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leclsrc · 1 year ago

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wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day.

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes.

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading.

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka.

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward.

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed.

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control.

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time.

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.”

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.”

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

#f1 #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader

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moonsaver · 3 months ago

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Where the Lamb does not Belong.

You're isekai'd into the world of Honkai Star Rail. Thankfully, you're taken into the Astral Express and continue your journey peacefully, until you reach Penacony. Something, or someone, seems to be causing your system to continually crash. Perhaps it's because you did not belong here at all.

Warnings: yandere, obviously. Uh, mentioned fracture(?)

A/n; reader is a tad forgetful and can brush off a few things, and get distracted slightly easily. But for the most part, i think it won't ruin the immersion. Its my first time writing something "self aware" related, and something like a character breaking the 4th wall. I really love these tropes but rarely write them. I hope i did it well. Its roughly 4.5k long. Enjoy.

----

“Ace!”

“It's not ace.”

“Uno!”

“March, you're supposed to say it after you put down your second card.”

“Oh, sure.”

…

“March, it's not your turn.”

“Huh?!”

You giggle, listening in on their banter. You're leaned up comfortably on Dan Heng's back, messing around with a level on Stelle's phone she hasn't been able to beat.

You hear a loud groan, a fwop as March drops on her back onto the bed,

“This is so confusing!”

“The rules are simple, you're just trying to rush things.”

Dan Heng takes the cards and settles them, tapping them vertically to level and gather them onto the little table. You stretch your neck to look back and catch a glimpse of March sulking. Stelle gently pries the phone out of your hands as you do so.

“Hey let's go through our photo album again!”

“It's the 6th time this month.”

You chuckle, getting up from Dan Heng's back as you feel him shift, moving over to situate yourself around the table aswell, the the bed dipping under your weight.

“I knew you were into photography but wow, this is something, March.”

You say, leaning over on the table, your elbow resting on it as your chin rests on your palm,

“Well, you better be grateful ‘cause I just finished up your entry!”

“My entry?”

You blink, confused,

“She's been dutifully taking pictures of your progress as a new member of the Astral express. I've.. learnt from experience It's better that you don't try to stop her.”

You laugh awkwardly, staring down as March excitedly flips through the photo book. It's a bit embarrassing now that you recall.

“Here! Look, look, look! I caught [name] in all their glory!”

“March..”

You awkwardly laugh, as Dan Heng looks over at the photo March points to in her photobook,

You cringe as you see your own expression, dull and groggy, a stark contrast to the bright letters and stickers decorating the edge of the photo that's glued tightly onto the page. You're drooling, to top it off.

“Hehe, [name] looks cute here don't they?!”

March points down to another photo right below, blurry in the midst of action. Your hazy figure is sitting up on a bed, Stelle draped over your lap while in charge of watching over you when you first appeared.

“I should have stayed to watch over, instead.”

Dan Heng comments under his breath, glancing back momentarily at Stelle, her chin hooked over his shoulder after having abandoned the game, seemingly more interested in the collection.

You chuckle softly,

Where did it begin exactly?

You boarded as an official member of the Astral Express about a few months ago, a gold brooch handed over to you, and many new faces who welcomed you onboard. You remember being home one day, going to sleep and hoping, just hoping that all of your worries and stress would just.. disappear. Your head hit the pillow and then-

You woke up. Here.

Suddenly you woke up in the very game you played to relieve your stress. Ironically, that moment you woke up was one of your most stressful memories, panicking at the situation you were in–

“Aw, dang it. I got defeated.”

All of you look over to Stelle, and to the red screen on her phone. You chuckle, as March sighs and shifts the topic.

You yawn and settle back onto the bed, leaning on a pile of pillows as March and Dan Heng continue their banter, taking this time to go through your stats, swiping and tinkering on your phone.

You've reached a higher level now. Having unlocked many items and even levelled up some basic features which allowed you to at the very least, defend yourself.

You read through the archived stories, gazing over all the past dialogue you've shared with this trio from the “main quest” ever since you boarded. Your friendship level with many had increased gradually over time, and shot up with the trio, as expected.

“[Name]..”

Stelle whines, pushing her phone back to you. You giggle, taking the device from her hands,

“Alright, I won't get distracted this time.”

This was your first expedition as a new member of the Astral Express. Which didn't help considering you were going into Penacony of all places.

You were nervous – how was your presence going to alter the timeline? Maybe a less “on screen” role like Himeko's? Or maybe you should have just stayed back with Dan Heng? But the experience, materials and all sorts of gizmos Penacony was going to offer.. It was too tempting.

And here you are, in the lobby. Himeko and Welt continue negotiating with the young woman at the reception. You were already on edge, but it seemed things just had to go wrong as well.

To distract yourself, you fidgeted and anxiously viewed the prologue to Penacony the system had just offered to you, repeatedly scrolling up and down on your phone, tapping your foot, pacing around the hotel a bit when–

A hand came up to your shoulder.

“It seems you're quite worried.”

You looked back.

It's Robin.

“Sorry, uh, we're.. having difficulty with the check-in and..”

You momentarily trail off, almost lost as you look at Robin. Her in game model was beautiful, but now that you're standing in front of her, it's almost.. mesmerising. Her eyes are beautiful – deep and ethereal. Pretty pink lips and softly dusted cheeks, her hair wispy and framing her face just the right way. You're awestruck for a moment, before panicking and snapping out of your daze.

You're at a hotel lobby for aeons’ sake!

“O-Oh, uh, my family is–”

You turn over to see Himeko and Welt continuing to go back and forth with the young woman at the reception, and turn again to see March and Stelle slightly off in the corner talking anxiously.

“They seem lovely.”

Robin smiles at you. And suddenly, your eyebrows and shoulders relax. Your jaw slightly slacks. Something about Robin seems to soothe you more than you ever thought.

Your eyes trail over to the bar in the corner;

Friendship level: 0

Right. She's still a stranger, in this timeline of events.

You're snapped out of your thoughts momentarily as another, unfamiliar voice speaks up from the crowd – a blonde man, addressing your fellow trailblazers.

This can't be good.

You walk up, regrouping with March and Stelle as they watch it all happen.

–

The golden hour was a familiar map to you, particularly because you'd loved exploring the place back when you used to play.

But actually being there is stunning.

The yellow lights brighten up the night-like atmosphere in a beautiful, classy way. It's almost as though you're in an old film, the way everything around you is hazy and glowing. There's laughter in the background and shimmering lights somewhere in the distance, drinks and the smell of food occasionally wafting in the air from corner cafés or so. You wander, awestruck at the sight of the landscape when–

You bump into someone, a small sound leaving you at the impact.

You look back to take a look at the stranger - more to try and ground yourself into this “dream” and your current reality. You were in Penacony. And all of this was physically interacting with you, regardless of how miniscule you must be. Whether you would have been reincarnated as a Cafe owner, or an NPC, or anyone else. As long as you were on Penacony, you were going to be a part of Sunday's grand plan.

You zone out, the hazy cacophony of ecstasy in the background blurring in the crowded space of your mind, thoughts overarching and bubbling up.

Beep!

You look at your phone, buzzing as quests pop up. You take a moment to look around the various shops, before your eyes land on a cozy cafe.

It won’t hurt to rest for a moment.

–

“Shit, shit, shit..”

You curse to yourself, frantically tapping on the screen and trying to fix this mess.

“Just– cooperate damn it..!”

Your teeth gnaw at your lip, biting and peeling off bits of the skin. It stings, but in your anxious state, you barely pay mind,

Why was the system not cooperating with you?!

None of your teleportation points worked, you weren't levelling up, barely any of the trinkets given by completion of quests were being used up! It was rudimentary junk in your inventory and now for some god awful reason, your entire system was going haywire!

System error: freespace is occupied!

System error: unavailable tab

System error: unable to access tab

System error: unable to complete..

“Yeah, yeah I got it you little-”

“Is something the matter?”

You gasped under your breath, a chill shooting up your spine as you turn around,

“No, no! Nothing, haha just.. uh..”

You awkwardly shuffle, pretending to look into your bag,

“You seem to be having trouble.”

Sunday's poised figure contrasts your sweaty, nervous, fidgeting one, as you only panic more at his words.

“Oh, just.. well.. it’s my first time visiting another world, so..”

“Ah, first time jitters? I’m faintly familiar.”

You chuckle awkwardly, but your humour doesn't seem to be exactly matched. Sunday’s smile doesn't widen or lessen, and neither does he chuckle. You realise how uncanny he looks in the dim lights of the Golden Hour barely illuminating his face in the alley.

“You seem to have been separated from your group. Would you like me to accompany you on your way back?”

“Sure–”

Warning: you are currently interacting with an influential figure. Proceed with caution.

“..you seem hesitant.”

You look at the glaring notification on your screen - akin to when an amber alert pops up, or when an earthquake warning resounds.

“..uh, I think.. I’ll be able to find them on my own. I should be fine.”

“I insist. As the representative and Spokesperson of The Family it is my duty to ensure the safety and relaxation of guests in the Dreamscape.”

Shit. This guy isn’t giving in.

You hesitate, a bead of sweat forming on your forehead and grazing the top of your eyebrow,

Beep!

Optional: would you like dialogue suggestions to be displayed?

[Yes]

[No]

[No – do not ask again]

You sigh internally. At least this system knows how to assist you when you need it.

“Shall we?”

Sunday beckons you to follow, as the pop-up blinks away, before you get the chance to select.

There’s no getting out of this. You’re just gonna have to suck it up and be careful.

“..sure.”

Sunday doesn’t remember when it exactly began.

Strange patterns, predictable dialogues, and the anomalies that occured..

Right after Sunday discovered your name.

He watched as the cup from the trash pile slipped and fell onto the pavement. Your name was written on it – messily and hurried. The cup rolls down a bit before hitting the side of his shoe. Sunday watched it with indifference, opting to simply move it aside before he spotted it. Your name. But it wasn’t supposed to be.

An alias? Maybe. It was different than the name administered in your profile.

He opted to push it back for later; but it was an interrupted thought as he walked ahead and watched you fiddle around with your phone, buzzing constantly as you cursed at it.

He breathes out, before deciding to approach you.

–

“Alone?”

“Alone.”

You respond, your eyes embarrassed and watching the various shuffling of feet in front of you, the crowd forming in front of the Rollercoaster you were too scared to go on.

Well, it's rather you haven't been able to go onto them.

Stelle and March offered you to join, and usually you'd be able to accept the invitation pop up, but as of recent, your system has been going haywire. The system probably narrowed down the scenarios you'd be allowed to participate in,in order to control the situation.

So you stood there, your mood dampened as you accepted that the system would not allow you to partake in the ride with your friends, shaking your head and telling them to go on instead, leaving you behind.

And Sunday saw all of it.

Or rather, just that you haven't gone onto the ride.

“Are you afraid of heights?”

“No, nothing like that.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. Even if you were.. he's not exactly the person you'd tell it to, anyway. You ignore the buzzing of your phone as it displays the same warning, jaded and moody as you'd been denied a great opportunity to have fun.

“..there is a new bakery that's opened up in the corner. Would you like to visit?”

You blink, and look at him, confused. He seems to have understood your confusion, and follows up,

“Until your companions have had their fill. Just for a cup of coffee.”

You hesitate, humming in contemplation. You look at the options displayed;

Options:

□ “Sure. Let's go.”

□ “sorry, my husband's waiting for me on the express.

□ “No thank y–

System Error: no options available

You sigh. You really need to do something about these errors. You nod,

“Sure. Let's go.”

…

The bakery was warm, and lively. As soon as you entered, the faintly sweet smell of pastries and the waft of coffee enveloped you two. You gawked at the mesmerising scenery, while Sunday asked for an available booth that's more hidden from the public eye.

The seats were soft, and pliable as you took your seat, still taking in the view of the bakery. You hear Sunday clearing his throat and tapping the table, your gaze shifting to him. He points to the menu. You understand his cue and take to reading it, your eyes scanning the plethora of options as Sunday does the same.

“Have you.. been here before?”

“I have visited once in the past. With my sister.”

“Ah, how is Robin?”

Your eyes settle on a particular option, as the silence between you two fills with comfortable conversation,

“She has been well. Are you looking forward to her performance at the coming Festival?”

You blink as you realise. How could you forget? The entire reason you and the rest of the crew even came to Penacony! This was the guy who was gonna put everyone into a coma!

“O-Oh, uh, yes! March has been talking non-stop about it, so..”

You chuckle awkwardly, flustered as he caught you a bit off guard. He hums, his face indifferent and neutral as your words process in his mind.

“I suppose I shall expect you in the audience, then?”

“March will drag me to the front, so you'll probably get a clear view of me in my uncomfortable glory.”

That seems to elicit a small, soft chuckle from him, as his eyes land on a specific item on the menu, seeming to have decided his own liking.

“Very well. I'll look forward to it.”

Soon enough, a waitress comes up to the table, and begins taking your orders.

–

“It does seem a tad scary, but the view is always beautiful in the Astral express.”

“I'm sure of it. It sounds wonderful.”

Sunday listens to you dutifully, as you continue talking. Somewhere along the way, your discomfort at the awkward silence between you two led to you talking and filling in the silence, your coffee cup hanging idly in your hands. One thing led to another, as both of you started talking about your childhood memories, tea flavours, desserts, and so on. You find Sunday has been easy to converse with. You'd been ignoring the constant buzzing of your phone – most likely achievements or quests that popped up constantly wherever you went.

You take another sip from your coffee as Sunday takes his initiative to talk, listening to him well, and chuckling slightly at one or the other thing.

“I came to know tea is supposed to be made with hot water, but by then I'd gotten accustomed.”

You giggle, slightly in disbelief,

“Well, do you like iced tea now?”

Sunday shakes his head,

“I prefer coffee, more than that. Perhaps due to needing it more than a preference..”

His eyes trail to your cup, as you hold it in your hands. You follow his gaze,

Is something wrong? He'd been glancing at your cup a few times now, but you didn't comment on it before.

“Is.. something wro–”

Your words are cut off as your phone loudly rings, making you almost fumble and drop your coffee as you hurriedly take your phone.

It's March!

Crap, you forgot.

“Sorry, I uh..”

You scroll through the plethora of notifications, almost all of them missed calls and various texts.

“It seems your companions were searching for you.”

You look up, as Sunday looks into the distance, Stelle and March running towards you.

–

It was strange how things progressed since you came to Penacony.

Some of your equipment took ages to level up, the others taking barely anything before they hit their maximum level. Your friendship level progressed pretty highly on some days, and barely moved an inch on other days.

Your friendship level with Sunday, on the other hand, shot up to a 5. Not even anyone on the Astral Express had that level.

You only noticed it a fraction before you cleared all your notifications at once, swiped away before your finger had the chance to tap on it.

Regardless, that wasn’t your exact concern as of late. The story of Penacony had been well under way now, and things were starting to pick up.

As of recent, you haven't been able to remember the quest contents as much as you used to, only remembering enough in the last moment to avert an extremely bad decision – at least for yourself. Your own personal missions left you alive by a hair's breadth.

But if that didn't upset you – your crew did. The pressure of everything happening on Penacony seemed to have started to weigh down on your team, as they barely regard you anymore. You could technically blame it on the system – it's been trying desperately to revive and fix itself as the game progresses. You might be interfering with the inner workings, so you suppose it's only natural the game tries to limit your interactions with the world.

So for the most part, you've resigned yourself to be an NPC; walking around all of the tourist attractions, getting who knows how many cups of coffee, trying on various clothing items, and occasionally running into Sunday. The first few times, you awkwardly fiddled with your phone for optional dialogues, but as time went on, you felt more comfortable. Regardless, it's not like anything you say can technically avert him from his current plan. It's been in the schemes for who knows how long? As of now, it's less complicating to remain ignorant and act unknowing, and enjoying another walk with him as he surveys the Dreamscape. Considering how close you two might be getting, you'll probably end up telling him a few secrets from your past.

“The Grand theatre is Penacony’s main attraction.”

Sunday’s face is illuminated by it in the distance, as he stands, staring at it. His voice is barely audible, seemingly as if he speaks to himself. But that idea is swept under the rug the moment he turns slightly to you.

When was this cutscene? You curse your memory, the fog of your mind still not cleared from when you first came to this world,

“Have you decided to attend?”

Truthfully, you didn’t want to. Considering the story, you actually knew the event wasn’t going to happen. But in the case it did..

Options:

□ “Ill be there first in line to enter.”

□ “Im thinking about it.”

□ “probably not..”

“..I have.”

You hesitantly answer.

“You haven’t made up your mind.”

Sunday states, more as a fact than a question. You can’t blame him, considering the hesitance apparent in your voice.

“..out of everyone, I’d hoped you would have attended.”

The options flicker and appear, but before you can press and respond, he continues,

“I understand. How has your family been?”

He turns to face you, you stay silent for a moment, before humming and clicking on an option,

□ “They’re alright.”

□ “I hope they’re all okay.”

□ “I wouldn’t really know..”

“Ah, uh.. we’re all kind of in our separate ways right now, so.. I wouldn’t really know.”

“I see.”

Both of you stand in silence, as you follow his gaze to the glowing theatre. After a moment, Sunday breaks his silence,

“When I was a child, I was particularly soft-spoken. Back then, Robin used to stand up for me frequently.”

Your ears perk up slightly. Is he talking about a childhood memory right now?

“One day, she wasn’t around, taking a few extra music lessons. The other kids were simply curious enough to take me in.”

You hum, listening to him intently. Your eyes gaze over his features – softly shaded by the cold light of the theatre, and illuminated by the yellow lights of the path.

“We were all kids. One of them pulled and broke my wing that day.”

You gasp, involuntarily. Ouch.

But sunday only chuckles at your reaction, his eyes downwards and distant. You don't think he finds it funny.

“But do you know? Right after that - they visited me. Day after day. Every step of recovery. Every recess when I had to sit back, they accompanied me. I thought about it recently. Humanity is worth saving.”

You stay silent, before smiling. The silence seems pleasant over you two, as you stare at the Grand Theatre in the distance.

