#if you want me out of your life lets do it PROPERLY

[woso-dreamzzz]

Epicentre

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Summary: You want your sister to be the best

You have a big sister.

Sometimes, people at school tell you that she's not your real sister because she's adopted. But adopted means she's part of the family so you don't really understand what they mean by that.

But your big sister is your big sister and you love her a lot.

When you and Momma used to live in Germany, Sötnos lived back home in Sweden. She joined you all two years ago in England and when you and your mummies moved back to Germany, she had to spend her time in London seeing out the rest of her contract.

But now Sötnos is in Germany with you all too.

You think she likes Germany even though and she and Morsa don't really understand the language. It's okay though because she's got you and you understand German.

You're good at your languages.

Magda says that you're the best in the family at languages so it must be true.

You're the best at other things too like being a goalkeeper and bringing rocks to life.

Rocky, your favourite rock, sits on the shelf next to your bed so he can wake you up in the middle of the night if Magda tries to throw him out again.

She's not allowed to do that anymore because Pernille told her off but you want to be careful.

Careful like you are now as you wiggle out from under Pernille's arm in bed. You'd had a scary dream last night so she'd let you into the Big Bed to sleep with her and Magda.

But you're awake now, with an amazing idea to help your Auntie Frido with her goals in life.

You slip out from under Pernille's arms, shuffling towards the door. You freeze when there's movement behind you but it's just Magda flopping over onto her stomach, arms stretching up and around her pillow.

She always sleeps heavy.

You could draw on her face in permanent marker and she wouldn't even notice.

So your little feet go on their way, padding down the hall to the third bedroom in the house.

It creaks open and a head pops up from the bottom of the bed.

Sötnos' lamb looks at you, blinking once or twice before settling his head down again and going back to sleep.

The rustle is enough to wake your sister up though and Sötnos groggily rolls over to look at you.

"It's early," She complains," What's wrong?"

"I have important things to say," You say, fist buried in her blankets as you pull yourself into her bed.

"And they couldn't have waited until later?"

"No," You say plainly, settling on Sötnos' legs so she can't escape you," It is important."

Sötnos groans before flicking on her lamp and rubbing her eyes to rid them of sleep. "Go on. What is it?"

Sötnos is one of your heroes. After Magda and Pernille and Zećira, you think she's your favourite person in the world and you always want her to do well.

Auntie Frido says people that want to do well need to come to the best club in the world.

You know Sötnos wants to do well too because she left Sweden to go and play for Arsenal and you love Arsenal.

"You should live with auntie Frido," Is what you tell your sister.

"What?"

"Because she lives in Barcelona. That's in Spain, by the way."

She laughs. "I know that. Why do I have to live with Frido?"

"Because that's where you should play! So you can be the best!"

Sötnos laughs, pulling you into her arms properly. "You want me to move away from you?"

You pull a face. You hadn't thought of that. "I don't want you to go..." You say slowly," But I do want you to be the best. And Auntie Frido says Barcelona is the best. It has Tia Tana there and Ingrid and her silly girlfriend."

"You make a good point..." Sötnos says slowly and you nod along," But I'd like to stay in Germany with you. Is that alright too?"

"You-You don't want to be the best?"

"I can be the best here. How else would I become the best if I didn't have my favourite girl giving me so many pointers? You're very important."

You giggle, looking down bashfully. "Really?"

"Really," Sötnos agrees," We've got to develop together, remember? So we're on the Sweden team at the same time."

You nod. "Okay! I'll tell Auntie Frido that you have to stay here! It's very important."

"What's important?"

The door creaks open and light from the hallway streams into the room.

Pernille stands there, wrapped tightly in her dressing gown with messy hair sticking up from her head.

"Girls," She says, not waiting for an answer to her question," It's early. Why are you talking so loudly so early?"

"Momma!" You say," Good news! Sötnos is staying in Germany!"

"I...wasn't aware she was leaving?"

"That's good! Because she's not!"

"Right."

Pernille exchanges a look with your sister that you don't quite understand just as Magda's head pops around the doorframe.

"I take it all this excitement means that no one's getting anymore sleep?" She asks, trying to rub all the sleep out of her eyes. She blinks a few times, focussing on the way you and your sister are cuddling in bed together with a soft smile on her face.

Her gaze drifts down to the foot of the bed and her eyes go wide.

"What have I told you girls about letting the lamb in the bed?!"

[reveriebae]

You Wrote That For Me, Didn't You? [Part 2]

pairing(s) : Idol!Yunho x Atiny!reader

word count : 4915

summary : The night spirals as Yunho’s teasing and touch drive you to the edge, overstimulating you until you're begging for more, leaving you craving every sinful second.

genre : smut

warning(s) : explicit content, overstimulation, dirty talk, power dynamics,mentions of fanfiction and smut, cunnilingus and oral fixation, along with mild degradation, mention of hand kink(?). Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N : I noticed y'all love this so much, so enjoy this little treat:)

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐smut under the cut🪐

You didn’t go home that night. Not because you didn’t want to—because you couldn’t.

Every time you closed your eyes, Yunho’s voice echoed in your head.

"Don’t stop writing. I like seeing what you come up with."

It haunted you. The way he had looked at you, touched you, spoken to you. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he had already decided what would happen next.

And deep down, you knew it too.

Because just as you had convinced yourself to forget it, to push the encounter to the back of your mind as nothing more than a fever dream—

Your phone buzzed.

A text.

Unknown Number: "Room 1709. Conrad Seoul. Don’t keep me waiting, baby."

Your stomach dropped.

You shouldn’t have gone.

You should have ignored it, deleted the message, and gone home like a good girl.

But instead—

You were standing outside the hotel door, heart hammering, fingers hovering over the handle.

You knew what this was. Knew that the moment you stepped inside, there was no going back.

And yet—

You pushed the door open.

The room was dim, the only light coming from the city skyline pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The air was thick, warm, carrying the faint scent of expensive cologne.

And then there was him.

Yunho stood near the window, hands in his pockets, his silhouette cast against the glass.

He didn’t turn around immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch—so suffocating, so unbearably tense that your breath caught in your throat.

Finally, he spoke.

“I knew you’d come.”

Your fingers curled into fists. “How did you get my number?”

Yunho let out a soft chuckle, finally turning to face you. His expression was unreadable—half amusement, half something darker.

“Does it matter?” he murmured, stepping closer.

You should have stepped back.

You didn’t.

Yunho watched you carefully, his gaze dipping down, taking in the rise and fall of your chest, the way your body betrayed you with every shallow breath.

Then—

He reached out, fingers skimming along your wrist, slow and deliberate.

“I read everything you wrote about me,” he murmured. “Every filthy little fantasy.”

Your throat went dry, is he gonna punish you?

Yunho’s fingers curled around your wrist, pulling you closer—so close you could feel his breath against your skin.

“I think it’s time I see if you meant it.”

Your breathing was uneven.

The air in the hotel room felt heavier now, charged with something dark, something undeniable. Yunho hadn’t even touched you properly, yet your body was already betraying you—heat pooling low in your stomach, legs pressing together, fingers twitching at your sides.

And he saw it.

He always did.

Yunho’s lips twitched, eyes flickering between yours before he leaned in just a fraction closer. “You still haven’t answered me,” he murmured.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“Answered what?” you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

His grip on your chin tightened—just a little, just enough. “Aren’t you going to let me test them?”

You knew what he meant.

Every filthy detail you had ever written. Every desperate, depraved fantasy where you had turned him into something dangerous, something relentless. Where he had taken you apart in ways you had never even experienced in real life.

And now—

Now he was standing in front of you, giving you the chance to live it.

Your throat bobbed.

“…Yes.”

It was soft. Almost too soft. But Yunho heard it.

And he smirked.

His other hand lifted, fingers brushing along your jaw—so gently it made your skin ache for more. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice like velvet. “I knew you’d be obedient.”

The praise sent a jolt of arousal straight through you.

Yunho noticed.

His smirk deepened. “Ah,” he chuckled, his fingers ghosting lower, down the column of your throat. “You like that, don’t you?”

You bit your lip.

A mistake.

Because Yunho’s gaze dropped instantly—to your mouth, to the way your teeth sank into your bottom lip like you were trying to hold back.

That flicker of restraint vanished.

Before you could even react, Yunho moved—swift, deliberate. His hand slid behind your neck, pulling you flush against him, and then—

His lips crashed against yours.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle.

It was claiming.

His tongue swiped along the seam of your lips, demanding entry, and when you gasped—when you whimpered—he took full advantage, deepening the kiss, drinking you in like he had been waiting for this for far too long.

His grip tightened, fingers tangling in your hair, and the heat of him, the sheer size of him, had your knees buckling.

Yunho noticed.

And he loved it.

His free hand dropped, sliding around your waist, pulling you hard against him—against the solid heat of his chest, against the unmistakable hardness pressing into your stomach.

You moaned. You couldn’t help it.

Yunho growled.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your lips. “You sound even better than I imagined.”

He didn’t even give you a second to process before his mouth was on yours again—hungrier this time, more desperate. His teeth scraped against your lower lip, his grip on your waist tightening as if he wanted to pull you inside him.

And you let him.

Because Yunho wasn’t just testing your fantasies anymore.

He was rewriting them.

Yunho didn’t let up.

He kissed you like he was starving—like he had waited too long for this moment and wasn’t going to waste a single second. His tongue swept into your mouth, claiming, teasing, until you were dizzy from the sheer intensity of it.

Your fingers clutched at his shirt, desperate for something to ground you, but Yunho wasn’t giving you a chance to catch your breath.

His hands were already moving.

Sliding down your sides, gripping your waist, exploring like he had every right to.

And then—

A gasp tore from your lips as Yunho yanked you even closer—so close you could feel him, the hard press of his body against yours, the heat radiating off him in waves.

He groaned, low and rough, his lips trailing from your mouth down to your jaw.

“Mm,” he hummed, his voice thick with amusement. “You’re shaking.”

You were.

Because Yunho wasn’t just touching you—he was devouring you, piece by piece, taking his time, making sure you felt everything.

His teeth grazed your pulse, sending a shiver down your spine.

Then—

He bit.

Not hard—just enough to make you whimper, your hands fisting in his shirt.

Yunho chuckled against your skin, his tongue flicking out to soothe the sting.

“Sensitive,” he mused, his grip tightening on your waist. “That’s cute.”

His fingers dipped lower.

Trailing down your stomach, teasing, threatening.

You gasped, your body tensing in anticipation, but Yunho—

Yunho stopped.

A slow, wicked smirk curled on his lips as he pulled back just slightly, his eyes locked onto yours.

“Say it,” he murmured.

Your breath caught. “Say… what?”

Yunho tilted his head. “You know what.”

Your stomach flipped.

Because you did know.

He wanted you to ask.

To admit that you wanted it.

Your cheeks burned, your pride screaming at you to hold out, to make him work for it—but Yunho saw that hesitation.

And he wasn’t having it.

His fingers ghosted over the waistband of your jeans, teasing, torturing.

“You wrote all those filthy little things about me,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, “but now you’re too shy to say it?”

Your entire body trembled.

Yunho laughed.

A deep, pleased sound, like he was thoroughly enjoying this.

Then—

He leaned in, his breath hot against your lips.

“Be a good girl,” he whispered.

His fingers dipped lower.

“Tell me what you want.”

You couldn’t breathe.

Not properly. Not with the way Yunho was watching you, waiting—so patient, so in control.

His fingers hovered just over the waistband of your jeans, not moving, not pressing any further. Teasing. Taunting.

You knew what he wanted.

But you were still struggling to say it.

Yunho sighed—a slow, amused sound—before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

And then—

He lifted his hand.

Right in front of your face.

You froze.

Your stomach plummeted.

Because you knew what he was doing.

Your obsession with his hands wasn’t a secret.

Not to yourself. Not to your readers.

And apparently—

Not to him.

“You like these, don’t you?” Yunho murmured, flexing his fingers slightly, watching the way your eyes locked onto the movement.

You swallowed hard.

His hands were ridiculous.

Big. Veiny. Strong. The kind that could wrap around your throat, your waist—your entire existence—and make you feel small.

And he knew it.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “You wrote about them so many times,” he mused, curling his fingers slowly, making you watch. “I wonder—”

His palm ghosted over your stomach, fingers spreading, pressing lightly against the fabric of your shirt.

“Were you thinking about them when you touched yourself?”

A broken whimper escaped your lips.

Your thighs squeezed together, your body screaming for more, but Yunho—

Yunho was enjoying this too much.

“You want them on you, don’t you?” he murmured.

Your breath hitched.

His hand shifted, fingers tracing just under the hem of your shirt.

You whimpered.

Yunho laughed.

“I knew it,” he whispered.

Then—

His fingers moved.

Yunho’s fingers moved—slowly, deliberately, like he knew how much it was killing you.

Your breathing hitched as his hand slid under your shirt, palm warm against your bare skin. His fingers traced over your stomach, featherlight, teasing—so agonizingly slow that you swore he was doing it just to watch you squirm.

And he was.

