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lovegasmic · 1 year ago

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hi ! i’m not sure if ur reqs are open but i was wondering if i could get a bff gojo x fem reader having sex for the first time even tho they’re just besties ^.^ i’m in love w bff gojo + i love ur writing !!

BFF ! ( best friends who fuck )

⋆ mdni. cunilingus, pussy drunk Satoru, a bunch of praising, dirty talk and pet names like baby, princess, pretty, angel ‹3. ( nonie ily this idea made me scream for a good while and also thank you so so much ! im happy u like what I write 𖹭 ) and yes! my requests are always open

⋆ side note: it’s up to you to decide if they're virgins or not ajsgshsh I left that open to interpretation lol.

late night friday movies with Satoru where a must, cozy blankets covering your thighs and whatever it could from your best friend’s incredibly long legs propped up on the coffee table. what started with you both picking whatever cringe movie and attempting to watch through it, ended up with giggled remarks of the horrendous plot and terrible acting in the screen.

Satoru’s rambles over any minor detail were expected, what you did not expect was for him to suggest something completely unexpected, “have you thought about it?” he asks, a big chunk of ice cream down his mouth while pointing at the tv screen where the main two characters were currently passionately making out, “you and me?”

the saliva in your mouth chokes you for a brief second before turning your head towards the man with the cocky smile, “you’re kidding”

“i’m not” he speaks, remaining unbothered, eyes glued to the now clean spoon, “we’ve known each other since so long, don’t you think our sexual chemistry would be amazing?” Satoru smirks, now turning and leaning closer to your wide eyed face.

you couldn’t deny your best friend was incredibly hot, bright blue eyes and messy white hair with matching long eyelashes, he was ethereal and Satoru thought the same about you, he never admitted how fucking gorgeous you were but his continuous praises in the shape of petnames was, hopefully, enough for you to see.

“i don’t know...” you bite your lip, a slight tug on your belly making itself present at the closeness of him, subtly forcing you to lean back until your head laid on the armrest and Satoru’s body towered over yours.

“c’mon pretty, don’t get all shy on me” he rasps, “i bet i can make you feel so good, i know your cute body like no one else” and to be fair, he is right, multiple tickling fights have had you confessing your sensitive spots to Satoru, which now he attempts to use them for your pleasure.

you whine, low and almost inaudible, “promise our friendship won’t change” you reply, and it’s all Satoru needs, a strained ‘promise’ muttered before his lips crash on yours with a satisfied groan, his tongue is quick to meet yours, tangling and allowing the lewd sound of saliva and lips crashing resonate under the tv sound muffled in the background.

“haaa” he gasps once you break the kiss, hands eagerly pulling, squeezing and tugging on your skin and clothes until you’re laying naked under his body, Satoru’s quick to take off his shirt and toss it aside along with the mess of cloth in the floor, “you’re so sexy, baby, so fuckin’ gorgeous” it’s a dark murmur, sliding your panties down for his eyes to see the threads of slick connecting your folds and the fabric, a broken sound coming from his lips as if he just got punched in the gut.

“gonna make you feel so good, princess” Satoru speaks to himself, eyes glued on your cunt as he lays down between your legs, fingertips parting your glistening folds with a soft gasp, truth to be told, he’s never been so turned on in his whole life, “wanna eat your perfect cunt so bad” he shakes, slowly grinding his boxer clothed cock against the couch, a single hand coming up to squeeze your tits while his tongue took a tentative lick on your slit that made his eyes roll.

“fuck!” you both whimper at the same time, with Satoru’s mind reeling at the taste of you, driven by his lust and pulsing cock as he leans down and attaches his lips to your pussy, messily and desperately eating you out with his eyes crossing from pleasure, a couple groans expressed directly on your sensitive flesh.

“so good, baby, you taste amazing” Satoru slurs, holding onto your asscheeks and pulling you up slightly, on the perfect angle to make out with your cunt. the moans you let out are music to his ears, driving him to plunge his tongue deeper, squeeze your ass harder and moan louder.

“’Toru, i’m so close” you squeal, expecting for him to pull back, to let you catch a break but surprisingly, he just goes faster, the sounds of his tongue in and around your pussy only increasing, fueling you to squirm and tug on his soft hair until you’re spasming around his tongue with a broken cry.

yet his tongue doesn’t stop for another couple of minutes, allowing you to ride your orgasm and buck slightly, fucking yourself on his eager tongue, “you’re the sweetest thing i’ve ever tasted” he finally grunts, voice hoarse and eyes almost black by the lust etched in his brain, the spot under his hips sticky with the copious amounts of precum his twitching cock spurted, “you’re letting me fuck you now, right princess?” Satoru murmurs, not really expecting a reply before tapping your puffy clit with the glistening tip of his cock, eyes fully focused in the way your mixed juices stick to his cock with each soft tap.

then you nod slightly, a quiet “please”, followed by your hands on his hips and he’s inching inside of you, barely spreading your folds around his girth but Satoru already feels like he’s about to faint.

“a-ah, fuck...!” he groans, shaky fingers grasp your waist and the armrest above your head, and from where you laid you could see his abs clenching, chest heaving, eyes blurry and jaw slacked, letting out loud puffs of pleasure, absolutely fucked out. it takes his whole strength to bury the rest of his long cock inside your warm cunt, groaning like it fucking hurts, but in reality, the thing it hurts him is thinking why you haven’t fucked earlier. “you’re an angel, you and your heavenly cunt” it takes everything in Satoru as not to drool and pant like a dog, slowly and sloppily fucking into your warmth, his nails are probably ripping the leather of the couch but he doesn’t mind, hell no, his mind is fully absorbed and bordering on insanity at the feeling of you, “tell me how it feels” he begs.

“so good, ’toru” you whimper, eyes not certain if to see his fucked expression or look down to where his cock buries inside of you, coming out glistening by your dripping slick, “my pussy feels so good”

“fuck, baby!” his eyes close shut, a shudder running down his spine at your words, only encouraging him to go faster, the squelch of your cunt and his balls smacking on your ass growing, “that’s right, only i can make you feel this good, hm? no other boy you’ll sleep with will make you feel like this” he roars, “this pussy is made for me to claim and mold you to the shape of my cock” his thrusts are now erratic, panting so loud you’re unsure how he hasn’t choked yet, but the continuous smack of his tip on your g-spot makes you forget about anything else, mouth open and eyes crossed as you feel yourself cumming unannounced.

“oh, god, you’re cumming?” he sounds shocked, eyes widening and cock throbbing at the sensation of your cunt sucking on his length with each thrust, as if not wishing to let him go, “i’m so close, baby, so fuckin’ close” all you hear through the slight buzz on your ears is babbling, incoherent mumbling of Satoru speaking to himself, fucking himself stupid on your pussy before, much against his wishes, pulling out of your warmth and shooting thick ropes of hot cum on your chest, some even landing on your chin by how hard you made him cum.

in the blink of an eye his lips are on yours again, shakily and way too messy for you to follow through the limp state where he left you, but don’t worry, Satoru will help you increase your stamina too, and perhaps, you’ll let him cum inside next time.

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ceramini · 1 month ago

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more of loser jake omgg idkk i find it so cute😭😭

⁺𝅄 𓊆 ❀ 𓊇 ahh engene yearn for loser!jake (we’re engene) hehe here’s something I cooked up :3 it’s supposed to be cute might be a little TOO cute, but YOU ASKED FOR IT SO IM DELIVERING!!

pair loser!jake x hot!reader ͡ ͘◡ ꫶᳝᳜᳝᳜᳝᳜৯ tags fluff, fluff & fluff.. like nothing bad here ✿ scene It’s stupidly domestic, aggressively soft, and just a little feral. You bully him, he worships you, and somewhere between waffles and way too many food metaphors, you start thinking maybe you’re kind of obsessed with him too. A morning where his love is loud ────── library ⊹ ࣪

like + reblog appreciated <3 click to join taglist

Jake wakes up mouth-first on your collarbone.

Which wouldn’t be a big deal, you’re warm and smell good and your arm is draped around his waist in a way that makes his dumb little heart squeeze, except…

“Don’t,” you mumble without opening your eyes. “You haven’t brushed.”

He freezes.

You crack one eye open and glare.

“No morning kisses,” you warn. “We’ve talked about this.”

Jake whines and buries his face in your shirt.

“I’ll be nice about everything else,” you murmur, “but I draw the line at morning breath.”

“I wasn’t gonna kiss you,” he mumbles into your collar. “I was just breathing your air. Like a lil parasite.”

You thump the top of his head. “Romantic.”

He grins.

Your nails scratch lightly through his hair, half-asleep. Jake goes completely limp. He’s never met a more perfect woman. Hot, mean, and still willing to give him head scratches like a golden retriever. He’s living the dream.

He nuzzles closer. “I like when you let me stay over.”

“You stayed over on accident,” you yawn. “You cried about a documentary and passed out on my lap.”

“Because the turtle made it back to the ocean. And the music was really emotional.”

You sigh. “And then you got hard and didn’t know what to do with it.”

He lifts his head, affronted. “That was private.”

“That was embarrassing.”

“You kissed me after that!”

“Yeah, and I regret it. You haven’t brushed.”

Jake groans dramatically. “It’s so cruel how hot you are and how much you hate germs. How’s a guy supposed to romance his gorgeous girlfriend when she refuses to be kissed awake?”

“By your decomposing tongue?”

“I was gonna do it tenderly.”

“You were gonna do it nastily.”

Jake sulks into your chest.

You stretch with a little hum and reach for your phone, lazily scrolling while he makes himself at home in the safety of your cleavage. You’re not wearing a bra. Jake’s entire sense of self is hanging by a thread.

“You smell so good,” he mumbles. “Is that your lotion? I think my dick got hard out of, like, scent memory.”

“You are genuinely disgusting.”

“You’re the one with tits out and legs warm and thighs all plush and soft like this.” He rubs his cheek against your side like a sleepy cat. “You’re asking for trouble.”

“You’re asking for gingivitis.”

Jake groans. “Just one kiss. I’ll aim for, like, the general cheek region.”

“You just admitted you’d miss.”

“Let me worship you.”

“You can worship me after toothpaste.”

You push him off and climb out of bed in your tiny shorts and tank top, and Jake genuinely feels like he’s watching a goddess float through a foggy dream sequence. Your ass jiggles once and he whimpers like a kicked dog.

“I’m brushing,” he calls out after you. “I swear. I’m gonna be so minty.”

“Better be,” you call back from the bathroom. “Or I’m cutting you off for a week.”

Jake trips over the blanket trying to get to your toothbrush cup.

He does a full 60-second swish with Listerine while making eye contact with himself in the mirror, like he’s psyching up for a championship game.

You’re tying your hair up when he comes up behind you, all dopey grin and freshly washed mouth.

“I’m ready for smooching,” he declares.

You give him a long, judgmental look. “Show me your tongue.”

He sticks it out obediently. You nod.

Jake places a hand over his heart, solemn. “I’m pure.”

“Barely.”

But you kiss him anyway.

It’s sweet. A little goofy. A little slow. Jake makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat, like he’s being fed for the first time in days.

You break away and he’s already chasing after your lips like he forgot how to breathe. You roll your eyes and tilt your head back as he kisses your jaw, your throat, your shoulder.

“God,” he breathes, “you’re so fucking hot. Like, evolutionary advantage hot. Like, statistically impossible hot. Like, if we were in a zombie movie, people would sacrifice themselves to save you.”

“You are so weird in the mornings.”

“You made me brush,” he says, lifting you up to sit on the sink. “Now you have to deal with the consequences.”

You let him stand between your legs, your fingers threading into his hair again, soft and slow.

Jake stares at you with big eyes, overwhelmed.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he whispers. “All sleepy and soft. I wish I could take a picture.”

“Your camera roll is already 90% me.”

“Not enough.”

You kiss his forehead. “Brush again after breakfast and you can put your head between my legs.”

He salutes. “It’s an honor to serve.”

You make waffles.

Jake watches you do it like it’s a TED Talk. He’s sitting backwards in a chair, shirtless, chin propped on his arms, just staring.

You’re pouring the batter into the waffle iron when he says:

“You’d taste so good with syrup.”

You pause.

“You mean these waffles,” you say slowly.

Jake blinks. “Huh? Yeah.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He blinks again. Then turns red.

“I didn’t—I meant the food,” he says quickly, backpedaling so hard the chair squeaks. “Like, if you were, uh, eating it? Not if I was—like—eating you, you know? Like if I was just. Consuming your—”

“Stop.”

Jake’s face is in his hands.

“Do you hear yourself?” you ask.

“No! That’s the problem!”

You sigh.

He groans. “I swear I wasn’t trying to be nasty.”

“You never are,” you mutter, flipping the waffle.

“That sounds like slander.”

“You’re too stupid to be nasty on purpose.”

He brightens. “Thanks, baby.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

But Jake is already up and wrapping his arms around your waist, all warm and clingy and way too comfortable resting his cheek on your shoulder like it belongs there.

He smells like mint and laundry detergent. You should not be soft for this man. And yet.

You serve the waffles on a plate, hand him one, and watch him absolutely inhale it. He’s shirtless in your kitchen, hair messy, syrup on his knuckle.

He licks it off with a little hum and goes, “Wanna know something?”

“No.”

“You’d be so good with powdered sugar. Like those soft little peaches. You’re kind of like a peach. Sweet and round and juicy and—”

“Jake.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re doing it again.”

He stares at you mid-bite. Mouth full. Eyes wide. Confused.

“I literally don’t know what I said wrong,” he mumbles.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You cannot keep comparing me to edible things with adjectives like wet and ripe and juicy and soft.”

“But that’s how you are.”

You glare.

Jake tries again. “You’re like a really beautiful fruit that I wanna keep in a glass box so nobody else can touch it—”

“Still sounds like you want to eat me.”

“Okay, yes, but not in, like, the nasty way—”

You shove a piece of waffle into his mouth.

Jake chews happily.

You sit across from him and eat in peace for approximately thirty-eight seconds before he tries again.

“You know when you cut open a honeycomb and it drips all golden and perfect and sticky—”

“Oh my god.”

“—and you just know it’s gonna taste sweet and natural and good for your soul—”

“Jake, enough.”

He giggles and leans over to kiss your cheek. “Sorry. I just love you so much. It leaks out.”

“You’re leaking unfiltered brainrot.”

Jake looks deeply pleased. “You called it brainrot. You’ve been spending too much time with me.”

You snort. “Tragically.”

He beams.

You lean your head in your hand, watching him. Syrup on his chin. Waffle crumbs near his collarbone. Hair falling into his eyes. A little sun-dazed and stupid-looking.

You sigh.

“You’re like a dog who learned to speak just enough to say weird things.”

Jake gasps. “You think I’m magical.”

You rub your temple. “I think you’re mentally unwell.”

He just grins wider.

You finish eating while Jake tells you about a dream he had where you two lived in a cabin and he made jam. You don’t ask why he was making jam, or what that has to do with anything, but he gets real serious when he says:

“And in the dream you came in wearing one of those oversized knit sweaters, and I just knew I was gonna marry you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Because of a sweater?”

“No,” he says dreamily. “Because you licked jam off your thumb and it was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You throw a napkin at him.

Jake giggles and catches it midair. “Seriously, though. I think I’d die for you.”

“You’d die from salmonella if I let you cook unsupervised.”

“Let’s live in a tiny house and you can hold me hostage with your sexiness.”

“That’s called marriage.”

“Perfect.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is glowing.

Jake grabs the dishes before you can move, rinses them badly, and then turns to lean against the sink and say, very earnestly:

“I love mornings with you. Even if you bully me. Even if you ban my kisses. Even if I’m, like, two dumb thoughts away from getting sprayed with a water bottle.”

You squint at him. “Are you gonna say something gross again?”

“No.”

You stare.

He fidgets.

Then: “You’re like the cinnamon glaze on my cinnamon roll heart—”

“Jake.”

“Wait! Wait! That one was cute—”

“TOOTHBRUSH. NOW.”

He stumbles laughing all the way to the bathroom.

And you follow, shaking your head, heart full, already thinking of ways to kiss him speechless later.

🪷 ─── @gxwesn @gyarumindd @somuchdard @ssanhwatto (join the taglist guys..)

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majestyeverlasting · 5 months ago

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Hello there! :) If I may, I’d like to request a Joel miller x reader ⇩

something where the reader is experiencing a migraine (headache + nausea and all that) and Joel tries calling her all day while he’s out and when he gets home he finds her asleep in pitch black room and realises what’s wrong, but knows exactly how to comfort his girl? 🥰

*im sorryyy if that’s long or weirdly specific it’s just something I’ve been struggling with lately and I need some comfort about it don’t mind me😻)*

𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

Pairing Joel Miller x Female Reader

Summary Joel comes home to find that you’re suffering from a migraine in bed. Luckily, he’s helped you through this once or twice. [no outbreak, hurt/comfort, fluff, 1.8k].

A/N Thanks for this request! I promise it's not weird at all. In my head, this is Joel and reader from here with you.

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Joel (8:57 AM) Sorry I missed you this morning, didn’t wanna wake you. Have a good day. -J

Joel (11:02 AM) Checking in. You up and at em yet?

Joel (2:34 PM) Everything okay? Call you in a bit. -J

Still nothing from you. Joel locks his phone and rests his forearms on his legs.

Today is the warmest day all week. Getting to ditch the extra layer is nice. Tommy shields his eyes from the sun as he exits a prim house with a spotless driveway and plush lawn. Beside it is another perfect lot, and another, and another, arranged around the whole cul-de-sac. He and Joel had been contracted to do a kitchen upgrade for the new homeowners and were in the process of working through the finishing touches.