“That, is when human spirit and strife first piqued my interest.”

You blink, and turn to look at him, the smile on your face faltering,

“What must the weak, the misfortunate, and the falsely accused do to gain balance within this world?”

You’re left speechless for a moment. It seems even the system cannot exactly provide you any dialogue options, as you glance over to your phone.

“..balance in the world isn’t achievable, which is why the human spirit strives to fix it.”

You stay silent, listening to him.

“Would a bird that cannot fly be allowed to, simply because it yearns to? Would it be righteous of you, or of the bird, to allow the freedom and death of the vast sky? Is it still righteous, if you withhold its freedom?”

He inhales, slowly, speaking in a low voice, wavering.

“Is death the only comprehensible freedom life offers, beside slumber, to the weak? Is that truly freedom?”

Sunday turns to look at you – his golden eyes almost searing into your soul.

You break out into a sweat, panicking as you check your phone, desperately trying to find an option when–

System Error: options not available

Shit, shit, shit. Holy crap. Can you even speak right now?

You're left silently staring at Sunday. He stares back before resigning to quietly look away.

You should leave.

—

Your memory seems to be strangely affected – either because you haven't been able to adjust to the new world, or you just haven't been able to adapt to Penacony.

You groan and slump into the couch of your room, in the real world. You keep forgetting to charge your phone – which isn't technically a hassle; you can access the same menu options, it's just more.. time-consuming. Not to mention you lose your only source of dialogue option pop ups.

How long has this been going on? You knew Penacony had a vast and complicated storyline, but living it feels entirely different. Feeling it is entirely bizarre. No wonder your head's spinning.

But thankfully, it should end soon. Your last quest is to face off Sunday in his boss form. You and your members have decided to meet up at the Grand Theatre, where the event will take place.

You place your phone into charging, and right on cue, March pops up into your room. She stumbles around your room a bit the moment you turn your back, even hear her drop and accidentally knock over some items on her way, simply laughing at the girl, as you continue packing up and preparing for the final “showdown”. You disregard her words, when she tells you she felt something push her.

You're not sure when the next cutscene plays.

You're in the grand theatre; just having defeated Sunday, and collectively waiting to return to the Astral Express. This is when you meet Boothill and Black Swan, where she wakes you up using Misha as a fallacy within Ena's dream.

But you aren't waking up.

You've just been stranded in the empty grand theatre after the darkness lifted.

You try to turn your phone on – but its busted. March must have disconnected the plug when she stumbled across a few things.

You sigh, irritated and antsy, choosing to walk ahead and look warily at the mechanical statues. The quest description is empty; devoid of any explanation. The title is vague and doesn't indicate much. Are you stuck in the loading screen? What the hell is going on?

And just as you are about to shout out for help – Sunday appears. There he is, on the stage. But this time, there's no spotlight. He stares down at you, emptily. You're creeped out for the lack of a better word, feeling your skin crawl with every second he stares. The silence is paper thin and thickly dense at the same time; electrified with tension and the unknown.

He makes the first step, slowly descending down and towards you.

“You are an outsider.”

System error: cannot process dialogue

“You do not belong here.”

System error: cannot proceed further

“I do not belong here.”

System warning: further interaction in this context may lead to irreversible da–

Sunday's hand rips through the warning, causing it to glitch violently, and disappear. You're scared, your throat constricting and your heart almost lurching out of your chest as he continues walking towards you, eyes searing into your soul,

“We do not belong here.”

Beep!

Options:

□ We do not belong here

□ I do not belong here

□ You do not belong here

□ We belong together

■ There is nothing else left for you here. You cannot turn back. There is no other option.

The screen glitches out, as Sunday stands before you, his hand reaching out,

“Tell me. What is your name?”

You can't access anything – the menu, the quests, your inventory, nothing. You stare almost endlessly in horror, as Sunday speaks of your real name.

You shouldn't have used it on that coffee cup.

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chuluoyi · 1 year ago

Text

found you

- gojo satoru x reader

in a world in which he isn't the strongest and you're the high school's sweetheart, fate brought you to him once again

genre/warnings: reincarnation au, fluff/comfort

notes: a sequel to everything, but not anything

general masterlist

Everyone knows you. You hold most of the popular guys' hearts in your hand and either break them unknowingly or innocently, and despite that, they still don't have it in them to hate you.

And of course, the school's clown, Gojo Satoru, knows you too. He knows you by name and face, but never had the chance to really talk to you directly.

Why? First, he just simply didn't bother, and second, because there was already another girl plaguing him—the girl of his dreams.

And he didn't mean it figuratively... there's indeed a girl haunting him every once in a while in his dreams. A girl whose face was always obscured from his mind, whom he couldn't picture outside the realm of his slumber. Most of the time it was a happy dream, enough to bring a smile to his face every time he woke up.

But sometimes, it was the most disturbing nightmare.

There would be blood, the girl's empty eyes and still body, and him screaming out at her to not die. But then he couldn't do anything—or even see her open her eyes—as he fell into an abyss and awakened in pure terror.

Satoru was convinced someone held this massive grudge on him for pranking them that they resorted to curse him with voodoo or something. Why else would he keep having these dreams about the very same girl? It was clearly a work of something greater.

You were just not interested in romance. At least not with the guys who were after you up until now.

Or perhaps, because there was this guy in your dreams that captivated you so much that you chose to ditch those real guys for him. This imaginary person.

You were going insane. You were sure of it.

When you explained your affliction to your best friend Riko, she shot you a very bombastic side eye but tried to get you to describe the boy in your dreams regardless.

"He..." you faltered. His face was always blurry in your mind's eye. There were little things that you were sure of. "He has a really cute grin? Crinkling eyes? Like he just likes to smile?"

"Y/N, did you hear yourself?" Riko asked you incredulously. "Are you sure it isn't one of the guys in your anime shows? I'm telling you, watching them too much makes you delusional."

And so your girl talk with her ended up with her pushing you to try this hit dating app that guarantees you to go on at least one date due to its many fascinating features. You tried it on sheer whim and didn't even use your real name. You had been swiping right and left, before suddenly stopped when you saw whose profile popped up in your screen.

Gojo Satoru.

He was in your grade, and he was hard to miss. The school's biggest troublemaker who held the highest record of being sent to the disciplinary room. You never got to talk to him, and before today you were sure you wouldn't even look at him twice. So he plays these things too?

Your type definitely wasn't delinquents or attention-seekers. But why is it that the more you gaze at his profile picture—of him with this widest grin and that funny round glasses—the more you are intrigued?

In the end, you swiped right.

Just because he didn't bother to be in a serious relationship or had a girl who held onto him in his dreams, it didn't mean that he was shying away from real life girls. Satoru, as much of a headbanger as he was, was popular. Some girls were into him and he didn't exactly let his chances to fool around pass.

Girls with questionable virtues though. Suguru, whose popularity was as much as him just in the right way, would always say that his tastes were bad. Shoko would straight up mock him as a wimp, for not having the courage to go after the right girl, such as you.

And so when on one of his boring days that he played with a dating app he found a profile who swiped him right with a picture that was you but a name that wasn't, he was taken by surprise and twice as curious.

For one, he knew it was you. And hey, you were interested in him?

Satoru took up on that offer. Taking advantage of it as now he had the chance.

The two of you exchanged messages in the dating app. He'd tell you his thoughts or crack funny jokes, and you'd reply with these many laughing emojis and stickers.

Until one day, when your conversation went like this...

you: really? but girls must be lining up for you and you could've had your pick from them gojo: nah most of ‘em all boring you: what a red flag. after a while surely you'll find me boring too gojo: you? haha no. boring people don't do things you do you: ...what do you mean?

You and him had this texting thing going on for more than a month already, but you still weren't aware that he knew that it was you.

gojo: you're y/n

And he figured that it was time to go face-to-face. Because he wanted to get to know you beyond this phone screen because who knows what more you faked other than your name?

After he busted you not so gently, he demanded that you'd go on a date with him. You could only lament—you couldn't say that you hadn't seen this coming, with how poor your disguise was. Then again, did you even intend on hiding from him in the first place? Now that you thought about it, no. You were quite alright even when he knew who you were.

On the said day, just right after school ended, he went to the agreed place to take out out to a famous cafe in Shibuya. Only to find a guy from basketball team bowing his head before you.

"I really like you!" the guy declared with sincerity and steadfastly. He was tall, quite famous too. By all means, the two of you would've made a fine pair.

Satoru just frowned. Suddenly he didn't like the sight before him. This wasn't the first time he saw someone confessing their feelings for you—you were famous for that. And anyway, the two of you were just friends even though you've been texting for a long time now. He shouldn’t be upset.

"Ah," you let out a small sigh, your face lit with realization. Your voice was soft to Satoru's ears. Too soft. It resembled something someone had told him a long, long time ago.

"Don't ever leave me, okay?" "Of course."

That voice held the same softness as you did just now.

"I'm sorry," you proceeded to say, giving a look of sympathy to your admirer. "I'm very flattered, and I thank you for that. But I have no room for—"

"Y/N-chan!" Satoru didn't know where this immense impulse came from, he just went with it and it terribly spooked you. You jumped and whipped your head at him, eyes widened in total surprise.

But he merely sauntered towards you, only with his winning grin and nothing else, until he was right next to you, staring down the basketball guy with so much mirth in his blue eyes.

"Hello to you." Satoru addressed him, then put his arms on your shoulder, ignoring how you immediately stiffened. "Too bad, today she is going with me."

You couldn't believe what he just said and before you could rectify anything, the guy who just confessed to you bolted away in humiliation. You immediately untangled yourself from his arms, ready to be cross.

Or at least until you stared straight to his cerulean blue eyes.

And he too, saw his reflections in your orbs.

Suddenly everything didn't matter. You were lost into his eyes as he did yours. As the lines of dream and reality twisted and turned.

Suddenly, Satoru could put a face to the girl he'd been seeing on his nightly wonders. Her smile. Your smile.

And you could see the boy who loved you to death in him. The one who took your heart with him, and agreed to go with you for the second time.

All it took was gazing into these eyes of yours to make the connection. Everything seems right. So right.

As if the two of you are destined for this very moment. As if you’re given everything to understand why you should meet him now.

I found you.

As sudden as it came flowing to your brain—all these images that overlapped with your dreams—it ended. You came back to reality.

“You’re insufferable,” you hissed at Satoru, pushing away the fog in your mind.

“Am I?” a shit-eating grin formed at his glossy lips. “But it’s true, you’re on a date with me today.”

And so you went to your very first date. Satoru was every bit the same as the guy who messaged you on that dating app. He was outspoken, effortlessly funny, but still, a bit annoying here and there.

It was strange how comfortable you got around him, even though it was practically your first interaction.

Soon the number of dates increased. Two, three, four—and so on. Soon, everyone knows. Riko questioned you if you were sure to pick him out of all fishes you could’ve picked. In a way, you weren’t sure. It depends on this question: what are you to him anyway?

Meanwhile, on Satoru’s side, everyone either cheered for or envied him. Suguru patted him on his back, thinking he finally got the right senses. And he found himself to like you very much. He couldn’t go a day without thinking what you were doing or messing with you. You were kind, cute and pretty, and as he said it himself, he likes pretty things.

So it came as a surprise when you blurted out that burning question, sounding so unsure and overall out of your character, whereas you should already know how he put his heart on his sleeves for you to grab.

“Are you messing with me?” he gawked. But when he saw hurt crossed on your face, he was thrown into panic. “No—I mean…”

He exhaled sharply. He wasn’t used to this confessing thing at all because usually he didn’t need it.

“I really like you, okay? You do know that I like you, at the very least?”

With that, your relief was visibly palpable, like a sun that went out of its hiding. The hopeful gleam in your eyes—Gods, Satoru wanted to protect that forever.

“With that being said…” he wanted to look cool, he didn’t want to mess this up. And so he extended his hand to you, opening his palm.

“Would you go out with me?”

It was probably the first time you saw him so sincere. He was playful, flippant and overall just a menace, but when he asked you this, he looked as if he brought out his heart for you to see.

When you breathed out a “Yes”, and intertwined your fingers in his, he was over the moon, smothering you with kisses.

From that point onwards, your romance book was brimming with moments that sparkled, ranging from the sweet to the passionate. Each experience with him felt like a first, yet there was an inexplicable sense of familiarity, as if you had known him somewhere from a long time ago.

Those dreams of you and him from somewhere at another time brought the two of you together once again. With their purpose fulfilled, you no longer had to traverse the realm of dreams to be with the boy who had always provided you comfort with his presence. Likewise, he was no longer haunted by the recurring vision of you fading away before his eyes.

Because now, you and Gojo Satoru have a new life. A life where both of you can find happiness together.

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rinnstars · 1 month ago

Text

picture-perfect!

in which he keeps polaroids of you still in everything he owns

itoshi rin x reader: fluff, drabble, post-canon, not proofread + likes and reblogs are appreciated

people always say the honeymoon period of relationships end - sugary-sweet words that rolls out of ones tongue every few minutes turn into more mellowed down and calm compliments occasionally, opening of doors and other gentlemanly behaviour would slowly cease or become a rare sight, dilated eyes that focuses on you will slowly drift away too. he thinks that’s stupid - he doesn’t think for a single second of this relationship of years has that tightening of his chest stop when he sees you, nor has his eyes have not focused on you as if youre the ball he hyperfocuses on during his games, nor has he ever once stopped taking photos of you when your gaze drift away from his with one single click that to him, captures your beauty and the memories all in one printed polaroid in his room, hundreds of it hidden in secret corners of his room.

a polaroid of you as a bookmark for his textbooks - your smile practically brightening the dark background of an empty classroom where you found your lost keychain, exclaiming to him before turning around and pulling him into your embrace, your scent whirling and making him all dizzy as your touch sends electricity down his very spine. it keeps him in check, encouraging him to continue to do his homework even though he knows that’s not the path he’ll pursue with football in mind - but when your lips tug upwards the same way when he shows you another increased grade, he thinks its all worth it. and so he does - with that photo right beside him, he finishes assignments and essays that he usually dreads to do and would much rather spend his time in detention and taking a good nap than to figure out on which formula to use, what the key words are - and god is his head practically spinning already. but for you, he’ll continue on to study for that stupid quiz tomorrow, memorising the formula for you, each letter and equations all written with you in mind, ticking each answer with the hello-kitty pen you gave him. and so, when he shows you his full marks quiz, you would reward him with that crescent-eyed grin that gets his heart pumping as though hes right back on the field.

polaroids of you on his walls beside his bed - first one of you with your favourite strawberry cheesecake in front of you grinning as you successfully convinced him to go to the cafe you had been craving for for the whole day, hands holding the fork and knife before you digged in excitedly into the sugary-sweet and tangy taste of the cake that he secretly admits tastes so much better when its with you, second one of you with a sanrio stuffed toy holding it to your cheeks that puffs up as you laugh right as he snapped the photo, a plushie you adore that’s still on your bed to this day that he managed to obtain after loads of money and time spent on that one claw machine simply because you were too excited to obtain it, third one of you looking back big-eyed as he caught you off guard in class, taking a picture the second he called out your name. every night, he glances at the photographs that forms a heart right on his wall and clarity enters his mind again - insecure thoughts that floods his mind seems to go silent when he glanaces at you through the photo frame, his heavy breathing after another of those nightmare that turns slower and calmer as he looks at the blurry photo of you through his teary eyes and limited lighting in his practically pitch-black room, his smile that is uncharacteristically too wide for his face when he looks at you smiling as if youre infecting him with your addictive grin. for now, that’ll do well to replace your body caged in his arm that embraces you just right, your scent that fills his nose that practically acts as serotonin, and your warmth that contrasts his usually cold body.

and a polaroid of you with his jersey holding his trophy when he won his first big match under pxg, the backdrop being of the field that he was playing at just minutes ago, your eyes filled with adoration and pride at him behind the camera, holding your digicam that rings with the matching keychain to his polaroid film. tugged safely into his wallet where he can see your face - a reminder to buy something for you whenever hes at yours and his favourite desert store to buy you the pistachio macorns you adore or even the strawberry mochi that you look at with that shine in your eyes, a reminder of him being fortunate to have you to stay with him despite everything that brightens up his day no matter how bad it has been at trainings or matches, and most importantly a reminder for him on why each goal matters, each kick dedicated to you, each step practically made with you in his mind. to win, not completely only for his own ego, or as revenge against the critics both in his life and in the media, but for you - for you to look at him with such adoration that practically almost makes him start kicking his feet and everything as if hes a maiden in love, for you to kiss him and merge oyu and him together as congratulation that makes his heart pump even faster than on field, for him to see you wearing his jersey and holding his trophy as though its all yours - because in his mind, it is. because without you in his life, without your support and without your love, he doubts he can truly be the best striker in the world, no - he wouldn’t even be himself, itoshi rin, without you.

#itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #rin.<3 #itoshi rin fluff #blue lock x reader #bllk fluff #bllk x reader #have a fever again not lcikgumg ij as per usual #fever but rinmaxxing

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romugh · 29 days ago

Text

CINEMATIC SEDUCTION- BS

ROMUGH’S KINKTOBER

october 12th — humiliation, filming, spanking, sensory deprivation

DAY EIGHT || kinktober masterlist || 2024.

pairing- barbara sugarman x fem!reader

cw- 18+!!; top!reader, bottom!barbara, sight humiliation, filming, photographing?, eating out (from behind!! cheeeers), strappie (b rcv), blowie (r rcv), slight daddy kink if you squint? but like, dont blink or you'll miss it...

wc- 9.973k :) enjoy!

a/n- barbaraaaa is heeereee!! criminally underrated and not written about enough- i'm here to start that change *proud*!! honestly one of my fave characters, been wanting to write her for quite some time now :D i'm planning on turning this into a universe on its own, regularly writing bout these two :) sorry for the late post, got called into work 15hrs ago. i'm till here...)

synopsis- after an accidental photo reveals a hidden desire, Barbara and you dive headfirst into a wild night of passionate exploration that blurs the lines of boundaries. what had begun as a playful mistake quickly transforms into revealing your deepest fantasies and desires.

taglist?- @lost-mortemanghel ♥︎, @idkwhatever580, @elliecoochieeater, @left-and-right-up-and-down, @deadlesbianwitches - comment or dm to be added :)

You’re sitting on your bed, smirking as you stare at the screen of your phone.

