#its meant to be short the ends meant to be kind of open

[inkats]

ok today's prompt is future! uhm. no spoilies. so. elfie wanted to do braids.

[ilovethanosdick]

Choi Su-bong/Thanos (Squid Game) x fem! reader HCS

IM OBSESSED WITH THIS MAN!!!!!

also first ever post?! it’s a little short, but hope ya enjoy!!

SFW:

• he ADORES physical touch

• touching u at every chance he gets, like even simple hand holding, leaning against u

• HE LOVES IT ESPECIALLY WHEN IT COMES FROM U!!

• casually grabs u by ur ass in public, or give u a lil slap. when u confront him about it, he acts like he dont know what are u talking about, then giggle

• using ur breast like fidget toy, when he’s stressed

• squeezing it, when he feels like it

• shoving his head between ur boobs, bro can stay like that for a good 10 minutes until he calms down

• if u ask him if he would still love u as a worm, he would tell u that he’s not a zoophile

• pet names!! baby, babe, princess are his favs!

• he’s not so good with commitment and stuff like that, would prefer an open relationship (one sided tho, he's so possesive of u)

• have huge jealousy issues when it comes to u

• a male species near u??? he goes into rage mode, getting aggressively touchy to claim u! show everyone that u are his!!

• would apologise to u with rap songs

“Y/N” he screamed outside your house. throwing rocks at the window to wake u up.

“what the fuck…” u muttered to yourself, as u walked over to the window to check what this idiot come up with this time.

as soon as he saw your face, he screamed again, his hands clutching onto his chest “SEÑORITA!!! I WANT TO APOLOGISE TO U!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!! U DO REALISE THAT ITS 3 AM RIGHT NOW???” u screamed back at him, slightly leaning forward through window.

“I LOVE U!!!!!” he get on his knees.

“ARE U HIGH?????” u asked, clearly pissed at his presence.

“HI!!!!!” he said as he waved his hands to u, enthusiastically with a goofy grin.

even after this response, u can’t tell if he’s high. that’s pretty much how he’s acting regardless if he’s on drugs or not.

he turn on boombox, a cliche beat hit your ears. he stands up and cleared his throat.

“Yo, I messed up, I admit it, I’m a clown,

Flirting like a fool when you weren’t around.

But I swear, it was harmless, just a slip of the tongue,

Now I’m here confessing where I went wrong.

I told her, "Hey, nice shoes," and that’s all I meant,

But now I’m in the doghouse, paying the rent.

Baby, you’re the star, the queen of my heart,

And that other conversation? A throwaway part.

She laughed at my joke, yeah, I felt kinda cool,

But now I see, I was the class clown fool.

I’d never trade you for some silly chat,

You’re the boss, the CEO, I’m just the doormat.

I’ll buy you flowers, write your name in the sky,

Sing off-key if it’ll dry your eyes.

I’ll even quit drugs if you need me to,

Just don’t leave me hangin’, I’m a mess without you.

So baby, I’m here, on my knees with this beat,

Admitting my crimes, can’t handle defeat.

Let’s laugh this off, put it in the past,

‘Cause you and me, girl, we’re built to last.”

he end up the song showing a small heart formed with his thumb and index finger.

u sighed “all right, come inside”

“YAYY!!!” he did a happy jump and clapped his feet in midair.

• tbh he’s so silly

• steals flowers from a random garden for u

• night visits, but uses a window instead of a door to enter ur place, literally like some kind of teenager

• even if u gave him the keys to ur apartment, he will use the window no matter what

it was dark outside, about 11 pm. u were coming back from work. damn how exhausted u felt. some arguments with clients, boss yelling at u. it was not ur best day for sure.

u checked ur phone. still no text from Thanos. why he was ghosting u? probably he don’t want to deal with ur complains about how bad ur day went.

u opened the apartment door. u don't give a damn about anything. you plan to go to bed right away, you don't have the strength to change your clothes, wash yourself or eat something.

you threw everything aside and went to the bedroom. when you turn on the light in the room, you see your boyfriend lying on his side, resting his head on his hand, rose in his teeth.

“U WANT TO GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK???” u flinched. u can’t get used to Thanos randomly spawning in ur house.

“and i missed u too, princess” he grinned, standing up and then theatrically hand over the rose to u.

“i brought ur fav burgers and lotta beer” he said, pointing out at ur kitchen.

“thanks” u smiled softly at him. u can’t help but melt inside at his behaviour. he’a an asshole, but what a cute asshole.

“no problem, babe” he leaned to u, giving u a tight hug. burying his face in the crook of ur neck.

• avoids deep emotional conversation

• would tell that he loves u, but he don’t put much weight into that

• he’s saying it casually like it’s common sense that he loves u

• painting each others nails!!!!