From his seated position on the curb, Joel looks over his shoulder as footsteps approach. Tommy draws his leg back like he plans to kick him, and snickers when he leans out the way.

“Watch yourself,” Joel warns.

“Or what?” A smirk pulls at Tommy’s lips. “I’ll lay your old ass out on this asphalt.”

Joel shakes his head as Tommy sits down beside him with a grunt. A comfortable silence settles between them, and Joel fights the urge to check his phone even though it hasn’t buzzed. Tommy notices the slight tension in his shoulders but chalks it up to wanting to be done for the day. After the owners did their final walkthrough tomorrow, a three-day weekend awaited.

A cool breeze rolls through as Tommy stretches his legs out in front of himself, his jeans peppered with dust and dried specks of white paint. When he takes a swig from the bottle he walked outside with, Joel’s squints at the label, his interest piqued.

“Kombucha?” he says with furrowed brows.

Tommy nods as he swallows. “Sarah put me on,” he says after wiping his mouth. “Helps with your gut. Something like that.”

“A few crunches should do the trick,” Joel mutters.

Tommy snorts and elbows him. “Right back at you, smartass.” Joel huffs a breath at that. “Hey, what do you think about going fishing this weekend—Saturday maybe?”

When his brother doesn’t respond, he knocks his knee against his. “Anybody home?”

Joel straightens up in hopes of making his anxiety less evident. Except, he wears it like a second skin. To deny it would be to deny himself.

“What time you think we’ll be done today?” The break they carved out just started, but it’s his roundabout way of suggesting they get back to work. There wasn’t too much left to do if they locked in—some additional caulking, sealing, and polishing.

Tommy shakes his head as he calculates. “Three-thirty, four?” Then he narrows his eyes at Joel. “You’ve been sitting funny since I walked out here…”

Joel’s chest puffs with a sigh as he unlocks his phone. The text thread between the two of you is already pulled up, and all three of his messages to you are unanswered. Tommy leans closer to read them and bites his lower lip as the gears start turning in his head.

He decides to draw a little levity in, “You piss her off?” There’s a teasing undertone to his question.

“Don't think so,” Joel says as he shifts. “Gonna give her a call.”

Tommy nods and claps him on the back. “We can get back to work after.”

He heads back inside to give his brother some privacy.

When you don’t answer the phone, Joel leaves a message anyway.

“Hey, sweetheart. Haven’t been able to get through to you, but I’ll be home soon, okay? Four-thirty at the latest…” he pauses to bite his lower lip. “Call me if you get this before I’m there. Love you.”

•••

It’s quiet when he arrives home. Virtually undisturbed. The pillows on the couch are positioned in the exact way they’d been left after last night’s impromptu movie night. The TV remote is in the same place on the coffee table as well. There’s nothing that suggests you’ve been stirring around at all. He walks deeper into the house to find that the kitchen and sunroom are empty too. The late afternoon sun pools in through the window.

When he makes it back around to the staircase, he jogs to the top. The wood creaks beneath his steps.

“Sweetheart?” he calls out. “I’m home. You up here?”

His voice carries to where you’re tucked in bed, but you can’t bring yourself to answer back. Not loud enough for him to hear you, at least. The ache that once pulsed throughout your head has steadied to the point where you don’t want to risk overexerting yourself and tumbling back to square one. Joel would find you anyway. He always did. And he never viewed you or your pain as a burden. He knew how to cradle both, how to ease them without second thought.

Light pours into the bedroom as the door opens slowly. You can make out the outline of his tall, broad frame, and hear the soft sound of his socks against the hardwood as he pads to you in the dark. Thanks to the blackout curtains, there’s hardly any light entering in. Only the smallest slivers.

After his eyes adjust, he can begin to make out the shapes around the room. The red glow of the alarm clock allows him to see your face, your slow-blinking eyes.

Without uttering a word, he gently presses the back of his hand to your forehead, then moves it down to rest against your warm cheek. You press into his touch just slightly, and it tugs something awful at his chest. Makes him wish he could bear your pain.

“Migraine,” you murmur.

An apologetic hum vibrates through his chest. “You been like this all day?” he asks softly.

“Got bad at noon.”

He sighs. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You weakly reach out for his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. It’s much larger than yours, rugged and calloused, but you’d hold on forever if you could. If he’d let you. With his free hand, he picks up the tumbler bottle on the nightstand to find that it’s light.

“I’m gonna go get you some more water. It’s probably time for some more Advil too.”

The weight of his attentiveness makes you nod like you’re surrendering. And maybe you are giving something up—the burden of the day. Of having to do everything on your own. His fingers tighten around yours in a final squeeze before he lets go.

You shouldn’t miss him in the short time that he’s gone, but you do. It’s the same tug that lingered in your chest all day, but is kinder now that he’s home. Not miles away out of reach. When he comes back, it’s with more than he initially set out for, all of it somehow balanced in his hold. He quietly sets it all on the nightstand.

“You can turn the little lamp on,” you murmur. There was a battery-powered ambient lamp alongside the larger one.

“I’m aces, honey,” he assures. “You wanna sit up for a second, I got your medicine right here.”

You prop yourself up on your forearm and gratefully take it from him. He holds your tumbler to your lips so you can reach the straw to wash it down.

“There ya go,” he praises as you settle back down. “Got a cold pack and some grapes too. Get a little something on your stomach before I get dinner worked out later…” He talks, almost absentmindedly, as he continues to get you situated. But he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s a routine he’s coaxed you through more times than he’d like.

A long hum rises in your throat as he positions the cold pack on the back of your neck. A stark but pleasant chill ripples through your overheated body like slow melting ice. All you can muster is another grateful hum as he sets the small bowl of grapes on the mattress beside you. There’s a crisp, sweet pop as you usher one into your mouth.

“Gonna go grab a quick shower.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” he adds lightly.

A small smile pulls at your lips.

•••

An hour. That’s how much later you wake up in his arms with his lips at your shoulder, his strong arm draped around your waist to keep you close. There’d hardly been any words exchanged between you in the moments before then, only confirmations of each other’s comfort and whispered I love you’s. You’d dozed off a couple of times since noon, but nothing comparable to the steady rest that came along with his proximity.

He doesn't realize you’re awake until you shift and reach toward the nightstand. The light of the ambient lamp soon illuminates the room, joined by the glow of your phone a moment later. Joel takes it as a sign you’re feeling better than he found you, and that’s more than enough. The gentle, repetitive tap of your thumb against the screen lets him know you’re going through old notifications.

His hand finds your hip beneath the sheets, where he draws slow, small circles with his thumb. It isn’t long before you lock the device and set it back down.

The sheets rustle as you turn around to face him. Sleep’s haze lingers between you as you trail your fingertips along his jaw in a featherlight brush. The scratch of his beard feels nice, and you continue the motion until you’re unable to stop the fond chuckle that shakes your chest. It’s no more than a quick breath, but Joel smiles shyly anyway.

“What?” he asks, voice a little gruff.

“J,” you murmur with a teasing lilt. “You don’t need to sign your texts. I know already it’s you.” You poke an affectionate finger into his stomach.

His smile grows as he offers a helpless shrug, warmth in his dark eyes. It’s impossible to fight the urge to scoot closer and press the briefest, softest kiss to his lips. He makes a small sound in the back of his throat.

“Tommy had me thinking I might’ve done something to upset you,” he says as he brushes a knuckle across your cheek.

“I’d never ignore you like that.”

Joel knows that, but says, “Except for that one time.”

You frown in confusion, but your mouth falls open in amusement when you realize what he means. “That was a million years ago, and it lasted five minutes—not even that.”

Joel chuckles, and when it triggers you to join him in laughing, you realize that’s all he sought to gain by bringing it up.

“Clearly it left a mark.” He brings your hand to his lips and kisses the heel of your palm. A smile lingers on his lips as you laugh again.

He then studies your eyes, your nose, your lips. He loves you so much he sometimes wonders how he’s been able to manage it without bursting at the seams.

“You feelin’ a bit better?” he asks after a few quiet beats.

“Much,” you promise.

He kisses your palm again. This time he lets his lips linger.

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all!

more of this couple -> here with you

JOEL MASTERLIST

GENERAL MASTERLIST

#joel miler #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us #tlou hbo

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cupidsworstcrime · 3 months ago

Text

Jason Todd x dom f!reader

inspo - for the anonnie that asked so nicely

this is a random collection of sub!jason scenes ive written. cause im bored

contains spanking & mommy kink (sub jason is such a mamas boy and im taking that to my grave, you can pry needy boy jason out of my cold dead hands)

He pretended to fight it.

“Don’t you fucking dare—”

But the second you grabbed his wrist and sat on the edge of the bed with that look in your eyes, Jason Todd—the Red Hood himself—stumbled straight into obedience.

Because you weren’t playing. Not really.

You tugged him forward.

He grumbled. Bitched. Rolled his eyes.

But when you bent him over your lap, he didn’t resist.

His face hit the blanket with a sigh he tried to cover as a groan. His hips were tense, his hands fisting the sheets.

“You really think this’ll do something for me?” he muttered.

You smoothed a hand over the curve of his ass—grinning as he twitched.

“You tell me.”

Smack.

The first one was gentle. Barely more than a firm tap.

He jerked anyway.

“You—!”

Smack.

A little harder. You watched his shoulder blades shift, a low breath slipping from his lips.

“Jason,” you cooed. “Still wanna act like this isn’t getting to you?”

He didn’t answer. But his hips shifted just enough for you to see the outline in his sweats. Obvious. Wanting.

So you kept going.

Soft spanks between harder ones. Your hand soothing, then striking. He gasped. Swore under his breath. Gritted his teeth. But never told you to stop.

“Color me surprised,” you murmured, scratching your nails along the reddened skin. “You’re really into this, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled.

But it was weak* Shaky. His ears were pink. His thighs tensed with every slow touch between swats.

You leaned close to his ear.

“Say ‘please.’”

He groaned, full-body, low and wrecked. His pride dangled by a thread, and when he finally whispered:

“Please…”

"Please what, baby?"

"...Please ma'am...."

You swore you felt his cock twitch against your thigh.

You let him up when he was panting—chest rising, face flushed, lips parted.

He couldn’t look at you. Wouldn’t. Just flopped beside you and buried his face in the blanket.

“Shut up,” he mumbled again.

You didn’t say a word.

Just ran your fingers through his hair while he came down from it—melting under your touch, his ego scattered in the sheets behind him.

And he’d never admit it.

But he hoped you'd do it again.

Maybe harder.

Maybe next time… he'd call you something filthier than “ma’am.”

He starts off strong. Confident. Pushes you down on the bed with a smirk like he didn’t melt over your lap last time.

“Yeah? You like being bossy, sweetheart?” he grins. “Let’s see how you like it when I take the reins.”

He climbs over you, muscles tense, eyes dark—but not angry. Hungry. His hands skim your waist, his voice drops.

“Gonna make you beg, baby.”

But two minutes in?

Your fingers dig into his hips, your mouth brushes his throat, and he shudders. His pace stutters. You roll your hips just right and suddenly—

“Fuck—wait—don’t—ah—”

His words are breathy. Loose. Falling apart.

And then you're teasing again.

“You sure you’re the one in charge, baby?”

He growls. Tries to flip the script. Tightens his grip on your wrists like it helps.

But then you say:

“You gonna beg again, pretty boy?”

And his whole body reacts.

His breath catches. His eyes flutter. He whines—actually whines—and buries his face in your neck.

You grin.

“Poor thing,” you whisper. “You’re so easy to ruin now.”

And he is. Because when you wrap your legs around him and pull, his strength is nothing next to how bad he wants it—how much he craves you. Not just the sex, but the way you see him, the way you touch him like he's precious and yours.

“Fuck—please,” he pants, rutting into you, voice high, desperate. “Don’t stop, just—please—"

He doesn't even realize he's begging until it's too late.

And he hates how much he loves it.

Afterward, he lays there—boneless, panting, wrecked—his forehead against your chest and his ego shattered into stardust.

You run your nails up his spine and kiss his hairline.

“Still think you’re the one in control?”

He groans.

“You’re never letting me live this down, are you?”

No. No, you’re not.

And he’s never been more in love.

It started as a joke. A throwaway comment.

“What’s the matter, baby? Need Mommy to take care of you?”

He froze.

A beat. A shiver. Then the quietest:

“…yeah.”

And that was it.

At first, he’s holding on—tense arms, furrowed brow, trying to act like he’s in control. But the second you start cooing at him, fingers tight in his hair, praising him just so sweetly?

He’s done.

“Such a good boy, my sweet boy,”

“Look at you, taking Mommy so well,”

“You don’t need to think, baby, let me do it for you.”

And he whimpers.

He’s not speaking in sentences anymore. Just broken little sounds—gasps and moans, half-formed pleas.

He says “Mommy” once with a sob in his voice and it flips something in you. So you lean down and purr it back.

“That’s right, baby. Say it again.”

And he does. Again and again—until it’s not even full words anymore.

“M-Ma—Mama—please, I can’t—”

You stroke his flushed cheeks with your knuckles, praise spilling from your lips like holy water while his eyes glass over. He’s trembling—beautiful and desperate, hips rocking mindlessly as you guide him toward the edge.

“Shh, shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart. Mommy’s got you. You’re perfect, you’re doing so good—such a good boy.”

Tears slip down his face. He’s not even embarrassed. Just holding you tight, breathing you in like air, nodding with wide eyes and wet lashes.

"Love you, love you, need you, Mama—”

And when he finally breaks? It’s with your name in a gasp and a sob, clinging to you like you’re the only thing holding him together.

Later, when he’s curled up against you, totally wrecked, you whisper:

“Didn’t know you were such a little Mommy’s boy.”

He grumbles, hiding his face in your chest. But his hips twitch.

“…fuck you.”

“You did, baby. So well.”

And he melts again.

He tries to pretend it’s fine. That it was a one-time thing. That he didn’t come undone in your hands, babbling and begging with tears in his eyes.

But the minute you scratch the back of his neck or kiss the hinge of his jaw just right? His whole body tenses.

And he goes quiet.

Not brooding Jason quiet—bratty, needy Jason quiet.

The kind where his eyes are heavy, cheeks pink, and you know he’s already spiraling.

“You okay, baby?”

“…m’fine.”

Liar.

The second you tug him into your lap—yes, lap, this man is heavy but obedient—and whisper a soft “Good boy,” he melts. One hand in his hair and the other stroking his thigh, and he’s sinking into it like a fucking prayer.

He doesn’t even notice he’s whispering it until it slips out again—

“…Mama…”

You feel him freeze against you, like he could claw his soul back into his body if he tries hard enough.

“You said it again.”

“…no I didn’t.”

“Oh, baby. You did.”

You tilt his chin up, and he whines. Pink all the way to his ears.

You could ruin him right there again, and he knows it.

Later, when you're tangled together in bed, he’s curled up in your chest, hands possessively clutching your hips.

“Didn’t even know I could feel like that,” he mumbles. “Didn’t know I wanted to.”

And you just stroke his hair, murmuring,

“That’s okay, baby. Mama knows what you need.”

He shivers. Bites his lip.

But he doesn’t deny it this time.

You’re lying together, the soft glow of moonlight spilling over the bed, the hum of the city just outside your window. He’s been asleep for about an hour, still tangled in your sheets, body pressed up against yours.

At first, he’s calm—silent in his slumber. But then, in the stillness of the night, you hear it. Just a whisper.

“Mama…”

Your breath catches. He’s not awake, not fully. It’s just a soft, murmured confession, but it’s so full of need, so full of him, that you can’t ignore it.

You smile softly, rubbing your hand through his hair, playing with the ends. You could ruin him again, could wake him up and pull him back into that desperate little boy he’s trying to deny, but instead, you let him sleep.

But you can’t help yourself. You press a kiss to his forehead.

“I’ve got you, baby.”

His face twitches, a sigh slipping from his lips, and his hand instinctively wraps around you tighter, like he’s afraid you might disappear. It’s adorable—your tough, broken Red Hood, shivering in his sleep at the thought of losing you. You think, maybe, if he did wake up, he’d be too ashamed to admit it.

But right now, he’s safe. And that’s all that matters.

The next day, it’s like nothing happened. He’s still the same, stubborn, cocky Jason Todd you know—sarcastic quips and teasing jabs thrown in your direction like they’re second nature. He’s acting all tough again, but there’s a subtle edge to it.

He can’t hide the way he’s looking at you—his eyes softer, not quite as guarded, as if he knows he doesn’t have to pretend. And you notice—his hand keeps brushing against yours whenever you’re near, like he’s testing the waters, waiting for you to remind him who’s really in charge.

He doesn’t expect it when you tease him.

“You’re acting so bratty today,” you murmur with a sly grin, catching his eyes.

He smirks back, though there’s a nervous edge to his smile.

“I’m not—what are you talking about?”

But you can tell by the way his hands are fidgeting, by the way his jaw clenches, that he’s not as calm as he wants you to think.

So you step forward, so close he can feel the heat of your body.

“Do I need to put my good boy in his place?” you purr, your voice low, teasing.

His whole body freezes. His eyes flicker to yours, and for a moment, you can see that war raging inside him—half of him wants to throw a smart comment back, but the other half? The other half is aching, desperate for you to take control again.

His hands ball into fists, but he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t even try.

“You’re—goddammit,” he mutters, but there’s no heat in it. He’s already gone, undone by just a few words.

You can see the tension coil in him, his breath hitching slightly. You’ve got him right where you want him. But you decide to push a little further.