The picture you’re about to send to Barbara is bold—no, it’s downright filthy. It shows her spread out across the sheets, her legs open as your fingers disappear inside of her. The shot was taken accidentally, hence the blurriness, a moment captured without you even realising it until you scrolled through your photos earlier. Her hair is tousled, her face just out of view, but the angle captures the raw intimacy of the moment, the lightning highlighting the wetness glistening on your knuckles.

The memory rushes back to you—the way she moaned softly, her voice breaking into gentle gasps as she clenched around you. You can’t help but grin, knowing Barbara will be flustered when she sees it. You know she has a strong ‘disdain’ for porn, yet she can't resist the enticing photos of yourself you occasionally send her, and this new territory—one of herself— is bound to spark something inside her.

You send it off without a second thought, revelling in the anticipation as you watch the two arrows appear on the screen. They turn blue almost instantly, and you can’t help but chuckle, biting your lip in excitement. You wait a moment, letting the tension build before typing out a teasing message to accompany the photo. You can almost picture the flustered and shocked expression on her face as she processes what she just received. Finally, with a playful smirk, you press send on your follow-up message;

“B, I think my phone accidentally snapped a picture yesterday”

Barbara’s response to that is almost instant—three dots appearing on the screen, then disappearing just as quickly. You can picture the exact look on her face, the way her cheeks must be burning, her lips parted in surprise. She’s probably somewhere busy, maybe at the salon, trying to hide the flush creeping up her neck as she reads the message again and again.

A minute passes, then another. No reply. You chuckle to yourself, imagining how flustered she must be. She’s always been the kind of person who prides herself on being classy, the one who scoffs at the idea of porn being anything but trashy and degrading. Yet here she is, confronted with an image of herself in a way that she would never admit to finding erotic—at least, not out loud.

Meanwhile, on Barbara's end, the scene unfolds exactly as you imagined. She’s standing at her station, comb in one hand and her phone in the other, her heart pounding in her ears. She quickly glances around to see if anyone noticed her reaction, but the other stylists and clients are busy with their own chatter. It’s just her, staring down at that picture and the implications it carries.

She scrolls up, looking at it once more, and feels a rush of heat spreading between her legs, her body betraying her. It's not just the image itself that affects her—it’s also the realisation that the moment had been captured without her knowing. It’s the exposure, the rawness of it all that makes her feel vulnerable and a little (a lot) ashamed. And yet, that shame blends with something deeper, an unfamiliar twinge of excitement.

You wait a bit longer, then type out another message.

“I can almost hear your soft moans just by looking at it, baby. You look so beautiful, so gorgeous, so pretty, so mine. See you this weekend?”

She reads your new text, a mix of frustration and desire flickering across her features as she bites her lower lip. You can almost feel the tension radiating from her through the screen, and while she still doesn’t reply, you can tell the effect your words are having. You’ve witnessed how her body responds when she’s aroused—the subtle way her breath quickens, the tension in her shoulders as she tries to maintain her composure. Barbara has always preferred to keep things simple and vanilla, finding comfort in the intimacy of being eaten out and fingered gently, as if anything more adventurous would feel too overwhelming. Yet, you know her well enough to sense that it won’t be long before her carefully built walls begin to crack, and the ache of her desire pulls her closer to you, urging her to reach out.

The days pass in a frustrating blur for Barbara. She tries to keep herself busy, throwing herself into her work at the salon, chatting with clients, and catching up on errands. But no matter how hard she tries to push the image from her mind, it keeps creeping back in—the memory of your fingers, the slick heat of her own arousal, and that damn picture that sits, unsaved, in the depths of her phone.

She’s gone back to it more times than she’d like to admit. Late at night, when she’s finally alone, she finds herself unlocking her phone, her thumb hovering over the photo, wishing you were there with her. Every time she scrolls up to look at it, she feels a mix of shame and excitement curling deep in her belly. Her hand slides between her thighs almost instinctively, rubbing herself through her panties as she relives the sensation of you touching her just like that.

But then she’ll snap her phone shut with a frustrated sigh, tossing it onto the bed as if that could somehow help her regain control. Barbara isn’t used to feeling this way—needy, distracted, horny in a way that’s hard to ignore. She’s always prided herself on not being “one of those girls,” who fixate on sex the way she always thought men did. But now, there’s this nagging ache that won’t go away, an unfulfilled desire that makes her restless during the quiet moments.

At the salon, she fumbles with her tools more than once, zoning out when she should be listening to her client’s chatter. One afternoon, as she’s washing a customer’s hair, she catches herself daydreaming about the pressure of your fingers pushing inside her again, the sudden burst of warmth between her legs snapping her back to reality. She nearly drops the bottle of shampoo, cursing herself under her breath for letting her thoughts wander there of all places.

Every night of the week, she thinks about texting you—maybe to tease you back, maybe to demand that you come over and put an end to this torturous build-up. But pride keeps her from doing it. The most she manages is scrolling through the old messages, replaying your teasing words: “I can almost hear you moaning just looking at it again. Remember how you felt?”

It’s driving her mad, and you know it. You don’t usually go a full week without texting each other, sending each other little updates throughout the day or sending pictures and memes with a little “this made me think of you”-attachment.

Finally, when the weekend rolls around, you decide it’s time to check in on her. You send a simple text: “B, honey, I’m free all weekend. Want me to come over? Just finished my last uni class of the week.”

Her response is faster than you expected, and it’s almost breathless in its tone: “Yes, ofc. Got some spare clothes here already, come fast pls XX.”

When you arrive, the shift in her demeanour is immediately obvious. Barbara has always held herself with a confident, polished air, but tonight there’s a different energy to her—something desperate, like she’s been wound up too tight for too long. You can see it in the way she’s fidgeting, the way her eyes keep drifting toward your hands, like she’s already imagining what you’ll do to her.

You step closer, leaning in to whisper near her ear. “You seem... happy,” you say, a teasing lilt in your voice. “Miss me that much?”

Her cheeks flush, and she bites her lip, but there’s a spark of defiance in her eyes. “Just get inside,” she snaps, her voice breathless, but that familiar edge is there. She’s still trying to hold onto that composure, even as she takes your hand in hers, her movements just a bit too hurried to hide her impatience.

Barbara’s grip on your hand tightens as she pulls you over the threshold, but you play it cool, letting her urgency go unremarked. She’s breathless, eyes locked on yours with a hunger that’s barely masked by her usual composure.

“Something on your mind, B?” you ask casually, tilting your head with a faint smile. You keep your tone light and innocent, as if you’re genuinely oblivious to the tension radiating from her.

She huffs, an almost frustrated sound, and glances away for a moment before facing you again. “Just… come inside already,” she says, the words tumbling out in a rush. There’s a flush on her cheeks, and you know she’s been thinking about that picture for days.

You step inside her apartment, still keeping that same easy, nonchalant demeanour. “Come inside of you, or the apartment?” you tease with a playful grin.

She rolls her eyes, but the way she bites her bottom lip again betrays her arousal. “You know what I mean,” she mutters, dragging you toward her living room.

Once you’re there, you take a slow look around, giving her a moment to compose herself. You act as if nothing’s out of the ordinary, keeping your movements casual. “Nice place,” you say, glancing at her like this is just another ordinary visit—which it is, technically—when you can feel the heat emanating from her skin.

She stands there, her frustration mounting. Her breaths are short and quick, and you can see the tension in her posture. When she catches your eye again, it’s like she’s daring you to break the pretence and admit you know exactly what’s going on.

But you don’t. Not yet, at least.

“Are you okay, Barbs?” you ask, the innocent tone lacing your words as you step closer, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You look a little flushed. Long day at the salon?”

She huffs, a touch of irritation breaking through her composure. “You could say that,” she murmurs, but there’s something else in her voice—a raw edge that slips through despite her best efforts.

You watch as Barbara fidgets in the living room, her fingers playing nervously at the hem of her dress. The tension between you is palpable, and you can feel it hanging thick in the air, even if she’s trying to pretend there’s nothing to it. It’s almost amusing—her stubborn determination to act like she thinks this is just another evening, like she didn’t spend the past few days with that picture etched into her mind, lingering in the space between her thoughts.

She’s always kept things so composed, so proper, and it’s rare for you to see her this wound up. Usually, she’d have already found a way to distract herself, a way to brush off the blush creeping up her neck. But today, it’s different. You know it, and deep down, she does too.

You raise an eyebrow, letting your hand trail down her arm with a touch that’s light, almost tender. “You sure you’re alright?” you press, your voice dipping into that familiar note of concern, though there’s a hint of playfulness underneath it. “You’re acting a little… weird.”

The corners of your mouth curl up as she tries to keep her composure, but the way her breath hitches when your fingers brush her skin tells you everything you need to know. She’s unravelling bit by bit, even if she’s not ready to admit it. You step back, giving her some much needed space as you turn toward the kitchen. “Why don’t we get started on dinner?” you suggest casually, as if you hadn’t noticed the tension at all.

She hesitates for a moment before following you, her eyes lingering on you as you pull ingredients from the fridge and set them on the counter. As you move around the kitchen, the two of you slip into a familiar rhythm, chopping vegetables and prepping sweet potato fries. The garlic aioli is coming together, the smell of freshly crushed garlic and lemon juice filling the room. You can’t help but notice how Barbara keeps stealing glances at you, her eyes lingering on the flex of your biceps each time you slice into the garlic or mix the dressing.

She keeps telling herself it’s just because you look good—better than usual, maybe, with the way your shirt fits just right, hugging your shoulders and arms. It has to be that… not the way her mind keeps drifting back to that picture, not the idea of those strong hands holding her down or gripping her throat, not the thought of how easily you could make her melt with just a touch. Her breath catches in her throat as she tries to push those thoughts away, a darker blush creeping up her neck.

Barbara’s always been the “sex is special” kind of girl. To her, intimacy was sweet and gentle, much more romantic than it was raw. She never thought of herself as someone who could get off on something as simple as watching you cook. But lately, especially this week, something’s been shifting between you two, and she can’t help but feel her body reacting to your deliberate touches, your casual brush against her back as you reach for another knife, or the way your hand lingers a little too long on her waist when you squeeze past her to get to the fridge. It’s a slow burn that has her thighs clenching together each time you draw near, her heart racing with a blend of embarrassment and something darker, something deeper.

You notice, of course—how could you not? Every little tremble in her voice when she speaks, the slight hitch in her breath whenever you touch her, no matter how innocent it may seem. It’s intoxicating, seeing the effect you have on her, watching her struggle to maintain her composure. She’s been growing more responsive over the past few weeks, her desire simmering just beneath the surface, and you’ve loved every second of teasing it out. This past week—even if it was silent—might have been your favourite week of your life, even.

As you work together on the salad, you can’t resist trailing your hand along her lower back, letting your fingertips brush against her hip as you step closer. "Pass me the olive oil?" you ask casually, your voice low and soft in her ear. She shivers at the nearness of your voice, her pulse quickening.

“Y-yeah,” she murmurs, reaching for the bottle, but her hand is shaky as she places it into yours.

“Thanks, beautiful,” you say with a knowing smile, your eyes meeting hers for a split second longer than necessary.

It’s becoming clear that she’s barely holding herself together, every touch from you sending sparks through her. Her mind flits back to that picture and the feeling of your fingers buried inside her. She feels that familiar heat pooling low in her belly, her arousal sneaking up on her even as she tries to keep her focus on the task at hand.

After cooking, you plate everything, arranging the food just the way she likes it. As you move to carry the plates to the couch, you catch her eye again, a playful glint in your gaze. She swallows hard, trying to tell herself that it’s just dinner with you—that there’s nothing going on. But with every step you take beside her, she feels herself unravelling a little more, the boundaries she clings to slipping away inch by inch.

You settle in on the couch with Barbara, the plates balanced on your laps. That’s a rare occasion—usually, you insist on eating at the table, but tonight, you decide to let it slide. She seems like she needs the break, and besides, there’s something about the relaxed intimacy of sharing a meal here that makes it feel special.

You sit close—closer than usual, purposefully, your thigh firmly pushed against hers as you get comfortable. Barbara’s cheeks are still tinged with a light pink, the warmth in the room seeming to mirror the heat spreading through her body. As the daily documentary about an architect—this time Tadao Ando—begins, you glance at her, noticing how she squirms slightly at your proximity.

“You kept all the episodes I missed?” you ask, a hint of surprise in your voice, though the gesture warms your heart.

Barbara nods, her eyes fixed on the screen, but there’s a small smile tugging at her lips. “Figured we’d catch up on them together when you had the time,” she replies softly.

Her cheeks flush even more when she feels your breath near her ear. As you casually lean in, reaching over her for the remote to adjust the volume, your arm presses against hers, and she bites her lip. You pretend not to notice the subtle shift in her breathing, the way she keeps stealing glances at your hands whenever she can. It’s becoming harder for her to convince herself that this fluttering in her stomach is simply because of you—or the comfort of having you near.

But you remain composed, every movement deliberately measured, as if unaware of the way her body reacts. When you brush a stray hair behind her ear or your fingertips graze the inside of her wrist or thigh, Barbara stiffens for just a moment before she forces herself to relax. It’s almost like a game now, one that only one of you acknowledges, but both play nonetheless. The closeness is driving her wild, and she can barely focus on the screen in front of her.

As the documentary draws to a close, Barbara shifts beside you, her breath uneven, and you can feel the tension in the air thickening with every second. You’ve spent the last hour teasing her with every subtle touch, every whispered word, and it’s as if she’s barely holding herself together. You can sense that something is about to give.

Without a word, she moves, straddling your lap in one swift motion. Her hands cup your face as her lips crash into yours, the kiss fueled by pent-up frustration and longing. You feel her urgency, the way her body melts against yours as she leans in closer, her hips grinding down on your thigh with a needy rhythm. You can't help but grin into the kiss, feeling the heat and desperation radiating off her.

Barbara pulls back just enough to catch her breath, her cheeks flushed a deep pink as she glares at you, her eyes dark with desire. "Shut up, don’t talk," she whispers, her voice breathy and strained as she tugs at your hair, not waiting for a response before diving back in, her lips capturing yours once more with even more intensity.

Your hands roam over her body, tracing the curves of her waist before slipping under the hem of the dress she's wearing. The fabric rides up higher as you slide your fingers along her thighs, drawing a shiver from her with each touch. The kiss deepens, and you can feel her hands trembling slightly as they work to undo your belt, her fingers fumbling with the buckle in her eagerness.

Somehow, amidst the fevered exchange of kisses and frantic touches, her dress has ended up discarded on the floor, leaving her in nothing but her lacy undergarments. She sits atop you, her skin warm and soft beneath your hands, her breathing ragged as she looks down at you, her pupils blown wide with lust.

You can’t resist teasing her, your fingers slipping beneath the band of her panties to graze her bare skin. “Couldn’t wait, huh?” you murmur against her lips, your voice a low rumble that makes her squirm.

She lets out a frustrated whine, her nails digging into your shoulders as she grinds herself down harder on your thigh, seeking friction. “Just shut up and kiss me,” she demands, and there’s a desperation in her tone that sends a surge of heat through you.

You capture her mouth again, your kiss rougher this time, your hands gripping her hips and guiding her movements as she rocks against you. Her moans grow louder, the sound vibrating against your lips, and you can feel the wetness seeping through the thin fabric of her panties onto your trousers. Your hands explore her body with purpose now, tracing the line of her spine, slipping beneath the clasp of her bra as you tug her closer.

Barbara’s fingers finally manage to free your belt, and with a triumphant little noise, she starts working on the button of your pants. She pulls back just enough to look at you, her chest heaving as she takes in the sight of you beneath her. There’s a wildness in her eyes now, a hunger that matches your own.

Before you can say anything, she leans in close, her voice a low, needy whisper against your ear. “Please take me,” she breathes, her hands slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, brushing against your skin as she starts to tug them down.

The words send a thrill coursing through you, and with a swift motion, you pull her flush against you, your mouth finding hers once more. You can feel her smile against your lips, the kiss turning heated and messy as the last remnants of restraint slip away.

The air is thick with heat and the taste of Barbara’s kisses lingers on your lips as you pull back slightly, your forehead pressed against hers. She’s panting softly, her skin flushed a lovely pink that spreads down her neck. As you gaze into her eyes, you can’t resist the temptation to tease her.

“Can’t believe all it took was that one little picture,” you say, a playful glint in your eye, “to turn you into a sinful needy lesbian. What would your parents think?”

Barbara’s breath hitches, and for a moment, there’s a flash of embarrassment in her eyes. But then she bites her bottom lip, a boldness shining through as she meets your gaze. “I’m fine with sinning,” she murmurs, her voice low and husky, “as long as it’s with you.”

The admission sends a spark of desire racing through you, and you tilt your head, raising an eyebrow. “So… if that’s the case,” you say, your tone taking on a teasing lilt, “does that mean I’m allowed to film you?” You let the words hang in the air for a beat, watching as her cheeks flush even deeper. “Or maybe just take a little picture for my lock screen?”

You start off joking, but the way Barbara’s pupils dilate and her breath catches tells you there’s more than just humour in your suggestion. Her reaction is almost involuntary—her lips part slightly, her gaze locked on yours as if the very idea has unravelled something inside her.

No words are needed; the look in her eyes is all the answer you need. A slow, wicked grin spreads across your lips as you lean in to kiss her, this time softer, letting the moment linger. The kiss feels different—like a promise, a shared secret, a step into territory neither of you had planned to cross but find yourselves diving into headfirst.

Without breaking the kiss, you stand up, scooping Barbara into your arms with ease. Her legs instinctively wrap around your waist, her arms clutching your shoulders as you hold her close. She lets out a breathy sigh, burying her face in your neck as you carry her down the hall, her body pressed tight against yours.