“Mm,” he hummed, voice deep, thick with amusement. “I can feel you shaking.”

Your lips parted, a soft whimper slipping free before you could stop it.

Yunho groaned.

“You love this, don’t you?” His voice dropped lower, rougher. His palm spread wider, fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make you feel his strength. “You love my hands on you.”

You did.

Too much.

And Yunho knew it.

His thumb brushed along your ribs, his fingers dragging lower—so close, yet still not enough.

Your head tilted back, lips trembling as a frustrated whine built in your throat.

Yunho laughed.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Are you getting impatient?”

Your fingers curled into his shirt, gripping tight as you nodded.

Yunho smirked.

“So desperate,” he mused, his fingers trailing even lower. “And for what?”

His lips brushed your jaw, a soft, teasing kiss.

“For my hands?”

You let out a whimper.

Yunho groaned.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his grip on your waist tightening. “I should make you beg for them.”

Your stomach flipped.

Because the worst part?

You would.

You would beg.

And Yunho knew it.

His fingers flexed against your skin, slow, purposeful—reminding you of what they could do. Of what they were capable of.

And then—

His other hand came up, fingers wrapping around your throat.

Not tight. Not squeezing.

Just holding.

Just reminding you.

Your breath caught.

Yunho leaned in, his lips grazing yours, his voice barely a whisper—

“Say it, baby.”

His thumb stroked over your pulse, slow, teasing.

“Tell me how bad you want them.”

Your whole body was burning.

Yunho’s hand was still wrapped around your throat—not tight, just there, just holding you, reminding you of the sheer size of it. The way his fingers nearly spanned the entire width of your neck, the way his thumb rested just over your racing pulse.

And you couldn’t focus on anything else.

Not with his other hand still ghosting over your stomach, still teasing, still making you ache for more.

But he wasn’t moving.

He was waiting.

Because he wanted to hear it.

Your pride screamed at you to hold out, to fight the urge to give in too easily. But Yunho—

Yunho saw your hesitation.

And he laughed.

“Oh, baby,” he sighed, his grip tightening just slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to make your breath hitch. “Still trying to be stubborn?”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

Yunho grinned.

“You were so bold when you wrote about me,” he murmured, tilting his head, his eyes mocking. “So shameless.”

His thumb stroked along your throat, slow, deliberate.

“But now?” He smirked. “Now you can’t even speak?”

Your stomach flipped.

Yunho knew.

He knew you were already gone, that you were seconds away from crumbling completely.

And he wanted to watch it happen.

His fingers flexed, his grip tightening just a little more. “Say it,” he murmured.

A soft whimper slipped free, your body trembling beneath his touch.

But Yunho—

Yunho wasn’t satisfied.

His hand moved, fingers trailing down, tracing over your collarbone, your shoulder—so slowly, so purposefully that you swore he was doing it just to make you suffer.

And then—

He lifted his hand again, right in front of your face.

Let you see it.`

His fingers flexed.

And you broke.

“P-please,” you breathed, your voice shaking.

Yunho’s eyes darkened.

His hand twitched, but he still didn’t move.

“Please what?” he murmured.

Your face burned.

You swallowed hard, your fingers clenching in his shirt as your pride crumbled under the weight of his gaze.

“Please,” you whispered. “Touch me.”

Yunho groaned.

His head dropped, his lips brushing against your temple as he exhaled sharply. “That’s cute,” he murmured.

His fingers brushed your jaw, tilting your chin up until you were forced to meet his gaze.

“But I think you can do better.”

Your pulse spiked.

Yunho smirked, his hand shifting again, his palm pressing flat against your stomach now, warm and firm.

“You’ve been obsessed with my hands for so long,” he mused. “You’ve written entire paragraphs about them.”

His fingers spread, pressing into your skin.

“You know exactly what they can do.”

You whimpered.

Yunho grinned.

“So beg,” he murmured.

His lips ghosted over yours, teasing, taunting.

“Beg for them like you mean it.”

You weren’t breathing right.

Couldn’t.

Not with the way Yunho was looking at you, eyes dark, lips curved into that slow, mocking smirk.

Not with the way his hands were still hovering, still teasing, still refusing to give you what you needed.

And definitely not with the way he was making you say it.

Your fingers dug into his shirt, trembling as you swallowed back your pride—what was left of it, anyway.

“P-please,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath.

Yunho sighed.

Like he expected better.

Like he wasn’t impressed.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly. “That’s not begging.”

His fingers traced your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to make sure you were looking at him.

“That’s just asking nicely.”

You bit your lip, your cheeks burning, your entire body on fire.

But Yunho—

Yunho wasn’t moving.

His hands were still right there, still so close, but he wasn’t giving you anything.

And you were crumbling.

Your pride was slipping through your fingers like sand, and Yunho was just watching it happen.

And he loved it.

Your lips parted, your breath shaky. “Please,” you tried again, voice cracking. “Please, Yunho, I—I need you.”

Yunho hummed, his thumb stroking over your bottom lip.

“Getting better,” he mused.

Then—

He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear.

“But you can do more.”

Your body trembled.

Because you could.

And he knew it.

Yunho pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again, his eyes sharp, expecting.

His fingers flexed, his other hand still resting so lightly against your stomach, teasing, torturing.

And you—

You snapped.

“Please,” you whimpered, desperate, wrecked. “I need your hands on me, Yunho, please.”

Yunho groaned.

Deep, rough, like your words had gone straight to his cock.

His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers finally—finally—pressing firmly against your skin.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself. “That’s cute.”

And then—

He laughed.

Soft, dark, pleased.

“See?” he murmured, his thumb stroking slow circles over your skin. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You whimpered.

Yunho’s smirk widened.

His other hand finally—finally—slid down, wrapping around your thigh, squeezing just enough to make you feel it.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

Then—

His fingers moved.

Yunho’s fingers moved.

Slow. Deliberate.

Spreading over your waist, pressing into your skin—just enough to make you feel him. Just enough to make your whole body tense, waiting, anticipating.

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath warm, teasing. “So sensitive,” he murmured, his fingers dragging lower. “Is this what happens when you spend all your time writing about me, baby?”

Your stomach flipped.

Because—

Yes.

It was.

And Yunho knew it.

His hand slid beneath the waistband of your jeans, fingers dipping lower—slow, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to torture you.

And then—

His fingers brushed against your clothed cunt.

Your whole body jerked.

Yunho groaned.

“Oh, baby,” he muttered, his voice thick with amusement. “I barely touched you.”

His hand shifted, pressing just enough to make you squirm.

Your breath came out shaky, your thighs squeezing together instinctively—trying to find more, trying to chase anything.

But Yunho—

Yunho laughed.

"That desperate already?" His fingers flexed, teasing, his lips grazing the side of your neck. "You wrote so many dirty things about me, baby. So many things about my hands.”

His fingers dragged up, just enough to brush over your tits.

And you whimpered.

Loud.

Too loud.

Yunho grinned.

“Oh,” he sighed, mockingly sweet. “That’s cute.”

Then—

His fingers pressed down on your nipple, circle it above the fabric of your clothes teasingly.

Your whole body arched, your breath catching in your throat as his hand moved, slow, precise, like he knew exactly what would ruin you.

Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in, your mind spinning.

And Yunho—

Yunho groaned.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, his voice rough, his hand moving in slow, teasing circles. “You’re already shaking?”

Your breath hitched, a broken whimper slipping free before you could stop it.

Yunho’s grip tightned.

His other hand came up, cupping your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“Say it,” he muttered. “Say you need my hands.”

You gasped, your body trembling, your mind barely holding on.

“I—I need them,” you breathed, barely able to get the words out. “Please, Yunho, I—I need your hands on my—”

His fingers pressed harder.

Your words cut off into a choked gasp.

And Yunho—

Yunho just smirked.

“Good girl.”

Then—

Yunho’s fingers moved down under your jeans.

Slow.

Precise.

Like he knew exactly what would ruin you.

His eyes stayed locked on yours, watching, studying every little reaction—every shiver, every gasp, every time your lips parted like you wanted to say something, but couldn’t.

Because there were no words for this.

For the way his fingers pressed into your clit moving in slow, devastating circles.

For the way his grip on your jaw tightened, making sure you didn’t look away—making sure you had to see the smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, his voice low, dark, mocking. “You’re already falling apart, aren’t you?”

Your whole body shook.

Because he was right.

You were barely holding on, barely keeping yourself together as his hand worked you over, torturing you with those slow, teasing strokes.

And Yunho—

Yunho was eating up every second of it.

“You’re so cute,” he muttered, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Acting like you’re shy, but you wrote all those filthy little fantasies about me.”

His fingers pressed harder, his pace shifting just slightly—just enough to make your back arch, to make your grip on his shoulders tighten.

Yunho groaned.

His lips ghosted over your ear, his voice barely a whisper—

“Is this how you imagined it, baby?”

Your breath hitched.

Yunho smirked.

“Or is it better?”

His hand moved—faster, rougher, sending a sharp, electric rush through your entire body.

And you—

You broke.

A whimper tore from your lips, desperate, breathless, humiliatingly loud.

Yunho groaned, his fingers stilling for just a moment, his grip tightening as he watched you fall apart.

Then—

His lips brushed against yours.

Soft.

Barely there.

And he smirked.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured. “We’re not even close to done.”

His smirk widened, his thumb brushing over your lips, slow, teasing.

“You’re so cute,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement. “You act so shy, but you’re already soaked for me.”

Your breath hitched.

Yunho grinned.

“Oh, baby,” he sighed, his fingers dragging down, teasing along the waistband of your jeans. “You’re so easy for me.”

Then—

His hands slid down, gripping your thighs, parting them effortlessly.

And then—

His fingers dipped lower, inserting his middle finger inside your aching hole.

You gasped.

Your whole body tensed, your fingers clutching at his arms as his hand moved, slow, precise, knowing.

Yunho groaned, his lips ghosting over your ear. “So desperate,” he murmured. “Is this what happens when you spend all your time writing about me, baby?”

You couldn’t breathe.

Your whole body was burning, shaking, completely at his mercy.

And Yunho—

Yunho was loving it.

His fingers pressed in, stretching you, filling you—so slow, so controlled, making sure you felt every single movement.

And you—

You whimpered.

Loud.

Too loud.

Yunho groaned.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered, his grip on your thigh tightening. “You’re taking me so well.”

His fingers curled—just right—and your back arched, a sharp gasp tearing from your lips.

Yunho laughed.

“Oh, baby,” he sighed, his lips trailing down your neck. “We’re not even close to done.”

He moved.

Faster.

Deeper.

Yunho’s fingers were merciless.

Deep.

Precise.

Every stroke, every curl, perfectly calculated to ruin you.

And he knew it.

His other hand held your thigh open, firm, unyielding—making sure you couldn’t close your legs, couldn’t escape the way he was torturing you.

“Oh, baby,” he mumured, his voice low, dark. “You’re shaking.”

His thumb brushed slow, lazy circles over your clit, teasing, taunting.

And you—

You broke.

Your whole body tensed, your fingers digging into his arms, your breath catching in a sharp, broken gasp—

A choked moan tore from your lips, your whole body trembling, burning, as Yunho worked you through it—dragging it out, refusing to let up until you were completely, hopelessly wrecked.

His smirk deepened, his fingers slowing, teasing out every last twitch, every last whimper.

Then—

He pulled his hand away.

You barely had time to catch your breath, barely had time to process—

Before Yunho was shifting, gripping your thighs, dragging you closer.

His hands pressed against your hips, holding you down, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

And then—

He looked up.

His eyes dark.

Hungry.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over your skin. “You’re not done yet.”

Then—

His mouth moved.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips, your whole body jerking as his tongue slid slow, deliberate, tracing over your drenched pussy.

Your fingers clutched at the sheets, at his hair, anywhere, trying to ground yourself—trying to breathe.

But Yunho—

Yunho wasn’t letting you.

His tongue worked you over, slow, controlled, his hands gripping your thighs, keeping you still.

And when you tried to pull away—when the sensation got too much—

Yunho just groaned.

His grip tightened.

And then—

He sucked.

Your whole body snapped.

A broken cry ripped from your throat, your back arching, your hands desperately trying to find something—anything—to hold onto.

And Yunho—

Yunho just laughed.

Deep.

Dark.

Completely in control.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “You taste so fucking sweet.”

Then—

He kept going.

Yunho’s mouth was relentless.

Sucking.

Licking.

Fucking devouring you like he had no intention of stopping.

And he didn’t.

Your whole body shook, overstimulated, raw, your thighs trembling against his grip—but Yunho just pressed you down, keeping you spread open for him, making you take it.

“Y-Yunho—”

Your voice was wrecked, breathless, shaking.

He just groaned against your skin, the vibration shooting through you like an electric shock.

You jerked.

Tried to move, tried to escape—

But Yunho growled.

“Oh, baby,” he muttered, his voice dark, amused. “Where do you think you’re going?”

His tongue flicked over your clit, slow, teasing—making you flinch, making you gasp.

“You’re too sensitive, aren’t you?” His fingers dug into your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. “But you can take it.”