“You need me to remind you who’s in charge, baby?”

He breathes out slowly, eyes dark, but this time, he doesn’t pull away. He swallows hard.

“…Yeah,” he whispers.

And that’s all you need. You step closer, running your hand over his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath your touch. You lean in, just a breath away from his lips, and whisper one last thing:

“Good boy.”

And just like that? He’s lost again. You’ve undone him—completely.

That night, when he’s curled against you, you hear it again.

“Mama…”

But this time, it’s not a whisper. He’s awake now, groggy, blinking at you through the dark, eyes glazed over with sleep and want.

You press your lips to his forehead, your thumb tracing over his cheek.

“I’ve got you, baby,” you murmur, soothing him back to sleep.

And this time, he doesn’t fight it. He nuzzles against your chest, his hand wrapped tightly around you as if you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. He’s not even embarrassed anymore. It’s just you and him.

“I love you, Mama,” he mumbles softly, his voice thick with sleep.

Your heart swells. He’s yours. Completely.

You press one last kiss to his head and whisper softly, “I love you too, baby.”

And as he drifts back into sleep, you both know it’s only a matter of time before the cycle starts again. The teasing, the control, the sweet surrender.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

He was quiet at first—staring at you with that unreadable expression, hands fisted in the sheets.

But his body? His body betrayed him.

You could feel the tension in his shoulders. The heat in his chest. He wasn’t fighting anymore. He wanted this, needed this.

You watched him closely. His movements slower now, like he was afraid that one wrong move would have you pulling away.

“You’re going to follow every single command I give you tonight, aren’t you?” you asked softly, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead.

He didn’t hesitate this time.

“Yes,” he breathed. Quiet. Almost too quiet, like the confession itself was a secret, something too intimate to voice.

You smiled. That’s what you wanted to hear. So you slid closer to him, brushing your fingers along his jawline, letting the weight of your touch sink in.

“Good boy.”

He exhaled sharply—like he couldn’t believe it was happening. Like he’d been dying for you to say those words for far too long.

But you weren’t done yet.

You placed your hand on his chest, making sure he was looking right at you. His gaze met yours, intense, vulnerable.

“Take off your shirt. Slowly.”

Jason swallowed, a slight tremor in his hands as he obeyed. His body was perfect—strong, scarred, but perfect. He was so fucking beautiful, and the way he took his time, like he was savoring every second of your attention, made you ache with the need to claim him.

He never once looked away, not even when his hands fumbled at the waistband of his pants. He wanted you to guide him. To tell him how to do it. How to strip for you.

You whispered, “Good boy, Jason. Now. Pants off. All the way.”

And like the obedient puppy he’d become, he did exactly what you said. He took off his jeans, laid out before you, chest heaving as his face flushed. His cock was already hard, his body responding eagerly to your commands.

You smirked at him, that familiar power creeping back, the knowledge that you had him exactly where you wanted him.

He couldn’t even look you in the eyes anymore. His gaze drifted to the floor, face burning with embarrassment, but his cock stayed hard, aching for your touch.

“Touch yourself,” you ordered, voice low and controlled. “I want to see you touch yourself.”

He hesitated just a moment—his usual resistance slipping away.

Then, with a shaky breath, Jason obeyed. His hand wrapped around his cock, starting slow. His breath hitched, but he didn’t stop.

You watched him carefully, every twitch in his body making your pulse race.

“Good boy,” you whispered. “Just like that.”

He shuddered, his hand speeding up, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

He was desperate.

And you were the one who had broken him. Completely.

“Please, mama,” he gasped, eyes searching yours. “Tell me what to do next.”

Your heart skipped a beat. This was the side of Jason that he never let anyone see—the side of him that was completely at your mercy.

“Don’t stop,” you commanded gently. “Make yourself cum for me. Don’t hold back.”

The words were barely out of your mouth when his body stiffened. His breath caught, and his hips bucked involuntarily, his hand moving in a blur as he got closer.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I’m—”

But you cut him off with a firm command.

“Cum for me, baby.”

That was all it took.

His back arched, a deep groan escaping his lips as he came undone. You could see the way his whole body trembled, his fingers gripping the sheets beneath him for stability.

And even after he was done, his breathing ragged and shaky, he didn't stop.

He looked at you—desperate. That familiar cocky grin was long gone, replaced with nothing but adoration. He wanted to please you more. Wanted to feel you take control, wanted to hear more of your voice, more of your praise.

“Good boy,” you murmured, brushing a hand through his hair as he collapsed against the pillows, completely undone.

Jason didn’t say anything for a while—just let the feeling wash over him.

He didn’t need to say it. You could see it in the way he held you after. The way he kissed you slow and deep, like he was claiming you in the quiet moments afterward.

And you both knew—it wasn’t over.

He wanted more. More of you. More of your control. More of being broken and put back together, piece by desperate piece.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd #red hood x reader #red hood smut #red hood x you #jason todd smut #sub jason todd #sub red hood #dom reader

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whatdoeseverybodywant · 6 months ago

Text

"It was mine from the moment I touched it."

This is #2 out of 10 of my Phrase Series, hope you all enjoy! ❤️

Thank you @thatone-girly for the phrase!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

❤ Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

All OC Characters belong to me

Word Count: 2.4 k

~18+ THIS FIC CONTAINS SMUT!!~

Joe grunted as he checked the time on his watch. He gritted his teeth as he looked out the window at her house, all the lights were off indicating she wasn’t home. He sighed and closed his eyes as he leaned his head back on the headrest. She was playing games and he was not in the mood.

He rechecked his watch before stanching his phone out of the cup holder. “Hey Siri, call Babygirl.” He put the phone on speaker before closing his eyes again.

“Please leave a message for 305-” Joe hung up the phone and opened their text thread

To Babygirl: you playin'… imma have to show you im not the one to play with.

Egypt groaned as her date for the night, Hakiem pulled up in front of her house. Joe’s white Cadillac Escalade stood out like a sore thumb in her driveway. Hakiem, who still had his hand on her exposed thigh arched his eyebrow and looked at her. “You good.”

“Yeah.” she sighed. “Just… don’t pay attention to anything he says.” She opened the door and got out of his car, leaving him confused for a second before he shut the car off and followed behind her. As they walked up the stone pathway to her house she heard the sound of a car door opening and slamming shut, signaling that Joe had got out of his car.

“You knew I was coming to see you today.” Joe started and Egypt could feel him staring at the back of her head as she fumbled around her purse for her keys.

“And I told you not to. We’re over Leati.”

“I’m sorry I can’t drop everything for you Egypt. You knew about my job and how important my role in the company is to me.” He shot back. He turned his attention to the man who was blocking Joe from getting to Egypt and sucked his teeth. By the way, the man was looking at him, Joe knew that he recognized him. “You gonna move or do I have to move you?”

“Joe!” Egypt chided just as she opened her front door. She turned around and stared at Joe.

“Look. I don’t know the situation or anything, but Egypt said she doesn’t wanna talk to you so maybe you should back off.”

Joe slowly blinked before turning his attention to Hakiem. He shook his head as he started to chuckle. Egypt gulped as she looked between the two men, she looked down at her heels and decided that she was not dressed properly to stop a fight between them.

“Joe…” Egypt trailed off, walking around Hakiem and standing in front of Joe, placing a hand on his chest. “Don’t.” Joe closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Hakiem, I’ll text you later okay?”

Hakiem scoffed, his face scrunched up as he looked between Joe and Egypt. Hakiem’s brows knitted together, clearly not happy with the situation. He stood his ground, his jaw tight, but there was a hint of confusion in his eyes as he tried to make sense of Egypt’s request. He had come here to be with her, not to play peacekeeper between her and the man who still seemed to think he had some claim over her. “Deadass?” He asked, fist balling at the smirk that was now on Joe’s face.

“You heard her, leave.” Joe’s smile got wider as Hakiem slightly pushed Egypt out of the way and walked into Joe’s face. Joe didn’t move an inch, still standing there, his posture confident, almost smug, as if he knew exactly what Hakiem was thinking and was daring him to act on it. “Whatchu’ gon’ do? Huh?’

Hakiem’s jaw tightened as he glared at Joe. His fist tightened and before he could do anything, Egypt pushed him back and stood in front of Joe. Hakiem scoffed at how she was protectively standing in front of him. “Hakiem, please. Leave.”

“You heard the lady. Why don't you run along now? The grown-ups need to talk.”

“Nigga I’ll fuck you up -”

“Enough!” Egypt yelled over Hakiem. “You need to leave,” Egypt said locking eyes with Hakiem. “Now.”

“Man, whatever,” Hakiem sucked his teeth. “You probably wasn’t givin’ up no pussy anyway.” Hakiem rolled his eyes and stormed over to his car. Egypt could have sworn she saw him throw up his middle finger as he sped away.

Egypt rolled her eyes and then turned to walk into her house, not bothering to shut the food behind her because she knew Joe was going to follow her.

“We have one argument and you already tryna give my shit away huh?” Joe smirked as he followed Egypt into the home. He shut and locked the front door and enabled the alarm. Nobody would be leaving until the morning. He toed off his Jordans and left them at the front door before walking into the living room where Egypt was sitting on the couch massaging her feet.

“You ignoring me now?” Joe asked.

Egypt sighed. “Why are you still here?”

“You gonna put me out?”

Egypt sighed again and stood from the couch. She brushed past Joe and started walking towards her bedroom. She should have shut the door in his face when she entered the house. He was so infuriating. “What do you want?”

“You.”

Egypt huffed and startd to peel the bodysuit off her body. “You're unbelievable,” Egypt muttered, her back to Joe as she shimmied out of the tight fabric. She could feel his eyes on her, burning into her skin.

Joe leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. “I'm unbelievable? You're the one who had some random ass dude at your house.”

Now only dressed in her bra and panties, Egypt turned around and glared at Joe while folding her arms over her chest. “Let me remind you, you walked out on me. All I asked for was more of your time.”

“And you know I come here wherever I can. I can’t just not show up to work, Egypt. I can’t be around my kids because you wanna cuddle and watch movies all day. I told you I love you and I meant it. But you gotta grow up. I can’t be with you 24/7. I’m a grown-ass man with responsibilities.”

Egypt scoffed and shook her head. “You’re absolutely right.” Turning on her heels, she marched into her closet. Joe huffed and sat on the edge of her bed, waiting for her to come back. When she did reenter the room, she was dressed in an oversized white t-shirt. “You’re a grown man with responsibilities and I don’t fit into your life.”

Joe let out a humorless chuckle. “You don’t get it. I’m trying. I’ve asked you multiple times to move to Miami with me and you said no. I asked you just to visit and you said no. I asked just for you to come on the road with me, not all the time but maybe a couple times a month and you said no. I’ve been trying to build something with you, but every time I try, you shut me out. I’m not asking you to leave everything behind, but I’ve made it clear that I want you with me. And every time, you say no. So what the hell am I supposed to do?”

Egypt felt her resolve crack a little. Moving to Miami would be a huge step for her. She would be leaving behind her family and all her friends, most of whom she has had since middle school. Joe knew that Egypt leaving her parents behind would be hard for her.

“I know you’re scared of leaving your parents,” he said, his voice steady but soft, causing Egypt to look up at him.“'But I’m just asking for a chance. For us to really try and make this work."

“I’m scared Joe.” She finally admitted and Joe stood up from the bed and walked over to her, pulling her into his arms. “What if I leave everything behind and it doesn't work out?” She whispered into his chest “What if we don’t work out? I don’t want to lose you, Joe.”

“Won’t ever happen,” Joe said matter of factly. “I’m not promising you that everything will be perfect, Egypt. I promise you that we’ll make it work. We’ll figure it out together, no matter what happens. I’m not going anywhere. And I won’t let you go through this alone.” Joe gently cupped her cheek in his hand. “Do you trust me?” He whispered looking deep into her eyes.

Her heart skipped, the vulnerability in his voice catching her off guard. She stared back into his eyes, searching for any trace of doubt, any sign that he might not be as sure as he was saying. But all she saw was certainty—certainty in him, in his commitment to her. “Yes.” She whispered back.

Joe’s hand gently slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, and without a word, he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was soft at first, tentative as if Joe was giving her one last chance to change her mind. But as Egypt melted into his embrace, the kiss deepened, becoming more passionate, more urgent. Joe easily lifted Egypt into his arms and she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. Joe carried Egypt over to her bed and gently laid her down. He quickly rid himself of his black OTC hoodie and black Nike fit shirt.

Egypt did the same as she sat up on the bed and pulled the oversized t-shirt over her head, leaving her in her bra and panties again. Joe licked his lips as he climbed on the bed, his body covering hers as she laid down once again. Egypt let out a moan when Joe started trailing kisses down her neck and towards her breast. With his eyes locked onto hers, he quickly unclasped the front clasp. He cupped her breast in his hand, his thumb brushing over her hardening nipple while his mouth closed over the other. Egypt arched her back, gasping with pleasure as Joe's tongue swirled around her sensitive nipple.

Joe's hand slid down her stomach, tracing the curve of her hip before dipping between her thighs. He stroked her through the thin fabric of her panties, feeling the heat and dampness there. Egypt gasped and rocked her hips, craving more of his touch.

“Joe.” She moaned. “Please.”

He smirked as he released her nipple from his mouth. “Tell me you love me.” He said as he stared trailing kisses down her stomach. Egypt let out a blissful sigh and Joe dipped his tongue into her belly button.

“I love you.” She moaned out as he scraped his teeth against her sensitive skin. Joe hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them down. She lifted her hips to help him pull them down.

He paused and she opened her eyes to look at him. “We gon make this work. Me and you.”

Egypt nodded eagerly. “Yes, baby. Me and you.” Her sentence broke off into a moan as Joe’s tongue finally made contact with her sensitive clit. Her back arched off the bed. She reached for his hair and let it out of the bun he had it in.

Joe let out a low groan as her essence flowed into his mouth. Joe gripped her thighs, spreading them wider as he devoured her. He looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers, he winked at her before he placed a kiss on her clit.

He smirked at her as he rose to his full height. Egypt rose to her elbows and watched as he pulled his sweatpants and his briefs down. His eyes hungrily raked over her body. “You’re so beautiful, baby.” He muttered. He climbed back into the bed as Egypt reached for him. He positioned himself between her thighs and captured her lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue tangling with hers as his hands roamed her curves.

Egypt wrapped her legs around Joe's waist, pulling him closer. She could feel his hard length pressing against her entrance, teasing her. Joe broke the kiss and looked into her eyes, as he slowly pushed himself into her stretching and filling her. They both groaned at the sensation.

“Fuck.” He groaned, resting his forehead against hers. “I miss you baby. You missed me?” Egypt nodded, unable to talk because of how good Joe was making her feel. Joe quickened his pace, driving into her with more force. Egypt's moans grew louder, filling the room along with the sound of skin against skin. “Good ass pussy.” He muttered against her neck as sucked a hickey onto her neck. “Tryna give me shit away.” He abruptly pulled out of her and turned her on her stomach.

Egypt immediately got into position. Face down ass up. A small blissed-out smile on her face as she knew what was coming. Joe gripped both her ass cheeks in his hand as he spread them. He licked his lips as he buried himself back inside her. He set a punishing pace, his hips snapping against her ass with each thrust. Egypt gripped the sheets tightly, her knuckles turning white as waves of pleasure coursed through her body.

“This my pussy.” He growled out, “Tell me.”

“Joe” Egypt moaned, mouth wide open. “Fuck… it’s yours.”

“I know it is. Shit was mine from the moment I touched it.”

Egypt felt herself spiraling towards the edge, her body trembling with each powerful thrust. Joe's possessive words and dominating presence only heightened her arousal. She pushed back against him, meeting his movements and taking him even deeper.

"That's right, take it all," Joe grunted, his fingers digging into her hips. "Show me how much you missed this dick."

Egypt cried out in ecstasy, her inner walls clenching around him. “Fuck… I wanna cum, can I cum?”

Joe's hand snaked around her waist, his fingers finding her sensitive bud. He rubbed tight circles as he continued to pound into her from behind. "Come for me, baby," Joe commanded, his own breathing ragged. "Let me feel that pussy squeeze me."

Egypt let out a loud moan as her orgasm hit her. Joe continued to thrust into her causing her to squirt all over his lower half and her sheets. Joe stilled inside her as his orgasm hit him. He pumped into her a couple more times before dropping down onto the bed next to her and gathering her into his arms.

“I love you Egypt,” Joe whispered after his breathing had gotten under control. “I want this to work with you. I can’t lose you either.” He said and she smiled up at him.

“I guess I gotta call a moving company in the morning.”

Authors Note: ... was it worth the wait? 🤭 THANK YOU FOR READING!! sorry if the ending is ass... I didn't know how to end it 😬.

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@mzv11 @shantinextdoor @sadnni @xmonetsworld @christinabae

@southerngirl41 @reci1996 @alyyaanna @li-da-savage @kill-the-artiste

@trashbin-nie @adoreesun @shayaaaaaaa @bebesobrielo @rianasixx

@kat3457 @queeny23 @cyberdejos2 @justazzi @jstarr86

@sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @vampygomez @msbigredmachine @ashykneee @callmekayd

@yana3sworld @romansthrone @alichesmi @amandairene88 @scarlettnoir01

@bonni-98 @sassginamillls @rebelrel0987 @aikosilo @vibessonvibes

@tbmotw @nayys-world @partypoison00 @punksyeet @girlsg1rl

#wwe fanfiction #roman reigns x black oc #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns x fem reader #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black fem reader #wwe x black oc #wwe x black reader #roman reigns imagine #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns smut #wwe smut

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slytherinshua · 1 year ago

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YOU, ME, AND BULBASAUR

genre. fluff. warnings. neck kisses. gunwook is extremely cute and i'm extremely delusional and in love with him. mention that reader wears makeup and dresses. pairing. gunwook x fem!reader. wc. 700. request. no. a/n. i saw gunwook like indirectly kiss taerae's neck and it made me think of just how much of a neck kisser he would be 😭 and if you know me you know i'm a neck girl and that just made me so delusional like i'm feral rn it's not okay??? also can we talk abt how fucking cute gunwook's rosy cheeks are LIKE HES THE CUTEST EVER IM GONNA CRY.