The feeling of her warmth, the way she clings to you, it’s like carrying something fragile and precious—yet burning with a fire that matches your own. There’s no rush in your steps; you take your time, savouring the way her breath tickles your skin, the slight tremor in her grip.

As you set Barbara down gently on the bed, your gaze sweeps over her, taking in every detail. Her hair falls in soft waves around her face, the rosy hue of her cheeks radiates warmth, and the glimmer of excitement mixed with uncertainty in her eyes ignites a spark in you.

“Sit on the edge for me,” you instruct playfully, your heart racing at the sight of her eager nod. The anticipation in the air thickens, making you feel giddy with excitement and a hint of mischief.

You grab your phone, holding it up to capture the moment. “Just one second,” you murmur, feeling the thrill of what’s about to unfold.

“Okay, just breathe,” you reassure her, noticing the way her chest rises and falls with a slight tremor. You start with a close-up of her kiss-swollen lips, glistening slightly. “God, you’re so pretty,” you murmur, snapping the picture. The way her eyes widen with embarrassment makes you grin, but you continue, sensing her desire to please despite her shyness.

“Now, this one,” you say, positioning the camera to focus on her breasts, the lacy red lingerie clinging to her curves beautifully. You notice the way she bites her lip, a mix of vulnerability and thrill in her expression. “You look so good in this,” you reassure her, snapping the picture and enjoying the way her cheeks darken to match the colour of the set she's wearing.

Next, you direct the lens down to her tummy, the slight rolls soft and inviting. “Don’t hide any of this,” you tell her gently, trying to coax a smile from her as you take another photo. “You’re perfect just the way you are.” She glances away, her embarrassment palpable, but the hint of a smile breaks through.

Your gaze shifts to her thighs, slightly reddened from where you gripped her during your earlier heated moments together. “Can’t forget this,” you tease lightly, capturing the evidence of your earlier intimacy with a quick snap, feeling a thrill of excitement run through you.

“Now, this one,” you say, your thumb ghosting over her lips as she watches you through half-lidded eyes. You take the photo, your heart racing at the intimate display, and you can see her battling between shyness and wanting to please you. The vulnerability in her expression is endearing, but you can see the worry flicker across her face. “What if my parents see?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, anxiety lacing her words.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “They won’t. No one will see these, I promise,” you assure her, leaning in closer, your breath warm against her ear. “It’s just for me. Just for me to enjoy.”

As if caught in a moment of daring, Barbara leans closer, taking your thumb between her lips, looking straight at the camera with a mixture of boldness and uncertainty. Your breath catches at the sight, the image almost too perfect to capture. Click.

“Us. For us,” she says softly, her voice thick with desire.

A groan escapes your lips at her words, and you feel a rush of heat flood your body. You can’t resist her any longer; the sight of her like this ignites something primal inside you. You turn her around on her stomach, adjusting her position to display her perfect form.

You hear the distinct click of your phone as you snap a picture of her ass, barely covered by the lacy red thong. The fabric clings to her curves, and the way her skin glows with a soft sheen makes your heart race. Barbara hides her face in the sheets, embarrassment flooding her features.

“Oh, my pretty slut shouldn’t feel ashamed,” you murmur, your tone low and commanding. “You’re so beautiful for me, baby.” With that, you deliver a firm spank to her exposed skin, the sound echoing in the room.

Each spank sends heat radiating through you, and you snap a picture after each one, watching her cheeks grow redder with every strike. You can feel the way her body responds, soft gasps escaping her lips as you squeeze her cheeks, relishing the sensation of her warmth beneath your hands.

Around the seventeenth spank, a soft, involuntary “daddy” slips from her lips, and you feel a thrill at the sound. You recognize the vulnerability behind it but choose not to comment, focusing instead on her flushed face, now streaked with mascara from her earlier tears.

“Look at me, Barbara,” you say, gently turning her back around to face you. Her eyes are wide, filled with a mixture of embarrassment and something deeper. You snap a picture of her pretty face, capturing the way her cheeks glow and her eyes shimmer with shed tears.

Barbara glances at the phone, a flicker of confidence crossing her features as she takes it from you. She presses the film button, and you’re surprised by the sudden shift in her demeanour. She begins filming, her hands moving to caress her own body, focusing the lens on her curves.

You watch, mesmerised, as her hands glide over her soft tummy rolls, revealing the gentle stretch marks that decorate her skin like art. Her abs peek through too, hinting at the strength beneath her softness. The way her fingers dance across her body is intoxicating, and you can feel your heart race with every movement.

As she starts to tremble, a soft whine spilling from her mouth, you take over the filming, determined to capture her in all her glory. You start by framing her lovely face, the way her features contort with pleasure and vulnerability, and then you let the camera travel down her body.

Your eyes capture every detail—her soft, beautiful tummy rolls, the gentle curves that invite you in, and the way her skin glows under the soft light. You continue down, admiring the delicate lines that tell her story and the way her thighs form a perfect silhouette.

As you focus on her core, the camera angles just right, framing the way her body quivers under your gaze. Each breath she takes, every slight shift in her body, drives you wild with desire. The moment feels electric, raw, and utterly intimate, and you can’t help but feel a surge of protectiveness and pride as you film the beauty before you.

With the heat of the moment igniting something wild within you, you shift your focus back to Barbara. “Turn around,” you command softly, and she hesitates for just a second, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. But the eagerness to please overpowers her hesitance, and she complies, getting onto all fours at the edge of the bed.

The sight is breathtaking. Her body is a tantalising mix of strength and softness, the lacy red lingerie clinging to her curves in all the right places. You can’t help but admire the way her back arches, the gentle curve of her spine leading down to the roundness of her backside. A thrill shoots through you, and with a teasing smirk, you deliver another gentle slap to her backside. She jumps slightly, a soft gasp escaping her lips, and you relish the sound. “Move up. I want to see all of you.”

With a mix of excitement and trepidation, she crawls further onto the bed, her movements slow and deliberate as if she’s savouring each moment. You watch the way her breath quickens, the way her cheeks flush a deeper shade of crimson. You can sense her vulnerability, see it even, but also her willingness to step out of her comfort zone for you (and herself. God she really needs you to just fuck her within an inch of her life.).

“Hold on to this for me,” you say, passing her the phone. As she grips it, her eyes dart to the screen, where her exposed form is displayed in a vulnerable, yet undeniably sexy light. The sight sends another wave of heat rushing through her, and you can see the mix of embarrassment and thrill reflected in her gaze. She bites her lip, glancing up at you as you make your way to the side of the bed, opening your self-proclaimed side of her wardrobe, the tension palpable.

“Just look at how pretty you are,” you murmur, your voice dripping with admiration. “You’re so gorgeous, you know that?”

Then, with a predatory glint in your eye, you turn around with silk ropes and a strap in your hands. The soft fabric of the ropes is inviting while the strap makes Barbara’s eyes widen, a promise of what’s to come. You approach her, feeling the thrill of anticipation coursing through both of you. “Trust me?” you ask, your tone gentle but firm.

Barbara nods, her breath hitching as you bind one of her hands to the headboard, the silk wrapping snugly around her wrist. You take your time, making sure she feels secure but not constrained. The sight of her like this—vulnerable yet trusting—fuels your desire, and you can’t help but admire the way her body responds to each touch.

“Now, I want you to film for me,” you instruct, your eyes gleaming with mischief. She does as you say, positioning it in between her legs, giving the camera a clear view of her dripping pussy, glistening with arousal. You lean in closer, your breath warm against her skin, the anticipation thick in the air.

“Just like that, B, nice job,” you coax her, your voice low and sultry. “Look at how beautiful you are.”

With a teasing grin, you gently spread her folds, revealing the slickness that’s pooled there, evidence of her arousal. She shivers under your touch, her body trembling as you toy with her, pushing her boundaries. You relish the sound of her gasps and moans, feeling a surge of power knowing you’re the one bringing her this pleasure.

“Let me show you something special,” you say, your voice dripping with seduction. Leaning in, you spit on her folds, watching as the warm fluid streams down her soft skin. The sight is primal, a raw display of desire that sends a jolt of excitement through both of you.

“Look at that,” you murmur, your gaze drifting up to admire the way her back arches even further. “This is all for you, baby.” The way she shakes her head gently and gasps sends a thrill through you, knowing how much she’s enjoying this. You can practically hear her heart racing, her trust in you making her bolder, and you decide to keep pushing.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re vulnerable,” you whisper, spreading her folds wider for the camera, letting it capture every detail.

With the phone still capturing every moment, you return your attention to Barbara’s folds, relishing in the way they glisten under the soft light. The way she’s positioned, with her back arched and her free hand gripping the sheets, amplifies her vulnerability. It’s intoxicating. You press your thumb against her wetness, teasingly pushing through her folds, the slickness making it easy to glide along her sensitive skin.

“Look at you,” you murmur, your voice low and sultry. “You’re absolutely breathtaking.” You can see her shiver at the compliment, her body responding instinctively to your touch. Her breath hitches, and a low whine escapes her lips as you continue to tease her, your thumb drawing lazy circles around her clit.

“Please,” she gasps, her voice a mix of desperation and pleasure. “I need more.”

You flash a wicked grin, loving how eager she is, yet you want to take your time. “Oh, we’re just getting started, baby.”

With a teasing flick of your thumb, you send her spiralling into whines and grunts, pushing her just a little closer to the edge. You feel a thrill at the way her body reacts, the way she instinctively moves back against your touch, searching for more. She’s absolutely captivating, and every whimper, every gasp fuels your desire to take her further.

Deciding it’s time to explore this new territory, you position yourself comfortably behind her, moving your face closer to her. The anticipation hangs thick in the air, a mix of excitement and a hint of trepidation. You lean in, your breath warm against her slick folds, and then you dive in, your tongue lapping at her entrance.

The sensation is exquisite. Barbara gasps, her entire body tensing at the new feeling, and you can hear her breath hitch as you explore her softness with your tongue. The warmth of her skin against your mouth sends a thrill through you, and you can’t help but savour the taste of her. She’s never been eaten out like this, never this spread open for you, but the sensations are electric.

“Just... oh God,” she breathes out, her voice thick with need as you continue to feast on her.

You hum in agreement, sending vibrations through her as you continue to explore, relishing the sounds of her pleasure. With each flick of your tongue, you explore her folds, tasting the sweet nectar that drips from her. You’re careful and attentive, making sure she feels comfortable while also pushing her into a whirlwind of sensations.

Feeling a rush of excitement, you film a close-up of your actions, switching the camera to your left hand and positioning it to capture the view of Barbara's dripping pussy as you lick her. The knowledge of your phone capturing the sight of her glistening folds, pulsing with need, fills you with exhilaration. The sound of your tongue slurping against her, mingling with the wetness, creates a melody of pleasure that fuels your desire.

As you shift your focus from the camera back to your girlfriend, you can see her body quaking with pleasure. She seems to realise what exactly you’re doing, and it drives her to the edge of her limits. Her breath quickens, and you can see the flush creeping up her cheeks, making her even more intoxicating.

“More,” she gasps, her voice trembling with desperation. “Please, don’t stop.”

The intensity of her request sends a thrill through you, and you dive back in, your tongue exploring deeper, savouring every taste. As you continue to eat her out, you can feel her getting closer, her body responding more vocally than ever before, whines and grunts spilling from her lips as you edge her closer to release.

With each flick of your tongue, she becomes louder, her moans spilling out like sweet music, and you find yourself getting even more excited. Hearing her this vocal is intoxicating; the sounds escaping her lips are pure ecstasy. “Oh my God, yes!” she cries, the volume of her voice echoing through the room.

You can feel the heat pooling in your stomach at the sight and sound of her, and you angle the camera to capture her folds as they pulse and quiver around your tongue, her pleasure evident in every movement.

“Look at you,” you murmur, not wanting to break the rhythm, the words just for her present and future ears as you tease her with your tongue. “So beautiful, so needy.”

“Please… don’t stop,” she begs, her body rolling back against your mouth as she gasps and whines, her fingers tightening around the sheets.

You continue to explore her with your tongue, alternating between teasing licks and deeper plunges, capturing the entire moment on camera. Every slurp, every moan, every shudder from you fuels Barbara’ desire further, and you push her closer to the edge, absolutely savouring the intoxicating blend of vulnerability and pleasure radiating from her.

As your tongue works its magic, you can feel the tension in Barbara’s body coiling tighter by the second, each flick and swirl of your tongue pushing her even closer to the edge. Her moans grow more frantic, each sound spilling out of her like a sweet confession. “I can’t... I’m so close,” she whimpers, her breath hitching as you continue your delicious torment.

You position the camera to capture the way her body arches in response to your touch again. Every sound she makes fills you with pride, knowing you’re the only one bringing her this pleasure. “Let go, Barbs,” you encourage softly, your voice laced with desire. “I’ve got you.”

With one final flick of your tongue, you push her over the edge. “Oh, God!” she cries out, her voice breaking as she shudders, her body tensing before releasing into a wave of ecstasy. The sight of her climax is breathtaking; her muscles quiver around your tongue as her moans fill the room, and you can’t help but capture every second of it, the camera trained on her dripping core.

As she rides the waves of pleasure, you pull back slightly, allowing her to bask in the aftermath of her orgasm. Barbara collapses onto the sheets, breathless and blissed out, a soft smile forming on her lips as she turns her head slightly to meet your gaze. You can’t help but smile back, your heart swelling with affection for the girl before you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur, your fingers brushing against her back, your other hand still gripping the phone. “You okay?”

Barbara nods, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah... just... wow.” Her cheeks are still flushed, and you can see the way her body relaxes as the tension melts away.

You take a moment to enjoy this soft connection, your heart racing at the intimacy of it all. “You did so good, baby.”

Slowly, you pull back, reaching for the strap, the sight of it making Barbara gasp and smile softly as she watches you. You can see the excitement dancing in her eyes, mixed with a hint of shyness that pulls at your heart.

“I, um...” she starts, hesitating. “I’ve been wanting to ask you about that.”

You smile softly, moving closer. “This one?” You hold it up, your voice teasing. “I bought it not too long ago, but I wasn’t going to use it unless you asked for it.”

“Please,” Barbara begs, a hint of desperation in her voice that makes your heart race. “I need it.”

“Need it, huh?” you tease, your grin widening. “Okay, B.”

You slide it on, and Barbara’s breath quickens. “You ready?” you ask, caressing her very red and lightly blue backside, wanting to ensure she feels comfortable and cherished.

“Yeah,” she breathes, her voice a mix of excitement and nerves. “I—Please.”

With a gentle pull, you guide her to get back to her previous position, her body trembling slightly as she settles into it. You admire the sight, her form curving beautifully, the silk rope binding her hand to the headboard just adding to her allure.

“Just breathe for me,” you murmur, your hands gently running over her back. You take a moment to savour the sight before you, the way her body glistens in the soft light, the anticipation hanging heavy in the air. You position yourself behind her, the strap-on pressed against her slick folds. “This is going to feel a little different, okay? Tell me if you need a breather, baby”

Barbara nods, her breath coming in quick bursts as she pushes her hips back, trying to get you to slip inside. You tease the tip of the strap-on against her entrance, seeing her slickness envelop you. She gasps, a mix of excitement and nervousness flooding her system.

As you push in slowly, you can feel the resistance at first, the pressure against her entrance making your heart race. You lean forward slightly, planting kisses along her back, whispering soft reassurances as you gradually push inside her. “You’re okay, you’re doing so good.”

With a gentle but firm push, you breach that initial resistance, and you gasp at the sight as Barbara gaps at the sensation. The way her core pulls you in is intoxicating, each inch of your strap pushing deeper eliciting a mixture of pleasure and sweetness between you. “Oh, fuck,” you groan, the sight of you filling her overwhelming.

You keep the camera steady, focused on the way she looks back at you, her eyes wide with a blend of excitement and disbelief. The moment is intimate and raw, yet filled with an underlying edge of excitement. Each thrust is deliberate, capturing the way her body responds to you, the heat radiating from her as you push deeper.

“More,” she breathes, her voice thick with need. “Please, I need more.”

You give her what she asks for, the rhythm of your thrusts gradually becoming more intense. You relish the sounds of her pleasure, the soft gasps and moans spilling from her lips, and you can’t help but tease her with a light spank to her ass.

“Such a good girl,” you murmur, watching her cheeks flush as the sound reverberates through the room. “You love this, don’t you?”

“Yes!” she cries, the mixture of your words and the sensation sending her spiralling further into pleasure. You can see her body tightening around you, and with each thrust, you push deeper, the strap-on stretching her just right.

As you continue to thrust into her, the sounds of skin slapping against skin fill the air, mingling with her moans. You keep filming every moment, capturing the way her body moves with each thrust, the intensity of the connection between you.

Barbara's head falls forward, resting on her free arm as she surrenders to the sensations coursing through her. Her back arches, tilting her hips up in a way that makes you slip even deeper inside her. The sudden change in depth makes her loud moans catch in her throat, turning into silent gasps as the strap reaches places that send jolts of pleasure through her entire body.

Not wanting to let her escape the intensity, you reach forward, grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling her head up, her soft strands wrapping around your fingers. "Uh-uh, don’t hide from me," you whisper, your voice rough with desire as you lift her enough to grab her free arm, pulling it behind her back. The position gives you leverage, letting you thrust even deeper, and the way she cries out makes your pulse race.

You hold the camera steady, capturing the way Barbara’s body reacts—her ass bouncing with every thrust, her skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. You zoom in, adoring the sight of her juices collecting at the base of the strap, slick and glistening. The camera catches the way her folds stretch around it, her body trembling with every deep, demanding thrust.

The moment you push in even harder, Barbara's voice breaks free, filling the room with even louder, more desperate moans that border on pornographic. The sound sends a thrill of excitement through you, your own breath coming in ragged gasps as you keep thrusting, keeping up the intense pace."That's it, baby," you pant, tightening your grip on her hair and pulling just a bit harder. The increased tension causes her to clench tighter around the strap, making each thrust require a bit more effort. "Let it out," you urge, your voice rough with desire and need. "I want to hear you."