His mouth closed over your clit again.

And then—

He sucked.

Your whole body snapped.

A scream tore from your lips, your back arching, your hands flying to his hair—pulling, desperate, trying to stop him.

But Yunho just groaned.

“You taste too fucking good,” he muttered, voice muffled against your skin. “You think I’m stopping now?”

Your breath was ragged, your thighs shaking violently—but he was still eating you up, still licking, still sucking, still pushing you higher even though you were already gone.

And you—

You sobbed.

Overwhelmed.

Wrecked.

Completely ruined.

Yunho moaned, dragging it out, sending another sharp shockwave through your entire body.

Then—

He finally pulled away.

You could barely breathe, your whole body trembling, the aftershocks still rolling through you.

And Yunho—

Yunho just grinned.

His lips were swollen, shiny with your arousal, his eyes dark and ravenous.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, dragging his fingers over your thighs, slow, teasing. “You’re fucking ruined already.”

Your chest heaved, your mind spinning—but before you could recover, Yunho was moving.

Shoving his jeans down.

Stroking himself, slow, deliberate, letting you see how fucking hard he was.

“Turn over,” he muttered, voice rough, demanding.

Your stomach flipped.

But your body obeyed.

Shaky, unsteady, completely at his mercy.

And Yunho—

Yunho groaned.

His hands gripped your hips, his thumbs pressing into your skin, holding you in place.

And then—

The blunt, thick head of his cock dragged against your pussy.

Your whole body tensed.

Yunho chuckled.

“Oh, baby,” he sighed, pressing just a little harder. “You’re still fucking shaking.”

Then—

He pushed in.

Slow.

Deep.

Fucking stretching you around him.

And you—

You moaned.

Loud.

Too loud.

And Yunho—

Yunho slammed in.

Deep.

Brutal.

Splitting you open, stretching you wide around his thick, aching cock, knocking the breath right out of your lungs.

And he groaned. “Fuck,” he gritted out, his grip on your hips bruising, keeping you still as he bottomed out, as he let you feel every inch of him.

“You’re so fucking tight, baby,” he muttered, his hands sliding up your back, pressing you down into the mattress.

“You’re squeezing me so fucking good.” Your breath was ragged, your whole body trembling, wrecked from how hard he was stretching you.

But Yunho—

Yunho wasn’t waiting.

He pulled out— Then snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt again.

"Yunho!" You cry out.

The force of it sent another sharp shockwave through your whole body—too much, too good, too fucking deep.

And Yunho—

Yunho snickered.

“Oh, baby,” he sighed, rolling his hips just right, making your whole body jolt.

“You’re already crying?” His fingers dug into your hips, keeping you still as he set a pace—brutal, merciless, slamming into you with sharp, punishing thrusts that sent you reeling.

And the sounds— The filthy, wet smacks of skin against skin, the way your breath hitched with every deep, devastating thrust— It was too much.

Yunho groaned, one hand sliding up, gripping the back of your neck, forcing your face down into the sheets. “Take it, baby,” he muttered, his voice dark, wrecked, dripping with amusement.

“This is what you fucking wanted, isn’t it?” Your nails scratched at the sheets, your whole body shaking— Then— His other hand slid between your thighs. And his fingers— Found your clit.

Your whole body snapped.

A scream tore from your throat, your entire body convulsing, the pleasure so sharp, so fucking intense you thought you were going to black out.

And Yunho—

Yunho moaned. “Fucking hell, baby,” he muttered, his thrusts getting harder, faster, completely chasing his high.

“You’re squeezing me so fucking tight.” His fingers didn’t stop.

Even as you twitched, as your body shook from the overstimulation, as your thighs trembled, Yunho kept going. Kept pounding into you. Kept fucking ruining you.

And you—

You broke.

Again.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, your whole body wrecked, trembling, completely at his mercy.

And Yunho— Yunho groaned, his pace getting sloppy, his grip tightening.

“Oh, baby,” he muttered, voice wrecked, desperate.

“You feel too fucking good—” Then— He snapped his hips in deep, burying himself completely— And he came.

A low, guttural moan ripped from his throat, his grip bruising as he pulsed inside you, filling you up, spilling deep, marking you completely.

His breath was ragged, his hands sliding up your back, his body pressing against yours. And then— Silence.

Just the sound of both of you breathing, completely wrecked, completely spent.

Yunho chuckled.

Low.

Dark.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, pressing a slow, lazy kiss against your shoulder.

“You’re fucking ruined.” His lips ghosted over your ear.

“I hope you know, this is just for the inspirations” he muttered, amusement dripping from his tone.

“and I’m not done with you yet.”

[desreads]

AFTER HOURS

warnings; smut with no plot (i think?), mdni, p in v, creampie, implied unprotected sex (don't recommend!), slight degradation if you squint rrllllyyyy closely, no aftercare <3

not proofread! if there are any mistakes or anything that i missed, my deepest apologies </3

w.c: 746

---------

the sound of ragged breathing, skin on skin slapping together, the obscene squelching of your incredibly soaked pussy that already came once as matt snapped his hips into yours repeatedly bounced around the soundproof walls.

you just couldn't help yourself. while working the control board, looking at him throughout the entirety of the podcast with his brothers through the window, he just looked so good. the way his nose would rub against the mic occasionally when he talked, the way he glanced over at you with that little knowing smirk, the way he'd lick over his bottom lip while catching your gaze…

it was enough for your thighs to clench together where you sat.

and when he asked you to stay overtime with him to help him figure out some of the controls on the soundboard, it wasn't a shock when no more than five minutes later when everyone had cleared the room to go home, he already had you bent over his desk, one leg joining you on the cold surface, fucking you senselessly from behind.

it wasn't anymore of a shock of how wet you were, your arousal practically drenching your inner thighs before he even had the chance to hike up your skirt.

and god, you were in pure bliss.

his hand was gripping your hip in place, every thrust making your tits bounce in your shirt while his other had a special spot in your hair, tugging your head up so that you were arching your back just right every time you felt too weak to even hold yourself up properly.

your eyes were tightly shut, the only sounds leaving you that weren't from your squelching being guttural moans, whimpers and noises you didn't even know were possible to make.

matt was in love with the sight.

“you're pathetic, y’know that?” he smugly let slip before a slight groan escaped him, his hand trailing from your hip up your body to grab a hold of your left tit, kneading it like you were his own personal stress ball. “a few—ngh— a few compliments and i’ve got you wrapped around my dick. you're that easy f’me, huh?”

you couldn't answer him, not in the way he wanted. his cock stroking your gummy walls from inside was the only thing on your mind, every vein making you feel like you were on cloud nine. his words were only like adding gasoline to the fire in you, your walls starting to flutter around him as you felt that knot in your stomach tighten up.

the combination of what he was saying and his tip finding your g-spot making you want to combust right then and there.

a mixture of groans and moans left his lips as he felt you squeeze around him, his movements only becoming sloppier as he pounded into you. “god, baby, you're taking me so well. been needin’ this dick, haven't you? see the way you—fuck, just like that—look at me. i— god, you feel so good…”

“j-just—don't s-stop!” you practically begged, finding the strength to arch against him, your head now resting on his shoulder as he continued to slam into you, hitting that spot so well. “fuck, matt, i’m almost—think i’m gonna-”

“you gonna cum on my cock again?” he grunted, the teasing note never leaving as his hand slid from you breast down your stomach, finally reaching down to your clit to rub lazy circles around with one goal in mind.

“do it. cum all over my dick, i wanna feel you cum one more time.”

matt didn't need to ask you twice. within seconds, his name was the only word being cried out as you felt that wave of euphoria wash over you, your walls clamping around him rhythmically, your hands gripping the edge of the desk where you'd been holding onto the last half ten minutes for dear life.

just the feeling of you sucking him in, milking him with your release was enough for matt to topple over, his movements becoming slightly jerky as he finally finished inside of you, your inner walls becoming his signature shade of white.

he didn't give you a warning as he pulled out of you, your sensitive cunt already feeling the lose of his presence, the cold air hitting you like a truck. he gave your ass a soft pat before fixing his belt and simply just leaving— just like that. no words of ‘well done, dude’ or comments about how he just fucked you dumb.

and damnit, you were hooked.

-----------

desspeaks! guys this was my first EVVERR time writing smut, if it's bad I APOLOGIZE! didn't rlly aim for it to be mindblowing but we all start somewhere. but uhhhh if anyone has some tips or anything, it'll be greatly appreciated! bye bye <3

[bullet-prooflove]

Bad Girl: Terry Silver x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @thedeadsingforme @mia1653 @kimbergoldess @cortmac1989

Companion piece to:

Sick Day - Terry knows something is wrong when you don't pick up his call.

Love Story - Terry questions your taste in literature.

Health Care - Terry takes care of your healthcare siutation.

Recovery - Terry plays an active role in your recovery.

Money Matters - You and Terry discuss your money concerns.

You’ve been a bad girl. Terry finds this out after a meeting with his accountant about the tiny monetary increments that are being added to his bank account month after month. It’s only a hundred dollars here and there, but to you, someone who works two jobs to support themselves, it’s the difference between paying rent and eating.

 It infuriates Terry because he explicitly told you he doesn’t want you paying back the cost of your medical care. It was a gift, something he was happy to do because the love of his life was at death’s door and he couldn’t stand the thought of a world without her.

The part that really pisses him off is the duplicity of it, the fact you were able to fly under the radar for so long before he realised what was going on. That’s months of you struggling to make ends meet over some ridiculous perceived debt.

Which is why you’re face down over his lap, your wrists bound behind your back with that pretty silk scarf you were wearing when you breezed in as if you haven’t been picking up your groceries from a food bank so that you can eat.

Your skirt is shoved up over your hips, your underwear tugged up so it dips between your ass cheeks, each one crimson from the back of the silver hairbrush he’s been using to spank you with.

“You’re taking it back.” He says forcefully, his leather gloved palm lightly caresses that perfect peach. The scent of your arousal floods his senses and he wants to bury his face between your thighs, to taste that honey on his tongue but that’s only for good girls.

And you are certainly not being a good girl right now.

“No.” You bite out and Terry growls his response, pinching just enough to make you writhe against his lap.

“Georgia.” He snarls but you’re already tilting your head to look at him over your shoulder with that steely look in your eyes.

“Terry baby, you can spend all night working me up like this and it won’t change a damn thing. I’m not taking back that money.” He spanks you again and you bite your lip holding back the moan that threatens to erupt from your throat as the leather kisses your skin.

It’s unusual that you’re stubborn like this. The two of you don’t disagree on much but there are a couple of things you dig your heels in over and this is apparently the hill you’re making a stand on.

Terry knows when he’s beat so instead of dishing out another punishment he counters with a proposal.

“Dinner with me, four times a week.” He negotiates, already forming a plan to resolve the situation. “You take home left overs so I know you’re eating something other than ramen and cereal.”

His issue is that you’re not eating properly because you can’t afford to, he suspects poor diet is one of the reasons you were susceptible to pneumonia in the first place. You won’t let him pay for groceries but you abhor food waste so if he asks his chef to batch cook a few of your favourite meals you’ll have no choice but to make use of them so they don’t spoil.

“You’ll keep the money?” You ask and he squeezes that sweet peach tightly in his hand as he makes a noise of non-committal.

He will not be keeping that money, what he will be doing with it is investing it for you so that you can build your own nest egg. When the time’s right he’ll return it to you tenfold and then you can cuss him out for manipulating you, the same way that you’ve been manipulating him.  

“Do we have a deal?” He asks, his gloved fingertips chasing down between your legs, tracing teasing circles over your clit.

“Yes.” You cry out as he taps it lightly, the impact causing you to arch against him.

“Good girl.” Terry purrs, his fingers snagging the elastic of your panties before he drags them down your thighs. “Now let’s have little fun now, shall we?”