“why are you getting all pretty? you going somewhere?” the tired husky voice of your boyfriend makes a smile start to form on your lips. gunwook had been sleeping peacefully until 2 minutes ago, hugging your pillow to his chest, still tangled under the sheets. you wished you could’ve stayed in bed with him, but you had a meeting early in the morning.

“just a work meeting. wish i could’ve slept in with you, wook.” you glanced up at him apologetically through the mirror, frowning at his sleepy pout and messy hair.

“not fair…”

“i know, baby. but i’ll be back in 2 hours and then we can cuddle.” you assured him, finishing the last touches on your makeup and hair. you turned around to face gunwook properly, ruffling his bed head as you stood up.

“can’t you just stay?” gunwook asked, following you to your closet like a lost puppy.

“it’s an important meeting…” you tried your best to stay firm and not let your boyfriend have so much affect over you. but it was hard, especially when he started planting small kisses on your neck as you sifted through your hangers to find a dress. you felt a small nip land to the dip in your shoulder and neck and you gasped.

“gunwook!” you hadn’t realized he was this clingy this morning. he didn’t stop despite your reaction, pressing a softer kiss over the spot he had nibbled. you willed yourself to not get too focused on his lips on your skin, to instead figure out what you were going to wear to your meeting. but he made it so hard to even remember why you were trying to get up in the first place.

“wouldn’t you rather just stay here? with me? and bulbasaur?” he pleaded, pressing a kiss to your neck between each word. you smiled at the mention of his bulbasaur plush that you had gotten for his birthday— he slept with it every night, opting to cuddle it when you couldn’t sleep with him.

you gripped the side of a navy blue dress, hanging on your last thread, gunwook seconds away from snapping it. was the meeting more important than your clingy boyfriend? did you actually want to spend the morning in a room with a bunch of grumpy middle-aged men when you could be cuddling with your boyfriend?

“you’re lucky you’re cute in the morning…” you sighed, dropping your hand from the dress, and your boyfriend knew he had won. you could feel his victorious smile against your neck as he pressed one last kiss behind your ear. and then he started steering you towards the bed until you both fell onto the soft mattress, him laying on top of you. he nuzzled his face in your chest and closed his eyes, completely content now that he was sure he had you for the entire morning.

you looked at his sleepy face, dark hair falling over his eyes, cheeks dotted with rosy stains, cherry lips formed into the most beautiful smile. you brushed his bangs away from his face, feeling his warm skin underneath the palm of your hand. god, he took your breath away even when he wasn’t doing anything.

“since you made me miss my morning meeting, at least give me a kiss.” you nudged his chin with your hand, and he opened one eye to look up at you. he didn’t waste time after hearing your request, quickly picking himself up to hover over you and press his soft lips to yours. he sighed, finally being able to taste your lip gloss that he had watched you apply minutes ago. he had been tempted to steal a kiss from you then as well, but he was considerate enough to not ruin your makeup until he was sure you were his for the morning.

gunwook’s lips always felt like pure bliss against yours. the weight of his body on top of you was like a weighted blanket, and you were determined to not move from the position for at least another hour. gunwook was right, you would always much rather spend the morning with him… and bulbasaur.

↳ zerobaseone taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @okshu,, @chewryy,, @haecien,, @sobun1est,,

@emmylksblog,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @chenleszone,, @sxmmerberries,,

@talking-saxy

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iliketlou2alot · 9 days ago

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Bimbo abby anderson headcanons

@r3starttt gave me the idea and if u see this ilysm THANK YOU

if this is cringe im sorry :p

GENERAL

definately popular coz her dads a pretty well known surgeon (with well known surgeon money)

keeps her natural haircolor but has bleach blonde highlights

FAKE TRAMP STAMP coz her dad would kill her if she got a real one

started going to the gym out of boredom and to hang out with manny but ended up really liking it and boom shes buff as shit

uses way too much body spray like if shes walking by and you catch a whiff your gonna be coughing up pure vanilla for the next ten minutes

hates science, loves sports, settles for kinesiology

i know for a fact shes on the volleyball or wrestling team

i feel like shed love jeans with designs on the booty like apple bottoms

keeps her nails relatively short and paints them often, she likes trying out different colors

comically large waterbottle for practice

probably had an astrology phase but left coz she couldnt get anything correct

'oh i cant rlly hang tonight cause uh.. mercury's in gatorade. or something'

will enthusiastically carry 12 bags of groceries for manny's old dad. or any older person

IN A RELATIONSHIP

totally clingy, like 27 texts before lunch.

texts grammatically correct but with bountiful emojis.

"miss you lots, baby 💔" if you cant see eachother

despite her muscular frame shed love to be the small spoon, makes her feel safe

needs reassurance a lot. especially if you have been busy

"you still love me, right babe?"

love languages are gift giving and physical touch

loves to flex her muscularity on you. literally flexing unnecessarily, picking you up, whatever makes you flustered

i feel like shed be a sucker for matching outfits or like couple co-ords

cries when shes angry so if ur arguing youll catch her wiping at her eyes while yelling at you or while your yelling at her.

when you try to apologise after an argument she'll act like shes not accepting it for a solid five minutes before giving in

but if shes the one who needs to apologise shed wait for a few hours to a day before climbing into bed with you, laying her head on your chest and mumbling a soft "m' sorry" before threading your fingers together

will ask for your opinion on what lipstick she should wear only to pick her usual one

probably made you one of those lipstick kiss collared shirts after seeing it on tiktok

you have matching half heart necklaces idgaf

NSFW

almost always comes back from the gym horny. all sweaty and flushed, she'll throw down her bag and ask to ride you cause 'her legs got a good pump'

moans like a fucking pornstar. youve had some problems with the neighbors but she physically cant quiet down

when shes eating you out she likes to play super dumb, teasing you when you tell her to focus on your clit.

"you want me to lick your clit? well wheres that??" she'll keep teasing till you pull her hair and shove her head onto it

either a top or a dominant bottom, if shes tired and lets you use the strap on her, she's having you do it on her terms

loves praise tho

"hows my pussy feel hmm? say im your good girl- cmon"

coaxes praises out of you between moans and mewls

likes to scissor while you both have ur panties on as foreplay

absolutely hates realistic straps, give my girl a pink or purple dick and shes happy

owns a double dildo

she loves mirror sex, whether shes watching you or herself shes super into it.

like she'll have a full body mirror in front of the bed while you eat her out from behind

BOUNTIFUL NUDES

you recieve a photo of her small tits bare except for the X shaped pasties obscuring her nipples during a lecture

insanely skilled with her tongue when she isnt teasing you, little flutters on your clit while two thick fingers pump inside your wet cunt.

moans into your pussy like shes about to reach her climax, this only serves as a vibrator and makes you cum faster

the tiniest degradation kink. like if your 'topping' and shes kinda fucked out.

"dumb girls like you are only good for fucking, right? say it" she'll nod, her eyes already rolled to the back of her head. "mmh! y-yea, thats m..me!"

AFTERCARE

shes so giggly after sex

"you good? yeah me too. lets take a selfie!"

if it was super messy she'll let you get up and take a shower with you. but usually if you try to get up she genuinely will not let you, pressing her whole bodyweight onto you

has snacks in her bedside drawer specifically for this.

falls asleep soundly pressed into your chest, pressing a little kiss to your collarbone with a little "i love you" before drifting off into a peaceful slumber

#lesbian #abby tlou #wlw #abbyanderson #tlou2 #fanfic #abby anderson smut #tlou #abby anderson

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breezyblossoms · 2 months ago

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Author Note: IM SO SORRY FOR ANOTHER VERY LONG ONE!!!

You met Bodhi at Basgiath before the ink of your surname had even dried on the parchment.

He had offered a sarcastic smile, a tilted chin, and a hand callused from hours gripping a dagger hilt. “You’re not gonna make it past the parapet if you keep hesitating like that, you know.” You had scowled, shoved back the dread rising in your chest, and stepped onto the narrow stone deathtrap anyway. He didn’t leave your side once.

That’s how it started. A friendship forged in adrenaline and survival. Bodhi, with his ridiculous jokes and sharp wit, always one step away from disaster. And you, calculating and quiet, the one who kept him grounded.

So when he introduced you to his cousin a few weeks into your first year, you’d been entirely unprepared for the impact. “Y/N, this is Xaden. Try not to stab him, no matter how punchable he looks.” You didn’t respond. Mostly because your tongue had stopped working the second Xaden turned his storm-dark gaze on you.

You hadn’t known then that your whole life would bend toward him like a compass to true north.

⸻

The relationship came slow. Xaden wasn’t the type to fall. He was the type to watch from the edge of the room, arms crossed, reading everyone like a battle plan. But with you, he softened—in ways he never meant to. You weren’t some damsel in need of protecting. You could break a man’s arm in three moves and had a signet that made even the third-years uneasy.

Still, when you were in his arms, curled up in his room with the sound of Sgaeyl’s wings rustling outside, you felt… safe.

He didn’t say I love you. Not with words. But in the way he tracked you across the training fields. In the way he’d pull you back from danger and growl, “Don’t do that again. I can’t—” and then stop himself. You knew.

But then Violet arrived.

⸻

The Threshing changed everything. You stood near the edge of the field, Kaerith’s massive body coiled protectively around you like a stormcloud made flesh. And then you saw them.

Tairn. Andarna. Violet Sorrengail.

Xaden’s expression didn’t change—but you felt it. The shift. The way he stepped toward her, as if fate had threaded something between them. You tried not to flinch. Tried not to see how Sgaeyl’s head dipped toward the golden hatchling with something like awe.

It wasn’t jealousy. Not exactly. It was… displacement. Like the story had kept moving without you.

⸻

You didn’t break up all at once. It was in the missed glances. The quiet dinners. The way his fingers twitched when he reached for you—then stopped.

One night, you sat in his room, your back to the wall, knees pulled to your chest. Xaden didn’t meet your eyes.

“She’s bonded to them,” he finally said. You nodded. “I know.” “I don’t want this to change anything.”

But it already had. So you left. Not with drama. Not with screams or accusations. Just a quiet morning where you didn’t show up to sparring. A room left empty. A dragon that took to the skies before anyone could stop him. You needed air. Needed to remember what it felt like to live without always looking over your shoulder, waiting for war.

Bodhi didn’t ask questions when you wrote. He just wrote back, “Where are you?”

You met him a few weeks later in a forest clearing near a coastal cliff. Kaerith growled at his approach, then relented when he saw Bodhi alone. He offered you bread, water, and silence. “Gonna tell him?” he asked after a long while. You shook your head. Bodhi leaned back against a tree and said, “Alright.” Because Bodhi had always known when to push—and when to simply sit beside you in the quiet.

⸻

Months later

You don’t remember what exactly happened. One moment, you were walking through a small valley, scouting for herbs and supplies near a river. The next, a blade from a Venin ambush sliced across your abdomen like fire. Kaerith had roared, a sound that cracked the trees and sent every bird skyward.

You remember falling. Then… darkness. Miles away, a blue-scaled dragon lifted his head.

“She’s down.”

Bodhi knew something was wrong the moment Cuir stirred. His dragon had been resting atop the cliffside near the northern coast, where the wind howled like it carried ghosts, when he suddenly tensed—eyes flaring a deep, storm-touched blue.

“Kaerith called out. She’s hurt.”

Bodhi froze mid-step. “Y/N?” he asked aloud, though the question was useless. He already knew. A flicker of pain—not his—rushed through the bond with Cuir, sharp and nauseating, and the dragon launched into the sky without waiting for permission.

He didn’t need to ask where. He’d been there before. That small river bend surrounded by wildflower fields and cliffs, where you met him sometimes with a tired smile and the kind of quiet peace Basgiath never offered.

The sky blurred around them as Cuir pushed himself to the limit. Wind lashed Bodhi’s face. His hands in a fist.

Please be alive. Please.

⸻

Kaerith was a storm on the ground. His massive wings snapped trees like twigs, his tail lashing in wide arcs as he circled your still form—laid across a stone near the riverbank, barely breathing.

Bodhi didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate. He dropped from Virek before he landed, skidding to your side in seconds.

“Y/N—” His voice cracked. “Hey, hey, no sleeping on the job, remember?” You didn’t answer.

There was blood. Too much. Seeping from a gash just beneath your ribs, and bruises already blooming along your collarbone. Your pulse fluttered weakly beneath his fingertips. Kaerith let out a low, guttural sound that was more grief than rage.

“She needs Brennen,” Bodhi said to no one in particular. “Then take her.” Kaerith’s voice thundered directly into his mind, ancient and wild. Cuir rumbled in agreement beside him.

Bodhi swallowed hard and gathered you into his arms, ignoring the blood, the pain, the broken pieces. You were limp. Your head lolled against his chest. He held you like something fragile. Like you might vanish.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “You’re not dying on me, okay? You don’t get to leave twice.”

⸻

They landed in Aretia under a storm-gray sky. The winds carried ash from distant fires, and the cliffs were shadowed by the late hour. But Bodhi barely saw any of it—he moved like a man possessed, Kaerith flying close behind with a protective shriek that echoed off the cliffs. He didn’t realize how much noise they made until people started running.

“Get Brennen!” someone shouted.

“Is that—?”

“Is she—?”

And then—

“Bodhi.”

That voice. Low. Cold. Laced with something dangerous. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Xaden stood near the edge of the courtyard, black hair wind-tossed, shadows clinging to his boots like loyal pets. Sgaeyl dropped down behind him in a whisper of wings, her eyes immediately locking on Kaerith. And then his eyes landed on you—in Bodhi’s arms, unconscious and bloodied. Everything about him stilled. Time cracked.

“What the fuck happened?” Xaden’s voice was sharp, near a snarl. “She was attacked,” Bodhi said flatly, shifting your weight as he moved toward the doors where Brennen was already shouting orders. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Xaden snapped, stepping into his path. Bodhi didn’t stop walking. “I asked you a fucking question, Bodhi.” He turned then, slowly. Looked his cousin in the eye—really looked at him. And saw it. The wild panic under the surface. The tremor in his jaw. The pain he was trying so hard to hide.

“I didn’t tell you,” Bodhi said quietly, “because she asked me not to.” Xaden’s fists clenched. “You should’ve—” “She was my best friend,” Bodhi said sharply, cutting him off. “Long before she was your girlfriend. I owe her that.” The words hit harder than any punch. Xaden reeled like he’d taken a blow to the ribs.

Brennen pushed between them then, snapping, “Unless one of you is bleeding out, move.” Bodhi did. He carried you through the doors and didn’t look back.

⸻

Later that night

Xaden stood outside your room. He hadn’t moved in over an hour. Inside, Brennen worked quietly, mending you with a tired, pale expression. Your chest rose and fell—barely, but it did. Kaerith loomed just outside the window, his silver eyes glowing through the storm. And Bodhi? He sat in a chair near your bedside, holding your hand. Xaden’s jaw tightened. You were here. Alive. And you hadn’t told him.

⸻

The sun rose slow over Aretia. Its light crept in like it was afraid to touch the stone walls, painting them in pale gold and soft blue. But inside your room, time didn’t move. Not really.

Your breathing was steady now. Still shallow. Still cautious. But steady.

Xaden stood just inside the doorway, arms crossed, shoulder pressed to the wall as if it were the only thing holding him up. His eyes hadn’t left you in hours.

You lay against the pillows, pale as ash. Bandages wrapped around your midsection and shoulder. A bruise bloomed along your jaw like a shadow of the battle you didn’t get to finish.

You hadn’t woken yet. Brennen sat beside you, murmuring quietly to Kaerith through the window every so often. The massive dragon had refused to leave. Not even when offered food. Not even when others tried to soothe him. “Your bond’s too deep,” Brennen had said once under his breath, fingers pressing over your wound. “He’ll feel her pain like it’s his own.”

Xaden didn’t reply. Because he understood. He felt yours like a phantom limb. A dull ache in the back of his skull, just where memory lived. And fuck, there were so many memories.

⸻

He hadn’t meant to fall for you. It wasn’t part of the plan—hell, nothing with you ever was. You’d been quiet where he was storm. Brutal where he was calculating. And still, you’d seen through him from the beginning.

That first year, he’d caught you and Bodhi sitting outside the barracks at midnight, stargazing like you weren’t being trained to kill.

You’d looked up, eyes full of stardust and steel, and asked, “Do you think we’re allowed to want more than survival?” And he hadn’t known what to say. He never had. Until it was too late.

⸻

The door creaked. Bodhi stepped out quietly, closing it behind him. Xaden didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched him with unreadable eyes.

“She’s stable,” Bodhi said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Still out cold.” Xaden didn’t reply. Bodhi sighed. “You don’t have to hover, you know.” “I’m not.” “You are,” he said flatly. “You haven’t blinked in a while,” Bodhi said again, a note of dry exhaustion threading through his voice. Xaden finally shifted his gaze, dragging it from your still form just long enough to glare at him. “I’m not leaving her,” he said. Quiet. Final. Bodhi leaned back against the opposite wall, crossing his arms. His usual lightness was gone. “Didn’t say you should.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the kind that settles in when two people have too much history to fill it with anything else.