Barbara's entire body trembles, her moans becoming higher-pitched, turning into needy whimpers as she chases the peak of her pleasure. The combination of being restrained, hair pulled, and filled so deeply pushes her to the edge in a way that’s overwhelming.

She releases a loud, primal cry as her orgasm crashes over her, her walls clenching tightly around the strap. The filthy sounds of your thrusts fill the air, each wet slap echoing the intensity of the moment. Her body trembles, and you can feel the heat radiating off her skin, the sheer ecstasy painting her flushed cheeks and neck a deeper shade. Her thighs shake uncontrollably, her body arching even more as waves of pleasure crash over her, the intensity drawing sobs from her throat. “Oh, God, yes—” she babbles, tears welling up as she completely loses herself to the sensations.

You keep filming, capturing every moment of her climax, the way her body spasms, her back arching beautifully, her juices dripping down her thighs. Your heart swells with a mixture of love and raw desire, knowing that you’re the one bringing her to this state of complete bliss.

After helping her ride out her orgasm, you pull out slowly, savouring the way Barbara’s trembling body shudders one last time at the withdrawal. The sight of leaving her warmth feels like an exhale, a gentle release of everything that’s built up. You flop down on the bed next to her, the camera momentarily forgotten in your hand, capturing nothing more than blurred glimpses of movement and crumpled sheets.

Barbara stays sprawled on her stomach, her breathing still heavy and unsteady. You gently tug at the silk ropes, releasing the knot that had kept one of her hands bound. As you free her, she lets out a sigh of relief, her body finally able to relax after the intensity of the experience. Her fingers clench and unclench against the sheets, a subtle reminder of the vulnerability she just embraced, her knuckles pale from the force of her grip. Her other hand, the one you had pulled behind her back, lays limp by her side, too exhausted to do anything but rest.

You turn onto your side, reaching out to her. Your fingers brush against her cheek, gently tracing the flushed skin there as you tenderly caress her face. Her eyes flutter open, still glazed with the aftershocks of pleasure, and you can see the quiet vulnerability that lingers.

“Hey,” you murmur, your thumb stroking softly over her cheekbone. “You did so, so well. You have no idea how proud I am of you.” The words come out softly, filled with nothing but adoration and reassurance. “I love you, Barbs. More than anything.”

She leans into your touch, a tired but genuine smile spreading across her lips. Her breaths come slower now, more even, as she clings to the tenderness in your voice. The intensity may have passed, but the connection between you both is undeniable, still electric in the air around you.

The three words hang in the air for a moment, and you can see the shift in Barbara's expression as she processes them, her eyes widening, a mixture of surprise and something deeper, more vulnerable. It's the first time you’ve said it—I love you. The words had slipped out easily, yet they carried the weight of everything you’d felt for so long but hadn’t voiced.

Before any doubt can creep in, you continue, your gaze locked on hers. “Not because of this,” you clarify softly, your fingers tracing a tender path along her jaw. “It’s not just the heat of the moment. I love you for you—for everything you are, what you mean to me.” The honesty in your voice seems to ground the confession, a reassurance that it’s about her as a person, not just the intensity of your shared desire.

Barbara's eyes glisten with emotion, and she takes a steadying breath before pushing herself up slightly, still trembling from the aftershocks. Her hand comes to your side, nudging you with a gentle insistence until you roll onto your back. The strap is still attached to your hips, standing tall and glistening with her arousal. The sight of it sends a new flush across her cheeks, but there’s a spark in her eyes as she meets your gaze.

Leaning down, she kisses you deeply, pouring all the affection and passion she can muster into the touch of her lips. It’s a kiss that feels like an answer, a silent acknowledgment of the words you spoke, and a promise of everything she wants to give back. As she pulls away, her lips curve into a small, almost mischievous smile. Slowly, she begins to trail kisses down your body, her breath warming your skin with every inch she covers.

When she reaches your hips, she hesitates just for a moment, then glances up at you with a glint of determination. “Let me clean up the mess I made,” she murmurs, her voice still a little shaky but filled with intent. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, her gaze fixed on the strap before her. She looks back up at you, a smile curling at the corners of her mouth.

“Will you film it?” she asks, the boldness in her voice tempered by a hint of nervousness. “I want you to have something to look at, too.” Her eyes flicker with a need to please, a want to give you something special, something tangible to remember this moment by.

The way Barbara’s lips wrap around the strap has your breath catching in your throat. Her movements are tentative at first, her tongue tracing a careful path along the length of it, and the sight alone is enough to send a thrill coursing through you. Even though there’s no physical sensation, the visual—watching her willingly pleasure the toy, her eyes flicking up to yours as she goes—is intoxicating. It’s the vulnerability in her gaze, the way her mouth works the strap with a softness that’s almost reverent, that has your pulse racing.

You film her with trembling hands, capturing the way her tongue darts out to lick along the shaft, her spit adding a glistening sheen that catches the light. When she takes more of the toy into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing, the camera shakes slightly in your grasp. You can’t stop the quiet gasp that slips out, the sight of Barbara—so willing and intent on giving herself to this—making your skin prickle with warmth.

Barbara keeps her eyes locked on you, as if reading the effect she’s having. Her hands grip your thighs and stomach for support, and the soft sounds she makes—quiet moans and soft hums—add to the heady mix of sight and sound. Each time she bobs her head forward, taking the toy deeper, the camera shakes a little more. It’s hard to hold steady when your whole body is trembling, overwhelmed by the sight of her devotion.

Eventually, Barbara notices the way your phone wavers, the way your breath comes in shallow bursts. She pulls off with a quiet pop, her lips shining with her own saliva, and she gives you a soft, reassuring smile. Reaching out, she gently takes the phone from your hands. “Let me,” she whispers, her voice low and breathless.

She turns the camera on herself, focusing on the way the strap glistens with her spit and arousal. She runs her tongue along the length of the toy again, as if savouring the taste of what remains there. Her lips part to take it back into her mouth, and she films the way her cheeks hollow with each movement, her throat working to accommodate the toy as she takes it deeper. There’s a mix of concentration and quiet yearning on her face, a desire to show you just how much she’s willing to give, how much this moment means.

Barbara's hands tremble slightly as she adjusts the angle, capturing close-ups of the toy as it slides between her lips. She lingers on the way it glistens, her own spit and slick making it gleam. The camera captures the wet sounds of her mouth working the strap, the quiet hum of pleasure she lets out as she leans in closer, her tongue swirling around the base. It's soft, vulnerable, and undeniably intimate, a tender moment that speaks volumes about her trust and the depth of her feelings.

As she continues, you find yourself mesmerised by her every move, the way her tongue swirls and teases, the way she takes the toy deeper as if trying to reach some unspoken depth of devotion. Watching her is a pleasure in itself, a sensation that doesn’t come from physical touch but from the sheer beauty of seeing Barbara let herself go, giving herself over to this moment, to you.

As Barbara continues to work the strap with her mouth, she shifts the camera’s angle to focus on your face. Her eyes flicker with a quiet intensity, a need to capture this moment—the flush of your cheeks, the way your lips part with a gasp, the way your eyes flutter shut as the heat builds inside you. Even though she’s not physically touching you, the pure sight of her, the knowledge of what she’s doing for you, brings you closer to the edge.

Barbara slowly pulls off the strap, her lips leaving it with a soft pop, and she starts making her way up your body. She trails kisses along your skin, each one deliberate, leaving faint marks as she goes. Her tongue flicks out to soothe the love bites she leaves behind, a trail of tender hickeys that travels up your stomach, across your chest, and along your collarbone.

When she reaches your face, Barbara turns the camera on you one last time, capturing your expression as you come undone, a mix of bliss and vulnerability that she commits to memory with a soft click. She tosses the camera aside, not caring where it lands now, and leans in to kiss you deeply. “I love you too,” she murmurs against your lips, her voice tender and breathless.

Her words sink in, wrapping around your heart as she sighs into the kiss, letting her body melt against yours. The weight of her feels grounding, warm, like a blanket of comfort and devotion. You sink further into the moment, wrapping your arms around her, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing as her chest presses against yours. There’s a quiet understanding in the way she nuzzles into you, in the way she fits so perfectly against your side.

You reach down to pull the strap off, casting it aside without a second thought. It lands somewhere near the foot of the bed, to be dealt with in the morning. For now, the only thing that matters is the soft glow in Barbara's eyes, the quiet hum of her breath against your skin, and the feeling of love settling between the two of you—a love that was there long before this night, but one that has now been spoken aloud, shared in whispered words and quiet sighs.

As the warmth of the moment settles around you both, you feel Barbara’s breathing begin to slow, her body softening and relaxing into yours. She curls up closer, her head resting against your chest, one arm draped lazily across your waist. You can’t help but trace gentle patterns along her back, your fingers following the soft curve of her spine.

Barbara murmurs quietly in her sleep, her body nestling even closer. You draw the covers up over her shoulders, shielding her from the cool night air, and feel the weight of her leg tangle with yours. The calm of the room, the subtle glow of the moonlight casting faint shadows on the walls, creates a peaceful backdrop for the two of you.

With Barbara’s steady breaths against your skin and the warmth of her body pressing into yours, you find yourself drifting too, the sensation of your hand still lightly caressing her side.

It’s as if even in sleep, you can’t stop touching her—can’t help but hold her close, protectively, lovingly. Even in sleep, your touch is instinctive, a tender gesture of affection that doesn’t cease.

The way her body fits against yours feels like home, like a place you could stay in forever.

As sleep pulls you both under, your fingers continue their gentle caress along her skin, even in the deep calm of slumber. Barbara’s soft sigh escapes her lips, her body unconsciously leaning further into you, seeking your warmth. Together, you lie curled up, bodies entwined in a silent promise, as the night carries you into a shared dream.

#romugh's kt '24 #romugh slays #romugh writes #barbara sugarman reader #barbara sugarman x reader #barbara sugarman #don jon #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff #bottom natasha romanoff #scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett johansson reader #love scarlett in that movie #wlw smut #reader pov #reader insert #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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sttoru · 1 year ago

Text

“PLAYING WITH FIRE.”

༄ sypnosis. you show up to jujutsu high to pay satoru a visit on your day off, though that visit quickly turns into him bending you over in his office.

༄ note. ehh.. satoru brainrot. especially teacher satoru who’s a different person when you two r alone and away from his students.. slurps.

༄ tags. satoru x female reader. dom!satoru, sub!reader. unprotected sex, creampie, doggy style, degradation, objectification, kinda dubcon in one sentence, hair pulling, satoru takes pictures, bit of overstimulation, tiny bit of aftercare.

satoru had been trying very hard to keep his hands off of you in front of his students after you walked into his classroom. you used the famous excuse of ‘dropping off his forgotten lunch’ to bother your boyfriend at work.

you were all dolled up, make up done nicely while wearing a skimpy outfit that was almost scandalous to attend a prestigious school in.

satoru caved in immediately the moment you two were alone in the privacy of his office.

“n’more.. no more— please.” you babble mindlessly, a string of your own saliva trickling down the corner of your mouth and onto your chin.

“ah, fuck, you can do it, baby; just hold on f’me.” satoru reassures you through deep grunts, clamping a hand on your mouth to prevent you from making too much noise.

not that that’d be able to muffle the squelchy sounds that echoed throughout his office every time he plunged his cock into your sopping cunt.

“haah, shit— let me put that pretty mouth of yours to use, c’mon.”

two of his long fingers slide between your lips and without hesitation, you twirl your tongue around and suck at them as if on cue.

“mhh, just like that.” satoru hisses as he feels your saliva coat his skin while his other hand circles your clit.

his eyes wander down to your ass and the way it jiggles each time he slams his hips against the plump flesh.

satoru was also completely entranced by the sight of his cock—now glazed with a mixture of your juices— disappearing and reappearing not a second afterwards with each thrust.

“holy shit, y’re such a slutty thing.” a groan leaves his lips and you can feel him twitch inside of you the minute you tighten up around him. his filthy words were making your legs shake.

“yeah? ya like that, hm?” satoru’s hand which stimulated your clit left its place only to grab a fistful of your hair to yank your head back,

“bet you do, ‘cause this is exactly what you wanted by comin’ here dressed like that.”

you whine and dig your nails into the wooden surface beneath you, vision blurry as you feel the tears form due to satoru pulling at your hair. not only that; satoru knew just how to angle his hips to be able to hit the furthest parts of your sloppy pussy.

“nnh— yes, yes! fuck.” your desperate cries were muffled as you continued to suck on satoru’s fingers with your drool dripping down onto his desk.

satoru’s bangs clung onto his forehead, the sweat running down his skin making it hard for his glasses to properly remain on the bridge of his nose.

“so eager- so fuckin’ eager for a cock to fill you up.” satoru lets the words roll off the tongue in the heat of the moment.

you know that you got him extremely riled up when satoru’s being like this. it’s attractive to say the least; you’ve always loved it whenever he lets go of any self-control and just straight up fucks you brainless—not caring where you two may be.

his desk trembles with each intense thrust. the various objects on it threatening to fall as they all neared the edge due to the vibrations from your bodies.

it’s not like your boyfriend cared about the mess he’d make of his office when he’d rather make a mess out of you and your aching cunt.

“gonna—fuck—cum in your pussy, yeah? gonna have ya walk ‘round campus with my cum.”

you mindlessly nod along, babbling something incoherent that sounded like a ‘yes, please’ to satoru’s ears. and if it wasn’t, well, he’d do it anyway.

the thought of you walking out of his office afterwards with his hot load leaking out of your sweet cunt, you subtly trying to hide the liquid with your skirt since he ripped your panties apart; it drove him to the edge of insanity.

“shit, shit, shit.” curses leave satoru’s lips as he feels the pleasure building up to the point of release, “‘m gonna cum so hard— fuck!”

a deep groan echoes in your ears as you feel spurts of hot, thick cum flood your aching pussy— seeping straight into your womb.

“ngh— ‘toru!” you gasp for air once his fingers left your mouth so that satoru could grab onto your hips.

“stay still, angel. mm— have’ta make sure it stays.” the white-haired man adds in a husky tone and continues to pump into you with a few firm and deep strokes.

his blue eyes peered through his glasses at the sinful view of the white liquid overflowing and slowly dripping onto your thighs.

after making sure to push his cum as far as possible, satoru pulls out with a hiss.

just when you thought it’d be over, you could feel him rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your cunt— smearing his cum, along with your own juices, all over your folds.

“now that’s a sight.” satoru hums slightly, licking his lips before bending his upper body forward. his chest was flush against your back while you tried to catch your breath on his desk.

soft pecks were placed all over the back of your neck, one last one on your forehead.

“you did so well, baby.” he reassures you, tone and expression back to his usual soft one.

you smile back tiredly at him as you mumble a quick ‘thank you’ between deep breaths. your exhausted eyes followed satoru’s hands as they searched for something in his pockets.

a grin spreads on his face before he leans down again to whisper into your ear, one hand caressing your back while the other held his phone.

“be good for me and stay bent over like that, m’kay? need to take a pic of the mess i made.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk x you #gojo x you #satoru x reader #satoru smut

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written-in-flowers · 5 months ago

Text

His Mistress: Demon!Jongho x Fem!Reader

Pairing: demon!Jongho x Fem!reader

Genre: smut, some angst/fluff

Word Count: 11k

Summary: YN takes to her new status as "Lady" very well. Yet, even as she edges closer to her former self, YN cannot help feeling the loneliness of the big keep. Only her servant, Jongho, could reassure her that even if she's in Hell, she isn't alone.

Tags: sub!jongho, switch!reader, mistress/servant synamic, 69-positions, bondage, restraints, monster fucking, demon fucking, light bdsm, rough oral, oral sex, edging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, thigh fucking, pet names, nipple play, dirty talk, tiny bit of squirting, exhibitionism(?), reader's first time as a femdom, emotional hurt/comfort, reader gets angsty at one point, childhood guilt, childhood trauma, mentions of abuse,

Previously on Pretty Lady > Next

***

“You remind me of a bear sometimes.”

On the ledge of your bathroom window, you watched Jongho prepare your morning bath. He wore his usual butler uniform with its tailored lines and shiny buttons. You couldn’t help seeing it while you looked at him. His square shoulders, his round cheeks and height gave him the presence of one. The fact he smelled like pinewood in fresh air strengthened the image.

“A bear?” he scoffed in a laugh. “What makes you say that?”

“Your size,” you thought out loud. “Your body and what’s in your pants.”

Even with his back turned to you, you knew he’d blushed. No matter how many times he’d seen you nude, been close enough and alone long enough, Jongho kept his distance. The moment in the bathroom was as far as he’d gone with you. Not that it bothered you. It felt nice knowing not everyone in the house desired you that way.

“Bears are meant to be scary,” he said, testing the water with his hand before deciding the temperature suitable. He looked over at you, brown hair hanging in his eyes, “Are you saying I’m scary?”

“To the wrong people, I’m sure you are.”

You walked to the tub, removing your thin chemise in the meantime, and stepped into the bubbly bathwater. Jongho appeared more than shocked when he woke up to the state of you and your bed. The peonies and vines you’d grown last night covered most of the bed; the moss parts acted like a blanket that trapped your body heat inside. The fact you'd gone to bed muddy bothered everyone but you. The dirt on your body felt more like a second skin than grime. You thought about staying that way until Jongho insisted you clean up.

Everything that happened yesterday came back in a blurry haze, staying in emotions and sensations than mental pictures. You thought you might have dreamed it all. You expected to wake up to Hongjoong’s kisses on your skin again, about to spend the day with San next. Your experience in the greenhouse felt akin to a religious experience. In the dirt and plants, an epiphany came. You aren't a slave. You are a goddess. A goddess of the trees. You'd dreaded waking up that morning in case it didn't really happen. However, you only woke to a stunned Jongho.

“I meant it in a kind way,” you inhaled the steaming scents coming from the water, “It’s comforting.” The water felt better than before. With it located near the windows, the sunlight energized you.