Love Terry? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[xtinyslip]

"LETS BE REAL HONEST HERE? IT'S A SHIT SHOW?" an absolute shit show and not just with what phineas had done or finn or — like, all of them? and maybe that was all his fault but it didn't change that NOTHING ever seemed to go right or... correction ; STAY RIGHT. honestly, the idea of an article about his dad had taken up space in his head for like all of ten seconds before he realised how BAD of an idea that was. one) there would be no passing the buck there, it would be on him and offff... two) like he'd mentioned before: he'd need hard evidence and getting that against someone like phineas? that wouldn't be easy. it had been tricky enough getting it about finn. AGAIN, THE WHOLE THING JUST STENCHED OF A BAD IDEA. "yes, we have an understanding." willing to leave that there for now, there was nothing else to add and honestly, this was not good for his heart AT ALL. he was hoping these kinds of palpitations were normal given the stressful circumstances. "so he was out off the picture and i take it your heart hasn't suddenly grown three times bigger?... and the only reason you've even considered this notion of plucking this guy out of his life and bringing him into this is because it's what she wants?" it was really, really crucial that cory understood his father's motives here or much as he could. "oh, she's asking? that's all good then?" hey, we abandoned you but we're pedersons so change your name? no biggy. UH???? "i appreciate you being honest with me." it was so difficult to say but also... strangely true. cory was already separating what he had found into different categories in his head so he could refer back to them properly later. he almost completely missed what his father had implied, until, it hit him and... the fuck? "i want to be able to ask ; YOU DIDN'T? but um, that would be a waste of time." honestly, all he could do was laugh and he was well aware of how INAPPROPRIATE that was but what else was there to even do? "does finn even know? wait... you're not --" cecilia's dad too? gah, it was way to freaking early in the day for this shit. @fcdcdmcmories

"THEY MOST CERTAINLY HAVE. ESPECIALLY IN OUR FAMILY, HM?" he supposed that cory was going to find out certain things eventually and in the meantime, it was best if he did some damage control before that happened. not that he thought that something like that would happen, but.. would he be STUPID enough to put out an article about him and his past? he hoped not. "good. then, it seems as if we understand each other," did they? time was going to tell eventually, he supposed, but for right now, this was a good change. wasn't it? yes. "no. i did not.. wish to know the details. then. all i was assured of was that he was going to be taken care of by a good family. old money, rich, good people. in here. london, actually. they may have spent some time back home, but.. that's all i know. KNOWING ANYTHING ELSE.. WELL, LET'S JUST SAY THAT EVEN AS A BABY, HE LOOKED FAR TOO MUCH LIKE HIS MOTHER. HE'D JUST BE.. A REMINDER. and i'm not going to be the one asking. she is." a nod. was this strange? was it? maybe so, but there were worst things to be considered. "as i said, stranger things have happened," almost smiling. almost. "well, because he ruined her daughter's life and now, she knows all of it. i told her." he leaned back in his chair, letting that sink in and most especially, the WHO. / @xtinyslip

[coolasakuhncumber]

Duc has severed any sense of connection and let me know he's going to kick me off the streaming services we've shared for years.

I'm grateful he gave me a heads up but also pissed at his reasoning for cutting off all connection and I have this strong desire to go full scorched earth on him.

[possamble]

What are your headcanons about Marcille's mom if you have any? It's interesting that what drew Donato to her was cause she lived the history he studied, or that was said somewhere at least. She must've had an interesting life.

so this was going to be just a normal answer but then I realized I have a Lot of Things To Say. so here goes, a compilation of what we know for a fact from the canon, what I've extrapolated from the visual cues and details, and my theories based on all of that.

Things we know for a fact about Marcille's mother because they were explicitly stated in the manga and supplemental materials:

She was a court mage for a Tall-man kingdom at the southern part of the Northern Continent

Donato, a court historian, fell in love with her because she had lived through the history he was studying, and he courted her for 17 years (age 15 to 32) before getting married

She was a cheerful person who rarely showed extreme emotion and took things as they came

She always cooked a huge meal for Marcille on her birthdays

She remarried a gnome after Donato's death and a short distance away from Marcille's childhood home

Pipi, Marcille's pet bird, was actually older than Marcille and originally belonged to her mother (bird died at 62)

She was extremely heartbroken when Donato died and ultimately ended up instilling a deep fear of mortality in Marcille with her words

the only time she showed extreme emotion in front of her family was when Donato could no longer eat his favourite dish near the end of his life.

She scolded Marcille for being cruel to ants (implying she can have a stern side when needed)

Things that are explicitly shown but mostly through visual cues

She has a very distinctive style of dress always involving a ribbon choker (mirroring Marcille's habit of always wearing a matching choker with any of her outfits that don't cover her neck)

She was almost stereotypically good at housekeeping and traditionally "wifely" things (very frequently depicted wearing an apron or doing some domestic chore when not at work, seems to have been an avid cook).

She knits? (also, note the affectionate smile as she's looking at Donato and Marcille reading a book together in the full panel)

She was as excited for Marcille's milestones as Donato was.

She didn't tell Marcille much about elven food

(there are a couple things that this panel in particular implies:

She lived a good deal of her life (if not being born and raised) in a mainly elven country in the West, implied by her knowing enough of an elven region's cuisine to prefer Tall-man food over it

seems to have a pretty carefree and casual demeanour overall, if this is how she replied to Marcille asking her about it (sounds like she never gave her culinary preferences that much thought to begin with)

slightly related to number 2, it seems like she and Marcille had a fairly casual parent-child dynamic (especially in comparison to the Toudens' memory of their father)

(local elf tastes Italian food once and never goes back))

However, she seems a lot more... serious in most of the other times we see her? Almost like the very stereotypical archetype of a graceful elf.

Subsequent conclusions about her personality:

Usually pretty carefree and cheerful at home, has been a loving and attentive parent throughout Marcille's childhood (while not being so doting that she didn't discipline Marcille).

Slightly more conjectural theories on her personality:

Had a much more graceful and professional personality at work, which would explain the more serious portraits we see of her.

Given that both she and Donato had positions at the royal court, it seems a little odd that she'd go out of her way to do all the housework herself, so maybe she just enjoyed doing it?

Now taping all the evidence together and toeing the line between analysis and fanfiction:

It's clear that she loved Donato very much and was utterly devastated by losing him. But there's one thing that really stuck out to me in what little we see of her:

Doesn't she seem... angry? The way she's gritting her teeth, clutching the tablecloth, and how this is the first and only time we see her eyes opened that wide. In the following panel, you see her being quiet and dejected after her initial outburst. She's still crying very intensely, but her brows are furrowed, and she's not really responding to Donato's affection in her body language.

We're not told the details of how she felt about losing Donato other than that it upset her. But this, to me, implies that she was angry and resented that he was aging, that the end of his life was approaching. An "it's not fair" type of preemptive grief. And if this was the first and last time she cried like this in front of her family, she was either very good at coping in private... or very bad at letting herself feel unpleasant emotions until they become unavoidable and end up overwhelming her.

It's not too remarkable a detail on the surface. It's even reminiscent of what the audience has seen of Marcille. But... when it comes to the big picture, you'd think an elf who voluntarily chose to marry a tall-man and have a half-elf child would have been better prepared for this.

It kind of recontextualizes her cheerfulness to me.

"I'm sure everything's gonna be okay!" (or some variation thereof, depending on what translation you have).

And this is stated to contrast her extreme grief when finally confronting Donato's failing body and eventual death. But I'm wondering if... maybe this optimism was why she was so upset. What if she went into all of it thinking "everything's gonna be okay"? What if she was a little young by elven standards, and just followed her heart thinking that her own resilience would get her through anything?

Of course, only to get completely overwhelmed when she actually loses Donato. She turns into a completely different person. And that's heartbreaking on its own-- but what the audience sees is the effect it had on Marcille. Can you imagine being her, watching your invincible and upbeat mother suddenly lose all the light in her eyes in one go?

I've already made a huge post about how I think Marcille models her "work persona" off her mother, but another thing that stuck with me as I was looking for more details in the manga was this:

copy pasting from the other post i made about it lmao it's like... the second she resigns herself to lifelong pain and terror, there's another portrait of her mother facing her like this. with their heads bowed, in mirrored body language of resignation and despair and sorrow. Except it's posed like Marcille is still looking at her mother but her mother is looking away.

It took me a second to realize, but I think that it's a visual metaphor for the fact that Marcille's mother was the only long-lived role model she had-- and she failed to model healthy grief for her daughter. I don't say this as an accusation or to disparage her as a character, but just as a matter of fact. In her, Marcille was seeing herself older and losing a short-lived spouse or loved one of her own, and all she saw was hopelessness.

But her mother didn't mean to instill hopelessness and terror in her. She wasn't really thinking of how it would truly affect Marcille at all (at least, that's how I'm interpreting her looking down and away from Marcille in the metaphor), she was just sad. And she, in her own way, was trying to protect her daughter and help her prepare for future losses.

What she meant was "loss is inevitable, and you have to learn how to be in pain but live on anyway." What Marcille heard was "loss is inevitable, and you will be scared and hurt for the rest of your life."

Again. Marcille's mother doesn't feature explicitly in the story the way her father does -- but in so many ways, her shadow, her silhouette, her reflection is always hanging over Marcille.

All that to say... headcanon-wise (everything from here on is 100% without evidence lmao), I'd like to think that she matured and realized that she failed Marcille. I imagine her being regretful about it, wanting a chance to fix it but never finding a way to insert herself back into Marcille's life when Marcille is so so so busy becoming the most accomplished mage possible. I imagine her being herself again, now, so many years after her loss and after remarrying -- but with her cheerfulness tempered with a lot more wisdom and the pain of having gone through loss like that. I think the second Marcille actually tells her what happened in the dungeon, she'd want to go running to her daughter again -- if Marcille tells her the full truth instead of just being embarrassed she let things get that far. (oh, the tragedy of her wanting to be more like her mother and an accomplished adult who doesn't need to be babied... being embarrassed to actually tell her mother how much she fucked up...)

There's also the tension of her having remarried -- I know that there's at least a little bit of resentment that Marcille harbours about that, because she's childish like that at heart even if she makes an effort not to externalize it. I think that her mother would be aware of that, potentially adding to her sense of guilt and apprehension at trying to reappear/intrude on Marcille's life. I honestly don't think Marcille has met her stepfather -- or even considers him a stepfather rather than "mama's new husband" and kind of a total stranger. I think she and her mother actively don't talk about it in their correspondence, like an elephant in the room.

but, ultimately, I think her mother is on her side no matter what. Ancient magic? Dark necromancy? Sure, she'll feel guilty and like she was partially responsible for setting Marcille down such a painful path, but she wouldn't care. that's her daughter!! she would've moved back west and been petitioning for her at the court, buying a house right next to the Canaries barracks and visiting her every day that she wasn't on a mission. And if her husband had opinions on Marcille becoming a "dark arts user," he either gets over it or it's divorce with him. Yes, she might have had her optimism completely humbled by losing Donato like that -- but she's still headstrong and self-assured and she doesn't care what people think of her. It's her way or the highway and she's always going to be in Marcille's corner.

(She also needs a name lol. I went with Juno, just to be cute about "Marcille"s closest real life equivalent being Marcella, which is the female version of Marcellus, which in turn is a diminutive of Marcus, which was derived from Mars. Absolutely in love with Marcille potentially being named after Ares/Mars the fucking god of war btw)

[deus-ex-mona]

when you’re trying to sleep bUT T H E .

[cosmogyros]

.

[not-aurii]

I don't want love to be something that just happens to you.

I want love to be a choice you make, everyday, as an effort and a commitment. A thing that spawns from nurturing. I don't want it to be something that happens to you one day, without a say in the matter. Because then that means you're always going to love me, no matter what - and I don't want that. I want to have earned it. Even more than that, I need the certainty that you will leave me if I hurt you.

Would you still love me if I turned into a horrible person? Would you tolerate it, simply because you love me, so you must?

God, I hope not.

With this, I don't mean I hope you'll give up on me when I'm down or when it gets difficult. The opposite, actually: I want you to choose to stay with me at my lowest, because you know I'm worth it in the end. I want you to be disappointed in me. I want you to question your love, daily, and still come back to the conclusion that "Yes, this is what I want. This love is something I need and want and love."

I want us to question it together. To confront each other on the things that don't work, that disappoint us, that might need to change. I want us to find solutions. Together. I want the effort to be shared and the love to grow in a strong foundation of choice.

I hope love isn't something that happens to you. There is no such thing as soulmates tied by fate, I chose you, and will still choose you everyday. And I can only hope you see me as more than an obligation tied to affection.

[pyrriax]

ANYWHO goodnight tumblr i'll be back on the art grind tomorrow i think 🙏

[ninjaaa-go]

do you ever just

[readwritealldayallnight]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who from the moment he laid eyes on you, has only ever referred to you as his wife

You, this sweet little thing, running through the halls on base one day when you turn a corner and nearly run headfirst into the Lieutenant, who’s walking alongside Soap

“Oh! Sorry about that, sir.” You told him, never slowing down in your hurried pace as you snuck around his large frame and continued down towards whatever you were evidently late for

The only reason his gaze had followed your retreating form, was that unlike everyone else, you had met his eyes when you spoke, even smiled warmly up at him

That one smile and he was done for

“Who was tha’?” The sergeant had questioned, seeing Ghost’s attention still fixated on you.

“Think that was my wife.”

“Yer what?!”

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who makes it a point to let everyone know that you are in fact his wife

Well, everyone apart from you apparently

He would certainly never abuse his position as a Lieutenant, but some new recruit had the audacity to whistle at you as you walked by? Well 100 laps around the base don’t exactly run themselves

Another soldier saved you a seat next to him in a briefing? He can enjoy scrubbing toilet seats for the next week in that case

Someone actually had the bollocks to ask you for your phone number? Perfect, he needed a volunteer for demonstrating hand to hand combat to the recruits, medics on standby of course

By the time he properly introduces himself to you for the first time, it’s understood by everyone else around that you are, for all intents and purposes, Mrs Riley

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who listens to you tell him your name in a voice that resembles music to his ears, hardly bothering to remember your last name, seeing as it’ll be changing soon enough anyway

“You can call me anythin’ you want, love.” His deep, gravelly voice had sent shivers down your spine, cheeky smirk widening beneath his mask. “So long as you call me, that is.”

