Jiu stays silent to accusations that, via his dreams, he's realizing weren't ever true.

After some time, their relationship heals, and they start talking again. He sees her as someone reliable and straightforward, and she sees him as someone incredibly forgiving, who has a kind heart that's honestly too soft for the dangerous world they live in. So, she ends up becoming something of a guardian friend for him whenever Binghe's away. She also enjoys talking about trashy smut novels with him while learning how to write even better prose and storylines.

Ning Yingying: Currently? Strained.

At first, he becomes very close to her after Liu Mingyan told her that Shen Qingqiu's soul was replaced by someone else. She quickly went to get to know him and learn more about him, chatting it up and being her outgoing, friendly self. However, after a few times, Shen Yuan can sense that there's something a tad strained about how she associates with him under it all.

She's the first one he tells about the strange Shen Jiu dreams, which took him a while to decide to tell anyone about anyway.

She, ah, did not react well.

Ning Yingying had turned pale and left the room hurriedly. The attendants at the time started talking about him "showing his true colors" on the grapevine (which prompts him to confess to Binghe and eventually prompts Liu Mingyan's visit and his confession to her about possibly being Shen Jiu). Shen Yuan first thinks she ran away from him because he had sexually groomed her, and he even recedes from accepting Luo Binghe's attention as well, which put them in a rocky spot.

But then he has a dream about Shen Jiu's relationship with Ning Yingying, and...

No. Nothing.

If anything, he just had a familial relationship with her. Shen Jiu thought of Ning Yingying as a daughter.

He watched Shen Jiu keep her from working in the Warm Red Pavilion when she was perhaps too young to remember, right around the same time he dreams that he actually went there to avoid being around the men on the peak. He paid special attention to her because of his distaste for men, to the point he doted on her too much.

When he brought Luo Binghe onto his peak just to spite Liu Qingge, Ning Yingying's attention on him didn't spark jealousy, but fear.

He was afraid that Luo Binghe would become like Qiu Jianluo, and Ning Yingying would become like Qiu Haitang. That fueled his unjustified hatred and mistreatment toward Luo Binghe, as though expecting him specifically to become just like the man who assaulted him...

And didn't he? Didn't Luo Binghe become that person in the end? All because of a self-fulfilling prophecy that didn't have to be that way if Shen Jiu trusted someone else and got help. He turned Luo Binghe into his worst nightmare. And Ning Yingying...lied to help get him imprisoned.

Remember the pause during Liu Mingyan's part when they were apologizing to each other? That was him thinking about Shen Jiu's problem: he never spoke up, assuming no one would believe him. He helped cause his own problems...but he couldn't even blame it all on Shen Jiu's secretive nature anymore.

Not long after he and Liu Mingyan make up (with some remaining strain with Binghe, but the man hasn't abandoned taking care of him, thankfully), he dreams about Ning Yingying's false account of his lewd nature. And he feels, in his own chest, that Shen Jiu felt utterly abandoned by everyone in the world. Meanwhile, he kept quiet, thinking that it would help separate himself from Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, because despite his cattiness, he genuinely loved his position and felt pride in rising to power. The bamboo forest and the quiet pool had been his sanctuary.

He was satisfied with allowing himself to be destroyed if it meant the sect would survive. And his sect siblings just...let it happen. And so did Ning Yingying, pushing it along with her false testimony.

...Perhaps she saw the writing on the wall. Maybe she knew that Luo Binghe would seek to repay every grievance. Despite his sacrifice, Qing Jing Peak was lost, his sanctuary burnt to the ground. Because of his stupid pride, because of false testimonies and beliefs, and because his sect members hated him just as much as he despised himself.

If that was the the case, then Shen Yuan can't blame her for choosing the path to survival. She knew Luo Binghe loved her, and he taught her to care for herself. And that she did. So really, could he blame her for applying what he taught her to do? No. No, he couldn't. And he wouldn't.

She survived and is living well. As much as his heart hurts at the betrayal, he should've been a better person. Perhaps then, he could've kept the people he loved closer to him...

Shen Yuan blinked, realizing he forgot to think of it as Shen Jiu and not himself.

Ning Yingying has yet to speak to him again as of the time for his crowning ceremony, but at least he knows from a severely apologetic Luo Binghe that it's because she confessed the truth of her lie. She was present at his wedding, though they didn't speak much. He continues to extend an invitation to see her. She continues to deny it, so for now, he's leaving the door to communication quietly open.

This is getting a bit too long, so one last one for now!

Sha Hualing: Antagonistic, but actually friendly

It helps, in this case, that Shen Yuan's aware that Sha Hualing, born and raised as a demon, beats up on and teases people she likes. Of course, she can't actually beat up on him since Luo Binghe promised severe pain if she ever does. So, instead, she teases him. A lot.

At first, it was really meanspirited. She said a few things about his limbs that no reasonable person should laugh at. But Shen Yuan had joked back at her, firmly thinking he isn't Shen Jiu (and later, upon thinking he might be Shen Jiu, thinking he deserves it), so it didn't matter. She was thrown off at first, but found herself liking him for having thick skin.

After he and Liu Mingyan start having book club, Sha Hualing skulks around and teased him in more meanspirited but non-physically harmful ways, like poking him, flipping his hair over his head, or picking him up and holding him like a stuffed animal.

Although Shen Yuan can be oblivious, he starts recognizing her behavior as jealousy and eventually point-blank asks her if she's jealous of his time with Binghe. She huffs and doesn't react much, so, since he is now more aware of his own sexuality, he thinks further and askes if she's jealous of the time he spends with Liu Mingyan.

Sha Hualing sputters and huffs and calls him a fool, and Shen Yuan's expression steadily shifts from surprise to the most trollish grin she'd ever seen. She keeps insisting that wasn't the case, but Shen Yuan, having smelt blood in the water, brings out all his previous internet troll behavior to the point even she has to retreat.

Though, he does tell her later that he wouldn't tell Liu Mingyan if she doesn't want him to, which she appreciates. She eventually admits to him that she likes her, and though she was married to Luo Binghe, she wouldn't mind spending time romancing Liu Mingyan. Shen Yuan figures that since the two are in a harem (he hadn't married in yet), it isn't wrong for wives to love each other. Though, it turns out that was actually quite modern thinking, since it was expected for harem members to only dedicate themselves to their husband.

Shen Yuan: "...Eh? Since when do you follow those sorts of rules?"

Sha Hualing: *surprised Pikachu face* "Oh wow, you're right."

So, Sha Hualing askes Liu Mingyan out, and now they are dating while still being married to Luo Binghe, who, as it turns out, didn't care at all whether or not they had sex or dated each other.