NSFW:

• pansexual king, but he wouldn’t label himself

• he don’t care about gender, he fucks who he consider as cute and that’s it!!

• when u ride him, he would comment something like: WROOM WROOM!! or YEEHAW!!!

• A TOTAL FREAK….

• piss kink (y’all can’t prove me wrong)

• HE LIKES IT DIRTY!!!!

• public sex

• like fingering u in a club or on a party, sometimes anal when he's high

• claiming u like that in front of other people?? IT TURNS HIM ON SO BADD

• never a sub, it would hurt his ego

• bro don’t know what gentle sex is

• always rough and aggressive

• smokes weed/cigarettes during sex, blowing smoke in your face

• talking about himself in third person "yeah, babe. the great Thanos will make u feel so good”

“u like that slut? u like Thanos’s dick that much??”

• he’s not into after care. usually he just rolls down on bed, doesn't even bother putting on clothes, hug u tightly and fall asleep like that

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader (III)

A whole lot of confusion as to whether Reader and her yakuza friend are actually dating. After much back and forth and a coworker being threatened, the awaited confession might finally take place.

Bonus part: Kazuya tells Reader about his and Daitou's past and how they ended up working for the yakuza.

Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, violence

Tags: @vinivave @ansy-tea @evvie8 @angelicbunnee @jingerbreadoutofstock @azukoya @randomlyblues @alien-consummation @neverlandlostchild @mimiemie @toji-whore @cloudie-skay @lilkittenmitten

[Part 2] | [Part 4] | [Yakuza Masterlist]

The items are scanned and Kazuya finishes paying. He looks back, searching for Daitou, and finds him wandering among the narrow aisles of magazines and manga. They'd stopped by the konbini at the train station after their job.

"Here's your bentou." The blonde man extends a small box, eyeing his friend suspiciously. "Say, do you have an upset stomach or something? You're uglier than usual." 

Daitou thanks him with a nod, but doesn't take the neatly packaged food. He's idly playing with the cover of a romance volume, bending and straightening its corner.

"Nah, nothing like that. Just, ya know, feels a bit like (Y/N)'s been avoiding me. She hurries straight home after work and barely waves hi. I thought we'd do more things together now that we're dating."

Kazuya nearly spits out the soda he opened while listening to Daitou's troubles. He snorts and quickly wipes his mouth. 

"Wait, are you serious? You actually asked her out? And she said yes??"

Daitou thinks back to the time he gifted you your stalker's finger and teeth, the way you defended him, and the way you quietly walked home and almost held hands. That pretty much made it official, didn't it? So he confidently nods to his utterly baffled partner in crime.

"You little rascal, you! Who would've thought you had it in you?!" He cheerfully slaps Daitou's back and wraps his arm around his neck. The dark haired man blushes and scratches his cheek awkwardly. "You should've told me earlier!"

True. Between the two of them, Kazuya has always been extremely charismatic and popular with women. His perfectly combed blonde hair, his sparkling designer suits, his luxuriously elegant cologne. The handsome features and assertive smile. More than once he'd been approached by modeling agencies, and he likes to joke his lust for violence stopped him from living the glamorous life. In comparison, Daitou has the opposite effect on people. The room will empty if he steps inside. He's unnervingly tall, with bulging muscles, has multiple scars crossing his face, and his prosthetic eye always ends up twisted in the strangest position, causing him to look like he's only missing the straight jacket. Everyone is shocked upon hearing about their friendship. 

So it makes sense that Kazuya would have the required experience to offer him decent advice when it comes to (Y/N).

"Listen here, if there's one thing you should know, it's that women like a guy that fights for them. You gotta show them you care. What can you offer that other guys can't?"

The tall man listens intently, with a concentrated frown as if taking mental notes. He's not entirely sure who he should fight in this ordeal, but he doesn't want to embarrass himself in front of Kazuya, so he nods vehemently to his words.

"That's the short preview. If you have any more questions, just come over later. I'm piss tired, so I'll go home and have the nap of a lifetime." He yawns deeply to showcase his exhaustion and slowly walks away, throwing his hand in a lazy wave. 

The yakuza remains standing, still ruminating over the words of wisdom generously offered by the expert himself. Is he to randomly beat up people on the street as you watch? Won't Boss be angry if he attacks civilians? He gasps in realization. Perhaps this is what Kazuya meant. What kind of man is he if he can't even go against his Boss? So what if Boss won't like it? He has to prove himself to you. 

With newfound determination, he clenches his fists and gazes out of the window. 

That's when he notices you. You seem to be returning from work. Even more - and this causes his jaw to tighten in anger - some unknown man is walking next to you, cheerfully chitchatting and gesturing. 