By the end of your first date, (you were sitting alone in the dining hall and he wordlessly joined you what do you mean this isn’t a date) he’s wondering if you’ll insist on a ceremony or if he can sweep you away to the nearest courthouse and make this official, slipping a ring onto you finger and himself into you

You had laughed when he put his number into your phone and named himself ‘Husband’, certain that the man was only messing with you, some kind of hazing that you apparently weren’t aware Lieutenants played on the new communications hire, but it was only fair seeing as he’d saved your contact under ‘Wife’

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who is over the moon every time you play along, even if he knows you believe you’re only playing

“Ach, thanks Lt. Just what I needed.” Soap said, seeing Ghost’s approaching form enter the common room, holding a steaming cup of tea in each hand

“S’for my wife. Get your own.” The older man gruffly replied, sliding the mug onto the side table next to where you’re curled up on the couch, reading a book

“Aw, thank you honey.” You giggled, smiling up as him with an expression he thinks would taste even sweeter than honey if he were to run his tongue across your upturned lips

“Happy wife, happy life, sergeant.” Ghost shrugged, ignoring the other man’s pout, landing next to you and reaching an arm behind you across the back of the couch

“God, maybe I really should keep you.” You’d laughed, reaching a leg out to dig your socked toes into his muscled thigh, teasing him

Grasping your foot into his large, strong hands, he began massaging it, uncaring that you were only two of the many people in the common room, not when you looked at him like that, smiling together as though you truly were nothing more than a married couple

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who surprised you one day, insisting he needed your help with something crucial off base, and drove you to a local shopping outlet to look at none other than dresses

“Is there some sort of party happening?” You’d questioned, confused out of your mind

“Suppose you could consider it a party.” He’d answered, leading you through the many racks of dresses, you noticed were all, very conveniently, white

“Now while you’re lookin’ through dress sizes,” he’d added, taking your left hand in both of his. “You know your ring size? Got my own shoppin’ to do ‘round here.”

Series masterlist

[redflannelsheets]

.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 ! ❞

❝ THE FOUR TIMES YOUR NEIGHBOR TRIES TO HOOK UP WITH YOU AND THE ONE TIME HE SUCCEEDS !! ❞

✧ pairing: uncle! sukuna x neighbor! reader

✧ summary: you had grown up next door to the itadoris, but you never had met their uncle. and for good reason, he had spent the majority of his life in and out of jail. but now he was finally out, and he only had one goal in mind -- getting you in his bed.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, modern au, uncle sukuna, degradation (slut, whore, brat), freshly out from jail sukuna, implied age gap (sukuna probably like late 30s / early 40s, reader is like mid twenties), wet dreams (f!), masturbation (f! +m!), dom!sukuna, sub!reader, dirty talk, oral (f + m), spanking (f!receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, orgasm delay (f! receiving), implied multiple rounds, swearing, fanart found on pinterest (let me know if you know the og artist)

✧ w/c: 8,939

You were a pretty little thing. 

That’s what he thought when he first saw you. And when he saw you smile, his second thought was — how could he have you? 

You were the girl next door. Literally. Grew up next to the Itadori family, you watched the brat on weekends, helped around the house after the mom had left, and even slept over some nights in the guest room. 

The very room you were in now, pinned underneath him, legs spread as your cunt gushed as if you had been the one doing time instead of him. 

“Fuck, girl, did the boys your age not fuck you properly?” He clicks his tongue, the glint of his piercing in the low light of the moonlight that illuminated the barest hint of the room. It was by that light that you could not only see the way his lips curled into a smirk as his hand came down on your needy pussy, but the noticeable bulge in his pants, “g’nna have to fix that,” as he thumbs meanly at your swollen clit, “I’ll have you screaming my name soon enough.” 

“Are the cookies almost done?” Yuji asked, rubbing the back of his head, squinting at the cookies through the oven window, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, “sure you’re not burning them?” 

“I know how to bake cookies, Yu,” you roll your eyes, as you clean the counters off of the flour and bits of dough and sugar that smeared the surface, “why are you so impatient anyway?” 

“He wants to leave before the wrecking ball blows through, and you should do that same,” Choso adds, emerging from his room with a yawn, and you tilt your head, his gaze slides to Yuji, “she doesn’t know?” 

Yuji shakes his head, “I thought Dad was—” 

Choso glances at you, gesturing to his face to tell you that you had something on your own, before his eyes slide back to his younger brother, “You know Jin can barely remember to tell us, much less—” 

You cross your arms, wiping the flour and sugar from your cheek, but you only manage to make it worse, “Can you guys just tell me instead of having an argument about who should have told me?” 

Yuji sighed, leaning against the counter, elbow propped up as he held his head up with his fist flat against his chin, “My dad’s brother is coming to stay for us for the summer,” 

“Your uncle?” and you miss the way Yuji grimaces at the question, too busy pulling on oven mitts, “Your dad’s great — I can’t imagine your uncle being any different,” you pull the cookies from the oven, swatting Yuji’s hand as he tries to take one off the still burning rack, “you’ll burn yourself, just wait,” 

Your own family was scattered here and there now — and the Itadoris had been like your own family as you grew up — Jin was like a second dad to you, he had always looked after you, even after you had graduated from college. The quiet man didn’t say much but he did a lot, and you couldn’t imagine his brother being much different. 

And then the door swung open, a large man caught in the backlight of the summer sun, casting a long shadow across the entryway made your breath stick in your chest as if it was where it belonged — pinned under his mere presence. 

“Looks like you’ve done nothing to change the place, did you?” He takes a step or two in and finally his body is cast into view — tattoos bound like ribbons against his skin, muscles are heavy cords that look more monstrous than human — as no human should be as hulking as he was. But that was nothing compared to his face itself — black tattoos lining both sides of his face in an intricate pattern that stole your breath from your lungs, while his eyes were black holes that cut right through you than at you, a flicker of flames burning underneath, “tch, brat, take my things up—“ he tosses the duffle bag slung over his shoulder at Yuji who catches it with a glare, before his gaze slides to Choso, “and he’s still here?” 

“Don’t be rude to my son and his brother, Sukuna,” Jin sighed, entering behind him as he shut the door, “Choso is welcome, and don’t forget you’re a guest here,” he takes the bag from his son, and takes it upstairs instead. 

And Sukuna’s gaze finally falls on you. It’s heavy, the sharp tip of a sword tracing every inch of your body as it circled its weak points — his eyes lingers on the curves of your body — and perhaps the points he liked too. 

“And who’s this?” he jerks his head towards you gruffly, as if you couldn’t answer yourself. 

You say your name, “I’m their neighbor,” and he nods, eyes darting to Choso, his body growing tense, as he gritted his teeth, but Sukuna was only all smiles, he took steps forward. You can’t help but avert your gaze, as he approaches, fingers outstretched, a slight flinch but it’s gone soon enough. 

You glance up, and find him taking a bite of one of your cookies, tongue darting out to lick the chocolate from his lips, “sweet,” he devours it, “not bad, brat,” and he leans close again to grab another, “but probably not as sweet as you.” 

And your eyes widen, as he bears no reaction, except for a small smirk that graces his lips, as he follows his brother upstairs, “You better not be fucking around in my things,” 

You don’t hear Jin’s reply, still utterly consumed by what just happened. 

“You okay? He’s just like that,” Choso murmurs, “he won’t bother you, I promise,” 

“No, no, I’m okay,” your lips curl in an offer of reassurance, but you’re sure it falls flat, as your eyes glance back at the stairs. 

And that was your first time meeting Sukuna. 

But far from your last.  

The next time you saw him was at a summer barbecue the Itadoris always had to kick off summer break. And most of your time was spent chatting with Choso and kicking Yuji’s ass at Mario Kart, until it grew dark, and Choso was stuck carrying a slightly tipsy Yuji inside.

You laid back in the patio chair, scrolling on your phone to the symphony of cicadas filling the silence, the smoke from the barbecue still lingering in the night — and then you hear the creak of the back door open. 

“You want another drink, Choso?” 

“I’d love a drink, girl,” and your eyes snap over to spot Sukuna, standing with hands tucked into his pockets, a black tank you assumed was several sizes too small. 

“Sure,” you say, slipping from your chair, “but we only have the mix for a sex on the beach,” and his eyes find yours, a ghost of a gruff chuckle on his lips. 

“Sounds perfect if it’s from you, sweetheart,” and you have to suppress the urge to roll your eyes — he may be nice to look at, but he isn’t smooth, you make the drink in relative silence. Until you sense his presence behind you, your head whipping back to find him looming, your breath caught in your throat. 

“Uh—“ 

“Just wanted to see a master bartender at work, you seem like you really know what you’re doing, with, what’s the drink called again?” And you force yourself to look forward, ignoring the weird mix of his musk and alcohol, with the clink of the ice cubes against the glsd breaking the silence. 

“Sex on the beach,” you offer it to him, and fuck, you don’t like it — don’t like him and his smug grin, the way your eyes can’t pull away from his, the way your heart clenched, and the way you wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug smile on off his face. 

“Good girl,” he plucks the drink from you, his fingers brushing yours, “want to have one with me?” 

And you almost find yourself saying yes, find yourself buckling under the heat of his gaze and the summer humidity that clings to your skin and strangles the sense from your head — and you can’t help but think how nice those fingers of his would feel around your neck—

“No, no, I probably should head home. It’s late—“ and just then the back door opens again, Choso standing in the doorway, “Choso, where’s Yu?” 

“I got him to bed. Come on, I’ll walk you home,” and you nod, grabbing your bag with a slight nod to Sukuna before disappearing inside, and you don’t catch the way your best friend glares at Sukuna. 

And you don’t see the way Sukuna stares at you as you walk away either. 

The third time you meet Sukuna is a few nights later — and it wasn’t for lack of trying to avoid him. 

“Can I have some popcorn?” you ask, eyes still glued to the TV, a movie that the two of you had seen a million times before during movie night, “Choso?” you glance over at him, but he’s staring off into space, “hello?” you nudge him, and he finally comes to. 

“Sorry, what?” And you sigh, leaning over and grabbing the popcorn bowl, “sorry I was just—“ he shakes his head, “nothing,” 

“You’re so convincing,” and you see a flush crawl up his neck, “C‘mon, what’s bothering you?” 

You toss a pillow at Choso, the pillow bouncing off his face to land in his lap, the glow of the TV in his dark bedroom giving you enough light to see the glare on his face, “Cho, you’ve been brooding all night — did Yuji call you by your name instead of big brother?” 

He scoffs, “I only got upset about that once,” or twice or maybe ten times, “it’s Sukuna. He’s been really grating on my nerves,” and your eyebrows knit together, as you put the volume of the TV down. 

“What has he done?” and Choso hesitates, several emotions flicker across his face before a stoic look glazes over his face, as he presses his hand to his lips, “you can tell me—“ 

There’s a knock at the door, and Yuji sticks his head in, “Hey, Dad has to sleep now for a meeting, so move to the living room,” and you throw popcorn at him, but he only catches one or two in his mouth and leaves. 

You sigh, “I should probably just go home anyway, I have to get some sleep,” you glance at Choso, who is fascinated with his floor all of a sudden, “you okay?” He moves to get up, but you shake your head, “just chill, I’ll walk back.” 

He opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it,  “I’m fine, just get home safe okay?”

You snort, “think I’ll be fine walking the ten feet to my door,” you grab your things, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” 

And you close the door softly, turning to head up the hallway and out of the house, bag slung over your shoulder, and you’re turning the corner, when you nearly crash into someone. 

A hand curls around your wrist to steady you, “You should watch where you’re going, brat,” and your eyes flit up to find a dark gaze looking back down at you, lips curled in a small grin, “don’t know what you’ll find wandering these halls,” 

You pull your arm away, “I’m pretty familiar with these halls and what wanders them,” 

“Not all of them,” the low tone of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, as you brush past him, avoiding his piercing gaze, cutting through you with practiced ease, “what were you doing here so late anyway?” You ignore him as you go to grab your shoes, but find them missing. 

“Have you seen my shoes?” and he only tilts his head, arms crossed, muscles inked with tattoos that littered up and down, and you knew he could pin you down with barely an ounce of effort. 

“Maybe answer my question and I’ll tell you,” and your lips twist into a scowl, as you begin to look around, checking the coat closet, under the couch, “was he really that bad?” And his question makes you pause, “the cursed brat, in bed? Did he not do the job for you?” 

You haul yourself to your feet, “What is your problem?” 

And his expression is as milquetoast as ever, as if he had asked you about the weather as opposed to asking if you had fucked your best friend, “You don’t have to be fucking sensitive, it’s just a question,” he runs his painted nails through his dyed cropped hair, low light glinting off the black sheen, “unless it was that bad,” 

“Fuck off,” you scoff, trying to walk past him but he blocks you, “what?” 

“Maybe I’ll help you find your shoes, if you have a drink with me,” and you cross your arms. 