When Shen Yuan receded from his friendship with Liu Mingyan upon starting to think he might actually be Shen Jiu, she's the one who motivated Liu Mingyan to try speaking with him. He told Mingyan about the dream and the truth, and they both stopped talking for less than a week before apologizing to each other. Sha Hualing calls them both foolish later on, and Shen Yuan gripes at her, who gripes right back.

Also, unbeknownst to Shen Yuan, Sha Hualing is part of the reason why Ning Yingying hasn't come back to talk to him again. Sure, Sha Hualing is a demon who betrayed her family to have power with Luo Binghe, but that's a demon's way. She teases Ning Yingying, calling her more like a demon than a human, which is an otherwise friendly jab, but, like with Shen Yuan's limbs, stabs close to home a tad too much.

So, it turns into a genuine fight, with Ning Yingying saying how she didn't like what Sha Hualing did to her own father, but Sha Hualing just says the equivalent of, "Hey pot, I'm the kettle. But at least I'm honest about it," which actually does kinda rub Sha Hualing the wrong way.

As of the crowning ceremony, Sha Hualing is friendly antagonistic toward Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe, dating Liu Mingyan, and mildly dismissive toward Ning Yingying.

---

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4: here

[desirediariesx]

diary entry #16

My boyfriend invited multiple guys to use and cum inside my slutty pussy while he watched

Okay so me and my bf have been experimenting with stuff lately. Last time he invited a guy over to come and use me while I was blindfolded. This time he took things up a notch. We loved the experience last time, and we wasted to keep it going. My bf told me that when he was going down on me after I was getting used that it was perfect, and the only regret is that there wasn't more cum in my pussy.

Our solution was simple. We needed more than one guy. He wanted to watch me get my pussy used by man after man. "At least 3" he said. He found the guys for me. He used fet to find them and made sure they were all clean, attractive, hung, and recently tested. He is such a good bf :)

The plan was the same as what I wrote about last time. I would be blindfolded and waiting for them in bed. Naked. He would be watching from the couch, ready to clean me up. We set it up so that each guy would have 15 minutes with me. For a total of 45 minutes. I was fucking soaked with anticipation. He even tied my hands behind my back to make it more intense this time. When I heard the door open, I swear I almost fucking came.

The first guy was fucking huge. He choked me while he fucked me. I wondered what he looked like. He pounded me hard and spanked me like the little whore that I am. It was so fucking hot. He came deep in my pussy and left without saying a single word. HOTTTTT.

The second guy wasn't quite as big, but he made up for it by telling me what a dirty whore I am. It was so fucking hot to hear him verbally abuse me while he fucked my cum soaked pussy. I felt like such a sloppy fucking mess. He came deep inside me as well, and then left. Cum was dripping out of my pussy at this point, and I still had another guy to fuck.

The third guy was around as big as the first, and I came fucking hard. He rubbed my cum covered clit from behind while he fucked me, and whispered things into my ear that are so naughty I can't even write about it. He came deep inside me, and to my slutty delight he made me suck his cock clean. Tasting all of that cum on his cock was the sluttiest thing I have ever done. I loved it.

I was exhausted at that point, and ready to have my final orgasm of the night at the hands (or should I say mouth) of my bf. He spread my legs wide and tongue fucked the cum out of me. He kept it in his mouth and kept taking little breaks to kiss me and drip all of the cum into my mouth. Keep in mind that I have been blindfolded this entire time. It was fucking wild. I was the wettest and most soaked I have ever been and came fucking hard in my boyfirend's mouth. Definetly a night to remember...

I can't wait to find out what my bf has in mind for use next... I love him <3

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ Marquis of Los Angeles: Ch. 3 - A Manageable Situation

ཐི♡ཋྀ Thank you for the beta-read, @evrensadwrn! ཐི♡ཋྀ

Summary: As LaCroix brings Vincent home to Venture Tower, each one has a very simple plan. Surely all will go well.

TW: mind control, emotional manipulation, kidnapping

Vincent drifted through the city of angels, a prisoner in his own body. Bars and restaurants and strip clubs flashed past in neon and chain link and rain-drenched concrete. The downpour did nothing to stifle the city stench, but rather enhanced it. The air was too warm, too humid, the look of palms and alien plants more unfamiliar than it should have been, given that he’d watched American movies. But everything looked different in person. He had been to the states before, but never the west coast. It occurred to him, in fact, that he was probably farther from Versailles than he’d ever been.

By the clock on the dash, it was just past 8 PM local time. The whole night lay ahead of them. And LaCroix was just getting started, taking his “early” business calls in the front seat as the city’s nightlife shook itself awake. Meanwhile, Vincent fought against the hunger and exhaustion that had not been properly addressed for days even before he was taken.

With Sebastian’s concentration slipping to other concerns, Vincent’s numbed emotions were slipping back into the pit of his stomach, where they tied themselves into an aching knot. Horror was there, in nightmarish quantity, but so was hope - a feverish, desperate kind of hope. This was not the time to panic, but to plan. This was really a very manageable situation, all things considered. “No one is looking for you because no one knows you are missing.” He kept repeating those words to himself. LaCroix was quite right. All he had to do was contact someone. Even being seen alive in public might be enough. And then everyone would be looking for him. And they’d take him away. And LaCroix would be so devastated…pictures of him kept intruding into Vincent’s mind, crying over Vincent, losing him, missing him. There was some overwhelming desire to see LaCroix utterly pathetic on his account. It wasn’t ideal to be so fixated on LaCroix, but…better to hate him than to love him. In the midst of this feeling, it was possible to dream of escape, and so he clung to it.

He’d been directly commanded not to jump out of the vehicle, but he rested his forehead against the glass, hoping to be seen as the streetlamps passed over him in cycling flashes of yellow. But they were, of course, moving too quickly for anyone to recognize him, even if any of the passersby somehow knew who he was. Without any incident, the car came to a stop in front of an enormous skyscraper which LaCroix announced as Venture Tower.

The building itself seemed hostile, designed for intimidation. What kind of a man flanked his doorway with these god-awful Modernist figures of what Vincent could only describe as emaciated shadow people? It was chilling, but in such an unsophisticated way, like hoisting up a head on a pike for all to see. He wondered if they were meant to represent those Sebastian had drained of blood. He tried to play off his shudder of body horror as mere aesthetic disgust. “How is it that you lived through Romanticism without absorbing a single one of its artistic principles? It was wasted on you.”