“How so?” Jongho took a gentle bath poof, and began washing you. He’d used the orange blossom oil this time. You soaked your lungs in the aroma, letting it wash over you along with the cloth.

“Sometimes…” you paused, unsure whether to be honest. “Sometimes, I feel alone here.”

“Alone? Psh, hardly, YN. You’re always around us and The Masters.”

“But even then, it can be lonely at times,” you said. “People around here usually talk to me just to end up sleeping with me. I’m not complaining, because it’s great, but…”

“It sucks when that’s all that happens?”

“Yeah,” you admitted in a groan. Lifting your other arm from the water, Jongho ran the wet cloth over your skin. “I wish they knew I was more than my body. They all talk as if we’re deeply in love, but they hardly know anything about me. They only know the bad things I’ve done, not anything else. If it wasn’t sexually related, they didn’t ask about it. Seonghwa might dig a bit deeper but that’s because he’s used to peeling back people’s layers.”

“Well,” Jongho let you sit up to wash your back, “That can change now. You’re not a slave anymore. You’re a Lady of Eden, and that’s not an empty title.”

“It’s not?”

“Psh, not at all. Lilith is a pretty important figure in Inferno,” he went from back to front, “She’s King Lucifer's only daughter, so naturally she is a princess. You’re one of her granddaughters, so you get the title of ‘Lady’.”

“Wow,” you soaked in the information, a giggle in your throat, “I’m a lady.”

“A beautiful one at that,” he said.

“Aw, Jongho,” you cooed, pinching his cheek.

He laughed softly. “You don’t have to go to breakfast, if you don’t want to. You can do whatever you want without their permission. You could even go outside the keep if you wished. You aren’t a slave anymore, Mistress. You’re a lady, and you will be treated like one.”

You rested your arm on the edge, head on top of it, and you grinned at him. “That means I can do whatever I want, right?”

“Absolutely. You don’t even have to go through with the schedules they’ve given you.”

“What a relief that’d be!” you blurted out to his laughter. “San has me do ‘housewife’ duties but not actually do them at the same time? It makes no sense. Cook also hates it when I go into the kitchen, but I have to on San’s days.”

“Don’t take that too personally,” he said. “Cook doesn’t like having anyone in the kitchen. He doesn’t even like the other cooks being there.”

“Hongjoong and Seonghwa don’t make it easy either,” you continued. “Seonghwa always wants to talk about things that happened in the past. His schedule feels like school, and Yeosang can be the worst.” Even with the last lesson going better than anticipated, you hated it nevertheless. “I can’t play music I like. I can’t read books I like. It only has to be the boring, classical stuff that nobody understands or cares about. Hongjoong just wants to fuck all the time. Literally, everything with him is sexual to one degree or another. I don’t normally complain about it, since it’s mind blowing, but it’d be nice if…if we just sat and talked. It'd be nice to know them and for them to really know me. It's stupid that it takes me being their equal to earn that, but it's a start.”

“It certainly is. The Masters have always respected you, Mistress. They only had good intentions with you.”

“I'm sure that was true but it never felt that way. Jongho,” you addressed him, “I spent my entire life living under someone else. I had to go by their rules and their standards. I only got power after I took it from them. For once, I felt important. I felt good. The only rules I lived by were my own. Then I came here, and became that nobody again. I ended up in this pretty cage to dance and bend over whenever they wanted. It's…”

“Restraining? Suffocating? Exhausting?”

“Yes,” you sighed, sinking back into the water. “I was somebody, Jongho.”

“I’ve heard,” he said, rubbing the loofa over your feet and toes. “A big hotshot businesswoman who conned people out of their money.”

“I wanted to be something more. I didn’t want to grow up to be my mother: getting pregnant right after college, working and slaving away to scrape by and putting up with an abusive husband.” It turns out, you’d been completely wrong about that. “I wanted more from life. I saw she was a little nobody, and decided I’d be the opposite. I became friends with the popular kids at school; I dated the hottest boys, wore trendy clothes, and everyone knew me. When I graduated, I became a mail worker at a big corporate place. I managed to get a desk job after I paid a friend to falsify documents and degrees for me to use in resumes.”

“Then, you went on to become a stock broker.”

“In the worst way,” you said. Your previous life came back to you in the warm water and Jongho’s gentle touches. “I once got a girl fired so I could take her manager position. I made it look like she’d been stealing important documents from the big boss’s desk. He was paranoid that the competition was ‘stealing secrets’ from us. All I did was make it seem like she worked for them, and he fired her on the spot. I got the promotion, and earned more money.”

“What happened to her?”

“Have no idea,” you shrugged. A pang of guilt hit you thinking about it. “I assume she got a job elsewhere. It wasn’t like she couldn’t get one.”

“It was still a dirty move to pull.”

“But I pulled it.”

“So, the big boss just believed you? He didn’t investigate himself?”

“Yup,” you shut your eyes, enjoying his caresses on your body. “He said I was the only person he could trust.”

“Huh, that’s interesting.”

“Why?”

“You’d think somebody who is paranoid of everyone wouldn't blindly trust an office assistant.”

“I spent a lot of time around him. It's easy to manipulate people when you know what moves them. His happened to be his big ego and attention.”

Henry should have known better, in your opinion. Eventually, you ended up leaving the company after his wife found out about you both. It surprisingly worked in your favor since a friend of Henry’s took you on as his office manager. You don't feel good about it now, but at that moment it brought you on top of the world. The men who sought to control and own you became your puppets. They danced to your tune, all with the hope of gaining your love and affection. Some genuinely wanted a relationship, but you never went for them. You wanted to live without attachment back then, but as you thought to yourself, perhaps that wasn't so true anymore.

You'd lived an shallow, empty life.

Jongho sunk his hand down to your thighs, which made you jump at first contact. He didn’t do it with the sexual caresses of your masters or Yeosang. Jongho remained precise and professional.

“You don’t like it?” you asked him, seeing his flustered cheeks.

“Like what?”

“Touching me there.”

“Oh, that…Um, I mean…Of course…”

“It’s okay if you don’t,” you said. “I know I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.”

“No, no, you are,” he stammered. “You are my cup of tea, for sure.”

You giggled. “That’s hard to believe when everyone’s gotten a sip but you.”

“I had my sip,” he said. “I sipped it right here.”

“You only watched.”

“So did Yunho.”

“Yes, but he’s hardly around me. You’ve had plenty of opportunities and haven’t given in.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No, just curious.”

“I suppose because I can control myself when the others can’t,” he shrugged. “You were the Master’s pet, not mine.”

You leaned against the edge of the tub, bringing yourself within inches of him. “But I’m not anymore,” you said, moving closer to him. “I’m sure I can take up as many pleasure slaves as I wish. Would you if I put a collar on you?”

He laughed shyly, “Is that even a question? Naturally.”

“At least you can control yourself,” you noted. “If any of the others were here, they’d bury their faces in my pussy.”

“I understand I have a job to do,” he said. “Things like that can be saved for another time.”

“You mean when there’s no schedule or hurry to get somewhere?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “If I want to do anything with you, I’d wait until there’s plenty of time. I don’t want to rush through it.”

You grinned, rolling on your side to face him. “You want to enjoy me the right way.”

“Yes. You deserve that.”

“I do?”

“You’re always being fucked in a hurry,” he said. “The other servants do it in between schedules or when the masters are already going at you. I like to go at my own pace.”

“How sweet,” you said. “It’s nice to know for future reference.”

He finished cleaning you up, and you stood from the water. Despite what he’d said, you saw the way Jongho’s eyes lingered on your naked body. You never got over their lust for you. You’d lived in the keep for three months, and you still caught them looking at you. You swore they watched you through the mysterious peepholes around the place. It boosted your mood whenever you managed to arouse one of them, even if momentarily. With your new status, you knew you could manipulate that. The charms you’d worked on weaker men seemed to work on full-blooded demons as well.

You couldn’t wait to see how well it works.

Leaving the bathroom, Jongho took you to the dressing room. Wooyoung already picked out the ‘San’ outfit of the day: a light green dress with its cinched waistline, frilly full skirt, and closely snug bodice. The pretty, elegant housewife that San adored. It disgusted you. Turning to Wooyoung, you put your hands on your hips and said:

“Yeah, I’m not wearing that.”

“What?” Wooyoung looked at you in disbelief. He turned to Jongho, “She’s kidding, right?”

“I’m the one talking, and no, I’m not kidding. I’m not June Cleaver. I’m not wearing this.”

“Master San-”

“-Can wear it if he likes it so much. I want something newer, something more modern, and doesn’t constrict me.” Visions of a former, fully-human YN sprung back to you in a series of fond memories: Going to dance clubs with friends on weekends; taking drives around town listening to music and smoking cigarettes. “I want to wear high-waisted pants and shorts again; ripped knees, lacy shirts and leg warmers. I want bright, funky colors and makeup styles. I want my teased hair or in tight curls or whatever I’m into at the moment. I want the elegance of Princess Di and the sexiness of Madonna. I want to be cute and feminine like Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles.” You thought about it with longing, “I want to be me again.”

Wooyoung nodded, hand on his chin as he considered your request. “An 80’s babe, huh? I can make that work. I’ll need time though.”

“That’s fine,” you said. “I’m sick of being dressed up like a Barbie doll. I’m more than that.”

“Then what are you wearing today? Nothing?”

You looked around the dressing room. For once, you browsed the different outfits yourself. Seonghwa’s styles bordered between lolita dolls to elegant rich girls. Hongjoong like the hot goth girl with fishnets and lace. San, as you knew, liked full skirts and heels. No. None of that. You found a button down in Seonghwa’s section, white with a red polka dot design. With scissors from the nail kit, you cut it across, creating a loose crop top. You discovered a pair of distressed acid wash shorts in Hongjoong’s part, which you paired with a white belt with a crescent-moon buckle. Simple white sneakers remained hidden behind San’s shoe collection, which you tied on yourself.

“Accessorize,” you said next, grabbing oversized hoop earrings, multiple bangles and necklaces.

Excitement shoots through your nerves as you put yourself together. It reminded you of nights out with friends or trips to the mall.

“Oh my god, I remember doing stuff like this at the mall!” you sighed fondly, slipping on several bangles. “I’d go there every weekend with my friends and we’d shop around, try stuff on, get food at the food court, hang out and gossip. It was the best,” you beamed.

“Like a true 80’s teen.”

You turned around, and Wooyoung wore a bright, wide smile. Shaking his head, he had clasped hands over his mouth as he took you in. He let out a cheer, clapping as you twirled in front of him.

“Get in the chair, girl,” Wooyoung said, excited beyond belief. “Get in the chair. I know exactly what to do. Jongho, get my hair kit.”

You’d never seen the stylist so ecstatic before.

“I have been dying to experiment!” he confirmed, working gel through your hair. “I love a good lolita style or a punk rock look, but gosh it got so dull. Where’s the pizzazz? The flare? The fire? Everything looked so dated! If I had to make one more frilly dress, I was going to puke.”

By the time Wooyoung finished, you felt refreshed. Staring at yourself in the long mirror, you didn't feel like a slave anymore. You might as well be at Saks, trying on new clothes for your wardrobe after being at the salon. You twirled again, trying to see it from all angles before deciding you loved it.

“It's gorgeous!” you beamed, fixing your hair around your face. The old you. The one who didn't wear a collar or work in a brothel. Happiness swelled in your chest, burning your eyes with tears. “I love it so much! It's absolutely wicked!” you turned to Wooyoung, jumping and hugging him tightly. “You're the best!”

“Thank you, I know.”

“I need more,” you told him, still in his arms. “I need so much more. How soon can you have it done?”

“Next week,” Wooyoung said. “Any icon you want in particular?”

“Surprise me.”

“Done.”

He kissed both your cheeks, snapped his fingers for his assistants to pack up everything. Wooyoung made a box with his fingers, eyeing you through it like a photographer does to their subject.

“It's totally inspired,” Wooyoung said happily. “I'm going to make you an absolute icon. Everyone will be talking about it. Everyone, everyone, everyone!”

“That's exactly what I want.”

“Good. Come by my shop tomorrow. We can go over designs together.”

“Perfect!”

You saw the clothes people wore in the city. It spanned between medieval and contemporary, but mostly remained drab and dark. You didn't mind a bit of black from time to time, though not every day. Fluffing up your hair again, you left the dressing room and walked to breakfast. You knew you'd be late, and that Cook will grumble when you change your menu, but you didn’t care. A light, airy feeling came over you, making you feel positively giddy.

“Today is the start of something great, Jongho,” you smiled going down the stairs. “I can feel it!”

“Absolutely, Mistress. I'm glad to see it.”

When you walked into San's dining room, the butterflies in your stomach fluttered more. Sitting at his usual spot at the table, coffee and breakfast in front of him as he read a newspaper.

“Morning!” you said, strutting into the dining room with hopes that he'd notice you. The daisies in the centerpiece did. You didn’t know how, since they didn’t move, but they did.

“Morning, Darling,” he said, sipping his coffee and continuing to read. “You took quite a while. I thought I was going to have to go to your dressing room myself. Wooyoung being indecisive again?”

“Not really,” you stood in front of him, “He and I were collaborating on something new.”

“Oh? Like what?” When he finally put the paper down, his face dropped. San sat there taking you in for a minute or so before he spoke. “This is certainly a change.”

“A big one,” you grinned. “Do you like it?”

“Does my opinion matter?” he said, unable to look away from you.

“Of course it does,” you said, sitting down in front of him. Jongho poured your coffee and set out the cream and sugar for you. You began fixing it yourself, “I might not be your slave anymore, but I still care about you. I hope you’d feel the same?”

“Yes, you little fool,” he said with a slight head shake, smiling softly. “I'd never stop caring for you, Darling. I can still call you that, can I?”

“I kinda like it, so yeah,” you beamed, getting a sip of coffee. Jongho served your breakfast, a spinach omelet with nothing else. “Yeah, I'm not eating this. I want pancakes and bacon.”

“But, um, the masters planned healthy meals for you, Mistress,” Jongho said timidly. “I’m not sure if Cook can go outside the plan.”

“Tell him that he can, and he will because I want crispy bacon and a stack of fluffy pancakes.”

Jongho glanced at San, and you knew what he was asking. Even with your new status, you needed permission.

“With some eggs, at least?” San suggested to you.

“Eggs are fine. Could you tell Cook I'd like pancakes, eggs and bacon, please?”

“Right away, Mistress.”

He took your plate back and left in a puff of smoke. San still grinned in amusement over his newspaper.

“Someone's changed overnight,” San noted, surprised by your new attitude. “You took to your new status easier than I thought you might.”

“It isn't much different to my previous life,” you shrugged, fixing your coffee on your own. “I just get called ‘Mistress’ instead of ‘Ma'am’.”

“What about the clothes upstairs?” he asked. “We paid a lot of money for those. I'd hate to see them get wasted.”

“I can still wear some of them,” you said. You took a sip of your coffee, and hummed at the sweetness. “I'll keep the ones I like. I'm tired of rotating the same outfits because you three wanted to dress me up like a doll. Everything in that closet is so old and lame. You wanted me to shine, but I was doing anything but that.”

“If you hated your dresses-”

“-I didn't hate them. They just weren't me.”

“Well, if you wanted something else, you could have asked me. I would've had Wooyoung make you new things.”

“I didn't know I could.”

“I'm not Seonghwa,” he said, going back to his coffee and newspaper. “I don't mind bending my own rules every so often. I told you I wanted you to be happy.”

“I thought you meant the type of happiness you approved of at the time.”

“No. I want you to be whatever type of happy you feel.” He then said, “Even if you prefer sleeping in a greenhouse now.”

“I didn't sleep there.”

“One of the maids said your bed is covered in flowers and moss.”

“That kind of happened on its own? I was thinking about my mother again and she loved peonies. I guess that extended to the vine I had on my arm.”

“That is one thing we hoped you'd at least want to do,” he said. “We don't know the extent of your powers yet. You need to learn how to control them the way other demons do. We can't have doors getting blown off whenever you throw a tantrum.”

“How would I do that?”

“With a mix of people.”

“Like?”

“Yeosang, Yunho, Mingi, Seonghwa, Hongjoong and myself,” he said, “To name a few. In a way, they are still those lessons you hated but now actually things you need. It won't be easy, but we'll be there to help you.” He noticed the wilting daisies, and said, “Let's do something now: truly making those healthy again.”

“They are pretty sad,” you frowned, looking at the flowers in their tiny vase. “The vase is too small for them and nobody’s changed the water.”

“You can make them grow. Give it a shot.”

You reached out to the lowest hanging one. Delicately, you touched one of its smooth petals, seeing where it began withering away. You smiled when gradually, the small bundle began filling with color again. Their stems turned their normal green, and the tiny buds along the stems bloomed right before your eyes.

“There…” you smiled at the flowers, “All better.”

“Plant manipulation,” San concluded. “That much is obvious. With a bit more training, we can find out what other abilities you have hidden inside you.”

“Does Yeosang have to be there?”

He chuckled, “Not all the time.”

Jongho brought your breakfast, and you groaned at the sight of it. “I always used to get pancakes after a night out,” you said, drizzling syrup on them. “Nothing's better than stuffing your face after getting plastered.”

San smiled as he watched you eat your breakfast. He took in your new look and attitude from afar. You're sure he'd hoped you'd keep wearing the dresses, but he knew you wouldn't. You'd broken free of your collar, and you'd never do what you didn't want to again.

“Before you go gallivanting around the city,” he said, finishing his coffee and breakfast, “You'll have to go to the registration office. You have a meeting with Jackson.”

“The department head guy?”

“That's him. He has paperwork you need to read through and sign.”

“Ugh, even in Hell you can't escape red tape.”

“It's an essential part to the system unfortunately,” he agreed.

“Do you have paperwork? I'm not even sure what it is you do there.”

“I work the battleground most days,” he said. “But, there are days where I commentate instead so yeah, there's paperwork sometimes. You know, reading off the list of challengers and fighters, knowing their stats and skills.”