“Did you go to jail for stealing? Because with all those muscles and tattoos, I’m surprised you weren’t caught sooner,” and he’s leaning closer, breath warming your lips and your blood alike, boiling under your skin as if he had set you on fire without lying a single finger on you. 

“Didn’t take you to be one to admire me, little one, after all, I’m just your neighbors’ uncle aren’t I? Jailbird, criminal, fucking lowlife, right? And his fingers ghost over your jaw, “but I don’t see you pulling away, do I?” 

And you aren’t. But why aren’t you? Every brain cell is telling you to fucking run, but your body wants nothing more than to lean into his touch, to give in, let yourself be engulfed by him—

The creak of the door has you jumping back, “hey, you forgot your shoes—“ Choso starts, and his gaze snaps between you and Sukuna. 

“Thanks, Cho,” you slip past Sukuna, grabbing your shoes, “i was wondering what I did with them,” you step into your shoes, cheeks still burning as you can’t quite meet your best friend’s eyes, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” 

And you’re gone without another word, the silence of your exit hanging overhead as the screen door clicks closed behind you. Sukuna watches you leave, and as he turns he’s met with a glare from Choso. 

Sukuna only gives a gruff chuckle, walking past as he lets his shoulder bump against Choso’s, “What are you fucking looking at?” 

And now he had visited you in your dreams too. 

“S’fucking wet,” Sukuna has you pinned down with one hand, face hovering over your drenched cunt, as he toyed with it, tugging your folds apart to let some of your pre drip onto your bedspread, “fucking slut, you were begging for this, weren’t you?” 

And a thick digit sinks into you with little resistance, making your back arch as pleasure rips up your spine, “fuck off,” you manage, between pants. 

“I know, brat, that’s what I’m trying to do,” he laughs, as he works a second finger inside you with practiced ease, “like I was made to fuck this cunt open, my fingers are already fucking drenched, and all I’ve done is open you up,” and to punctuate his point, he’s scissoring his fingers to stretch your walls out, dragging against them, as your mouth falls open in a silent moan. 

“A-ah, please—“ and he’s grinning now, a purr as he leans down to meet your blown out gaze. His fingers begin to fuck you open, his thumb rubbing against your clit as your body rocked against his hand. And a grunt has you looking at him, only to see him palming his erection, slit dripping with precum, “Sukuna, please—“ 

“Knew you’d be a good girl f’me, good little slut gonna break my fingers in two,” and his other hand spanks your clit, “now cum,” 

And you do, muscles clenching as you do, a cry of his name on your lips that does nothing but stroke his ego, your orgasm soaking his hand. Eyes fluttering open to find him licking your release from his fingers, as his other hand undoes his pants and tugs down his boxers, his cock already dragging against your still twitching cunt. 

“Fuck,” you mumble, under your breath, and he only smiles. 

“Now you’re getting it, baby.” 

And your alarm jolts you awake, you stare at your ceiling, watching the ceiling fan spin, while you glance at your side to find nothing but your comforter beside you. Not to mention, as you shifted, feeling the telltale stickiness of your arousal and the dull throbbing of your cunt, the aftermath of your dream — your very wet dream. 

“Fuck,” you say, this time out loud and to no one but yourself. This was going to be a problem, if you let this go on. And you couldn’t. Not after the last time — you swing your feet over the edge of the bed and stand, glancing back at the stain of your pre that you flipped your comforter over — and not after that. 

“Have you been avoiding me?” 

Yes, you have done a good job. Until now. 

You gritted your teeth, as you stood in the doorway of the room. But how could you have avoided him in the guest room of the house he lived in? 

And as he loomed in the doorway of the kitchen, dwelling in the shadow of his form, you were kicking the ass of past you, the one that had convinced you it was okay to stay over because Sukuna had been out. 

“Had” being the operative word. 

It had been a few days since you had found yourself at the Itadoris. And more than a few days since you had found yourself dreaming of Sukuna — waking up with his name on your tongue and your panties uncomfortably drenched. You had gone through more underwear this week than you had in a month. And it didn’t help that you felt the need to get off once you did wake, the ache between your thighs was too much to bear before sleep. 

And now here was the subject of your dirty dreams darkening your doorway, as if your dreams were some naughty prophecy waiting to unfold (though you were sure he could fold you). 

“What are you talking about?” 

And you knew exactly what he was talking about. You had made sure Sukuna wasn’t around when you came over (the absence of his motorcycle is a telltale sign), and always left before he returned. But tonight you made the mistake of drinking with Choso, the two of you finishing two bottles of sake before being completely fucked. 

Your head was spinning — you could barely have made it to the bathroom, much less your home. Choso had corralled you into taking his bed, before going and collapsing on his couch. It had been only a few hours into the night before you got up in a haze of confusion with your mouth drier than the Sahara. You pulled yourself up, slipped on thin sleep shorts that you had thrown off at some point due to the summer humidity, before finding your way to the door. 

You made your way to the kitchen, the squeak of the fridge as you pulled it open to grab a water bottle. And that’s when he spoke. 

“And here you are,” and the water bottle nearly slipped from your grasp, “no need to jump, brat, I’m not a monster or a shadow,”

No, but he’s so much worse, he’s real. 

“I was just getting something to drink,” you murmur, and he tilts his head, as he takes a step closer. 

“Just water?’ That’s not the kind of drink you still owe me,” and why was his presence so intoxicating? Several drinks in and you could still hold your own, still speak in complete sentences, and even make your way home on foot. But Sukuna comes near, and suddenly you can barely form a fucking syllable, your limbs feel far too heavy, and your body is nearly burning, as if he had turned your blood to wine without any miracle needed. 

No, it was more of a curse. 

“I don’t remember owing you anything,” and he’s tilting his head, amusement flickering across his lips, a step closer and then another, until you’re utterly engulfed in his presence. You can smell the mix of exhaust and sweat off of him from his motorcycle ride, the way his jaw tenses as if he is holding himself back from taking a bite, and the way his gaze pierces into you as if he has you pinned like a butterfly under glass. 

“Do I need to give you a reason?” And when his fingers ghosted over your swell of your cheek, a featherlight brush from rough, calloused skin that makes a shiver roll down your body, “didn’t think I had to with the way you were nearly melting into my touch when I saw you last, girl,” 

“I wasn’t the one begging for me to be there,” and he clicks his tongue derisively, and you wonder what else he can do with it, before his fingers grip your chin roughly, forcing your gaze to his. 

“Tch, so pleased with yourself just for resisting, are you, sweetheart?” he tilts his head, while his other hand slithers down your side until he finds your waist and tugs you close, lips hanging close, a forbidden fruit begging you to take a bite, “imagine how good you’d feel if you gave in,” and you almost do, melting into his touch, as if you were made to fit in his arms, leaning up so you could feel the warm breath of his welcome—

SLAM! 

You’re sent stumbling back again, clearing your throat, as the sounds of footsteps grow close, and Yuji wanders into the kitchen, mouth pulled open by his yawn, as he blinks as he spots the two of you. 

“Hey, I thought you were asleep upstairs,” he walks past the two of you to grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, and sparing a short glance at Sukuna, “and I thought you had plans,” 

“Plans can change, brat,” Sukuna sighs, his eyes still trained on you — a homing missile with a target, and Yuji was an obstacle in the way, “shouldn’t you go back to bed?” 

“I could ask you two the same,” he leaned against the kitchen counter for a moment, while you only shook your head. 

“I’m going to go to bed,” your only exit opportunity and you’d take it — there had been enough mistakes made, and you didn’t need another to add to the list, and you’re slipping back into your room without another word. 

You don’t see the way Sukuna glares at his nephew, cursing the day of his existence with only his eyes, only gaining a confused stare in return, “What? Ow!”

And you’re only left questioning why Yuji is holding a bag of ice to his head the next morning. 

But you knew you couldn’t avoid Sukuna forever — and you couldn’t avoid how you felt either.

Especially when he gave you exactly what you wanted — space. You had barely seen him for the next week, the former criminal making himself scarce, apparently telling his brother that he had grown tired of “rooming with a bunch of brats,” and had found himself another place to stay for a while. 

Jin had sighed when you had asked over breakfast a day or so after he left, “I don’t know how long he’ll be gone, but we’ll see. The only requirement of his release was to stay in the prefecture—” 

“And that’s already far too close,” Yuji muttered under his breath, earning a sharp look from his dad, “so we don’t even know if he’ll be back huh?” 

Jin shrugs, as he sips his coffee, “I don’t know — your uncle isn’t one to stay in one place — unless there’s something that he wants,” 

“I’ll take any amount of time that he’s not here,” Choso shakes his head, offering you a small smile, “and this way you can stay over in the guest room now,” 

“Yeah, true,” you offered a weak smile, as you continued to pick at your food. This was good news, things were going back to normal, but even so, as you pushed your food on your plate — why did your chest ache so much? 

“Yuck, do people’s heads really explode like that?” Yuji sat with the two of you in the living room, TV playing the movie Yuji had chosen, shoveling popcorn by the fistful. 

“How would we know that?” you snort, stealing popcorn from his bowl, “why did you even choose this movie anyway?” 

“He heard there was a Megan Thee Stallion cameo in it,” and Yuji’s cheeks flushed, visible even in the dim illumination of the TV, as he got to his feet. 

“I’m gonna get a drink, do you two want anything?” And you both shake your heads, as you stifle your chuckle. 

“You wanna stay over tonight?” Choso asks, and you tilt your head, toying with a popcorn kernel between your fingers. 

You shrug, “we’ll see,” your eyes drift back to the movie, but you feel the creak of the bed as he shifts. 

“You don’t have been avoiding staying over, even though it’s just us,” Fuck, your eyes still found themselves on the screen instead of him, anywhere but him, and you can hear the unspoken words — even though Sukuna is not here, “are you sure we’re good?” 

And you couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t him that was bothering you. It wasn’t him keeping you up at night, it wasn’t him who had been tempting you the last few weeks, and it wasn’t him that you wanted to see — no matter how much you didn’t want to admit it, even to yourself. 

So you don’t.  

You smile as best you can, “Everything’s fine, Choso,” and he frowns, still unsure, and you know there’s only one thing that will assure him, if only a little, “I’ll stay over,” 

And so you end up in the guest room — far too late. Even though Sukuna no longer lingered here, his scent still did, even with the sheet change and the small amount of his things gone, he was still very much here. 

And it did little for your sleep. Or maybe too much. 

Again, you dreamt of him, his large palms dragging down your sides, lips pulled in a smirk that he pressed to the hollow of your throat before it’s consumed by a flash of canines that pinch and tease the softness of your flesh. 

“S’fucking wet,” he huffs a chuckle out, “such a little slut, been wanting this for far too long haven’t you?” And he’s undoing your robe with ease, a single tug has your body revealed to him, “haven’t even laid a finger on you and look at the mess you’ve made,” he clicks his tongue, and a whine parts your lips, “already whining like a bitch?” 

He shoves two fingers inside you, a gasp ripped from your throat, thick digits stretching your walls, clenching around the intrusion, “Sukuna—please,” 

“Silly girl,” he murmurs in your ear, “I’m not even the one touching you now,” and fantasy melts into reality as his hand cups your chin, eyes fluttering open, “but I know I can make you cum faster than any dream,” 

Wait. What? 

And suddenly the touch down your body feels all too real, pain ribboning from the fingers squeezing your hips hard, and a gasp as your body trembles, still caught between sleep and reality. Your body can’t move, but it’s not the weight of your own limbs keeping you still. 

Your eyes shoot open completely, sleep shed completely from your mind. 

And you found Sukuna, his lips curled in a smile that was far too familiar from other sleepless nights. But was it? Or was it another dream that he had invaded, far too real as you slept in his bed, rather than your own. 

Your hand reaches out for him shakily, fingers tracing the hard line of his jaw, “Is this real?” you mutter, more to yourself, but he takes it upon himself to answer, his hand darting out to curl around your wrist, squeezing, while the other holds himself up, mattress creaking a divot where his hand pressed in, body heat all too close. 

“Want me to pinch you? Can’t say it’ll be the cheek you’re thinking of,” he chuckles, unable to meet his gaze, “don’t go acting like a shy virgin now, woman. You’re the one having wet dreams about me,” 

“No, I-I, it wasn’t—“ but your brain is short circuiting and his laugh that rumbles against you tells you he’s enjoying this far too much, “what are you doing here? I thought you left,” the statement comes out far too biting, and he raises an eyebrow. 

“I did, but it was just for a week. I had some business to deal with,” and a grin pulls at his lips, “why? Did you miss me, brat? Is that why you’re dreaming of me?” 

You’re squirming underneath him trying to look anywhere but him, “I’m not, it wasn’t—“ and he only hums, dragging a hand down your front, until he’s reaching your shorts, a brief pause to see if you’d pull away, but you don’t, and fingers pressing against your soaked shorts. 

“That why you’re soaked through your fucking shorts?” And the rough pads of his fingers grind against your eager hole, nearly swallowing you in, only the thin fabric of your shorts keeping his fingers from fucking you then and there, “least your body’s honest — so eager to get fucked,” and he’s teasing your drenched entrance, drawing his fingers back to have your pre like spiderwebs between the two digits. 