LaCroix’s eyes widened and Vincent realized too late that he’d given himself away. Until now, the Prince probably thought he was still under full domination. “Already running your mouth again? Extraordinary, how you break free. So much so, in fact, that I’ll indulge you.” He gestured to the dismal grey lobby that would have been better suited to a penitentiary. “I change with the times and the requirements of leadership. It’s called branding, Vincent, and it saves lives. You’ll find the penthouse better suited to your tastes, but there’s no reason for the masses to see how I furnish my own living space. They have a tendency to start lopping off heads when they see too much open gaudiness…or firing bullets through skulls, as the case may be.” The Prince eyed Vincent’s embroidered greatcoat pointedly, as if that had been the sole reason for Wick’s dispute with him.

But he hadn’t stolen Vincent’s voice again, and that was something. Better try for a compliment, keep him talking.

“It does make for a brutal spectacle, at least, which is its own sort of…functionality.” His eyes were fixed on the elevator’s emergency call button, and his mind on the phone at the front desk of the lobby. His own cell phone had been confiscated at some point in his unconsciousness. Who was carrying it? LaCroix, or the Sheriff?

LaCroix nodded, no doubt pleased with his own advice. That confident smile, the way his mouth curled back against his fangs…Vincent suddenly felt like he had lost command of himself again. It was so difficult to look at this man without wanting to crush him to pieces. “You’ll learn a great deal with me, Vincent. I’m offering you an opportunity, to serve the interests of the Camarilla, to rule over LA at my side…and eventually much more than that, as your regnant’s hold expands.”

An opportunity to serve. How enticing. Vincent physically bit his tongue until his irritation subsided before replying. “Do you take me for a fool, LaCroix? I know what it means to share power, and it does not interest me.”

“How unfortunate. Then you will have none. You’ve lost your privileges again.”

A violent jolt of compulsion followed, stronger than anything on the aircraft. He was a passenger in his body again for the remainder of the elevator ride. He drifted powerless into the heart of Sebastian’s domain, gliding past the collection of history paintings that had been missing from the art historical community for hundreds of years, past the gold filigree flickering with firelight and the white moon that flashed through driving rain to cast a sliver of halo against the Prince’s hair. Sebastian wasn’t joking – he was a man of taste after all, and to be at the epicenter of his power was to walk in a decadent dream.

Never had Vincent felt so completely in the power of another person. Never had he felt another person’s strength so directly, inside of his own body and surrounding him on every side with the fruits of his superior’s machinations. He was totally and completely in Sebastian’s hold, spurred to the point of some manic envy. Two centuries of power were concentrated in this room. It made him want to sing and scream out loud, to climb the walls and knife the cushions, to tear the curtains with his teeth, to fling himself at LaCroix and…and…

To outdo him. How good it would feel, to conquer the most magnificent man he had ever seen. An opportunity. Yes, an opportunity to conquer. To see you broken and wretched. To impress you, REALLY impress you, until you bow to me. You’ll look so pretty weeping on your knees when your new pet disappears back to France with all your secrets, Bast…shame I won’t be here to see it… He shook himself, trying to focus only on the return home, but the return home was tied up with a powerful vengefulness towards LaCroix. To live, to be himself, was to struggle against LaCroix. His blood was pounding wildly all through his body, livid with another man’s vital energy.

Then Sebastain’s hands were on him, guiding him gently into a chair. “Easy. It’s hitting you, isn’t it? You like my pretty things?”

Oh, Sebastian. You don’t understand at all. In a wrathful haze, he grinned. “…Oui.”

“Good then.” He straightened up and snapped his fingers at the Sheriff. “He’s coming under control. We should be alright.” They were whispering about some assignment, and the Sheriff was gone.

Vincent stared into the fire, half insensible and trembling. I’m going to devastate him. I’m going to make him hurt. I’m going to devour everything that’s his and make it MINE.

.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸. ཐི♡ཋྀ.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.

LaCroix opened his briefcase, removing the contents from his travels and settling in at his desk for the night. He was thoroughly relieved. It was really a very manageable situation. The Marquis just took a while to feel the full effects. Perhaps that made sense, given how long it had taken him to heal from the bullet wound. Regrowing a brain was such a long process. But the vitae had finally taken root, and he was completely entranced.

Sebastian’s eyes lingered on Vincent. He was shaking in some ecstasy of reverence or lust, his eyes fixed on a Ventrue crest above the fireplace. It was strangely…disappointing. To see him like this was such an insult to the Marquis who had been fighting for his freedom tooth and nail just minutes ago. The Prince couldn’t help the sense that he had crushed something irreplaceable, and that it wasn’t worth it. Brought to heel, Vincent was cute, but before he had been…

Well, anyway, he wasn’t just cute. He really was bright. It was only a matter of how best to use him. He’d make a uniquely opportune spy within the High Table if there was some way to send him back in without compromising the Masquerade. But that was doubtful, and besides, he’d make just as clever a spy within the underworld. It seemed a shame to waste him among the kine - a specimen such as this wasn’t meant for such a life.

Or he could be useful on the trail of the Sarcophagus…

“Join me for a moment.” It was somewhere between hilarious and painful, watching Vincent cross the room. He wasn’t unsteady exactly, but pulled taut as a violin string. He practically vibrated. Sebastian could hear his racing heart. Vincent’s wide eyes locked onto his face and could not turn away. There was still something terrifying in them, and he found himself wondering whether he hadn’t best calm him down before attempting conversation. “…Are you quite well now, Vincent?”

“I am…hungry.” It was said with all the strained desperation of a newborn vampire. “Please, Prince. I know you don’t need to eat, but it’s been all day and night for me. Won’t you get me something, anything?”

He smiled, indulgent. Vincent wasn’t just cute this way, he was adorable. Those pleading eyes. “Alright. One moment, and then we’ll have a talk over your breakfast.”

One moment, turned away to call the front desk. And Vincent had already retrieved his cell phone from the briefcase and run halfway across the room. It was ringing.

He swore and made after him. “Oh for - Just where do you think you’re going!?” Vincent only sped up and disappeared into the stairwell. For god’s sake, his legs were so long…

Down they spiraled, Sebastian shouting useless commands that only seemed to spur him onward. It was no use to take him by force, it would have to be old-fashioned reason. “WHOEVER THAT IS WILL DIE IF YOU SAY A WORD!” The words echoed down some twenty stories. More quietly, for Vincent’s ears only, “The Masquerade. Recall what I told you.”

Vincent went still. In the sudden silence, a voice could be heard on the other side, barely loud enough to filter out towards LaCroix. “Hello? Who is this? It’s not possible that this is the Marquis.”

Panting, staring up at LaCroix with unbridled hatred, Vincent hung up the phone. Why did that look cut him so deeply? He pushed the pain aside and continued his descent, slowly now. Vincent did not retreat any further. “Good boy. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But you have to understand that I couldn’t let you go now even if I wanted to. It’s a violation of all our laws. To save you, I had to take you away. Permanently. You cannot go back.” He came to the same step as Vincent, looking up at him now, their bodies inches apart. “And now that I have you, can you fault me for putting you to use? When you are such a sharpened tool that you frighten even me?”