“She cried when she left, you know,” Bodhi added after a beat, eyes locked on the ground. “Not loud. Not where anyone would see. But I did. I always do.” Xaden’s jaw locked. “You should’ve told me she was alive.” “She asked me not to.” “I would’ve gone after her.” “That’s exactly why she didn’t want you to know.”

Xaden’s fists clenched at his sides, but he didn’t say anything. Not at first. Not until— “I would’ve brought her back.”

Bodhi looked up, sharp. “Brought her back to what, Xaden? A war? A life she never wanted? You?” Xaden’s silence was colder than steel. “You weren’t ready to fight for her,” Bodhi said. “Not when she needed it most.”

That hit like a gut punch. Because it was true. Because he’d known—deep down—that he’d let you walk out of his life with too many words unsaid and too many fears swallowing him whole.

“I loved her.” Bodhi stared at him. “Then why didn’t you run after her when she left?” Xaden looked back toward your door.

“I thought I’d already lost her.”

⸻

Inside the room, the first signs of waking stirred in your chest. Your breathing hitched, shallow but quickening, and Brennen leaned forward immediately. “Y/N,” he said gently, pressing a hand to your wrist. “You’re safe. You’re in Aretia.”

Your eyelids fluttered open. Light spilled in too fast, too sharp. You squinted against it. The dull throb in your side surged, and Kaerith’s presence flared through the bond—solid, grounding, massive.

You are safe.

You reached out mentally, weak but steady. You didn’t leave.

Never.

Then the door opened. And everything slowed. Because standing just inside the frame, armor still dusty, hair a mess, shadows clinging to his boots— Was him. Xaden Riorson.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he. He took one step inside. You blinked up at him, eyes glassy, chest burning.

Don’t cry.

Don’t—

“Hi,” he said hoarsely.

It shattered you.

⸻

The moment stretched. You stared up at him, chest tight, throat dry, barely able to process the reality of him standing in your doorway again. Of those eyes—dark, storm-torn, familiar—fixed on you like you were something fragile he didn’t know how to hold.

And Xaden didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. “Can I come closer?” he asked. It came out quieter than you’d ever heard him. You gave the smallest nod.

He crossed the room in three slow steps, dragging a chair beside your cot. His hands—gloved, blood-stained from flight, from war—hesitated for a moment before peeling the leather away. He set the gloves down, one over the other, like he was trying to do something with them. His fingers trembled once, then stilled.

When he sat, the chair creaked under his weight—but he didn’t lean back. He leaned forward. Toward you. Like he couldn’t stay away anymore.

His eyes traced every inch of you—your temple, bruised; your arm, still bandaged; the deep, angry wound over your ribs that Brennen had barely managed to stabilize. His jaw clenched.

“I didn’t know,” he said hoarsely. “Gods, Y/N, I didn’t know it was this bad.” You blinked, slow. “Would it have mattered if you did?” He flinched like you’d slapped him. You almost regretted the question. But not enough to take it back. Because it did matter. You mattered. And there were too many nights you’d fallen asleep wondering if you’d ever mattered enough.

“You’re the only thing that’s ever mattered,” he said finally, voice scraping raw across his throat. You looked at him—really looked. There was something so tired in him. So desperately, devastatingly tired. Like he’d been walking through a world that no longer made sense since the day you left it.

“I needed you,” you whispered. “I know.” “I waited for you.” “I know.”

His hand moved, fingers stretching forward. Then paused, inches from yours on the blanket. You didn’t move. So he let his palm drop gently onto the edge of your hand, barely touching. His thumb brushed your knuckle—once, slow. Reverent. It felt like something shattered in your chest.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he said. “Not once. Not when I was training Violet. Not when I was sent across the ward. Not even when I should’ve been thinking about everything else.”

You swallowed thickly. “Then why didn’t you come?” He exhaled like the question burned. “Because I thought I already destroyed you once,” he said. “I didn’t know if you’d survive me again.” You closed your eyes. Because the truth was—you didn’t know either.

⸻

Outside the window, Kaerith shifted, massive wings stretching across the sky like a shield. Sgaeyl perched silently nearby, still and watchful. Dragons, quiet in their knowing.

You opened your eyes again. And whispered, “I still love you.” Xaden’s breath left him like a weapon had torn it out. His hand gripped yours. Tight.

And then he said it back—choked, ragged, as if it had been lodged in his throat since the day you left.

“I never stopped.”

⸻

You didn’t let go of his hand. Not for a while. There was something comforting in the way his thumb kept brushing over your knuckles, slow and steady. Like he was reminding himself you were real. Like he didn’t believe it. Your breath caught once, and Xaden stilled.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, already halfway to pulling back. “No,” you said, voice barely more than a whisper. “Just… not used to this.” He nodded, slow. You didn’t have to say what this was. Not really. Touch. Closeness. Letting him in again after all the silence.

The room stayed quiet for a long time, filled only with Kaerith’s distant grumble outside, and the low creak of Sgaeyl shifting beside him. Two massive dragons—bound by instinct, by history—standing watch like sentinels.

Brennen came in briefly to check your pulse, muttering something about how your color was better. He didn’t say anything about the way Xaden sat, hunched forward like if he let go of your hand for even a second, the whole world might crack open again. Brennen didn’t have to. He knew better than anyone what broken things looked like when they were trying to heal.

After he left, you shifted slightly in the bed, wincing as your ribs flared hot with pain.

Xaden was there instantly. “Careful.” “I’m fine,” you murmured. His brow furrowed. “You almost died.” You looked away. “I didn’t.” “Don’t do that.” You turned your head back slowly. “Do what?”

“Pretend like it didn’t matter. Like I wouldn’t have gone insane if Bodhi hadn’t brought you here. Like you’re just another mission casualty.” You stared at him for a long moment. “You didn’t come for me.” “I didn’t know where to look.” “You didn’t try.”

That landed.

Xaden leaned back, running a hand down his face, like he hated every version of himself that had let you slip through the cracks. “I was scared,” he said finally. You blinked. “You’re never scared.” His laugh was hollow. “I’m scared every damn day. Of losing people. Of being wrong. Of not being strong enough to stop what’s coming. But you?” His eyes lifted to yours again. “You’re the only thing I was ever scared of losing completely.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you said the truth.

“I thought you already had.”

⸻

A soft knock interrupted whatever would’ve come next. Bodhi pushed open the door a crack. “Everything alright?”

You and Xaden looked at him at the same time. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Come in.” He stepped inside, dragging a chair toward your other side. “You look less dead. That’s promising.”

You rolled your eyes, and the motion made your bruised jaw throb. “Thanks for the assessment, Healer General.” Bodhi grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Kaerith told me the minute you twitched. Bastard nearly knocked the whole roof off trying to get my attention.”

Xaden’s gaze flicked to him. “You’re still talking to her dragon?” Bodhi raised a brow. “You’re still pretending you didn’t want to break something when you saw her in that bed?” The silence that followed was sharp.

Bodhi’s voice softened. “She’s my best friend, Xaden. She always has been. I wasn’t keeping her from you. I was protecting her for you. From everything. Even you.”

You didn’t breathe. Xaden didn’t flinch. But you could feel the tension radiating between them like heat off embers. Deep. Scalding. Unspoken.

“I’d do it again,” Bodhi added. “Because she asked me to.” “She’s mine,” Xaden bit out, low and raw. Bodhi shook his head. “Not anymore. Not unless she says so.” And for a long second, no one said anything. Then Xaden turned to you, eyes searching.

“Do I still get to be yours?” he asked. Your throat tightened. Your fingers curled into his. And you whispered, “I don’t know yet. But I want to.”

⸻

You made it outside by morning. Barely. Your legs shook with every step down the stone corridor, but you were walking. Brennen had raised an eyebrow, clearly ready to lecture you into oblivion, but Bodhi had just handed you a cloak and said, “Don’t fall. I’m not carrying you again.”

So now, you stood beneath the towering archway of Aretia’s outer courtyard, bathed in the golden light of sunrise, your breath fogging gently in the cool air.

And Kaerith? Kaerith was pissed.

He loomed behind you like a thundercloud with wings, tail sweeping close at your back, nostrils flaring every time someone so much as looked your way.

Xaden emerged from the barracks steps just as you reached the edge of the field. You stopped walking. So did he. Kaerith growled low. A sound of warning.

“Down,” you said, without looking back. Kaerith didn’t move. Xaden held his ground but raised his hands slightly, eyes never leaving yours. “Tell your oversized death machine I’m not here to fight.”

“I told you that last time,” Bodhi muttered from behind you. “Didn’t stop you.” You ignored them both and took another step forward. The movement made your ribs scream. Your body trembled. But Xaden was already in front of you. Hands reaching.

And Kaerith—Kaerith roared.

Sgaeyl dropped out of the sky like a dark streak of lightning, slamming between you and Xaden in one smooth motion, tail curling protectively. “Kaerith,” you snapped, grabbing a handful of his scales. “Stand down.”

He snarled, but relented—barely. Sgaeyl snorted. If dragons could roll their eyes, she absolutely just had.

Xaden waited, eyes full of something that looked dangerously close to fear. Not of Kaerith. Not of Sgaeyl. But of you.

“You okay?” he asked. You nodded once. “More or less.” He exhaled slowly. “You’re walking.” “Don’t get too excited. I still feel like I got trampled by a gryphon.” The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Almost.

You glanced up at Kaerith. “He doesn’t like you very much right now.” “I deserve it.” “He’s only like this with people who matter.” His eyes flicked to yours. “Do I still matter?” You blinked. Then—quiet, careful—you said, “More than I want to admit.”

He stepped closer. Not enough to touch. Not yet. But enough to feel. “Let me stay,” he said softly. “Wherever you are. However you need me. Just let me try again.” You opened your mouth. Closed it. Looked at his hands, his eyes, the quiet desperation under the cool mask he always wore.

And then—

You reached up. Touched his face. Barely. Kaerith huffed but didn’t move. “Okay,” you whispered. “But you don’t get to break me again.” “I won’t,” Xaden said. Like a promise. Like a vow. You believed him.

Gods help you, you believed him.

⸻

You didn’t go far that day. A few steps into the courtyard. A brief moment in the light. Then you were exhausted, half-leaning on Kaerith, the world tilting slightly at the edges. Xaden had said nothing. Just stayed close enough to catch you if you stumbled.

By nightfall, you were in one of the smaller guest rooms inside the northern wing—one of the few places in Aretia that felt untouched by war. The walls were warm sandstone. A soft rug covered the cold floor. There was a window that looked out into the valley. Xaden had brought a chair again. But this time? You told him not to.

“I don’t want you across the room,” you said softly. “I don’t need the space. Not anymore.” He didn’t argue. Didn’t push, either. He just sat at the edge of the bed, hands braced on his knees, like he was afraid to move.

You watched him for a long moment. The shape of his shoulders. The way he exhaled slow through his nose like he’d been holding his breath for days. “Lie down,” you said. His brow lifted, guarded. “You sure?” You nodded. “I trust you. And I… I miss you.” That broke him a little.

He kicked off his boots and climbed in carefully, like you might vanish if he moved too quickly. The bed dipped beneath his weight. The warmth of him slid into the space beside you. He didn’t touch you—not at first. But his presence was loud. And familiar.

He lay on his back, hands over his chest, staring at the ceiling like it held answers to everything he couldn’t say. You shifted, slow and cautious, until your head rested just beneath his shoulder. He froze. Then—slowly, carefully—his arm wrapped around you. And gods, you didn’t realize how much you missed this. Missed him. The shape of his body beside yours. The weight of his palm at your side. The way your breathing fell into rhythm like it always used to.

Minutes passed like hours. Then he said—barely a whisper—“You still do that thing when you sleep.” You blinked against his chest. “What thing?” “You breathe out three times really fast. Then pause. You’ve always done it.” You smiled into the fabric of his shirt. “You remember that?” “I never forgot.” A beat. “I tried.” Your heart twisted. “I didn’t stop loving you,” he added quietly. “Even when it felt like I had to.”

You lifted your head. Looked at him. Really looked at him. There was a vulnerability in his eyes you rarely saw. Not even when you first kissed. Not even when you first fought. This wasn’t desperation. This was truth. And so you leaned in. Pressed your lips to his—gentle. Slow. Not a promise. Not yet. Just a memory finding its way home. When you pulled back, he exhaled hard, eyes still closed. And you whispered, “I still love you, too.”

⸻

The morning light bled into the room like an old wound—slow, reluctant. You stirred before he did. Your body still ached in all the places that hadn’t quite forgiven you. But you were breathing. Steady. Even. And you were warm. Because Xaden hadn’t moved an inch. He was still there, one arm around you, your cheek tucked against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat beneath your ear, slow and thunderous. Like it had something to say.

You didn’t move. Not at first. You just listened. To the silence. To him. To the way your breath still fell in sync without trying. But eventually, you whispered, “I don’t know how to stop being mad at you.”

Xaden opened his eyes. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. “Then be mad,” he said, voice rough. “Yell at me. Hit me. Whatever you need.” You looked up at him, eyes burning. “I don’t want to hurt you.” “You already did,” he said quietly. “When you left.”

You sat up then, too fast. Pain flared across your ribs, but you didn’t stop. “You think that was easy for me?” “No.” He sat up, too, turning toward you. “I think it killed you. Just like it did me.”

Kaerith stirred outside the window, sensing the tension. His wings rustled like storm winds through the valley. You didn’t need the bond to know he was restless—protective.

Xaden’s jaw clenched. “I saw the way everything shifted after Threshing. After her. I couldn’t divide myself cleanly anymore. Orders from Tairn. Protection. Secrets. You—” He broke off, eyes burning. “You deserved better than being second to someone I didn’t even love.” The words hit hard. You felt them deep, like truth and regret in one sharp breath.

“But I still left,” you whispered. “I walked away. I didn’t fight for us.” “I didn’t give you a reason to.” He looked down. Fingers flexing like he wanted to reach for you. Like he didn’t know if he was allowed to.

“You were everything to me,” he said, voice raw. “And I got so good at pretending I was fine without you… I almost believed it. Until I saw you bleeding in Bodhi’s arms. Until Kaerith called out and I felt it in my bones.” You swallowed. Hard. The silence stretched again. And then, slowly, carefully—you reached for his hand. He didn’t hesitate. Fingers locked. Palms pressed.

“You don’t have to fix it all today,” you said, voice quiet but steady. “But if we’re going to try again… we can’t pretend the cracks aren’t there.” “I know.” “We build slow this time.” Xaden nodded. “Even if it hurts.” You leaned forward. Pressed your forehead to his. And this time, you both stayed there. No one ran.

No one turned away.

⸻

Later that day

The quiet didn’t last. By the time you’d managed to walk down the hallway—Xaden shadowing every step—Bodhi was already waiting in the courtyard below. Leaning against the worn stone wall, arms crossed, his dragon, Cuir, perched high on the cliff behind him like a sentinel of old.

He didn’t look surprised to see you. Didn’t even blink at the way Xaden hovered a step too close. “Still stubborn,” Bodhi muttered as you stepped into the sunlight, eyes sweeping over the bruises on your skin. “Still getting yourself nearly killed.” “Still dragging me out of it,” you returned softly. That earned the smallest of smiles. But it didn’t last. Because Xaden moved forward. And you felt it shift—like a ripple of old storms under calm water.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Xaden asked. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cracked with something sharp. Something ancient. “You knew where she was. For months.” Bodhi’s jaw tensed. “I did.” “You let me think she was gone.” “You let her think she was nothing but collateral.” The words landed like fists.

You inhaled slowly, ready to speak—but Bodhi raised a hand to stop you. His gaze stayed locked on Xaden.

“You want the truth?” Bodhi said, stepping away from the wall. “She was my best friend long before she was your girlfriend. I held her hair when she was sick. I taught her how to punch harder than you. I read every letter she wrote, even when she didn’t send them.” Xaden flinched.

“She didn’t leave just because of you,” Bodhi added. “She left because that place—Basgiath, war, everything—it was eating her alive. And I wasn’t going to drag her back just because you finally decided to miss her.” The silence that followed was brutal.

Xaden’s fists were clenched. His breathing ragged. But he didn’t argue. Because he couldn’t. You stepped forward, putting a hand on Bodhi’s arm. “Thank you,” you said quietly. His expression softened just a little. “I’d do it again.”

Xaden finally spoke, voice low, broken at the edges. “You should’ve told me.” Bodhi shrugged. “Maybe. But then again, maybe you should’ve looked closer when she stopped smiling.” Another hit. Direct. And earned. Xaden didn’t respond. But he nodded. Slow.

And for the first time… something passed between them. Not forgiveness. Not yet. But understanding. Mutual grief. Shared weight.

“Next time,” Bodhi said, backing away toward Cuir, “don’t wait until she’s bleeding to remember how much you love her.” And then he was gone.

The wind shifted. And you stood there with Xaden—both of you raw, scraped open, stripped down to nothing but truth and tension and too many things left unsaid. But this?

This was how healing started.

⸻

The sun was low by the time you returned to your room. The walk back was slow. Silent. Xaden didn’t reach for your hand, but his presence was a constant hum beside you—warm and steady, like a pulse that refused to fade.

You closed the door behind you with a soft click. And still, he didn’t speak. Not until you turned toward him, eyes searching his face like you might find something you’d missed the first time you fell in love with him.