“Sukuna, please—“ and his lips curl. 

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll go,” a small whine left your throat, the throbbing between your thighs growing with the way his gaze undid you — unscrewed you by your hinges and watched you fall apart, only to ask you to put yourself back together. 

But you couldn’t. Not without him. 

“Sukuna—“ 

“I didn’t ask you to whine, are you going to answer my question—-“ 

“Fuck me,” the words fall from your lips as if possessed, and you can’t find it in you to regret them. 

And he smiles all the same. 

“About fucking time,” and his fingers meanly rub against your clit through the paper thin fabric of your shorts, “didn’t even fucking put on panties and you expect me to think you didn’t want me fuck you open,” and embarrassment burns at your cheeks, “did you get this wet from dreaming about me?” And no words come to your mind, and he gives you a sharp spank to your clothed slit, drawing a sharp gasp to your lips and slick flooding from your folds, “better use your words, woman,” 

“Fuck, please, I need—“ and his fingers practically rip your shorts off, letting your cunt gush onto the sheets. 

“Need me to fuck you that bad? G’nna beg this criminal to fuck you open?” And he’s toying with your folds, tugging your tight hole apart as his eyes rake over your pussy, exposed for him, “after all of your teasing, what makes you think you even deserve to be fucked? Maybe I should leave you like this, fingers buried in your cunt, wishing they were your neighbor’s uncle’s,” and a sadistic smile graces his features as it only can his, “fuck yourself for me,” 

You whimper, as his fingers leave your hole, clenching around nothing as if begging for his touch, “what? But—“ 

“Fuck yourself until you cum, wanna see what you’ve been doing when you’re fucking me in your sleep,” the absence of his touch leaves you keening and needy, for something, anything to get you off. Want overcomes inhibition, and your shaky fingers find their way to your cunt, fingertips tracing the outer lips, a gasp you barely recognize as your own when you rub against your clit, “c’mon girl, gotta open yourself up for me — think I’ll fit if you just rub yourself like that?” And he’s pressing his clothed erection against your thigh — and he’s fucking big — rock hard cock rubbing against you through damp damp sweatpants. 

And his fingers grabs your own, guiding them to your slick hole, letting them slip past your fluttering walls, while his own teased your outsides, “Good girl,” and the praise makes your walls clench, and he’s chuckling, “want to be a fucking good girl, then fuck yourself until I see you cum for me,” 

You swallow your whines, beginning to move your fingers in and out, your insides clinging to you, as if begging for something longer, thicker, better — and you knew his fingers would be. A moan falls from your lips, and he clicks his tongue. 

“Gotta be rougher than that,” and his fingers curl around the base of your own, using your fingers as a glorified fuck toy. Your head lolled back, as he controlled the pace of your fingers, fucking you hard and fast, reaching places you didn’t think were possible with your fingers, “that’s it, you’re close aren’t you? Like being fucked with your own fingers, don’t you, you slut?” And you’re shuddering, soft cries and moans filling the silence of the night with the loud squelch of your cunt. 

“Sukuna, f-fuck, ngh, I can’t—“ and he only begins to rub on your clit with his thumb. 

“Yes you can,” he gruffly chuckles, murmuring in your ear as he leans forward, “cum on your fingers like you have every night for me,” and he forces your gaze to meet his as your fingers brush that one spot that has your back arching, “say my name,” 

And you do, cumming hard around your fingers, as he uses them to fuck you through your orgasm, the wet noises of your folds growing louder as your thighs shake. Your eyes meet his, glassy with tears from your high, and Sukuna leans down to lick the salty tear from your cheek. 

He pulls your fingers from inside you, your sticky cum coating your digits and even dripping onto his own. He smirks as he eyes them, before sliding them into his mouth. A moan pulled from your lips as he sucks your essence clean from them, tongue dragging up the length of your fingers. 

“Shit, that was a nice moan,” and his eyes fall back to your drenched cunt, “Still so fucking tight,” he clicks his tongue, Fuck, girl, did the boys your age not fuck you properly? G’nna have to fix that,” as he thumbs meanly at your swollen clit, “I’ll have you screaming my name soon enough.” 

he hums, taking in your ruined state — tear stained cheeks, your dripping cunt, and your red ruined lips from biting them, “so fucking pretty like this,” and you hear him shift, the distinct sound of his phone camera, making your eyes snap open. 

“No, fuck, no don’t—“ and he’s turning the screen around to show you how absolutely fucked you look, “please—“ 

“It’s a little too late for that, can’t have anyone buying your little virgin act anymore huh?” he’s grinning as he leans forward, pinning your thighs in place as you try to squirm away, “don’t move,” 

His order makes your muscles tense, unable to move your body under the heavy grasp of his hands splayed against your hips. The pads of his fingers dig into your soft flesh, as his lips dare closer to your weeping slit. 

“Fuck, are you a virgin though? You’re still so fucking tight even after that little show you put on for me,” and he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, his breath warming your twitching cunt, “either way, you won’t be one soon,” and he’s burying his mouth in your pussy. 

You moan, covering your mouth before he sucks on your clit, tongue teasing your hole open, a wave of heat flooding your body. The sounds of his licking and slurping fill your ears — and you wonder how the whole house isn’t awake yet. 

You can’t stop your hips from nearly fucking his face, but he spanks your thigh, hard, as he pulls his mouth from your dripping slit, “I told you not to move,” and he spanks your clit for good measure, making you yelp against your fingers, “tell me when you’re about to cum,” and you whimper, “or I can open this door and let the house hear us,” 

You nod, but he doesn’t miss the way your slit twitches at the thought, and his mouth curls in a nasty smirk, “such a fucking slut, maybe I will,” and he’s plunging two thick fingers into your greedy cunt, a gasp ripped from your throat at the intrusion, walls fluttering as they attempt to accommodate his digits. But it’s all squeezing and barely any stretch, as his fingers work you open. 

And it doesn’t take long to get you worked up, his digits knuckle deep and dripping wet, “gonna fucking break my fingers in two with your virgin hole, girl,” he grunts, your body burning with his touch alone, nails dragging against your walls, curling so they can bully that sweet spot just right, “you’re gonna cum aren’t you?” the telltale squeeze of your cunt tells him so, and you’re nodding, and his fingers slip from inside. 

You’re whining, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, “Please, fuck, wanna cum,” the pleasure that had built was throbbing, a dam close to bursting but denied its relief, so it remained, begging and waiting — “please, Sukuna—“ 

“So you do know how to beg like a good little whore, gonna fuck you again, but you can’t cum until I tell you,” and he’s sinking three fingers into you now, eyes rolling back as your back arches, but he’s fucking you meanly, curling and twisting his fingers, until the pleasure is a tight knot in your belly, barely hanging on from snapping, “wait,” he grunts, and it’s as if your warmth is made for him — or now it was, because he’s made it his, “wait,” and you’re sure he’s reached your cervix somehow, fingertips reaching places you’ve only dreamed of (literally), and then he leans down lips around your clit as he orders you, “now, cum,” 

And you do, hard, as he sucks around your clit while fucking you through your orgasm, cum flooding his fingers and face alike, drenching him, even as he slurped and sucked up every bit. 

He finally pulls away, a shiver slips down your spine as he slips his fingers from inside you, pink tongue flicking against his lips, still slick with your cum, What a fucking mess you’ve made,” he sneers, but he’s licking his lips clean all the same, “should make you clean up the mess you made, shouldn’t I?” And he’s pressing the pads of his fingers to your lips, you’re too fucked out to fight, lips parting with ease, “suck,” and you do, opening wide to let his fingers inside, lips and tongue curled around the same fingers that had explored your cunt. 

He watched as you obediently sucked every drop of your juices off, a trickle of drool slipping down the corner of your lips makes his already hard cock twitch in his pants, and he’s pulling his fingers from your mouth. 

“Better than your dreams, huh, sweetheart?” he drags his thumb down your bottom lip, he can’t fucking wait a minute longer, “turn around, gonna fuck this slutty princess cunt from behind,” but you only can watch as he tugs down his sweatpants and boxers alike, his cock slapping against his stomach. 

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you had imagined. Mushroom tip red and hard, as pretty veins run up the sides, and he was looking as if he’d not only split you open, but break you all together. 

Your thighs quaked at the thought, more slick slipping from your needy cunt — and you wanted him to.  

Your knees shake, as you turn slowly, much too slowly his pace, and he grunts, his hands gripping your hips, as he flips you onto your stomach, a yelp leaving your lips as you bounce on the mattress. “have to fuckin’ do everything myself for this whore’s pussy,”

You’re gripping the sheets, nails surely tearing holes in the thin fabric of the sheets, as his calloused palm comes down on your ass, hard, the smack echoing in the silence of the night, a mewl you don’t recognize as your own, “Sukuna, please, I can’t—“ 

“You can, you’ll take whatever I give you, brat,” and another smack finds your ass again, as he pinches the flesh for good measure, drawing another moan from your lips and another chuckle from his, “and you’ll take this cock too,” and he doesn’t spare you a moment as he presses his swollen, dripping cockhead to your drenched hole, smearing his pre all over your ass — as if to erase any doubt you were his, because there wasn’t — before finally sliding in. 

God, fuck. 

Your arms were already shaking, barely able to hold yourself up, but your face nearly plants into the mattress as he sinks into you — he was too fucking big. Even all the prep he had given you was nothing, nothing compared to how much his dick was stretching your cunt. 

He hummed, as your insides swallowed him eagerly, even with the slight resistance of your tight little pussy, watching as your walls parted for him with almost practiced ease, sucking him deeper and deeper, as if you were made for him. And you would be, after he fucked your cunt to his shape again and again — because this was far from the last time he would take you. 

It was only the first. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight — am I the first to fuck this pussy?” he grunts, grasping your hips tightly, your warm, wet pussy wrapped around his dick — he had waited far too long for this, too many nights spent grasping at his cock, thinking how much better it would be buried in your pussy. 

“H-hngh, Sukuna, s’big,” you’re nearly babbling as he works himself into you, inch by inch, not even halfway in, and you were gonna cum just from him putting his dick in, “can’t fit—” and he’s scoffing, watching you squirm against his length, but he only continues to fuck his way into your tight hole, another sharp slap to your ass as a warning. 

“I’ll make it fit, girl,” he growls — like fuck he was stopping now that’s gotten this far, there was only one way this was ending — and it was with his cock fucking you full of his cum, “c’mon, did the dream not compare to the reality? Did you think I had a tiny dick?” and he thrusts shallowly against you, sending another inch inside your already stuffed folds, drawing a needy whine from your throat, “so fucking loud, you gonna let the whole house know what we’re doing at this rate,” 

he murmurs, bending down to your ear, and your walls squeeze around him, a vice grip that has him nearly cumming then and there, but no he won’t, not yet, “fuck, did you think about letting Choso know? Maybe I’d let him watch me fuck you, only way he’ll ever see you like this,” and you whimper as he slams into you, finally bottoming out as his tip bullies your womb, making you cry out against your fingers, “to think the pretty girl next door is on her hands and knees like a slut for me now, getting split open by my dick. What would Choso think?”

You’re whining, “Please, fuck, slow down—” but he only pulls out a little to piston back in, balls slapping against your ass as he does, setting a mean pace, as he chuckles in your ear. 

“You’re saying that, but we both know that’s not what you want — slutty fucking pussy trying break my cock in two,” the sounds of your skin slapping against you as his tip brushes against your cervix rings in your ear, even as he murmurs in it, “y’’know he wants to fuck you right? The little brat is always watching you, nearly fisting himself at the sight of you,” he’s forcing you upwards, pressing your back to his chest, “he wants you, but he’ll never have you, because this pussy is mine,” and his hand finds the bulge in your stomach, pressing down, as you keen, head falling back against his shoulder, as tears pooled in your pretty eyes, “but he’d never be able to reach here and fuck you like you want — like a whore,” his other hand pinches and teases your pebbled nipples, before sliding up to your neck, squeezing lightly, “say you’re mine,” 

You can’t find the words, all of them fucked out of your body to make room for his cock seemingly — the only words remaining his name and “please,” but you have to do better than that, and he slows his pace to nothing, as he pulls out so only his tip teases your entrance, a whine leaving your pathetic mouth.

“If you’re not mine, guess I don’t need to let you finish, do I?” and you’re shaking your head, frantic and repentant. 

“I’m yours, i’m yours, Sukuna, please—” and he’s sliding right back into you, fucking you harder, balls slapping against your ass and sweet cunt swallowing him up to the base, a white ring of your pre cum forming around it — and he just knows you’re close, by the twitch of your sweet pussy — and his hand reaches around to rub at your clit,  “I’m—” 

And he ruts into you, hard and deep that you’re sure his length brushes against your womb — and you’re cumming, falling apart around him, but he doesn’t relent — but had he ever? He didn’t relent over these past few weeks, and he wouldn’t now, not until he was filling you up and watching his cum drip out of your hole—

You’re slipping back forward, face forward into the pillow and mattress, as he grunts watching your slick drip down your ass and thighs and onto the sheets — his balls tense with his release, “Fuck—” and that’s all the warning you get before he slams back into you to bottom out, as he blows his load. 