Very softly, “I frighten you?”

“…Dreadfully.”

Vincent’s eyes had never looked softer, never more innocently pleased. “Merveilleux.” And he lifted Sebastian right off his feet, and hurled him over the railing.

◃ Back ⚜ Next ▹(coming soon)

Image Sources: One (background) | One (Vincent) | Two

[honestlyreadingruinedmylife]

That’s amazing. Of course everyone needs to start somewhere. Of course I understand not everyone likes writing smut.

Young Charles Xavier x reader. She’s also has a mutation. She’s kicked out by her parents when they find out that her boyfriend is in a wheelchair. She turns up in the pouring rain with her puppy under her jacket to keep them dry and a black eye because her dad hit her (you don’t have to write that just imply it)

Hope that’s not to detailed but wanted to give you as much detail as I could to help you write it.

Can you please tag me in any future X-Men fanfiction you write.

Xx

A.N: Okay, I finally got around to finishing this. I'm actually quite proud of it given it's my first time EVER writing fanfiction and especially with it being a request. I hope you enjoy it even though it is a bit cliche at times. Also, there is slight ableism given the prompt, I did some research to make sure I wasn't using any slurs but if I am wrong PLEASE let me know. I will change it.

Word Count: 1251

Pairing: Young Charles Xavier x Female!Reader

Warnings: Ableism (Only a small sentence), gets kind angsty

You didn’t really know how they had found out. You were so careful. Building a wall of lies so thick and so far that you could no longer see the ends. 

You suppose that somewhere along the lines you’d missed a spot, one vital brick that tumbled down the entirety of your life. 

Your parents had only just started getting around to the idea of having a ‘freak’ of a daughter. Constantly telling you how lucky you were to at least look ‘normal’ and not like those ‘other ones’. 

You were one of the good ones. 

They had laid the rules out simply. They didn’t care about your abilities as long as they stayed outside the house and as long as you married a ‘regular human being’. It seemed simple enough and studying for a masters (which they paid for) you figured one more year of hiding wouldn’t be so difficult.

What you never considered was falling madly in love with another mutant. You’d been convinced for so long that you were completely alone in the walls you’d built, that when you met a man who could literally tear them apart you had no choice but to let yourself go.

The argument had started at dinner. It’d been a long day of research which had resulted in nothing but a dead end. Exhausted from sitting reading at a desk all day, you just wanted to get through the traditional family dinner and get straight into bed.

You were sitting in your usual chair, facing your mother while your father sat at the head of the table. It’d been eerily silent from the moment you’d sat down but didn’t mind given your exhaustion.

Suddenly, your father put down his utensils, “I’ve set up a dinner, next week with the neighbors boy,”

Thinking you hadn’t heard correctly, you turn to face him, “pardon?”

“It’s about time that you start thinking of settling down,” your father continues, “most normal girls your age are on their way to having their first child,”

You hear the implication in his voice even if he hadn’t outright said it. Irritated, you push your plate away.

“I am a normal girl, dad,” 

You hear your mother sigh, but you can’t seem to look away from your fathers face that twitches in irritation.

“You know what I meant,” he says your name as if it's a burden. He says it as if you were a curse on his normalcy.

You roll your eyes, “yes I know exactly what you meant, father, and I’m not going to be dressed up like some doll to be paraded for the neighbors boy,”

Another twitch, you know you are pushing him too far, but you can’t seem to care anymore.

“He is of good breeding and a wealthy background,” he picks up his utensils again, “the dinner will be on Monday,”

“Breeding?! I’m not cattle, father,” 

Your fathers face contorts into a scowl and you know he’s losing patience with you, “He will assure you are the last of your kind in my bloodline,”

You can feel your whole body shaking, “I will not go to that dinner, father,”

You hear your mother whisper your name, you suddenly realize that the shaking wasn’t just within your body but the whole house. With your emotions rampant you couldn’t control your powers as naturally as you normally could.

Breathing in and breathing out, you calm yourself enough to stop the shaking. Your father, however, is maroon with malice. You have pushed him too far.

“I will not let my grandchildren be the offspring of a freak and a paralytic!”

You feel your heart stop. Your mind is racing, unstoppable thoughts wreak havoc in your head. He knew. He knew and now your life is over.

“Father-”

“You thought I wouldn’t find out?” Your father continues to yell, “you thought I’d let you disobey me without consequence?”

You could feel your breathing increase as you enter a panic. Everything is muffled, your father continues yelling but you can’t hear a thing he is saying. You have to get away. You have to get to Charles. 

Without realizing, you stand, turning to leave the table, trying to find an escape. With one step, your father is in front of you, rough hands clamping down on your shoulders, forcing you still.

“Let me go,” you whisper, looking down away from your father. 

“I forbid you from seeing that man again!” 

“Let me go,” you feel the ground tremble beneath you.

“He’s one of you isn’t he?” Your fathers grip tightens on your shoulders, “he’s a freak!”

“Let me go!” You shout back in his face. You don’t initially feel the strike, but you can feel the heat begin to blossom around your eye. And you feel the ground erupt into endless shudders as you watch your father lose his balance and fall to the floor.

With the last of your strength, you run towards your room grabbing your research and your puppy that likes to sleep under your bed. As you race to the front door, you glance at your mother fussing over your father, who is still laid on the floor.

Stopping you turn to face your parents, “I am not a freak. Just because I am different doesn’t mean I’m lesser than,”

You turn to open the front door and with foot out your childhood home, you turn one last time, “I’ll never treat my children the way you’ve treated me, mutant or not,”

With those final words, you run into the rain, hailing the first taxi you see.

It wasn’t until you were at Charles’ front door, drenched and with your puppy under your coat, that you realized how bleak your situation truly was. 

No home, no parents, no education. 

With nothing left to lose, you knock as loudly as you can, hoping anyone would hear you over the pounding rain.

Almost immediately, the door swings open. 

Hank at first looks at you with confusion and then concern. He drags you inside and in the same breath yells for Charles.

The second you see Charles look of concern as he approaches you, you feel the tears start to form in your eyes. Finally able to let go, you feel yourself crumble with the weight of the night.

In no time, Charles holds you in his arms, stroking your soaked hair, whispering into your ear, “it’s okay darling you’re safe now, you’re safe here,”

Once you’ve calmed down, you pull away from him holding your own weight again. His hands don’t leave your face, careful with your already bruising eye.

He whispers your name. He whispers it like prayer, like there’s no one else in the world except you and him. He strokes your cheek with his thumb, “How about we run you a warm bath?”