“What are you thinking?” you asked softly. Xaden’s mouth twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. More like a wince of truth. “That I don’t deserve this.” Your breath hitched. “Me?” “You,” he said. “This chance. Your trust. After everything I didn’t say. Everything I let happen.”

You walked toward him, slow and quiet. “Do you want it?” His eyes lifted—sharp, dark, wounded. “More than anything.” “Then earn it.”

You were close now. Close enough to see the way his shoulders shifted, to hear the subtle catch in his breath. He looked like a man standing in a fire, unsure whether to run or reach for the warmth.

“I don’t want the version of you who shuts down,” you said, voice low. “Not the one who hides things ‘for your own good.’ I want the version who looks me in the eye and lets me in. Even if it’s ugly.”

Xaden looked down at his hands. “I don’t know if I remember how.” “You don’t have to know yet,” you whispered, fingers brushing his. “You just have to try.” He met your gaze then, and something cracked open behind his eyes. Not pain. Not guilt. Hope.

He took your hand—slow, deliberate. “I can’t promise I’ll be easy,” he said. “Or perfect.” “I never asked for perfect,” you replied. “I asked for you.” He stepped closer. Pressed his forehead to yours. His voice was rough, full of truth. “Tell me what you need.” And you didn’t hesitate. “I need you to be here. Really here. Not just when I’m hurt. Not just when you’re scared you’ve lost me. But when I’m healing. When I’m angry. When I’m quiet.” “I can do that,” he said. “Gods, I want to do that.”

You leaned into him, heart thudding against his chest. “Then stay. Not because you owe me. But because you still choose me.” His arms wrapped around you—gentle, but sure. And you felt it, in the weight of his touch, in the way his breath slowed against your skin. He wasn’t running. Not anymore.

And maybe that was enough.

#xaden riorson #angst #fourth wing #rebecca yarros #the empyrean #xaden riorson imagine #xaden riorson x reader #xaden x reader #fluff #bodhi durran #bodhi fourth wing #bodhi x reader

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sincerelyneo · 1 year ago

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omg hello! i missed you so much!!! 💖 would you consider reposting arcade again?? it was legit the best thing i’ve ever read omg i was so sad when i couldnt find it anymore

its fine if you cant tho!! im glad youre backkkk💖💖💖

ofc i can, i’m glad you liked it <3

arcade | p.js

“i’m out of control, full power up”

💿now playing: arcade by nct dream

❯ summary: Jisung’s been nothing but busy lately, so when you hear he got the weekend of your anniversary off, you can’t help but plan something to spend time with him. Expect, the only thing jisung wants after his busy month is you — and he’s not gonna let your silly arcade date get in the way of that.

❯ pairings: jisung x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, smut, fluffish.

❯ words: 3.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, fingering, exhibitionism, reader uses she/her pronouns, use of the name baby, jisung takes pictures whilst fingering reader in a photobooth idk???

"You brought us to an arcade for our three year anniversary?"

You look over to Jisung standing by your side as the pair of you stood in front of the arcade entryway with the giant neon sign above your heads.

"Yeah, surprise - who doesn't love a date night with pizza and an arcade?" You grin, trying to hide the look of nervousness fighting to show once you notice his frown.

“Baby,” he groans, whiny, “I thought we were gonna go home after the pizza.”

You may have lied to him about that.

When you told Jisung about tonight’s date, he originally objected. He wanted to have a chilled night in with just the two of you — alone. Something he hadn’t had for the past four weeks he’d been strung up at work. Yet, you insisted that the two of you celebrated your three year anniversary just like you had done for your first and second.

So instead, the two of you came up with a compromise: head to your favourite pizza place, then come home and watch a movie snuggled together on the couch. In Jisung’s mind ‘watch a movie’ was code for letting his hands roam all over your body whilst he watched you whither and squirm, but he figured it was best to not discuss the minute details.

But don’t get him wrong. Just because he wanted to have a quiet night in didn't mean he hasn’t missed you — because oh he has. He’s only bothered the rest of the dreamies with his annual ‘I miss her’ speech every other hour.

And whilst typically Jisung loved to spend every passing minute of the day with you; right now, all he could think about was how much he wanted to be balls deep in the cunt he’d missed so much — not spending his time in some arcade.

"I haven't been inside one of these since I was a little kid," you tell him. “Please Sungie, just for an hour.” You begin tugging on his hands.

“I don’t know, Y/N. Aren’t we a bit too old to be playing in the arcade?” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Pretty please!”

You hope the small flutter in your eyelashes is enough to win over the hesitant man. And you know it will because he’s told you several times not to give him those signature doe eyes, because he can’t ever bring himself to say no to them.

"Fine."

He grasps your hand, threading your fingers together as he starts to lead the two of you inside. You're instantly greeted with the loud electronic sound effects from the various games, along with the random music playing inside.

There's lights flashing everywhere, and you notice a bunch of people sitting at the bar and in booths near the front of the arcade, along with a bunch wandering around all of the games.

Jisung looks sideways before gesturing his head to the row of retro games, "what do you wanna play?" He asks.

��You can pick first, because I’m such a good girlfriend.”

He can’t help but smile at you — because he knows you're right.

“How about we play some pinball?

"I take it back," you say with a pointed look, "I’ve seen you play that with Chenle and I’m definitely gonna lose.”

“Too late, you’ve already given me the power,” he shrugs and pulls your arm over to where the game is situated.

“Ugh, Jisung. There’s no point, I already know I’m gonna lose,” you try to protest.

“Stop complaining,” he grasps your hips to turn you around to face the pinball machine then comes to stand behind you.

He takes your hands and places them on the buttons either side of the machine in front of you. You feel your cheeks flush when you feel Jisung’s chin rest on your shoulder, as he guides your fingers over the controls and silently coaches you through the game.

You don’t know how he always does it but even here, he's managing to create some form of sexual tension between the two of you at a pinball machine.

“Jisung..” you whisper as he places teasing kisses along your neck.

“Shhh, I’m just trying to help you out,” his lips brush against your neck as he continues hitting the buttons at a constant steady speed. “Besides, I think I’ve found my new favourite way to play pinball tonight."

Eventually, the ball shoots straight down between the two flippers, drawing the game to an end. He’d been doing so well that you wanted to turn around and kiss him but he pressed you harder against the machine, dipping into the crook of your neck to tease your ear.

"You've got no idea how badly I wish I could bend you over this and fuck you right here, right now."

It sent shivers down your whole body as you felt him grin against your skin when he noticed the sharp inhale of air you sucked in at his words.

Jisung knows you're shy, so he’s not surprised that you try to snake away from his grip at his crude remark.

"Look, we got a new high score," he says while he slips his hands from over yours and slides them up your arms. Pretending he didn't just whisper something that dirty. “We make a pretty good team.”

“Yeah ‘cause you did all the work,” you sulk.

You see the red digital writing flashing on the scoreboard, then his arms snake around to link across your lower stomach and pull you firmer against him. To anyone watching you look like a typical couple being affectionate, but the tension makes it feel the furthest thing from innocent.

"You know exactly what you're doing right now, Jisung Park," you huff, trying to control how flustered you feel, "We’re here to play games."

He presses a kiss to your cheek, before murmuring, "I am playing games. And so far I think I'm winning."

As he speaks he lets one of his hands slip down to graze over the front of your crotch, which he swears is an accident when you sternly say his name. But you can’t deny the way the touch made you jolt before he pulls away and steps back. You’d missed his touch — missed being with him like this.

But this was not the place. So you take his hand and turn the two of you to walk off like nothing happened.

The two of you continued to play a handful of arcade games. The classics, retro games, new games — Jisung had even managed to secure you a fluffy teddy bear from the claw game after you mentioned it being ‘impossible’.

You’d been taking it in turns to choose a game each, but when you mentioned the arcade photo booth, your boyfriend had started to get apprehensive.

After some of your amazing buttering up skills with puppy dog eyes, he agreed and he pulled the curtain back for you to get inside, then closes the door on the booth.

He sat down first on the small seat, and when you went to sit next to him he grabbed your waist and pulled you down onto his lap instead. He takes some coins from his pocket and starts putting them in the slot.

You try to get off his lap to sit beside him before the timer starts but he doesn’t let you.

“Just look at the camera and smile."

Once you hear the timer counting down the two of you start posing. But just before the last beep sounds, you get the idea to grab hold of Jisung’s face and let your lips mush against his cheek causing him to scrunch his nose up.

"That’s not fair," he says the second he hears the beeping start again.You stick your tongue out at him and his eyes narrow. “Fine, if that’s the game we’re playing.”

You both look back at the camera and offer smiles, kisses and peace signs. But at the last beep, Jisung gets the idea to move both of his hands to cup over your chest, groping your boobs.

Your mouth falls open as you gasp in shock while Jisung starts laughing.

You try to pull his hands away, "Okay fine, point taken mister grabby hands."

Jisung is practically giggling to himself, whilst you wait for the timer to start again.

“Alright alright, we'll take a serious one now.” He says, placing his chin on your shoulder, as you both look at the camera.

But once again, as the third beeping starts he quickly says, “Do you think people would notice if I made you cum while we're in here?"

Your body stiffens in shock as the picture is taken. Jisung is bursting with laughter and you're taken aback.

Jisung likes sex. He loves sex in fact — especially with you. But he never does this. Sure he teases you when you're out and about — how could he not when you’re so beautiful and perfect for him. But he’s never insinuated doing something so sexual in public like this before.

But here the two of you are. Waiting for the timer to start again, but this time you’re anticipating the shit he was going to pull when the final beep comes — and he does not disappoint. Because his hands slide up your legs, dipping into your inner thighs and squeezing them.

"Jisung," you warn him, "behave yourself."

The beeping starts again, but Jisung doesn't move his hands, and starts to massage his fingers higher.

When the last tick happens, he moves his face to press a kiss to your jaw, and you feel his breath hitting your skin from his nose.

He starts to inch your legs a bit further apart to let his thumbs graze over the crease where your thighs meet your pelvis.

“Ive missed you so fucking much baby,” he whines. “I need you so bad.”

“Jisung not here,” you sigh as his hands start working to warm up your skin.

“Why not? Wouldn’t you like the thought of me getting you off in here? Trying not to get caught?"

If his face wasn't so close to yours you wouldn't be able to hear him over the loud music in the arcade and how low his voice has gotten.

You give him a confused frown, thinking he surely can't be fucking serious but when you do he takes the opportunity to press his lips against you, kissing you while the camera snaps the last picture.

Your stomach is knotting along with your heart beating faster and you feel that familiar heat between your legs but you’d never tell him that — and he’d never tell you that he knows you keep it from him.

"Would you?" He asks again when he breaks the kiss.

You look at him like he's lost his mind. "You're joking right?" You can't be serious - Jisung people get their pictures taken in here, someone could walk in, you can't-"

He makes your words stop and your breath hitch in your throat as he moves his hand up under your skirt and cups his hand between your legs.

"That's not what I asked you," he says letting his eyes trace over your face, then leans closer, "Would you enjoy it?"

“Jisung, this is so unlike you, are you even hearing what you’re asking me?”

He moves his leg a bit and wedges his heel against the edge of the door so it can't be pulled open, "I know exactly what I’m asking you, so answer me."

"We’re supposed to be taking pictures, Sung,” you try changing the subject, and ignore the pressure of his hand pressed against you.

"Oh god we will," he says like it should be obvious.

And now you’re looking even more caught off guard.

“I'd fucking kill to have some pictures of you getting off. Have them to look at them whenever I’m needy and miss you.”

Jisung starts to massage the heel of his palm very slowly against you, adding more pressure over your underwear as you try to squeeze your legs closed but he holds them with his other hand to keep them apart.

"We can't-" it takes very fibre in your body to attempt to protest this, but you easily allow him to cut you off.

"Yes we fucking can," he has that sly look on his face, "But if you don't want to, we won't. It's up to you. Should I stop?"

You exhale a weak breath as he replaces the heel of his palm with his fingers dancing over your underwear, massaging slow circles that make your hips shift.

"Won’t people think it's weird if we're in here too long." you fumble over your words which makes Jisung smile while he bites on his lip.

"Don't worry I'll be quick," he says knowing you’re only making excuses instead of admitting what you really want.

Your eyes drift closed as you sigh, feeling his fingers move against you to create a friction that's only making the throb between your legs worsen. You have absolutely no common sense when it comes to this man and his fucking fingers.

"Should I stop?" He repeats in a low voice, moving his mouth to start to kiss along your jaw.

As usual with him, your functioning brain checks out while your subconscious takes over and you shake your head feeling your breathing start to go shallow.

"You want me to make you cum, yeah? Is that right baby?" His words are slightly muffled as he moves his free hand from your inner thigh and brushes your hair back over your shoulder so he can move his mouth to your neck, "I need words baby."

You should be rational and tell him to stop. But you don't. You wouldn’t dare. You didn’t want him to. So instead you say what you do want, and breathe out a quiet "yes."

Jisung’s own breathing is getting heavier, and the tension in this small enclosed space feels like it's compressing both of you closer together. When he hears your approval, his hand between your legs bunches up the front of your skirt. When he slips it up he snakes his hand over your stomach to push down into your underwear.

A faint groan echoes in Jisung’s throat the second his fingers feel your bare skin, exploring around your underwear to feel the slickness there.

"You’ve made a mess. Missed me this much, huh?” his voice is low, while he drags his warm lips up your neck.

You only manage to nod your head, your brain focused on squirming your hips to find some kind of friction again. He finally rests the pads of his fingers against your throbbing clit, starting to tease circles that force a quiet whimper out of you. Your eyes are still closed as excitement and neediness flood your nerves.

For doing something that should be wrong, it feels so damn right, and it's all you can think of. Feeling him is all you can think about.

"You sure I can take some pictures?" He checks, keeping his movements steady as your hips start to circle against his hand,

You don't respond at first—you can’t—too caught up in how this is feeling, and when he dips his fingers down to your pussy to collect more arousal on his fingers before moving back to your clit and applying more pressure, your head falls forward as you pant out a strained, "You - fuck, yes, you can."

He chuckles hearing how fucked out you are for him, and he’s only just started. But it’s when you hold onto the thigh he’s been using to pry your legs open that his eyes darken with need.

He keeps his fingers moving while he manages to get some coins he had in his pocket, reaching forward to put them into the coin slot, then pressing the button to start the timer.

When he relaxes back he applies a firmer pressure, and starts to massage your clit in quicker circles; making your mouth drop open with a gasped moan. You can barely hear the beep for the picture anymore, everything around you turning blurry, and all you can hear is your heart beat mixed your heavy breathing.

"That's it baby," he coos, with a gravel to his voice from the tension in it, "God I wish I could fuck you right now. I’ve been dying for it.”

Your skin is burning up, and all you can manage in response is the pants from your open mouth, desperately trying to keep yourself quiet.

You start to grind yourself against him as his fingers work, and feel the hard bulge forming in his pants underneath your ass.

He wasn't kidding when he said he'd be quick, he's already building the pressure in your lower belly, making your stomach muscles tighten, while he moves his fingers in the exact way he knows you love it.

That knot in your lower half tightens, and your legs start to tremble as a louder moan you can't stop comes out of your mouth.

"Fuck—Jisung," you whimper, with your chest starting to heave with rapid uneven breaths.

He only quickens his fingers driving with determination and speed, making sure to keep repeating the same movements that are getting the best reactions from you and when your head falls back as you moan again; his free hand comes up to cover your mouth.

"Shhhh—quiet, remember?" He hushes against your ear, groaning at the feeling of you grinding against him, "I know you wanna cum baby, but there’s no way I’m letting anyone else hear how you sound for me.”

All you can manage is a muffled "mhm" against his hand as your eyes squeeze tighter. That familiar sensation starts to ripple from your centre down your legs and into the rest of your limbs.

The orgasm is speeding towards you, faster than anticipated causing your back to arch up as your hips writhe. Your mind is foggy only able to make out quiet whispers of encouragement coming from Jisung.

As the release ripples through your body and your moans are muted against his hand, Jisung groans again, feeling you shake on top of him. He can’t help but snap his hand away to grasp at your jaw to turn your face and kiss you hard while you ride through your climax.

The kiss is mostly open lips grazing against each other, or trying to connect in messy motions with both of your laboured breathing mixing together. His fingers only pause when you try to pull yourself away from them.

Once your eyes drift open to see Jisung’s, the look in them makes you want to squeeze your legs together again if you could move them currently.

Jisung brings his hand up, and grazes his pointer and middle finger he just used to send your body into a frenzy against your lower lip as a silent request for you to open your mouth. You don’t deny it, taking them into your mouth to taste yourself.

“Fucking hell,” his eyes dart back and forth from your eyes to your mouth. His head rolls back against the wall behind you and he whines in the quiet, "God fucking help me."

Your body is still buzzing, floating down dazed from the high it was on, and you watch Jisung bite down on his lower lip as his brows knit tight together, as his hips shift beneath you.

"Everything okay, Sungie?" It’s the only thing your mushed brain can think of saying as you look down at his strained pants.

"Fuck no," he mumbles, looking like he's trying to compose himself, "But it’s my own fault. I suggested we do this. I’ll deal with myself later.”

"Later?" You ask.

Jisung lifts his head back up, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek as he rubs his palm up and down your thigh, "Yeah, later. When we get home and we watch that movie you promised me.”

He thinks you don’t know that he uses the movie thing as a code to fuck you — but you do know — and that’s why you’ve never protested when he puts on another one of those Harry Potter movies he loves.

"You sure you'll be able to wait that long?"

Jisung’s lips lift up at the corners, "I’ve waited weeks for this, I’m sure I can manage a couple more hours.”