His release is hot as it fills you up, never ending it seems as he slowly fucks you through his orgasm, his spurts slowing with time, until he’s finally stilling, a soft grunt, as he pulls himself from inside your warm cunt. A soft groan at the sight of his seed spilling from inside you — you’re boneless and spent, until he has you jolting forward from the press of his fingers gathering his cum and stuffing it back in. 

“Kuna, fuck, I can’t—” and he scoffs, retracting his fingers for a moment, before he’s deftly flipping you onto your back, “too sensitive,” you whine as his fingers work their way back into you. 

“Did you think I was done, woman?” and his softening erection is already standing tall again, and you’re almost wanting his fingers now at this point, even as your body disagrees, pussy squeezing at the thought of him buried inside you again. He leans forward, lips brushing against yours, a kiss full of nothing of tongue and teeth, the faint taste of your own release on his lips, “we’re far from done.” 

The sound of your name catches your attention, your eyes snapping up from your breakfast, “what?” 

“Are you okay? Choso frowns at you, as he holds his rice bowl, the rolled tamago sliced on his plate, “you look tired,” It was another morning like always, but 

You shake your head, “I just didn’t sleep well, I kept waking up from my dreams,” and it wasn’t exactly a lie — yesterday was the culmination of a million dreams you had. Dreams that only ended when the sun began to come up, with his cock still buried in your cunt as you rode him, back pressed to his chest, as he worked you up and down his dick. 

And finally when he came again, this time all over your back, he finally pressed kisses up and down his back, easing himself out, as his toned arms engulfed you. 

“Should clean up and I should head to Jin’s room,” he murmurs, “I have a feeling I won’t have a place to live if he finds me in here,” and you chuckle, too fucked out and tired, “we’ll have to get used to sneaking around. 

“Oh will we?” you had mumbled, and he answered your question with another bruising kiss to your lips. 

Yuji tilts his head, scratching it, as you lift your glass to take a sip of water, mouth far too dry now, “Is that what those noises were? It sounded like you were having nightmares,” and you nearly choke on it, but force it down, hoping the embarrassment wasn’t evident on your face, stabbing your egg. 

“Yeah, I had a couple last night,” you lied, and even as you suddenly found your breakfast far too interesting, you could feel Choso’s gaze still on you — your cheeks burning as Sukuna’s words about him still rung in your ears — along with the distinct ache between your legs and on your ass he left behind, “I’m fine, I’m just going to need a nap,” 

“You’re not the only one, girl,” Sukuna walks into the kitchen from the rooms, as Yuji and Choso balk at his presence. 

Choso’s eyes narrow, “What are you doing here?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sukuna’s eyes find yours, the corner of his lip pulled upwards, as his gaze rakes over your form, “what’s for breakfast?” and you knew he only wished that you were the thing placed on the table for him to eat. Jin barely pays any mind, too preoccupied on his phone with his work email, as he passes a plate to Sukuna. 

“When did you even get in?” Yuji asks, as he finishes his own breakfast, leaning back on his two palms. And your insides begin to tie themselves in knots at all of these questions — knowing Sukuna would like nothing more than to tell them exactly what he was doing last night. 

“And where did you sleep?” Choso glares, adding fuel to the fire, as Sukuna looks down on him, lips a thin line,  “you didn’t bother our guest, did you?” and your cheeks burn all the same, a flicker of amusement on Sukuna’s features, lips parting only for Jin to cut in.

“He got in early this morning. He slept in my room,” Jin says with a sigh, “Don’t you two have to get ready? You’re going to your mom’s this morning,” 

“She’s not my mom,” Choso grumbles under his breath, “more like a leech,” but he still gets to his feet all the same, as Yuji follows suit, picking up their plates, a comforting hand on his older brother’s shoulder. 

“I should get to work,” Jin sighs, sparing a sharp glance at his brother, “behave,” and he turns to you, “feel free to stay as long as you want. Yuji and Choso will be back this afternoon,” 

And the three of them find their way out of the house, a rush of bags and feet, as Choso spares a glance at you. 

“I’ll be back soon — you can hang out in my room if you want,” Choso says, before scowling at Sukuna, “let me know if you need anything,” and you nod, waving him off, and the door shuts behind them all. 

Sukuna slides into place beside you, sitting as the two of you eat breakfast in relative silence. You finish up your meal, and move to get up, but Sukuna’s hand finds its way onto your thigh, holding you in place. 

“Are you done?” and you glance at him, plate empty and food untouched, “with eating?” 

“I am,” you raise an eyebrow, “And you?” 

“My appetite wants something else, sweetheart,” he leans forward, fingers inching higher until his thumb grazes your inner thigh. 

“And what’s that?” and he nearly growls his next words, thin patience already tearing in two, just as he would your clothes if you weren’t careful. 

“I’m done playing coy, woman,” he’s lifting you with ease, slinging you over his shoulder as you gasp, and he’s gotten you on top of the counter, the very same counter you had baked cookies on the day he had arrived, but now his hulking body was quickly pressing your legs apart, “there’s only one thing I want to eat in this kitchen, and it’s between your fucking thighs.” 

“Not sick of it yet?” you chuckle. 

“Think I could bury myself in your slutty pussy for days and not get sick of it,” and he looms over you, just as he had that first day, and he leans down to kiss you, stealing the logic from your mind and leaving only the need for his touch behind, “it is the sweetest thing I ever tasted after all.” 

“Really?” and he smirks, as his fingers dig into the fabric of your shorts ripping them and your panties down, the cool air against your already wet cunt. 

“Want me to prove it?” 

And oh, he would. Again and again. 

✧ a/n: i have a problem. i really wanted to write something with degradation ok?

✧ taglist: , @k0z3me , @monstrousbuu , @abiiebibie , @strawmariee , @luciiferslover , @sxnkuna , @psychxbby , @addehehe , @cpu1d , @dreamtardisspace , @authorintheshadows666 , @arcielee , @trxnmagic , @smilk01 , @abcdbleh , @elisaj313-blog , @jinslunv , @n3ptunxe , @pinkyvomit , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @rat-loves , @spider-fan72 ,, @niks1673 , @lafffyyytafffyyy , @miseraa , @astraxa-xx , @fushitoru , @hanxyy , @milky-milkyway , @nakariabnrb , @johannakhalafalla , @tojicvmbucket , @flyingtranscatofeffed , @vampzys , @caelestine-the-caelicatto , @hatsunemitskislobotomy , @k1ttybean , @catsgomurp , @goddess-ofthe-godless , @i-spilt-ink-on-my-phone , @forest-fruits-jam , @mua-for-now , @pricetagofficial

[bi-writes]

ok reverse the TROPE !!!!!! sugar-mommy!f!reader x retired!simon <333 (18+)

he got discharged on a medical injury. his knee flares up now, phantom pains that shoot up his leg and pinch his spine. he feels like a failure--a lieutenant in his prime, and now he has to acclimate to civilian life and grit his teeth instead of drown the voices in his head out with gunfire.

he's been deployed as much as he could be just to stay away from this kind of place. so he didn't have to get on a train, or take the tube. so he didn't have to think about looking over his shoulder in the shops or learn how to pay a wifi bill. he hates going to the doctor's office, and he hates learning how to properly open his bank account, just to learn that there's nearly nothing in it.

the numbers just dwindle before his very eyes. the rent is too high, even in his shitty studio. when did cable cost that much? why can't he go to the pub for just a few pounds anymore? where is the compensation for giving more than a decade of his life in service of his country just to have to wait in fucking lines to get his medication and argue over the phone about where all his fucking money went.

maybe he never had any. maybe it's all lost somewhere. he'd ask his former captain, but he's halfway across the world, and over his dead body would he hold a hand out and ask for charity when he's 36 years old.

"don't get that one."

simon turns his head, a snarl caught in his throat. there's a pretty thing standing beside him, also staring at the array of ramen packages in focus. you take the orange package out of his hand and put it back on the shelf before reaching for a different package. it's got japanese characters on it, so he can't read the label, but you smile up at him.

"this one is way better. good price for it, too."

"'s more expensive."

"yeah, but you get eight packets in this one. that one only gives you five."

at the till, you notice him subtly counting the notes in his wallet. you pretend not to notice, rocking back and forth on your heels, but just as he picks up his bag to leave, you speak up.

"you wanna get a drink? on me."

and fuck, he could use a bourbon. on the first one, he thought your presence was pleasantly tolerable. by the fourth, he's staring down your shirt, dark eyes mapping out what the curves of your breasts might look like in the palm of his big hand. by the sixth, you're pressed up against a sticky bathroom wall and holding on for dear life as he pounds into you from behind, knickers in his back pocket, manicured nails digging slits into his tattooed forearm.

you sink those claws in that night; and you do not let go.

the third night you ask him out, he sees your flat for the first time. in a nice building downtown, doorman holding the door open for you. the elevator ride is long enough for him to see the tops of buildings, and when you step inside your flat, he swallows hard when he realizes you are way out of his league.

gorgeous leather seats and couch. large tv with surround sound. a french kitchen with a gas stove. your flat is filled with knickknacks and candles, low yellow lights and wonderful collections of art and little glass vases and sculptures. your home is filled with warmth, and you don't belong with him.

just as he thinks about backing out of the place, you turn and grip the lapels of his jacket, tugging him closer. you touch your nose to his over his mask, smiling, and you push the door closed behind him and press him up against it.

"so, which room do you wanna christen first? i thought we could start in the kitchen."

you're a woman that knows what she wants, he'll give you that; and he doesn't have it in him to say no.

the sun wakes him up in the morning. he doesn't remember falling asleep--he doesn't like to make staying over a habit. when he sits up on his elbows, he takes a deep breath, realizing his back hurts a lot less. the mattress of your bed is wonderful, much more supportive than the flat mess he has on the floor in his own place, and he blinks himself awake when you come out of the bathroom.

you're freshly dressed, makeup on, and you're putting on your jewelry when you see him. you smile at him, coming towards the bed, and you bend down to kiss where his mouth would be under the mask.

"good morning, simon. sleep well?"

"mmm..."

you take that as a yes, cupping his jaw, and you kiss him over his mask again before going to get some shoes from your closet. he doesn't comment on the fact that when you open it, he realizes the closet there is only for shoes...

"you hungry, baby? want some breakfast?"

"i--oh..." simon lays back down when his back tweaks, and you reach for him when you see him fall back in the mirror. you smooth a hand down the side of his body, frowning.

"why don't you stay in bed? i'll have my assistant bring you something."

"no, tha's--"

"i'm not asking, simon, i'm telling you," you coo. you pick up one of his hands and trace one of his scars with your finger. you have long, almond-shaped nails. there's pretty chrome nail art over the wine red color you wear, and he focuses on it as you kiss his knuckles gently. "will you wait for me to come home?"

"where y'goin'?"

"gotta work, honey," you wink down at him. "and i want you to be here when i get back."

"tha' so?"

"mhm," you smile. "right here. in my bed--" you lift the covers a little and peek, giggling as you put it back down after getting a glimpse at his cock resting against his lower stomach. "just like this, simon."

he doesn't remember if he ever goes back to his flat. he thinks he went one more time, to grab a few bottles of his medication, but the tick in his knee hadn't been so bad with the great physical therapy you started paying for and the warm massages you gave him every night.

and his back--your bed always contours perfectly against the muscles of his back, and he finds himself sleeping a full seven hours every single night.

not to mention his new work outs. simon hadn't been to the gym much since coming home, but he knows he must be burning hundreds of calories with you. you test his limits. as soon as you're home, you jump on him, and the stress relief your pussy brings him is just what he needs to get the edge off. you're a fiend, especially after a rough day, and the way you bounce on his cock in every room of your flat keeps him up at night sometimes with the most glorious wet dreams.

you're up late that night. you're curled up on the couch in one of simon's shirts and a glass of red wine, and there's a mountain of papers around you that you're focusing on reading. you have a huge presentation tomorrow, and everything needs to be perfect. simon comes into the living room, shirtless, and you smile when you see him standing there. he's wearing the new sweats you got him, but you can't focus on that too much when you're staring at his pudgy, toned stomach and his nice pecs. you bite your lip, taking a long sip of your wine, and simon hikes up his mask to take a bite out of his bowl of ice cream.

"gonna be up late tonight?" he asks, and you nod. "want me to sit with ya?" you nod again, lifting up your legs, and when he takes a seat next to you, you drape them across his lap. you lean over to give his scarred cheek a kiss, and when you turn back to your paperwork, a thought comes across your mind.

"we should get married," you say softly, circling a note over something. simon keeps eating, as if what you said doesn't phase him.

"why's tha', love?"

"tax benefits."

"mmm..." simon drops one of his hands and thumbs against your ankle. the flat is warm. his stomach is full. his body hurts less, and his heart aches with something nice. "olright then."

you smile.

"good. cause i already bought the ring."

NEXT