With no strength left to speak and knowing you didn’t need to, you nod into his hands, closing your eyes and soaking in the comforting warmth he exudes. From within your jacket, you feel your puppy shuffle, stuck in between your torso and Charles’ legs. Pulling away slightly, your puppy leaps away from you and begins sniffing around Charles’ wheelchair.

“I see you’ve brought a friend, darling,” he chuckles, as he watches your puppy continuing to adventure.

You hiccup trying to find the words, “I couldn’t leave him in that house,”

Charles looks back at you, his blue eyes wide adoration, “he has a home here, he’ll always a home here,”

[skyloftian-nutcase]

(content warning, unnamed character death, war)

A gentle breeze swooshed through the area, carrying a song of peace, a jarring juxtaposition against the backdrop of the world it caressed. The earth was torn and soaked, soil absorbing blood like dew, poisoning a nearby stream. Malice clung to the air a moment before being swept away in the wind, like water flowing over an open wound. Bodies lay on the scuffed-up ground, looking almost like they were resting were it not for the open eyes, the disfigured contortion of their positions, the chunks of armor and weapons, the stench of death permeating the air before the zephyr carried it away.

Link sat overlooking it all. He felt strangely disengaged from it all, mind not really coming up with words, chest tight, body stiff, exhausted and filled with energy, adrenaline making his eyes stay open until they burned while every fiber of his being screamed for rest. Hemisi sat beside him, still holding a scroll she’d picked off the Gerudo general they’d killed in the battle.

Eventually, his friend broke the silence first. She always did. “How many do you think died?”

Did it even matter? He shrugged, too tired to speak.

“I used to think being a warrior was an honor,” Hemisi muttered, fingers tracing over dried blood on the parchment. “That it was my duty to lead the Gerudo and defend my people should we ever need to fight.”

The wind blew again, rustling leaves in the trees as they fell, blood red and golden yellow, like fire raining from the sky.

“There’s nothing honorable in this,” Hemisi finally said quietly.

A sound caught both teenagers’ attention, carried by the breeze, a groan, a whimper. Link rose, pulling out a dagger while Hemisi drew one of her scimitars. The pair moved slowly in unison, watching each other’s back and scanning the deserted battlefield.

It didn’t take long to trace the noise to its source, leading them to a Hylian soldier who was laying on the ground. Blood had soaked through his armor, looking like he’d been swimming in it, face pale as snow, eyes terrified, body twitching in agony.

Link rummaged through his pouch for a potion, but found that he had none. Hemisi came up short as well.

“We have to get him back to camp,” Hemisi said, eyes worried as she looked around to ensure there weren’t other threats or survivors.

Link just stared at the soldier. He’d lost so much blood. He’d lost too much blood. He heard Hemisi curse softly under her breath, kneeling down, and he saw the other wound she’d picked up on. The soldier’s leg was missing, the majority of bone and muscle hidden in tattered clothes, but he could still see the grotesque display well enough, could feel the way his mind numbed further, the way he physically recoiled.

Hemisi shifted a little to kneel beside the man. The camp was too far away. This soldier was too far gone.

It felt… wrong. Giving up like this. But by this point in the war, Link knew when it was time to stop fighting.

“Should… should we finish it?” Hemisi asked quietly as the soldier moaned, barely noticing they were there.

Link moved slowly, kneeling at the man’s other side. Hemisi glanced up at him, grip tight on her blade, ready to end the soldier’s suffering. She’d spilled enough blood as it was – what was one more, if it was to help?

The Hero of Hyrule shook his head. “No. Let Farore take him when she thinks he is ready. But we should stay with him.”

Hemisi bit her lip, looking away from the soldier a moment as he moaned again. Link slowly reached down to hold the man’s hand, and Hemisi sighed, putting her hand on the man’s shoulder.

“We’re here,” she whispered softly, trying to keep her voice steady. “You’re not alone.”

The teenagers stayed, offering what little support they could as the man passed on, waiting until he stopped twitching and gasping, until the tears stopped falling, the blood stopped oozing. The soldier glanced at Link one last time. “H-Hero…”

Link squeezed his hand. Whatever the soldier tried to say couldn’t get out of his throat before he breathed his last, eyes fixed on the young warrior.

The pair sat there a moment, honoring the fallen in their own ways, before they rose together. It was over.

When they made it back to camp, they sat once more, staring out at the field, letting the breeze play with their hair.

[changenameno]

Gym Master PART 1

(Complete)

 Summary:

The concept of working out wasn’t completely new to you, but you definitely, really overdid it today. You shouldn’t have. Because now you are standing in front of the staircase to your apartment. Which coincidentally is on the fifth floor, with no elevator. And no way in hell, are you able to walk all these stairs, with your sore legs. So what are you going to do?

 

Pairing: Clark Kent x Curvy Fem. Reader

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, a few self-deprecating comments/thoughts, strength kink, p in v, breeding kink, praise kink

Word count: 3.3K

 

A/N: Okay I may have worked out longer today and I’m super (wink, wink) sore, so this came to me. All mistakes are my own. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated! Enjoy❤️✨

 

 👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓

 PART 1

You stood before the staircase, gym bag lying, long abandoned next to you. How on earth were you going to climb all those? You could barely stand up, legs screaming at you to sit down.

 

 

Then without warning, a whirlwind of black curls in a chequered shirt passed you. You didn’t recognize him, once he had climbed a few steps, he turned back. His face just as sightly as his behind.

Strong jawline, shapely lips forming a kind smile and striking blue eyes behind black rimmed glasses roving over your form.

 

 

Those same lips opened and a smooth voice sounded, “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met yet? I just moved in. I’m Clark, fifth floor. And you?”

 

 

You stared a moment, asking yourself how you could have missed him moving in and on the same floor no less. Once you recovered a bit, you gave him your name adding that you too lived on the fifth floor.

 

 

His charming smile widened at that, “Really? No way, I could have missed someone so beautiful, living right next to me.”

 

 

Heat began rolling through you, because this handsome man wasn’t just nice, he very much flirted with you and you had no idea how to response. Averting your eyes.

 

 

Clark noticed your slight unease, afraid he came on too strong, he continued, “Erm, well… just wanted to tell you, it’s nice to meet you. And I erm, have to get going. So see you around?”

 

 

Still a bit stumped, you only nodded, then he turned and moved up the stairs so swiftly, it had you envious, because of your predicament.

 

 

You waited a bit, not wanting him to see you, attempting to move. As you lifted your bag, you thought your arm would give out. Every single muscle you had, hurt. Very badly.

 

 

Still you had to at least try to go upstairs, gripping the bannister to your left and starting to heave your body up the first step. Then the second, and the third. Once you finally reached the second floor, you felt your glutens burn like hell, teeth clenched the whole way there, to suppress the pained whimpers wanting to break forth.