He hugs you against him with his arms around your stomach, and back against his firm chest.

"But then again,” he begins “Now I have the memory of how fucking hot watching you get off in here was. That makes waiting like some kind of sick torture to me."

You let out a weak laugh, feeling your cheeks flush more than they already were, "I still can't believe we just did this."

"I can, and there's pictures to prove it," he smiles, pulling the strip of three black and white photos from the dispenser.

#nct smut #park jisung smut #jisung smut #nct dream smut #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #park jisung x reader #jisung x reader #nct hard hours #kpop smut #nct scenarios #park jisung scenarios #nct imagines

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robinflock · 4 days ago

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hi okay im gonna liveblog me watching lifecount episode ones in this thread!!!! starting off with: ivorycroww's

okay so immediately its spite and hatred and trouble how kind and awesome

#lifecount smp #robin liveblogs #<- block that tag if you dont wanna see this. because its gonna go on for like four hours

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jesuistrestriste · 2 months ago

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omg i need art humping that hitachi wand like crazy 🙏🙏🙏🙏

“close,” he murmurs into your thigh, a broken little wail of a warning, his fingers digging into the back of your leg, “ah, ah, ah, ‘m really close—!”

you reach down and thread your fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead and forcing his eyes up to you. his hips stutter against the buzzing wand strapped to the lower part of your limb. the white head of the toy sitting just above the top of your shoe. his cock is glistening with strings of pre that stick to his aching flesh and dribble down.

“you’re doing such a good job, artie.”

his jaw drops into a deliciously pornographic “oh”, and he has to force his pelvis from back from the toy before he blows his load without permission.

you chuckle.

“easy, easy, easy,” you murmur, still playing with his hair, “if you want to finish, you know what you have to do.”

he looks up to you like he thinks he’s unworthy of your presence, your kindness, your willingness to indulge him. he swallows around his tongue and then shakes his head.

“i don’t wanna finish until you’re ready for me to.”

you watch as his cock bobs in vain, the vibrating noise of the toy—just out of reach—only exacerbating his need for relief. his tip is the brightest pink youve ever seen.

“well, you don’t know until you ask, right?”

a nod from him follows. he scoots back in, but not quite enough to let his shaft meet the wand again.

“can i please come—er, i mean, do you want me to come yet?”

his watery blue eyes roam your face as he waits. one more inch forward and he’s going to lose it.

“yes, art, i want you to come for me.”

it’s like a rubber band snaps inside his stomach—sharp, stinging, and sudden. almost scary, that’s how good it is.

he arches his hips with a strangled gasp and begins feverishly humping the toy, clinging to your body while he pushes the middle of his shaft into the vibrations.

“oh, god, im close again!” he whines, his movements becoming more jerky and unsteady, the underside of his tip nearly brushing the silicone, “im gonna come for you, im gonna come for you, im gonna come—!”

he sobs, wetness gathering in his lashes, and then tips his head back as whiteness blooms behind his vision. his frenulum gets smushed against the hitachi, and then it’s all crashing down over his nervous system. waves and waves of all-consuming pleasure slamming into him as he moans into your leg and lets his gooey, milky end splatter from his slit in ropes. you count all of them, fixated on his state of ecstasy; seven contractions in total.

by the time he gains some of his coherency back, the sweat on his abdomen is starting to cool.

“good boy, art,” you breathe out, more hot-and-bothered than anything else, “such a good boy.. take a breather, you’re alright..”

he nods and his cheek rubs against your thigh as he does so. he’s delirious. his cock is still pressed to the vibrator, but he’s too fucked-out to move away from it—stuck with the prickle of overstimulation and unwilling to speak up to tell you that a second orgasm is already creeping in.

#i love him humping your leg like a dog #he will genuinely dry hump whatever part of you that he can get his hands on #and i believe that #sage’s asks #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #🌸 - ask prompts

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pixeld0ll · 17 days ago

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Revenge is Best Served in Bed

tags: mdni, nsfw, sukuna x f!reader, gojo x reader(past), gojo is readers ex (theyre together for first part then break up), revenge sex, size difference, rough sex, spite sex, dirty talk, power play, possessive sukuna, light aftercare, gojo kinda mean in this ngl, petty behavior (and its HOT!!), overstimulation, slight angst

an: had this ideaa driving home and now im obsessed with it i hope you all enjoy!!! <33

wc: 6.0k

You’d been standing in front of the mirror for too long.

Fussing with your hair, adjusting your neckline, smoothing the fabric of your dress until your fingertips went numb. You’d changed three times before settling on this one—tight in all the right places, a color that made your skin glow, just a little too short if you bent the wrong way.

You looked good. You knew you looked good.

So why hadn’t he said anything?

Gojo had barely glanced up from his phone when you walked out of the bedroom. Just a distracted hum of acknowledgment, fingers flying across his screen, something about a mission detail he couldn’t afford to miss.

Not a compliment. Not even a look.

And now, here you were—at some overcrowded rooftop party in the middle of the city, surrounded by half-drunk sorcerers and strangers, standing alone while your boyfriend laughed at something Geto said across the room, an arm casually thrown around Nanami’s shoulder like this was his real relationship.

You shifted your weight in your heels, fingers curled tightly around your drink. Your face was starting to hurt from holding a polite smile.

He hadn’t even introduced you to anyone.

You blinked hard, willing the sting behind your eyes to vanish before it turned into something worse.

No. Not here. Not like this.

The music was too loud, the lights too bright. You slipped out the nearest exit—some side door that led to a quieter balcony, cold night air brushing your skin like a slap.

You leaned against the railing and stared out at the city, willing yourself to calm down. Don’t cry. You’d tried so hard tonight.

“You gonna jump or just cry dramatically into the skyline?”

The voice came from your left—low, teasing, edged with dry humor.

You turned your head—and froze.

The man leaned against the wall in the shadows, a cigarette burning between two fingers. His face was partially lit by the orange glow as he inhaled—sharp jaw, dark markings curling across his skin, eyes like blood and smoke.

You hadn’t seen him inside. You would’ve noticed.

“I’m not crying,” you muttered, wiping under your eyes quickly.

He shrugged like he didn’t believe you but didn’t care either. “Fair. You don’t look like the crying type.”

You arched a brow. “What type do I look like?”

He grinned, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to decide how much trouble to cause. “The kind of girl who doesn’t belong here.”

You crossed your arms, glancing sideways at him. “Do you belong here?”

“Not even a little.” He laughed to himself, blowing smoke out over the edge of the balcony. “But that’s never stopped me.”

You should’ve walked away. Gone back inside. But something about his energy was magnetic—unfiltered, untamed, the exact opposite of the polished, distant world you’d just stepped away from.

“You here with anyone?” he asked, like it was casual. Like he hadn’t been watching you closely since you stepped outside.

You hesitated. “…Yeah.”

He gave a mock grimace. “Shame.”

His eyes flicked down your body, slow and unbothered, but not disrespectful. Like he appreciated what he saw and wanted to make sure you knew it.

“Whoever it is,” he added, “must be an idiot.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He pointed at you lazily with the hand holding his cigarette. “You’ve got tears in your waterline, a death grip on that dress like you’re holding yourself together with thread, and the guy’s not even out here looking for you.”

You looked away, jaw tight.

“I’ve seen a lot of shit,” he said, voice quieter now, still cocky but not cruel. “But a man who lets a woman cry alone in the cold while he parties like a king?” He shook his head. “That’s not a man. That’s a fucking disappointment.”

You swallowed hard. “It’s… it’s Gojo.”

A beat of silence.

Then he let out a harsh, sharp laugh—more like a scoff. “Of fucking course it’s that bitchass.”

Your eyes snapped toward him.

He looked amused—furious, even—but not surprised. “Everything about you screamed ‘too good for that self-absorbed peacock.’” He threw his cigarette over the railing and turned to you fully, eyes glittering. “What’d he do this time? Forgot your name? Asked you to hold his mirror?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. Just a small one, but real.

And he noticed.

The moment was cut short by the sound of the door swinging open behind you.

“[Y/N]?”

You turned, already bracing yourself.

Gojo stood in the doorway, expression darkening the moment he saw you—and who you were with. His entire body shifted in that instant: shoulders squaring, voice tighter than it had been all night.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he snapped, eyes locked on Sukuna.

Sukuna just smiled—lazy, unbothered, like this was the most fun he’d had all evening.

“Talking,” he said coolly. “Something you seem to be pretty shit at.”

Gojo stepped forward, pulling you subtly behind him. “Don’t talk to her.”

Sukuna cocked his head. “You don’t want me talking to her? Maybe try not making her cry, dumbass.”

“She’s mine,” Gojo snapped, voice low and dangerous. He glances at you, finally noticing the dots of mascara under your eyes. His brow furrows softly before turning back to Sukuna.

Sukuna’s grin turned downright feral. “Any man who makes a woman cry with sadness instead of pleasure isn’t a man at all.”

A tense silence fell, heavy with everything unsaid.

You felt Gojo stiffen beside you. Felt his jaw clench. But for the first time all night, your heart wasn’t sinking—it was racing.

Gojo snarls under his breath before his fingers wrap around your wrist—tight, possessive, leaving no room for argument. He turns without another word and yanks you behind him, tugging you away from the balcony and back toward the party.

“We’re going home,” he growls, voice low and sharp with anger.

Your heels scuff the concrete as you stumble to follow, but your gaze stays locked over your shoulder—locked on him.

Sukuna doesn’t chase. Doesn’t flinch. Just watches with that smug, knowing smirk curling his mouth, eyes glowing like fire in the dark as he takes another long drag of his cigarette. Smoke coils around his face like a halo of sin.

Your mouth parts, slightly agape.

No one’s ever spoken to Gojo like that. No one’s ever riled him up like that.

No one’s ever read you like that.

That one brief look—those few words—had cut deeper than all the silence you’d endured lately.

Your heart thuds in your chest, not from Gojo’s grip or his tone, but from the way Sukuna had looked at you like he’d already figured you out—and didn’t pity you for it.

Not weak. Not forgotten. Seen.

The door slams shut behind you, cutting off your view of him. But even as Gojo leads you to the car in silence, your mind stays behind—still burning with the image of Sukuna standing in the dark, grinning like the devil who just found a new soul to play with.

The ride home had been silent.

Gojo didn’t say a word. Neither did you.

You felt the weight of his anger like smoke in your lungs—simmering, silent, unresolved. His fingers stayed clenched on the steering wheel the whole time. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t explain.

And when he collapsed into bed twenty minutes later, still fuming and emotionally absent, you were left sitting at the edge of the mattress—your dress still on, your makeup smudged, your heart still pacing like it hadn’t left the balcony.

You glanced over your shoulder.

He was already asleep. One arm slung over his eyes, mouth parted, white hair a mess against the pillow. You used to think he looked peaceful like this.

Now he just looked distant.

Your eyes dropped to the phone on the nightstand—his phone. He always kept it locked, always face-down. But tonight, in his rush to strip off his clothes and throw himself into bed, he must’ve forgotten.

It lit up when you touched the screen. No passcode. Just a lazy swipe to unlock.

You hesitated.

You shouldn’t.

But your fingers were already moving—opening his messages, flipping through notifications, backtracking into his contacts like muscle memory. You didn’t know what you were looking for.

Until you found it.

Blocked. Tucked at the very bottom of his list.

Only one name.

Sukuna.

Your pulse stuttered.

Why had he blocked him? Not just muted—blocked completely. Deleted messages. No call history.

You clicked the contact anyway.

No photo. Just a number. Just the name.

Your hands moved before your brain could catch up. You took a screenshot and sent it to yourself. Then you deleted the evidence from his photo album and recent texts, making sure nothing looked disturbed.

By the time you put his phone back where it was, your hands were shaking.

You curled into the far edge of the bed with your own phone in hand, staring at the message you’d just sent to yourself—the string of digits that felt like it burned on your screen.

Why had he blocked him?

Or maybe the better question was—

Why couldn’t you stop thinking about him?

Sukuna’s voice replayed in your mind like a sin you wanted to taste again.

“Any man who makes a woman cry with sadness instead of pleasure isn’t a man at all.”

You squeezed your thighs together.

And wondered how long you could go before texting him.

The sun was barely up when you slipped out of bed.

Gojo didn’t stir. Just shifted slightly under the sheets, face buried in his pillow, breathing slow and even.

You padded out of the bedroom in silence, feet cold against the hardwood as you moved through the dim apartment. The walls were too white. The floor too quiet. Even the kitchen, usually a safe space—coffee, toast, soft mornings—felt sterile this time.

You stood there with your hands wrapped around a warm mug, untouched.

And waited.

The minutes ticked by.

And when you finally heard the shuffle of blankets and the creak of the mattress, your heart started pounding like it already knew what was coming.

He stepped into the kitchen, rubbing a hand over his face, hair mussed, wearing nothing but boxers. He didn’t look angry. Just tired.

Detached.

“Hey,” he muttered.

No kiss. No “good morning.” No arms around your waist. No mention of how you’d gotten out of bed without waking him, or if you’d slept at all.

Just that one word. Like you were a roommate. Like you were anyone.

You didn’t answer.

You just stood there, mug pressed to your chest like armor, staring at the grain of the table.

Gojo finally glanced up, sensing the change in the air. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated. Your throat ached. But you made yourself meet his eyes.

Your voice came out quieter than you expected.

“I think we need to break up, Satoru.”

The silence was instant. Loud.

His brows drew together in confusion, like you’d just spoken another language. “What?”

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the mug.

He stepped closer, a hint of frustration already creeping into his voice. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m serious.” You held his gaze, though it hurt to do it. “This… whatever we’ve become… it’s not working anymore.”

“Not working?” he scoffed, tension rising in his shoulders. “Since when?”

“Since always,” you whispered.

He stared at you like he was trying to make sense of a bad dream. Then something in him cracked—and his voice got louder.

“Who is he?”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“You met someone, didn’t you?” he accused, voice sharp, like he wanted to pin the blame on anything but himself. “That guy from last night—outside. The fucking curse user? That’s it, isn’t it?”

Your lips parted in disbelief. “Satoru, no—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped, stepping closer now. “You think I didn’t see how you looked at him?”

Your hands started to tremble.

“It’s not because of him,” you said, voice breaking, “I’m leaving because of you.”

He froze.

And then, quieter, through clenched teeth: “Then tell me what I did.”

You laughed bitterly, even as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “You didn’t do anything, Satoru. That’s the problem. You haven’t made time for me in months. You don’t listen, you don’t look at me, you forget things I tell you ten seconds later. It feels like—like you don’t even like me anymore.”

“I’ve been busy—” he starts, but you cut him off.

“I know,” you said. “You’re always busy. Everyone needs you. You’re the strongest.”

Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper now.

“But I needed you too.”

Silence.

The tears finally slipped down your cheeks, and you made no move to hide them. You didn’t need to protect his feelings anymore. Not when yours had been neglected for so long.

Gojo opened his mouth, but no words came out.

He didn’t try to hold you. Didn’t say he was sorry. Didn’t say he still wanted you.

And that was your answer.

You wiped your cheeks, quietly placed the mug in the sink, and walked past him toward the bedroom to pack your things.

—----------------------------------------

You’re sitting in your apartment—your real one. The one Gojo never truly settled into. The one that always smelled faintly like lavender dryer sheets and loneliness.

You never officially moved in with him. But somehow, it still feels like you’ve come back from war.

Your knees are pulled to your chest, a worn, gray cat plushie crushed to your front like a lifeline. It still smells faintly like your childhood room. Safety. Home. The opposite of how your heart feels now.

Tears still sting the corners of your eyes, hot and heavy, even though the crying’s stopped. You’re emptied out. Hollowed.

The screen of your phone glows against the shadows of your room.

You stare down at the message you typed hours ago. Your finger hovers over the send button.

You: Hey. It's me. Can we talk?

Simple. Almost too casual. But you’ve retyped it a dozen times already. This was the least desperate version.

The contact is still just a number. You haven’t saved his name.

But your chest tightens just looking at it.

You remember the way Sukuna looked at you that night on the balcony—head tilted, mouth full of fire and sin, like he could see you even through the dark.

And he didn’t look away. He didn’t flinch.

He called Gojo a bitchass. Said you deserved better. Said no man should ever make a woman cry without earning her tears through something far less innocent.

Your thighs press together before you can stop them.

You shouldn’t do this.

You know what kind of man Sukuna is—arrogant, cocky, dangerous. He’s not safe.

But Gojo was supposed to be safe. And look how that turned out.

You whisper to no one, “What the fuck am I doing…”

And then— You hit Send.

The message disappears into the digital void. You drop the phone onto the mattress like it might burn you.

Your heart pounds in your chest.

You wait.

One minute. Two. Three.

Then the screen lights up.

Unknown Number: took you long enough, princess. where are you.

You stare at the screen, heart pounding, thumbs twitching.

He replied in under a minute.

Of course he did.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard again, hesitant.

You: I’m home. Just… been a rough day.

The read receipt pops up instantly. He’s waiting.

Typing…

Then:

Sukuna: bet it has. was it hard dumping that pretty boy in his own house?

Your breath catches.

You never told him. But somehow, he knows.

You: ...So you heard.

Sukuna: oh, sweetheart i didn’t hear i felt it the second you stopped pretending he was enough

You swallow hard.

Your chest rises and falls a little too fast. Your thighs squeeze a little too tight. You want to blame the breakup. The loneliness.

But it’s his voice—bleeding through your screen, taunting you, coaxing you.

You: You’re cocky for someone who barely knows me.

Sukuna: nah. i knew everything i needed the second you walked outside looking like heartbreak in heels. told you, didn’t i? whoever made you cry had to be a fucking idiot.