“So, like sports?”

“Yeah. Everyone goes to the arena, so there’s also ticket sales, concessions, and other boring financial stuff too. It's the worst part of it.”

“Can I go sometime?”

“You're free to do as you like.”

“But I still want to ask. I'd be a dick if I showed up without you wanting me to be there.”

“Why would I not want you there? I'd love to have my Darling cheering me on from the stands.”

“I don't know,” you shrugged. “I had a boyfriend who hated it when I showed up to his football practices. He said he felt embarrassed because his teammates would talk about me.”

“Shitty boyfriend then.”

“Very. I dumped him a week later.”

San laughed, and you began discussing previous partners. Talking to him as normal couples do felt refreshing. The barrier between master and slave lifted and you became equals. Whether they liked it or not, they had to address you like a person.

“I am going to miss coming home to you,” he said as you walked with him to the apartment door. “I liked walking in to see you all dolled up and waiting for me. It felt nice.”

“I’ll still be here when you come back,” you told him. “It’s not like I’m going to completely throw out everything.” You wrapped your arms around his midsection, “I’ll always want to have dinner and spend time with you. That part doesn’t change.”

“Like I said, the schedules were Seonghwa’s dumb idea,” San assured. He kissed your forehead, “I didn’t mind you having freedom. Now, it seems I have no choice in it anymore.”

“Not entirely,” you kissed his lips, then said, “Have a good day.”

“I will now that I’ve gotten kisses from you.”

“Ugh, you’re so corny sometimes,” you laughed.

“You love it.”

You both said goodbye again, and you turned to Jongho who stood behind you. “San says I have a meeting with someone named Jackson?”

“You do,” Jongho nodded. “Yunho gave me the news in the kitchen. He’s expecting us soon. Unless, you’d rather not go?”

“It sounds important, so we should probably go,” you said. “I love a little city excursion. Go get Mingi and bring a car around. I’ll go grab a purse.”

“Will do, Mistress.”

He disappeared and you left the apartment. Purse options being quite limited, you chose one and transferred things from the last one. Determined to make the most of your day, you’d go to the boring meeting, then do something fun. You didn’t know what yet, but Jongho might have an idea or two.

****

Demon transportation varied depending on taste. Hongjoong liked the sleek luxury vehicles befitting a rich boy; Seonghwa’s white and gold carriages reminded him of his times in mortal world; San drove old fashion muscle cars and motorcycles. You remembered from times in the city that demons drove all kinds of cars and bikes. Taxis could be cars or horses and buggies. In the backseat of a fancy black car, you watched the multiverse of Inferno move past you. On paved roads, you saw the metropolis demons created for themselves. You learned fashion spanned centuries: you saw men dressed like Roman gladiators and women dressed in the height of Victorian style. One street vendor wore a jester’s costume and sold peppermint sticks and hard candies. A couple strolling the market district wore the Korean hanboks of kings and queens.

“I never realized how diverse this place was,” you said to Jongho. He sat beside you while Mingi drove down the street. Your bodyguard never refused a trip into the city. “People really just kept on living whatever life they lived upstairs.”

“It was a lot easier than adapting to a new society, I suppose,” Jongho shrugged. “Not many demons like admitting it, but when we started going up into the living world, we picked up a lot of human customs. Everything from fashion to music to sports and entertainment. We sort of absorbed it then regurgitated it back out.”

“Mingi mentioned that to me yesterday,” you said, staring out the window. “It’s messed up. Demons like looking down on humans, but they actually take so much from us. They hate us, but won’t admit how much they actually need us.”

“Us?”

“You know what I mean.”

“And not all demons hate humans,” he said. “I quite like them. They’re fun to mess with.”

“In what way?”

With a click of his fingers, the purse on your lap vanished before your eyes. Before you could protest, you saw it in Jongho’s hand. He gave you a mischievous smile, handing you the bag back, “You should’ve seen what I could do in the living world.”

“Huh?”

“Up in the living world, I used to possess people and cause general mischief,” he shrugged, “No big deal.”

“Sounds like a big deal,” you snorted. “What’s it like possessing someone?”

“It varies,” he said. “Some people made it incredibly easy while others put up a fight. You kind of have to linger around for a bit and do stuff. You know, like opening all the drawers in their house, making weird sounds, and the usual tricks. Professionals know to start with the soft stuff before pulling out the big guns.”

“You mean general ghost stuff to make them think it’s a poltergeist or a spirit and not a demon?”

“Precisely. It’s all in the mind games. Get them paranoid. Gaslight them and make them see stuff or question their own sanity little by little. Ooh, and if it’s a couple?! Double the pleasure, double the fun,” he laughed, delight in his soft eyes. “I used to like turning them on one another. The negative energy really opens up the gateway into possession. Then, when you finally got ‘em good and angry, then the fun begins for real.”

“Tell me more,” you insisted.

Jongho then divulged into various possession stories. He told you about the young man he took on a crime spree across South Korea. He mentioned the young couple he terrorized for months before they found a priest unafraid of demons. He delivered every story with the same delight a person does with fond memories. It felt good sitting next to him, listening and talking without sex being involved. You enjoyed a good fuck as much as anyone, but must it be every time?

“Did you ever possess anyone, Mingi?” you asked, resting your head on the partition window.

“Nah, not my thing,” he shook his head. “It feels like wearing someone’s old, dirty clothes. It’s gross to me.”

“Have you done it?”

“A few times. It’s sort of a right-of-passage thing for younger demons,” he answered. “It’s expected.”

“Oooh, can I possess people?” you asked, excited.

“Nope,” Jongho said from behind you. “You’re part-human, Mistress.”

“I have demon blood though.”

“Not enough for you to enter another person’s mind and corrupt their spirit,” he smiled at your excitement. “Besides, you don’t need to possess someone to get them to do what you want. You have your charms and your lips to do that.”

“My kisses just make people horny. That’s not that special.”

“I’m sure if you experimented, Mistress, you’d be able to do more than control a person’s genitals with those lips.”

“You think I can control people?” you asked, sitting back in your seat beside him. “Like, their minds?”

“Maybe. I’ve seen it done. We’d have to test it as we go.”

“And here we are,” Mingi interrupted, stopping the car outside an office building.

You might be back home on the way to work if it weren’t for the eternal smog covering the skies and the constant heat. The range of different demons also changed the scene considerably. On a sign outside, you saw the words “City of Inferno Official Headquarters” with a directory sign beside it. There, you glimpsed departments such as “Crossroad Appeals Office”, “Possession and Infestation”, and “Cambion Counseling and Aid”. Jongho didn’t lie. Demons truly modeled themselves after humans in every aspect of life.

Mingi opened your door for you and you stepped out. Putting on sunglasses from your purse, you gazed around the front area while Jongho discussed a wait time with Mingi. You always imagined Hell being a landscape of fire and brimstone, not a city with buildings and parking spaces. The revelation had been startling at first. When Jongho came back to you, he led you into the building.

“Just let me do the talking,” he told you as you entered. “Master Seonghwa submitted your initial paperwork already, but you do need to sign and confirm some things with Jackson.”

“What paperwork?”

“Nothing major,” he said, pressing an elevator button, “Just basic information to have on hand: family names, occupations, housing, offspring and all that. Since you went unregistered your entire life, you’ll have a few more questions than most people.”

It sounded dull, but you didn’t want the masters getting into trouble. They may have kept you like a pet, but they didn't ongoing mistreat or abuse you. At least, not in a way you didn't consent to. You entered the elevator, and Jongho pressed for the fourth floor. You rode in silence, nerves starting to pinch as the elevator climbed.

“Fourth Floor: Department of Cambion Relations, Cambion Counseling and Aid, and Cambion Registration,” a cool female voice said as the doors opened up onto the floor.

Across the entire floor, you saw dozens of cubicles and desks. Demons worked on computers, typing up reports or answering phone calls. A few passed by you with folders or boxes with more papers inside. The hum of general chatter, printing machines, computers and keyboards reminded you once again of home. You breathed in the crisp air, letting it sink into you. Jongho brought you over to a reception desk near the doorway, where a female succubus sat working on her computer.

“Morning,” Jongho said, “We’re here to see Mr. Wang from Registration?”

“Room thirteen,” she said, without looking away from her screen.

“Thanks.”

Jongho led you alongside the office space, both your footsteps muffled by the carpeted floors. The atmosphere remained alive and buzzing. It brought back memories of the YN you left behind. Finding Room Thirteen, Jongho gave a soft knock before a voice spoke out.

“Come in.”

Jackson Wang appeared suave and chic in his emerald suit and trimmed, parted hair. You understood immediately why he and Seonghwa were friends. He'd finished typing on his keyboard when he saw Jongho in the doorway.

“Jongho, good morning! How are you?”

Jackson stood up to greet your handler. His office looked similar to many you'd seen before: clever unopened books on the shelves, fake plants in pristine pots, cluttered paperwork and leather furniture. All on top of a light blue carpet that muffled all sounds. Jackson and Jongho exchanged pleasantries while you looked around. Degrees and certificates came from universities in the living world; what sort of demon goes to a human college? You supposed college campuses might be full of “sin”. But, it sounded so unlike what demons claim to do.

“And this must be YN,” Jackson turned to you, and you shook hands. “Seonghwa told me all about you. Your story truly is unique. It's incredibly rare for a cambion to go unregistered in this day and age, especially with the new system.”

“I suppose my mother hoped I never ended up here,” you shrugged, eyeing the fake fern in the corner. You hated the fake ones. They had no life and carried that cheap plastic shine. “Seonghwa mentioned paperwork?”

“Yes,” Jackson gestured to the two armchairs, and went around to his desk chair. He began withdrawing a folder from a file drawer, “Nothing too complicated. It's mostly just documents saying you come into our world understanding our laws, and will abide by them at all times. There are a few consensus forms, since that helps us keep track of the cambion population.” He passed you a vanilla folder, “Seonghwa already went ahead and put himself down as your demon host, so the housing document is already filled out.”

“Demon host?”

“The demon you're living with until you find your own place to live or until you live with him permanently,” he said. “They're responsible for making sure you keep yourself in line, and learn our way of life down here. In normal cases, the host is usually the parent if they come back from the living world. But, in your case, it'd be Seonghwa, since he's the heir.”

The first form seems simple enough. It asked for age, date of birth, date of death, height and other useless facts. The second form listed the basic laws of Inferno, and that you understood and respected them. You didn’t see yourself committing any crimes, so you signed it. The third described what the form called “Acknowledgement of Inheritance and Social Status”.

“Inheritance?” you looked up to Jackson. “I inherit stuff?”

“Yes,” Jackson consulted his computer, typing in a few words before turning to you, “You’re a Lady of Eden so naturally that earns you a garden patch in Eden, should you want that. Since your mother is a daughter of Lilith, making you a first-generation granddaughter, you earn the title of Marchioness-”

“-Marchioness?!-”

“-Which affords you special nobility status, obviously,” he said finally.

“For example,” Jongho said, “Master Seonghwa, Hongjoong and San are Prince Asmodeus’s sons, so they’re technically Dukes over regular lords. They don’t like to flaunt their titles so much, but they have them on paper. Any children they should have would be a Marquess or Marchioness. I thought Yeosang would’ve covered the hierarchy system with you.”

“We were getting there.”

The news surprised you. You knew you’d be a person of some importance, but YN, Marchioness of Eden, sounded so official and regal.

“Your title, as it says there, changes if you ever married someone of a higher rank,” said Jackson. “Let’s say you end up marrying Seonghwa. You’d go from Marchioness to Duchess. Most demons don’t marry below their social class, but it does happen and that person goes a step down instead. Psh, it’s embarrassing in my opinion but true love conquers all I suppose.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it. With it hanging in the air, heat filled your cheeks at once. The question crossed your mind several times since learning about it. Wanting to protect you from Inferno seemed to be the only logical answer, but protect you from what? You guessed being a royal in Hell had more downsides to upsides. Your mother left her entire demon life behind her. She could have returned at any time, but chose the living world. Thinking back to the masters’ mother, you wondered if she’d originally planned on coming back home but never did. No, not Mama. She wasn't like that. Finishing up the next few documents, mostly “Visitation Confidentiality” and “Eternal Stay”, you handed the folder back to Jackson. He double checked all the forms before smiling up at you.

“Perfect,” he beamed. “I’ll send these to the certification and identification departments so you can get your identification card. It helps us keep track of the population, you see. It’ll take a few days, but with this information in the system, you’re free to visit Eden.”

“Visit Eden?”

“It’s customary for newcomers to visit their homelands, so to speak,” he placed one paper in a fax machine, punching the right number into it. “Lilith loves welcoming her children and grandchildren home. She’ll be delighted by you specifically, since you’re a first-generation grandchild.”

“What’s she like?” The thought of meeting such a high ranking demon made you anxious.

“Pleasant most of the time. Just don’t step on her hydrangeas. The Sisters of Eden will be expecting you, so I’d get it out of the way if I were you.”

“Would my mother be there?” you asked in a small voice, fear injecting itself into your veins. It made you sick. “I…I don’t know what happened to her before I died.”

You never bothered asking. Guilt stuck to your chest thinking of every time you screened her calls or pretended not to be home. You were so mean. If you had any regret, it’d be what you did to her. Would she forgive you? You pushed her away from your mind, and stood up.

“I guess we’re done here then?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he nodded, standing to shake your hand and Jongho’s, good to see you as always. Let’s get together when you’re not busy waiting on people. Though, to be honest,” he turned to look at you, “I wouldn’t mind waiting on her.”

Too blinded by guilt to really take in the compliment, you just nodded and smiled. You and Jongho left the office, and ended up in the elevator before you knew it. The last conversation you had with her came sliding back into your head.

‘Julie’s having a baby shower. You should come.”

“I hate Julie.”

“I know, but I’d…I’d like to see you, honey cake.”

She loved you so damn much. You resented her weakness, but it turned out you’d been wrong the entire time. That desperate need to fix things poked at you as you got back into the car. Yet, fear kept you planted. What if she did hate you? You’d never consider her capable of hate, but that’d been before the truth came out. You wouldn’t blame her. You’d hate yourself too if the roles were reversed.

“Mistress?” Jongho broke through your train of thought, trying to catch your glazed eyes. “Mistress?”

“Huh? Wha…Oh yeah, what’s…What’s up?”

“Where do you want to go next? The Quarter Cafe is open, and they serve the best beignets in the city.”

“I’m not hungry right now.”

“The Merchant’s District, then? They have fashion boutiques spanning across different centuries of clothing. I know this one dress maker who makes gorgeous 18th century gowns. She worked for Marie Antionette I heard. Master Seonghwa would enjoy it, for sure.”

“I’m…That’s not my thing.”

“Shopping is your ‘thing’ though.”

She wouldn’t hate you. Mama never hated anyone; not even annoying customers at the shop or that bitch Loraine who stole her peach cobbler recipe. But, you’d treated her so terribly. Your father had been alive when you died, which left her alone. Safe, but alone. You like to think she came back home.

“Mistress, we can’t stay here all day.”

“Destination, please,” Mingi said, “That rent-a-cop keeps eyeing me.”

She sought out the comfort of home and her demon family. She’d be surrounded by her flowers and plants in an endless spring. Jackson suggested you go see your grandmother, which will be a different kind of anxiousness, but what if she’s there as well?

“Are there any gardening stores or florists in town?” you finally asked.

“A fair few,” he answered. “Why?”

“Take me to the best one. I want to see Octavius,” you told him, “And the rest. That greenhouse is in need of some serious TLC. Maybe the supply store will have whatever I need.”

“Perfect!”

Mingi drove you to a small hardware store that had a gardening station. The potted “starter plants” all cooed when you walked past them, though you’re sure only you heard them. You decided you’d buy them another time. You had plants who needed you at home. Toiling the earth and regrowing those neglected plants would force her from your mind. It’ll erase the questions and worries floating around in your head. Too much went on today for you to add her to the list. Buying the standard supplies, bags of fertilizers and fresh soil, you went back home determined to keep yourself occupied.

Anything to keep her away.

****

“I just died in your arms tonight. It must’ve been something you said. I just died in your arms tonight…”

They liked the music. You watched the yellow-mouths sway side to side to the song in separate pots as you refreshed their soil. A row of purple and pink hibiscuses sat on a shelf moving to the beat of Cutting Crew’s ‘Died in Your Arms’ above you. The small stereo you’d stolen from Hongjoong’s bedroom sat on a wooden table where Jongho placed snacks for you, but you didn’t have an appetite. Instead, you asked him to bring you a bucket of innards for Octavius’s offspring, who only ate meat.

“You guys are going to feel so good when I finish,” you said, adding a bit more soil to their box, then digging separate holes to transfer them. “Seonghwa should be ashamed of himself honestly. He created all of you, then left you to suffer here alone. You must be starving for attention.”

A low rumble came from nearby. You looked to see the purple and blue plant wiggling its stamen in the air. You smiled.

“I’ll get to you soon enough, Lucius. You just hang on. Everyone’s getting their turn.” As you delicately placed the yellow-mouths back in their planter, you felt something shift behind you. “No, Jongho, I don’t need anything right now. Thank you.”

“It’s my job to stand nearby in case you need me, Mistress,” he said, coming up beside you.

You noticed he’d changed out of his butler uniform into a flannel shirt, boots, and denims. He looked different outside his uniform, which always looked so clean and proper. Here, he might’ve passed for a human were it not for his horns. You noticed he'd rolled his sleeves to his elbows, showing off his lean forearms. He picked up a bucket of loose soil and a spade, walking over to Lucius.

“You really don’t have to do that,” you told him, standing up from the planter and wiping off loose dirt from your knees. “I really don’t mind working here myself. It’s sort of therapeutic for me, especially after what’s been happening.”

“Mistress, you are my sole responsibility around here,” he said. He examined Lucius, taking in his withering curved petals that resembled a seat. “If I left you here alone, and something happened to you, The Masters would have my head.”

“It’s not like I’m their property anymore,” you told him. You saw Jongho starting to dig around Lucius, but you stopped him. “His soil is fine. He’s just thirsty. Samantha, watering can, please.”