 

 

You let your bag fall to the ground again, sitting down on the first step leading to the third floor. The possibility of ever reaching the fifth floor, seemed unlikely. You slumped in on yourself, leaning your exhausted body against the cool stone wall to your right. There was no way you could walk another three stories in this condition. You weren’t even sure if you could stand up again.

 

 

After about thirty minutes, during which you hoped to gather enough strength to continue your ascend, you knew you were stuck. You couldn’t continue even if your life depended on it. Then after another fifteen minutes, you considered calling someone to save you. Not caring anymore how embarrassing it’d be to have someone see you in this state. But you had difficulties deciding on who to call. You definitely needed someone strong enough, not that you where that heavy but you didn’t trust any of your girlfriends to be able to carry you and your bag three flights of stairs.

 

 

You were so emerged in your thoughts, you didn’t immediately hear the footfalls approaching. Once you did, it was too late to hide your predicament, because you couldn’t just jump up and pretend nothing was wrong.

 

 

You cursed internally as those striking blue eyes from before, found your gaze, this time though with frowning dark brows, “Hey again…erm, are you okay?”

 

 

Now you frowned as well. Great, of course it had to be your handsome neighbour to find you stranded on the stairs. Still you were so fed up with your aching body, you decided to tell him the truth, “Well actually, no. I erm… overworked myself in the gym and… and I’m so exhausted I can’t climb the rest of the stairs…”

 

 

You didn’t hold his gaze, rather looking down at your leggings clad thighs, wishing to be anywhere else right now. Sighing as you expected him to laugh at your pathetic display, any moment now.

 

 

Instead he commented, “Mmmh that can happen to the best of us. I don’t mind lending you a hand.”

 

 

That had you looking up, in record time. He couldn’t be serious, right? But Clark actually held out his hand, you blinked at it a few times, too baffled to reach up. Kindly smiling down at you he continued cheekily, “I swear I don’t bite.” Adding more quietly, “Unless you want me to.”

 

 

Your eyes widened at his last commented, so shocked, you hadn’t had time to protest as his hand circled your wrist and without further ado, he pulled you up. Now standing so close to him, you could smell his heavenly cologne. Fuck, you hadn’t even showered before you left the gym.

 

 

“Put your arms around my neck,” he instructed you.

Suddenly a little insecure, you couldn’t stop your self-deprecating comment, “No, no…wait I’m too heavy!”

 

 

Though your protest fell on deaf ears, as Clark swung your bag over his right shoulder, while he started to lift you with his left. Mewling, you quickly did as he said, slinging your arms around his neck. The angered growl he let out, had you ruin your panties, “You aren’t, too heavy. Maybe too beautiful, but that isn’t an issue in my books. Now is it?” His blue eyes were fixed on your face, sternly awaiting your answer.

 

 

The way he’d said it, had the heat in your stomach curling happily and you whispered back, “Erm, no… I-I guess not.”

 

 

His next words, had more wetness rush into your panties, “Good girl.” Then he set into motion, making you hold onto him tighter, still a little afraid he’d let you fall. On the contrary though, Clark didn’t seem like he was carrying anything, moving just as swiftly up the stairs as before, not even slightly bothered by the added weight.

 

 

Good God, he was strong. His biceps pressed against your ass and his large hand held onto your thigh, fingers digging into the flesh, though pleasantly. You had to suppress a shiver, as you were thinking about something entirely different that these fingers could do. They were long and slender, sure to reach a lot deeper than your own, possibly stretching you for something even bigger.

 

Clark hadn’t even reached the fourth floor yet, and here you were, pulsing pussy wanting nothing more than to be pounded into by this strong, muscled man you’d just met.

 

You carefully peeked at his face, trying to gauge if he’d noticed your excitement.

 

 

You did see his nostrils flare and you could have sworn, his pupils looked more blown out than a minute ago. Electric blue irises, reduced to thin rings almost swallowed by the blackness of his pupils. This did nothing to help calm you down, especially when those orbs landed on your face. Hunger and desire plainly displayed on his chiselled face.

 

 

His gaze was back on the staircase, but a sly smirk had settled on his lips as he continued upwards. Not even two minutes later, he had reached the fifth floor.

 

 

“Which one is your door?” Clark still hadn’t set you down, like you had thought he would, so you nodded to the white door of your apartment.

 

“Mmhm right next to mine, interesting.” You didn’t know what to make of his comment so you ignored it, as he approached your door. When he came to a stop you looked at him expectantly, if a bit disappointed you’d reached your destination, “Erm… you can let me down now.” That was pretty much the opposite you wanted. But you couldn’t very well let him in, on your exact thoughts, on what you wanted him to do to you.

 

 

He chuckled, “I can yeah. But what if I don’t want to?”

 

 

Okay you were almost certain this man wanted you just as badly as you wanted him. Even if he was your neighbour, consequences be damned.

So you purred back,” If that were the case, I would invite you in.”

 

 

Adding a bit quieter, just as he had earlier, “You know to thank you…properly,” putting emphasis on the last word. His fingers gripped your thigh harder, growling just one word, “Keys.”

 

 

That had you fumbling for the back pocket of your leggings, pulling out your keys at last. His larger hand ripped it from yours, nearly jamming into the keyhole. Once he’d opened the door, he carried you through the threshold, carelessly letting your bag fall to the ground then kicking your door shut.

 

Before you could say anything Clark had you swung around in his arms, pressing your back against the door. On instinct you adjusted to the new position, crossing your legs behind his back and pulling his face closer to yours by his neck. He didn’t wait, immediately following the need to taste you, so he did. Meeting your lips in a wild and hungry kiss.

 

 

His enthusiasm, made him thrust forward, so your overheating centre was grinding against his bulge. Making him groan into the kiss. Only separating for the much needed supply of oxygen.

 

 

To grind into you even harder one of his hands had grabbed your ass. You let out a loud moan, as this had caused your clit to rub against the button on his jeans. “You sound divine, little dove. Let’s see what other noises I can pull from that sweet mouth of yours.”

 

 

And just like that he bit down, on the junction where your neck met your shoulder, making you cry out, “Yes ahh…fuck Clark, pl-please!”

 

Mouth still attached to your skin he ground out, “That’s it, let the neighbours know who’s making you feel good.”

 

Mewling again, as he suddenly hoisted you up a bit, so your body bounced up, now sitting above his straining cock. Your hands having moved to his nape, pulling lightly on his dark strands.

He grunted, then began moving down the hall, but in the opposite direction of your bedroom, so you squirmed in his hold, tucking harder on his hair to get his attention. “W-wait my bedroom is the other way.”