You clench your jaw, your face heating. You should stop. You should put the phone down.

But instead—

You: You really think I looked that bad?

Sukuna: nah, princess. you looked like sin wrapped in satin. just pissed it wasn’t my hands fucking up your mascara.

A sharp inhale slips past your lips.

Your legs uncurl from beneath you, stuffed animal tossed aside like a forgotten shield. You don’t even realize you’re biting your lip until the taste of it hits your tongue.

You: You’re such an asshole.

Sukuna: and you like that. especially right now.

You hesitate. Then:

You: What would you do if I came over?

A pause.

He’s typing. Then stops.

Typing again. Longer this time.

And then—

Sukuna: i’d make you forget that white-haired fuck ever touched you. i’d ruin you, sweetheart. slowly. properly. make you cry for a better reason.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a second, trying to breathe through the ache settling deep in your core.

You shouldn't want this.

But fuck, you do.

You don’t even remember standing up. Don’t remember grabbing your jacket. Only the last message you send, before you walk out the door with your heart hammering and heat pooling between your thighs.

You: Send me your address.

You almost lose your nerve in the elevator.

The city lights blur past the glass walls as you rise—heart pounding, legs trembling, throat dry. Your reflection stares back at you in the metal paneling: mascara smudged, lips raw from biting, hair a little messy.

You’d barely changed. Just grabbed your jacket and keys and left.

Your phone buzzes once in your hand. A message.

Sukuna: top floor. end of the hall. knock loud, sweetheart. i’ll like hearing you beg.

Your stomach flips.

You hate how your thighs clench at that.

By the time you reach his apartment door, your pulse is in your throat. The hallway is empty, dark and quiet. His door is tall and intimidating—just like him.

You stare at it for a second, breath catching.

Then you raise your fist and knock.

One beat. Two.

Nothing.

Then—click.

The door creaks open, slowly. Only a sliver at first.

Then a voice, smooth and dripping with smugness:

“Took you long enough, pretty girl.”

The door swings open fully.

And there he is.

Sukuna stands in the doorway with no shirt, just a pair of black sweats slung low on his hips. He’s barefoot, covered in black ink and muscle—chest broad, abs cut like marble, tattoos crawling up his throat and across his pecs like they were painted by sin itself.

He’s massive. Monstrous.

He fills the entire doorway. You feel small just standing in front of him—your head barely reaches his chest, even with your boots on. He looks down at you like a wolf looks at a trembling rabbit.

And he grins.

“You look smaller than I remember,” he says, head cocked slightly. “Or maybe I just like seeing you like this. Nervous. Flushed.”

Your breath stutters. “I’m not nervous.”

“Mm. Liar.” His eyes drag over you slowly, hungrily. “Didn’t even bother changing. Must’ve been in a real hurry to see me.”

You scowl, but your body betrays you—fidgeting slightly under his gaze, thighs rubbing unconsciously.

He leans one forearm against the doorway, towering over you now, tongue brushing his lower lip. “Gonna stand there all night, sweetheart?”

You blink.

He raises a brow. “Or are you gonna come inside and let me make you feel something for once?”

That does it.

You step forward—and he doesn’t move.

You stop short, chest nearly brushing his abs.

He smirks wider. “Gonna have to squeeze past me, baby. You sure you can handle all that?”

You meet his gaze, defiant even as your knees go weak. “I came here, didn’t I?”

Sukuna’s grin sharpens—teeth flashing.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, stepping back just enough to let you in, “you did.”

His hand brushes the small of your back as you pass—just enough to make your skin erupt in goosebumps.

The door shuts behind you with a quiet click.

And suddenly, you’re alone in his apartment, in his space, standing beneath his gaze—and for the first time in days...

You don’t feel invisible.

The door clicks shut behind you, sealing the silence.

His apartment is darker than you expected—warm-toned, minimal, dangerous in its simplicity. Clean, but not in a tidy-boyfriend way. Clean like a predator who doesn’t leave evidence behind.

You shift, suddenly aware of the sound of your own breathing.

And then he’s there—behind you.

Too close.

You feel the heat of his chest, the energy of him, like static about to arc. His voice hums low at your ear.

“So.” “Did you come here to cry some more, or are you finally ready to feel something?”

You turn to face him, slowly.

He's still shirtless, tattoos crawling like vines over his chest and arms. Every inch of him screams danger. His pink hair is a little tousled, eyes gleaming red in the low light—sharp and amused.

Your voice comes out quieter than intended. “You think this is funny?”

“I think it’s fucking delicious,” he murmurs, dragging his eyes down your body like a slow exhale. “You showing up on my doorstep, all soft and wet-eyed, looking for something rougher than love.”

You clench your jaw. “I didn’t say that.”

“No,” he grins, stepping closer again. “But your body did.”

He doesn't touch you—of course he doesn’t. He doesn't have to. Just looms, like he could devour you if he wanted. His chest practically shadows your whole upper body.

“You miss it yet?” he asks, voice lower. “Being wanted?”

You look away, and he chuckles.

“That’s a yes.”

“You’re full of yourself,” you mutter, stepping past him to put some space between you. “You think I came here to jump into bed with you? This isn’t some porno revenge fantasy.”

Sukuna laughs—deep, mocking. “Sweetheart, if this were a porno, we’d be halfway to a creampie on your ex’s hoodie by now.”

You shoot him a glare, cheeks heating.

“And don’t worry,” he adds, lips quirking, “I know you didn’t come here to fuck.”

He pauses.

Then, with a glint in his eye—

“You came here to want to.”

You stop breathing for a second.

He watches it all—the way your fingers twitch, your lips press together, your thighs shift again like they’re trying to not respond to the pull of his voice.

You hate how right he is.

“Poor little thing,” he says, softer now. “You were starving. And he didn’t even notice.”

You flinch.

It’s too close to the truth.

Sukuna doesn’t gloat. Not really. He just watches you with a predator’s stillness, like he’s waiting for you to break.

You swallow, trying to ground yourself. “I didn’t come here for pity.”

“Oh, I’m not offering it.”

He steps closer again, slow this time, almost gentle—if that word could ever exist in his world.

“I’m offering you something else.”

You look up at him. And you hate it—you hate how small you feel, how hot your cheeks are, how part of you wants him to push and push until you fall apart just to prove Gojo was never enough.

He leans in, breath ghosting over your ear.

“You’re not over him,” he murmurs. “But you will be—once I’m done with you.”

Your breath catches.

You can feel the goosebumps rise on your arms.

Still, you whisper:

“Then do something about it.”

For a split second, the air stands still.

Then—he moves.

In a blur of motion, he's on you.

A large hand clamps around the back of your neck, fingers digging into the nape like he owns it. His other arm snakes around your waist, yanking you forward as he towers over you—and then he's kissing you.

Not gentle. Not careful.

Devouring.

His mouth crashes against yours, all heat and teeth and intent. His grip tightens, head tilting as his lips part yours with ease, tongue sliding past to take what he’s been holding back from the second he opened that door.

You gasp, fists clutching at his chest to stay grounded. He’s so much bigger up close like this—his frame utterly consuming yours. Your toes barely graze the floor as he lifts you slightly with his hold, body pinned flush against hard muscle and inked skin.

“You want me to do something?” he growls against your lips, voice breaking into a low snarl. “This is what you fucking came for.”

You moan before you can stop it.

Your arms loop around his neck, desperate to pull him closer even as he takes his time bruising your lips, teeth nipping your bottom one until it stings.

He breaks the kiss only to tilt your head back further, exposing your throat. He doesn’t kiss it—not yet. He just breathes hotly against your skin, lips hovering just out of reach as his fingers tighten possessively in your hair.

“You want me to make you forget him? Say it.”

You squirm under his grip, lips parted, breath hitching. “S-Sukuna—”

“Say it.”

Your voice shakes—but you obey.

“Make me forget him.”

He grins against your jaw. Triumphant. Dangerous.

“Good girl.”

Then he lifts you—literally off your feet like it’s nothing.

Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, arms clinging to his neck as he carries you toward the bedroom, mouth trailing open-mouthed kisses along your throat now, nipping your collarbone hard enough to leave a mark.

“You’re mine tonight,” he rasps, voice thick with promise. “And when I’m done—”

His hips roll up between your thighs as he walks, grinding slow and deliberate—

“—you’ll forget any name that isn’t mine.”

He carries you into his bedroom like you weigh nothing—like you belong in his arms, clawing at his back, breathless and needy.

The room is dim, soaked in shadows and heat. You barely register the scent of cigarettes, leather, and something so male before he tosses you onto the bed.

You bounce slightly against the mattress, your breath catching.

Sukuna towers above you—broad chest heaving, pupils blown wide with lust, jaw flexing like he’s holding himself back.

For a second, he just looks at you. Drinks you in.

Then climbs over you, one hand planting beside your head, the other sliding up your thigh until your skirt bunches around your hips.

“Still want me to do something about it?” he rasps, voice like gravel and sin.

You nod, lips parted, but something sticks in your throat. A weight.

A memory of cold silence. Of Gojo’s turned back. Of feeling invisible even while being held.

And then, softly—almost too quiet to hear:

“...Sukuna?”

He pauses.

Looks down at you, brows barely twitching. Waiting.

“Gojo was always… gentle.”

A beat of silence.

Then your voice again—barely a whisper, but it lances straight through his spine.

“Don’t be gentle.”

His jaw tightens.

His hand on your thigh grips harder. His breath darkens. His whole body tenses like a fuse just hit the flame.

“Oh, baby,” he growls, lips curling back into a wicked grin. “You don’t know what you’ve just asked for.”

Then his hand wraps around your throat—not choking, just holding, just claiming—as he leans down to kiss you again, harder than before. His teeth scrape your lip, tongue pushing deep and demanding. You gasp, your body arching beneath him, hips rolling up on instinct.

He pulls back just enough to growl against your lips:

“You want me to fuck you like I hate him?”

You nod, breath trembling. “Yes.”

He lets out a sharp, guttural sound—somewhere between a laugh and a snarl.

“Then I’m gonna fuck you so hard you forget how to say his fucking name.”

He doesn’t waste time.

The second you give him permission, Sukuna’s mouth crashes into yours like a war drum, lips bruising, tongue invasive. He tastes like smoke and dominance—like danger.

Your body’s pinned flat beneath his, his weight deliciously suffocating. He doesn’t give you a second to think.

His hand slides between your thighs, gripping your panties and ripping them off in one savage motion. The sound of tearing fabric tears a gasp from your throat.

“So wet already,” he growls, sliding two fingers through your folds, smearing your slick like he owns it. “Bet he never even made you drip like this.”

You moan, back arching.

“Tell me,” he demands, rubbing lazy, taunting circles around your clit. “Did he ever fuck you like he meant it?”

You shake your head.

“Did he ever make you beg?”

“N-No…”

“Then I’ll teach you how.”

He sinks two fingers into you with zero warning—deep and rough. Your hips jerk, a sharp cry ripping from your throat.

“That's it,” he snarls, lips grazing your ear. “Cry for me.”

His fingers curl, dragging along your walls like he knows exactly where that spot is—and he does. Of course he does. He watches you unravel with sick pleasure, your thighs trembling already.

“Fuck—look at you. Gripping me like you were made for this.”

You whimper his name and that breaks something in him.

Sukuna pulls his fingers out and shoves them into your mouth.

“Suck.”

You do, lips closing around him, tasting yourself on his skin. He watches, eyes burning red, chest heaving.

“Good girl.”

Then he’s unbuckling his belt, pants shoved down just enough. His cock slaps against his abdomen—thick, hard, leaking.

Your mouth falls open. It’s massive. Way bigger than Gojo’s.

He sees your expression and laughs.

“You’re gonna feel this in your stomach.”

He grabs your legs, yanking you to the edge of the bed. No prep. No warning.

“Take a deep breath, sweetheart.”

And then—he thrusts in.

You scream.

The stretch is brutal, the burn immediate. He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t let you adjust. Just pistons into you with a punishing rhythm, like he wants to fuck Gojo out of your memory—out of your soul.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Take it. Fucking take it.”

Your fingers claw at the sheets. Your thighs tremble. Your voice is breaking on every moan. He’s relentless.

He grabs your hips, slamming you down onto his cock harder, deeper, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the room.

“Say my name.”

You barely choke it out—“Sukuna—!”

“Louder.”

“SUKUNA—!”

He grins, feral. Leaning over you, his forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping down his temple.

“That’s right. Scream it. Let the whole fucking city know who you belong to now.”

He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and fucks into you deeper.

You cry out, eyes rolling back. You’ve never been this full, this wrecked. Your body’s already close—your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave as you clamp down hard around him.

“Fuck—yeah, squeeze me just like that,” he groans, eyes dark with lust. “You were made for this cock.”

You sob his name as you cum, trembling under him.

But he’s not done.

He flips you over without warning, face down into the mattress, ass up. You barely catch your breath before he shoves back into you with a growl.

“We’re not finished.”

He fucks you like he owns you. Like your body is a message. Like every thrust is revenge.

You’re not sure how many times you cum—once, twice, maybe more. He doesn’t stop. Not until your voice is hoarse and your knees give out.

Finally, with a grunt and a low growl of your name, he buries himself deep and spills inside you—hard.

You feel it all.

The way his fingers sink into your hips as he rides out every last pulse.

The heat of his cum leaking out around his cock.

The silence after, filled only by the sound of your breathing.

Then, Sukuna leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Still thinking about him?”

You shake your head, dazed, ruined.

He chuckles low.

“Didn’t think so.”

You don’t remember collapsing. Your body’s wrecked—twitching, trembling, boneless.

You’re lying face-down, cheek pressed into his mattress, still gasping for breath. Your skin’s hot, sticky with sweat. Your thighs are shaking, sore, the stretch of him still a dull ache inside you.

And then—you feel him.

Not rough. Not grabbing.

Gentle.

Sukuna’s large hands smooth up your spine, slow and soothing. He’s not talking. Just dragging his palms across your back like he’s grounding you—like he’s anchoring you there, to him.

He exhales through his nose, and for a second, it’s like he’s… thinking.

Then, his voice comes—low, hoarse. Not mocking.

“You okay?”

Your breath hitches. You nod into the pillow.

A beat passes. Then another.

You flinch slightly when the bed shifts—expecting him to get up. Walk away. Be done with you now that the tension’s snapped.

But instead—you feel the mattress dip beside you.

And then, something shocking.

A warm, rough palm on your cheek.

Turning your face toward him.

You blink up at him—eyeliner smudged, lips kiss-swollen, hair a mess. He just looks at you, not saying anything.

His expression isn’t smug anymore. Not cruel. Not sharp.

Just… unreadable.

Like he doesn’t quite know what to do with what he’s feeling.

“He didn’t deserve you,” Sukuna mutters finally, thumb brushing your cheekbone in the barest touch. “Fucking idiot.”

You don’t say anything. You just look at him.

And for once, Sukuna doesn’t look away.

His hand slides from your cheek to your waist, curling there possessively as he pulls you into his chest. Not to fuck. Not to tease.

Just… to hold.

“You stayin’ the night?”

You nod, cheek resting over his heart now. It’s pounding. Heavy.

“Good,” he says. Voice rasping. “Didn’t feel like letting you leave anyway.”

There’s silence for a long time.

Then, so soft you barely hear it:

“...You did good, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches.

Because that—that meant something. More than all the filth, more than the hatefuck, more than anything else.

That wasn’t revenge. That was real.

And in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear, you finally let yourself fall asleep.

You wake up slowly. The sheets are soft, warm—and they smell like him. Smoke, leather, and sweat. Your body aches deliciously, sore in places you didn’t even know could be sore. A reminder of last night with every breath.

Sukuna’s not in the bed.

You blink blearily, sitting up on shaky elbows, the oversized blanket falling off your bare chest. You hear low movement—drawers opening, something clinking in the kitchen.

Then—your phone vibrates against the nightstand.

Incoming Call: Satoru

You freeze.

Your heart lurches. Your fingers twitch, halfway toward it.

But before you can reach it—

A hand snatches it up. His hand.

Sukuna’s standing at the doorway to the bedroom, shirtless, coffee mug in one hand, your phone in the other.

Hair messy. Sweatpants slung low on his hips. Gold chains glinting against his throat.

He looks down at your screen, smirks, and answers it without a fucking care.

“What.”

Your stomach flips. “Sukuna—!”

He ignores you, putting the call on speaker as he leans against the doorframe.

Gojo’s voice comes through, sharp and pissed.

“Who the fuck is this?”

Sukuna’s smile widens—feral. His eyes flick to you, still naked in his bed, then back to the phone.

“She’s busy.”

“Where the hell is she—?”

“In my bed,” Sukuna says, sipping his coffee like it’s the weather report. “Sleeping off the five times I fucked her last night.”

You slap your hand over your mouth, eyes wide in shock and mortification—and arousal.

The silence on the other end is deafening.

Then:

“You fucking—”

“If I were you,” Sukuna cuts in, voice suddenly ice-cold, “I’d delete her number and learn how to jack off. You had your chance. You wasted it.”

Gojo’s breathing ragged through the speaker.

“Put her on the phone.”

Sukuna tosses your phone on the bed like it’s trash.

“She’s not interested, bitchass.”

Then he ends the call.

You stare at him, stunned, lips parted. A loud laugh escapes you.

He walks back over, casual as hell, climbs onto the bed, and kisses you slow—like he didn’t just emotionally obliterate your ex with five words and a dick print.

“You hungry?” he murmurs against your mouth. “Or you want round six first?”

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