One of Ocatvius’s offspring approached with a watering can. You tossed her a strip of raw meat from a bucket, and she slumped away. Once you began pouring around Lucius, the bulb glowed with life and squealed happily. It made you smile. These plants might be sentient creatures made for pleasure and pain, but they had the same needs as any other. Lucius, getting enough water, closed himself up and glowed dimly. He was good for a while.

“Like I said,” you continued, moving over to a shelf of various normal plants. “You don’t need to worry about them. I’m your mistress, and if I say you don’t have to be around, then you don’t have to be.”

You touched their faded, dry leaves and petals, feeling them clinging to life. You assessed the damage to be too much direct sunlight and no water. Pressing your hand to a nearby vine, you coaxed it omto spreading across the wide window, the vines creeping along slowly. You grabbed the watering can and began pouring generous amounts in each pot. Their relief radiated off them as water seeped into their dry soil. You hated thinking how long they'd sat in the sunlight, left to die. You knew you could heal them with a simple touch, but working the plants yourself felt better. You also sensed they liked their sunlight and water given directly.

“And if I want to be?” he asked, grabbing a spray bottle to water the smaller, more delicate plants. “Would you still send me away?”

“Not really, I don’t think so. It's not like anyone around here actually talks to me,” you said. With the first shelf finished, you moved to the next one.

“I talk to you,” he said, mildly offended.

“Obviously I didn't mean you. I meant other people.”

“The others talk to you too. The Masters as well.”

“They talk about me,” you pointed out, “Not to me. They only do when they’re horny.”

“Alright, yes that’s true at times,” he said, uncertain of how to continue now. He watched you begin repotting a dying orchid, and you knew he fished for something to say. “The Masters and the rest of us might enjoy sex with you, but that doesn’t mean it’s all we want. We are incubi after all. It’s in our nature, and it’s in yours too.” You saw him grin out of the corner of your eye, “You’ve gone after them a few times in the past. The lust isn’t entirely one sided.”

“I suppose not.”

“Since when have you cared about an emotional connection, anyways?”

“Never, but…” you held the soil bag in front of you, “But, it’d be nice if there was one.”

“And there is,” he insisted. “Master Hongjoong typically throws people out of his bed when he’s done with them, or leaves before they wake up. With you, he stays and you stay. He curls up and holds you as if he thinks you'll leave him. Master Seonghwa never lets anyone in his private library, but here he is, letting you have your lessons there. Master San, psh…” he scoffed, “You should’ve seen what he did to that one demon in the arena. He decapitated him after he said he was going to take you from him.”

“What? When was this?”

“It happened in the arena, supposedly. Some of the footmen go there on their off day to see the fights,” he said. “Occasionally, they’ll throw in demon challenger to sort of spice things up, you know? And this one big guy said he heard you’d become San’s pleasure slave. This is all just bravado a lot of the time, by the way,” he added quickly, “But what I heard through the grapevine was that he said he’d cut off San’s head then claim you as his prize. Well, according to one of the guys, San ended up chopping off his head instead.”

“He…He killed someone for me?”

“In a way,” he shrugged. “It was the night he came home with that really bad cut on his torso.”

You recalled that night as you stuck the orchid back in a brand new pot. San not being home on time was your first clue something might’ve gone wrong. Not wanting to make a huge deal out of it, you prepared dinner like normal and waited. And waited. And waited. It was nine o’clock by the time he came through the door with Yunho in tow. He’d taken off his shirt and jacket, so you saw the thick bandages wrapped around his lean torso. The spot of black blood broke the confusion right away. You remembered everything suddenly being about San and his injury. The roast you’d “made” no longer mattered. You’d gone with Yunho into the bedroom, where the butler went to work redressing San’s messy bandages. It’d been ghastly. Ripped, thick and deep, you worried Yunho might not be able to stitch it properly, but he managed expertly.

‘Don’t worry, Darling. I’ll be alright by tomorrow.’

Which he was. San’s demon blood helped him recover overnight. The shredded skin appeared to be knitting itself back together little by little, and no longer needed bandages. He never told you about the fight or what happened. He said it wasn’t important because he won. A soft smile went across your face thinking of how he spent that entire week at home with you. There’d been cuddling, kissing, talking, and soft, passionate sex. You felt entirely one with him in that moment.

“Just because it’s never said out loud doesn’t mean it’s not there, Mistress,” said Jongho. His body heat transferred to you as he stood behind you. His touch created goosebumps down your arms and up your neck. Middle knuckle tracing up your spine, he dragged it lazily up and down as he spoke. “I know I’d do anything you asked of me.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “In the short time I’ve known you, I’ve come to realize how special you are. You’re bold, confident, ambitious and clever. You aren't afraid to be yourself,” he said, “And you don't stand down when someone insults you. Yeosang insults everyone, and they take it because of who he is. But, not you. You fought a grandson of Satan, and while you didn't win, you still did it.”

“We ended up fucking then too.”

“It's in your nature, like I said.”

You turned around to face him. Close up, you found Jongho more fascinating. His eyes, dark brown, had the typical red ring around the iris. They carried the same gentleness he showed whenever he saw you. Jongho quickly became the only person you really talked to anymore. Anything you told him stayed between the both of you. He became your friend, your assistant and confidant. Pushing a piece of his hair from his face, you took in his handsomeness. The Masters and the other servants had the conventional attractiveness of demons: lean bodies, sharp jawlines, sultry eyes and smirking lips. He had one of his own. Like a bear, he came across as cute and soft. You knew if you took off his clothes, you'd find him just as fit as the others. Hands sliding up to his shoulders, you felt his breath rise and fall. In his shirt, you could feel his muscles much easier than his uniform. Reaching his shoulders, you gave them a tender squeeze.

“Does that mean it's in your nature too?” you asked, sultry and flirty.

“At times,” he answered. He wrapped his arms around your waist, hands on your lower back. The touch warmed your body considerably. “I believe all demons, regardless of classification or status, carry lust inside them. I know,” he kept one hand behind you as the other slowly reached up your body, “That I've had trouble resisting my own instincts lately.”

“How could that be, Jongho?” you asked, gasping softly when he cupped your breast. He kneaded it gently, thumb brushing where your nipple might be. “You're always so strong and resilient.”

“You weaken me, Mistress,” he breathed, eyes focused on the tit in his hand. The touch brought back the tingling sensation. “Being around you constantly challenges my resolve. I bathe you. I see you naked regularly. I watch you be fucked relentlessly by my masters. All the blood in my veins rushes to my dick when I see you through the peepholes. I stand there behind that one painting, leaking all over my hand and wishing it was your pussy instead. You drive me insane, and I suffer through it constantly.”

“These hands, you mean?” You covered both his hands with yours. He moaned, feeling your hands guide him over your breasts. “The ones right here?”

“Yes, Mistress.” He gently pushed you against the shelf, trapping you between him and the plants.

“How often?”

“Too often.”

“What do you like seeing the most, hm?” you flicked his lips, letting him taste the intoxicating saliva on it. “Me getting fucked from behind? On my back? On my side? Riding their dicks? Which one?”

“I like watching them tongue your pussy,” he said, trembling from the hard nipples pushing into his hands. “Your pussy is…”

“Pretty?”

“Yes, especially when soaking wet. I just want to eat it all day, even if my jaw gets locked up. I love seeing you wriggle around when they do it. You always look so needy and you're always begging for more. You claw the sheets,” he shuddered at the mental image, “And hold onto their hair to keep them there."

“I just love it so much,” you said, putting one of his fingers in your mouth. He looked up to watch you suck the digit softly. “I love it most when they finger me while they do it.” You moved even closer, toying your tits with one hand while you sucked another finger, “Or when I'm giving one of them a blowjob. You know how much I love sucking dick, particularly big, long, thick demon dick.” You finally touched the tent forming in his pants, smiling when he whimpered. Lifting his head by the chin, you made eye contact as he said, “And I’d love to suck yours.”

“Mi-M-Mistress?”

“I remember all your little whimpering and moaning when you jerked off in front of me,” you told him, feeling him through the denim. “It looked so tasty, I drooled from looking at it. I want to be the one making you whimper like that. Could you do it for me again?”

“Ye-yes,” he nodded hurriedly. “For as long as my Lady wishes.”

“Then let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” you said, lips centimeters from his before they touched.

Jongho involuntarily squeezed both your breasts as you locked lips. Lips caressing each other softly, you started unbuttoning his shirt before you appeared in your bedroom. Once the expanse of smooth, warm tawny skin became exposed, your hands smoothed right over it. Nipples already hard, you rubbed them with the sides of your thumbs. Jongho gave a short huff as the touch sparked his aroused further. You both only broke away only to remove your shirts, coming back together so your skin touched skin. Kissing him, you stayed as close as you kissed. You noticed a certain type of hunger taking over the longer your tongues explored each other. The lascivious toxin in your spit mixed with his, and you knew the effect it’d have on him. He seemed to get harder, hungrier and needier. The kiss weakened Jongho, who let you slide off his jeans and underwear together. His cock free of its confines, your mouth drooled seeing the throbbing muscle. Having him fully nude, you guided him over to your bed. Lust filled his dark eyes, and he looked nowhere except at you.

Climbing on top of him, your center grinded your clothed sex to his bare crotch. You placed his hands over his head towards the board where your vines wrapped themselves around his wrists. Jongho did not pull against the restraint. If anything, it caused him to push up against you. Kissing down his neck, you left small bites and hickeys that marked his tender flesh before you reached one nipple. Jongho whimpered loudest as you licked around one nipple, so you did the same to the other. Your teasing strengthened the feeling between your legs as well. You didn’t mind being the submissive one, but the change felt nice. Jongho sounded so sweet whining underneath you, eyes closing as he relished in the pleasure you created. Leaving his nipples, you pecked down his front to the tip laying on his lower stomach.

One thin vine slid over to where you knelt, and you saw the yellow-green creeper wrap around the base of his dick and balls. The natural cockring brought on new sensations that Jongho bucked into for friction. You ran your hands up and down his thighs, kissing the inner areas to leave more small marks on them. Having you so close yet so far from his dick made it twitch on his stomach. You kissed right up to the underside of his hilt. Jongho sighed when your tongue only slid between the bottom and halfway to the shaft repeatedly. His fists clenched in his restraint, not fighting it even if his body craved more. Each time you licked upwards, you drew closer to the thick, leaking tip. It was when you cupped his balls that Jongho grew louder.

“Mistress,” he breathed, eyes closed, “Please…”

“Hm?” You started swishing your tongue over the backside of the tip.

“Please…suck on it…Please…”

“We’ll get there soon,” you promised between licks.

Swirling your tongue over the most sensitive part, you began lightly stroking him. Interchanging between hard and soft squeezes, you moved your tongue from back to front, sliding over the slit on top to taste a bead of precum. Then, you continued only sucking the very tip while you moved your hand up and down. Jongho kept watching you through heavy lidded eyes, lips parted in every moan and whimper as you teased him. Every lick across his head had him quivering. Watching him slowly unravel before you became amusing. Using your spit to coat him, you watched your hand gradually work him. The muscle pulsed in your grasp, somehow getting harder than before. You spat on it again to see it shine in the sunlight, before taking the whole head in your mouth.

This rush of relief had Jongho writhing into the soft blankets and moss. You couldn’t get over the feeling of him dripping on your tongue. The salty drops smeared over your tongue and cheeks, and you swallowed each one. As you went further down, you tasted the smooth skin and felt each vein cross over your lips. The vines restricting his length kept him from cumming while you reached the end of his cock at last. Inside your throat, Jongho let out an uncontrollable series of moans. You let him hear you gag on him, constricting your airway each time and creating more drool to wet him with. You let him push into your face once you buried him in your throat, unable to stop himself with your hand on his balls.

“You really are so well behaved,” you croaked, spitting on his dick before licking it back up, “Letting your mistress do whatever she likes with your lovely cock. I can stay down here forever,” you sucked him further, throating him once more to hear him moan. It was when you moved hand and mouth together that he began quivering. “Mmm,” you licked up the string of precum coming down the sides, “Does my little toy want to cum?”

“Yes,” he moaned, “Yes, I do, Mistress.”

“Are you going to?”

“Only i-i-if you wish.”

“Hm, I don’t think so just yet,” you said, “I’m not done playing.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Such a good…good boy,” you cried out, not stopping him as he attacked your sensitive sex. “Keep going like that,” you spat and continued jerking at him, “Make me cum again. Make your mistress cum again.”

You maneuvered yourself to face him in reverse, your sex inches from his face and continued sucking him slowly.

"Eat my pussy," you ordered in a gentle voice, "I want to feel your tongue on my clit."

Tiny bouts of relief came once his hot tongue slid around your aching clit. His thick cock muffled any moans it brought out, which gave a vibrating sensation Jongho loved. Unable to touch you, Jongho could only trace the folds around your pussy before sucking that hard numb. You wiggled your hips over his face, soaked pussy smearing over mouth, chin and cheeks as you did it. The light brushes drove you crazy, needing him to make you cum. You moaned loudest when he captured your clit in his mouth again and quickly swirled his tongue around it. His tongue teased out the orgasm sitting inside you little by little, not focusing on anything else than your tingling nub. Sensing your enjoyment, Jongho continued the same speed and pattern until you finally came. Even as you trembled and shook, your muscles constricting, Jongho kept going.

This time, his tongue slid deep into your sex. You bounced and rocked against the appendage wriggling inside you. Jongho’s mouth had you seeing stars as he tongue fucked you.

“Don’t stop licking, Jongho,” you said, enjoying the overstimulation his tongue made, “Don’t stop.”

Jongho whimpered into your center as you sensed his orgasm approaching. You quickened the pace with your hand, counting down the seconds in your head. His toes curled inwards and his thighs shook as it came closer and closer to the edge. Right when you sensed him there, you pulled away. A muffled ‘Mistress’ came from behind you and you cackled.

“I told you I wanted to play with it,” you said innocently, sliding off him to let him breathe and come down from the edge. Kissing his wet lips, you licked up whatever juices escaped him before sliding your tongue into his mouth. “It’s so much fun.”

Laying on top of him between his legs, you squeezed his dick with your thighs. His thick shaft brushed across your drenched sex in steady, measured thrusts that drove you wild. Fingers rolling his nipples, you smiled as he haphazardly rocked his hips into you. Jongho’s heavy breaths came out with whimpering moans. You never thought you’d see your bear so frantic for a release. It brought a sense of pride to see him like a putty in your hands. You became used to submitting to your partners, since you enjoyed that more, but this felt good. For once, you are in control.

Feeling him shivering once more, you forced yourself to spread your legs apart. Jongho cried, thrashing from the slight pain of being edged once again. When he started coming back down, you lightly grinded against him. Your pussy aching to have him inside, you knew dominants didn’t particularly give into their own desires. They took pleasure from withholding from their submissive. Yet, you craved to have him deep inside you. Everytime he brushes over your entrance, you feel tempted to ride him.

‘Then ride him, Mistress.’

Octavius. His deep, raspy voice sounded in your head like your own thoughts. You glanced up to the peonies around your bed. Your carnivorous, licentious friend had eyes and ears anywhere flowers grew. You wondered if you could do the same.

The vines around Jongho’s wrists slid away, and your servant immediately grabbed your hips to angle you properly. You didn’t stop him as he filled you completely. Hands on either side of him, you steadily moved up and down on him. His cock throbbed against your walls, passing over ridges and bumps within you. Once you started, you did not want to stop. Jongho knew this, and began meeting you in the middle. He only ever came an inch or two out of you every time, and the tip pushing your g-spot made you see stars. Knowing your plant-friends watched nearby made you eager to keep going. Some of them, you knew, needed more than water and sunlight.

“Mistress,” Jongho breathed, wrapping his arms around you to keep you in place, “You feel so good. Please, don’t stop,” he began pushing into you harder and faster, “Don’t make me stop. I want to make you cum. I want to please you.”

“Is that so?” you asked, whirling your hips to move him around inside you. “You wish to please me?”

“Yes,” he whimpered. “Let me make you cum again.”

“Then go ahead,” you whispered in his ear, trying your best not to completely lose it on top of him.

Jongho flipped you onto your back right away. Putting your legs on his shoulders, your servant pumped his cock into you at a deep angle. The perfect angle, if you were honest. Balls smacking your ass, hands palming your tits and nipples, he brought you in for another kiss as he fucked you. Soon enough, your third orgasm crawled towards your center again. It became more sensitive in every thrust. His touches on your nipples, his lips and tongue on your mouth, you broke away when it finally hit you. Something wet squirted onto his balls as he kept going; you could feel that taut feeling erupting again in every cry. You thought you might go insane from his cock. The mere feeling of it stretching and filling you elongated your climax. By the time you finished, Jongho had pinned you down.

“Mistress,” he breathed, “Mistress, Mistress….Can I cum now? Please, please,” he pleaded through gritted teeth, whining as your pussy gripped him.

“Yes,” you replied, rubbing your clit to produce another orgasm. You knew your plants wanted more of it. They needed as much as they could get. “I want you to cum on me. Cum all over me, now.”

Jongho withdrew from you and violently jerked his wet dick. A couple of pumps later, Jongho’s hot cum shot over your stomach and breasts. You watched his entire body clench and shake as he came, his eyes squeezing shut and mouth open. When the last few drops fell onto your sex, you pulled him closer to kiss him again. You wanted him to stay hard just a bit longer. On your mossy bed, you rolled onto your stomach and grinded into his dick. Apparently, your butler wasn’t fazed by how he hadn’t grown soft. He didn’t question or object. He almost seemed incapable of comprehending what was happening. Perhaps your kisses can be dangerous to a person’s sanity.

You giggled as Jongho plunged back into you.

***

A/N: Talk about some big changes in this house. Is YN truly loved or simply lusted over and coveted? That remains to be seen. At least she's got her big bear <3 please like and reblog <3

#pirateeznet #ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez smut #choi jongho #jongho x reader #jongho x you #jongho ateez #ateez jongho #jongho smut

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