 

 

Clark had reached your kitchen, unceremoniously plopping you down on the countertop,” Who said I wanted to go to the bedroom?”

 

 

He didn’t wait for an answer, swiftly pulling your sport shirt over your head and tossing it onto the floor. This made you a bit self-conscious, sitting before him in your leggings and sports bra, harsh light from the kitchen window sure to enhance the small rolls of fat accumulating on your soft belly. So you quickly let go of his neck to hug your torso, trying to hide.

 

 

He tutted, taking your chin between his thumb and index, so you had to look at him, “Hey, none of that. Don’t hide. I want to see you, all of you, gorgeous.” Gentle smile on his lips telling you, he meant what he’d said.

 

 

Hesitantly nodding, you loosened your arms and then removed your hands from your body, to let him see. Clark retracted his own hand, eyes roving over your exposed skin, whispering, “Simply breath-taking.”

His warm hand slowly stroked over your shoulder, taking the strap of your bra and pulling it down your arm, you stopped his movement, surprising yourself with your new found confidence as you purred, “Let me.”

 

 

You crossed your arms at the front, taking hold of the lilac fabric of your sports bra and swiftly pulled it off. Exposing your tits to his predatory gaze. His hands reached up, engulfing them, thumbs brushing over your stiff nipples. You leaned back onto your hands, pushing your chest into his even more with the movement.

 

Soft sighs left your lips when Clark leaned down to suck one of your nipples into the hot cavern of his mouth, the tip of his tongue teasing over the sensitive flesh. He definitely knew what he was doing. Switching between your breasts, nibbling on your skin, it had your back bowing. You were pretty sure you needn’t have him prepare you any further, because between your legs a puddle had formed already.

 

 

Your right hand tried to pull him up by his nape, but the animalistic growl he let out, made you hesitate, chuckling lightly as you tried again and received the same answer. So instead you opted to lean closer to him, ducking down to whisper into his ear urgently, “Clark… I need your cock inside me, now.”

 

 

That nearly had him collide with your head as his shot up, searching your face. You smirked at his eagerness, as he tore his own shirt open and off, hands flying to the sipper of his jeans next, finally freeing his tortured rod from his confinement. He shimmied out of his pants, only clad in his black boxers now. Impressively tented. You licked your lips in anticipation.

 

 

His hands landed on your hips, growling,” Up.” Every muscle protested as you lifted yourself up to assist him, as he yanked your leggings and panties off, in one go. Leaving you completely naked. When you tried closing your legs, he prevented it by stepping closer and in between them. Opening them wider, steel grip on your knees, so he could take his sweet time staring at your deliciously, dripping cunt. He positioned you, so one foot was plated on the counter and the other hung of the edge.

 

 

“Oh, look at that pretty, pretty pussy. Overflowing. And all for me.” The muscles of your cunt visibly quivered in response to his filthy comment.

You were so desperate to have him inside, you made grabby hands at him. Clark chuckled darkly, “So impatient, my little dove.” But he did push his boxers down.

 

 

You could have sworn, your heart stopped for a second. His cock was so long and heavy it couldn’t even stand up straight, instead the red tip dipped in your direction, bowing down lightly. Oh fuck, how where you supposed to take that monstrosity?

 

He must have seen the frightened look in your eyes, because he added smugly, while placing his hands on your waist, “Don’t worry, we’ll make it fit.” You huffed, biting your lip. Then another thought bubbled up. His eyes seemed familiar somehow, but you couldn’t pinpoint where you had seen them before. You slowly reached up, stroking over his prominent cheekbones and then you gently removed his glasses, setting them down on the counter.

 

 

Frowning you took in his features, wondering how such a god like creature could seem familiar in any way. Maybe you had dreamed about him? Or you had actually seem him pass you or something, you lived in the same house after all? Yes that had to be it.

There wasn’t more time to keep thinking anyway, as you suddenly felt the thick swollen head of his cock rub through your wet folds.

 

His humming the only warning you got, before he began pushing in, one hand guiding his thick shaft. The wide head stretching you open, as he grunted, moving his hips further forward. Your hands griped his broad shoulders, head falling back as he continued to insert himself. Inch by inch he fed you his cock, your heat so slick he easily slid in. But just when you thought he’d settled fully inside, he panted, “Nearly there. Taking me so well, little dove.”

 

 

Your eyes widened, with how full you already felt you thought he was buried to the hilt. Apparently not, but then a triumphant groan left him as he pulled back a little and slammed you against him full force, completely sheathing himself inside your hot cavern. A loud wail left you, pleasure and pain mixing. Out of breath you cursed, “Fucking hell, give a girl a warning…will you?”

 

He simply chuckled, but let you adjust to him. His thumb finding your clit, teasing and rubbing slow circles to get you to relax. That made you clamp down harder, at the sparks of pleasure travelling through you. Making him curse this time, “Fu-uck, love, you feel so good. So fucking tight for me.”

 

 

Hands pulling you closer, so you could cross your ankles behind his back once more. The new positon making you see stars, as he pushed his pelvis to your special nub. Mewling loudly as he pulled out, deeming you ready enough for what would come next. The sound of him slamming into you, filthy, echoing in the tiled kitchen. It made your head spin.

 

 

Clark had just began, but you looked so fucked out already, swollen lips, closed eyes and moaning loudly. Driving him sheer insane with desire, as his balls continuously slapped against you, adding to the filthy sounds filling the room.

 

 

His normally soft blue eyes, were filled with lust as he stared down at you. Trying to keep up his quick pace and thrusting into you deeper, he pulled you off the counter, holding you up with his big paws on your ass. You shrieked as he penetrated you so wholly you were sure he’d carved a new, longer tunnel inside you, just so he could fit. “So clo-se… don’t stop.”

 

 

Clark pulled you up, so just his tip remained inside, before dropping you down his entire length once more, “Yeah, close already? Wanna be filled up, don’t you, you filthy girl?”

 

 

You cried out, “Yees! Breed me!”

 

 

That had him jerk against you so violently it nearly hurt, the most unhinged growl leaving him, “Say that again!” Your pleasure addled mind surely played a tick on you, as his eyes seemed to flash in a crimson colour for a second.

 

 

Though he didn’t leave any room for argument so you repeated your earlier sentiment, “Breed me! Please!”

 

 

Clark’s thrusts started to lose their rhythm, only goal now to make you come so hard you’d never forget what his cock felt like. So having carved out his own space within you, wasn’t for naught, meaning you could take him easier next time.

 

Your walls squeezed him even tighter, alerting him of your impending orgasm, “That’s it come on my cock, like a good girl!”

 

 

Trying to blink away the blurriness, you suddenly felt like you were floating then the taunt band within, snapped. Crying out his name over and over again, as he kept pounding you through your orgasm. “Fuck, gonna, gonna… fill you up so much...” You mewled in response, “Yes, please…”

 

And with your still convulsing cunt surrounding him, he came. Painting your insides white. Hot cum filling you up further, but there wasn’t much room left, so you felt it ooze out as he pumped his cock inside you a few more times, before pulling out.

 

Clark gently set you down on the cool counter, pressing his forehead against yours, beaming, “My sweet, sweet dove, you did so well.” Not having caught your breath yet, you nodded weakly, smiling back at him.

 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Clark lifted you up with ease, walking through your apartment. Both of you, still stark naked.

👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓

Taglist:

If you're interested in being on my taglist, please let me know! And if you want to be taken off (my taglist), feel free to tell me!❤️✨

[wyllsravengard]

eight years in november and somehow i do not love him any less and i cannot imagine ever falling out of love either

[martyrbat]

driver's seat — dc holiday special (2017)

(ID in alt!)

[carlyraejepsans]

either people with OCD need to stop being relatable or i need to see a doctor

[dreamerlynx]

.

[assless-chapstick]

Hellooo! Just wanted to say I love you’re Fics. You’re writing is so damn good, along with the smut. (Very hard for me to write) is very impressive! Any more fics in the pimple line?

feller I'm so glad you enjoyed them!! I really enjoyed writing and sharing them and I'm tryna get that fire back !!

since my Kîyanaw series turned 4 this year, I was brainstorming some ideas and was thinking about another part...

like 8 years on Arthur and Charles have made good, they've got a herd of cattle now and have hired on a couple hands (the sons of the old spinsters what helped them get their start) and they ain't just homesteaders no more but real ranchers. They're comfortable - maybe Arthur has even seriously started working on illustrations of herbs and wildflowers, fixing to get them published as a field guide or something...

anyway they're comfy and happy and living a charmed life... the RCMP come around some times, and it still gets their hackles up, but they're ok.

And then one day they get a letter.

Charles had been at the post office, picking up some parcels, sending out one of Arthur's illustrations to the publisher maybe, making smalltalk with the postmaster. And the postmaster he goes like "hey you fellers employ drifters and the like up at your place, right? anyone pass through by the name of Tacitus Kilgore?"

and that's how they get word, a sneaky letter from Sadie, that she's alive. That John and Abigail and lil Jackie - who must be what, shit, fourteen? - are still alive.

and shit happens they head down there and Arthur and John have a super emotionally fraught reunion cuz like, John is so happy to see him but so fuckin angry because he thought Arthur had died, and then because he feels like Arthur abandoned him like, why didn't you look for me? You say up there on your fancy fuckin ranch for eight god damned years and you never thought to look for me?

And this is at the point when Abigail and Jack aren't around and John is tryna build that house... and just such a super low point so it's very emotional and hard on him and he's mad but only cuz that's how all his emotions present themselves djbdbdbd

and then Charles and Arthur help him build the house and there's one night, just one where John is drunk(er than usual) and lamenting the loss of his family and he turns to Arthur for comfort the same way he always has and then John is kissing on Arthur's neck by the light of the fire and Arthur's hands are on John's hips to push him away but he looks over John's shoulder at Charles and they communicate in that quiet, sacred way they do...

and Charles is a sex freak who loves to watch so he watches as Arthur fucks John in this way where it's like, this is a relationship that is so unnameable... it's not just friendship not just fraternity it's like there's this connection where Arthur is the only person in the world who knows John the way John knows Arthur... so he fucks him and Charles watches and then they all make out

and in the morning John pretends it never happened like "I'm gonna get my wife back... I'm just not the type to share. Sorry Charles" and like it was just this one time thing and it gives John the willpower to carry on and hustle for his family dhhfhf idk that's just my idea

and then I had an idea too for just a fun one shot of John/Arthur gunplay where Arthur takes the cold barrel of his revolver and runs it along the bony jut of John's hip bone where it peeks over the waistband of his pants.... and he calls John the ugliest sonofabitch he's ever seen and spits on his face even as he so gently gathers John's hair up in his hand so John can open his mouth so Arthur can gently gently fuck it with his gun and then maybe also his dick

idk mister I'm just in a fun goofy mood that's what's been on my mind lately!! thanks for asking!!

[dancedance-resolution]

exhausted dot png

[themthistles]

'survival shows are so bad and toxic and exploitative and misleading and biased :(' why are you still watching

[tonycries]

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.

Because you weren’t here.

“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left. 

Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you? 

With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-

“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”

“Where is she?”

---

It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse. 

Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything. 

Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly. 

One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?

Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere. 

God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-

That was when you felt it. 

The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe. 

You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words. 

Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.

“My love?”

Satoru.

It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought. 

Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go. 

All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own. 

A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back. 

“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms. 

It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you? 

Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru. 

“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him. 

He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.

You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by. 

Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend. 

“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”

Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core. 

Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”

There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra. 

Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.

Shit. He’s lost it.

Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you. 

Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.

Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, “Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?

Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?

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

Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.

The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.

But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.

Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-

“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”

With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker. 

“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”

You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now. 

“But-”

“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”

Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.

Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”

“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”

And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down. 

Rip!

It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity. 

He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor. 

“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”

That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts. 

And it was so unfair. 

Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were. 

And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt. 

Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used. 

And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now. 

“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.

“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”

He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything. 

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”

You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance. 

But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.

Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier. 

“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”

And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.

You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close. 

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Not for Satoru, at least.

Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-

That cheat. 

You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard. 

Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time. 

“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-” 

One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. 

Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything. 

Desperate. Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of. 

And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue. 

“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes. 

Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild. 

Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then. 

You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time. 

You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”

“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”

“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum. 

He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice. 

And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick. 

God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy. 

And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…” 

“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”

“But-”

God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t. 

Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him. 

Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. 

It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks. 

“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.

He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.

Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.

“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”

You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”

“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”

And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face. 

If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting. 

“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.

And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”

At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow. 

Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet. 

“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic.  “I’m…”

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.

It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.

“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”

And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut. 

Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it. 

Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-

“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”

Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”

And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. 

And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.

Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.

“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”

It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind. 

“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”

The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain. 

And then it’s black. 

---

“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”

Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so. 

And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.

Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?

“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”

A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel? 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[doux-amer]

I can't believe I had such a massive headache and my eyes felt swollen all day because of the amount of crying I did this morning through the post-match farewell ceremony. I had to stay offline because everything would set me off, and like a fool, I just went on Instagram, thinking I'd be okay because I watched everything and for the new stuff, I could scroll past them and see them another day. But of course I cried again. The only way I'm getting through this week is because I have an overwhelming amount of work that's going to increase once the work week actually starts.