That settles it. 

"You really didn't have to walk me home." You laugh clumsily to the man at your side.

A new coworker recently joined your company, and you've been asked to show him the ropes. You gradually discovered you had quite a lot in common, throughout your ample opportunities to gossip and talk leisurely. Your schedule isn't as packed nowadays, given you'll show up earlier and leave later.

Normally you'd prefer to be in your warm bed as soon as possible, but you've been feeling rather tense since the incident with Daitou. During his heated exchange with Kazuya, you've heard mentions of 'being liked by women' and 'having a crush on someone'. You thought it involved you and you nervously awaited further explanations from Daitou himself, but on the way back he was completely silent. You didn't have the courage to bring it up, so you assumed there must've been a misunderstanding somewhere along the way. 

Which, after all, would make plenty of sense. What business would a yakuza have with you? He's already shown much more courtesy than it was required of him. Hoping he'd also confess his feelings on top of everything was downright ridiculous and you're embarrassed to admit you'd harbored such cheesy fantasies to begin with. 

"Don't sweat it. You might not know", the coworker warns with lowered voice, "but this area is reeking of gangsters. I'm surprised you've been fine so far, but you should be more careful."

"O-oh...I see..." You glance at him and hold back a smirk. You doubt he could protect you from Daitou or Kazuya, but you appreciate his chivalry nonetheless. 

There's an uncomfortable pause as you stand in your doorframe, having reached the intended destination. The man hasn't left yet, waiting expectantly. He lowers his head towards yours and you swiftly slam the door, muttering something about an emergency. 

"Cute." He thinks to himself as he chuckles and steps away.

There's always a next time.

The coworker heads towards the train station in a relaxed strut. At the first intersection, however, he feels his clothes being pulled and he finds himself abruptly shoved in an empty room by an unknown assailant. 

Daitou easily lifts him up by his collar and nonchalantly throws him in a chair. It seems to be a small storage unit, possibly belonging to one of the shops. 

"What's your business with (Y/N)?" He barks.

"Huh? I should be the one asking-" The man pauses for a second, going over his conversations with you. "Could it be that you're the stalker she mentioned?"

Naturally, you had left out the part where your stalker was carefully packaged and dumped in a place unknown. To your coworker, he was very much still alive and a potential threat.

The yakuza is taken aback. 

"I'm her boyfriend!" He retorts angrily. 

"Bullshit. She doesn't have a boyfriend."

Another slap to the face. Daitou's cheeks are becoming increasingly red and he runs his fingers through his hair, attempting to calm down. Why, this son of a...

He marches to one of the metal shelves behind, grabbing his tool belt. Simultaneously, the door opens and Kazuya sheepishly peeks his head in. His blonde locks are ruffled and one can tell he's freshly woken up. 

"Yo, I just realized I might've been too metaphorical with you back at the store so I've been texting you, but you didn't-...Wait, why is there a guy handcuffed to the chair?"

He crosses his arms, with a habitual scolding glare towards his friend. 

"I just caught this cockroach flirting with (Y/N)! Went all the way to her place!" Daitou whines, his face full of indignation.

"Of course you know where she lives, you fucking stalker." The coworker exclaims bitterly. 

"Watch your mouth buddy, he ain't no stalker!" Kazuya straightens his back and approaches the mysterious man. "If he's right, and you've been messing with his woman...We ain't letting that go. Today you learn why no one fucks with the yakuza." 

The two men exchange a knowing look.

You drop yourself on the sofa and groan. Tomorrow will certainly be strange. Was the coworker trying to kiss you just now? You'll have to think of a polite way to turn him down next shift. Is it because you're not interested, or because you're still hoping to have a chance with Daitou? You slap your cheeks vigorously, trying to pull yourself out of such thoughts. 

You suddenly notice the foreign wallet sticking out of your bag. Your  coworker had dropped it earlier today while running for the train, and you offered to throw it in your bag to save time. Except you forgot to return it.

You check your phone. It hasn't been that long, so maybe you can still reach him if you hurry. Without much contemplation, you pluck the wallet and sprint out.

As you dash past the buildings, you have the idea of calling the man and asking him to wait instead. Why run like a madman? You stop and rest a hand against the wall, trying to catch your breath. Ugh, you've been so scattered today. This should've been the obvious choice, instead you sprang out. Silly. 

From around the corner you can make out the familiar wails you've learned to ignore. Whoever the yakuza tortures is not your problem. You are about to scurry away, yet something about these whimpers feels odd. No...Could it be?

You tiptoe down the vacant alleyway and try to catch a glimpse inside through the small, dirty window. As a matter of fact, it is your beloved coworker. Kazuya is holding his arm against a table, with the fingers forcefully fanned out, and Daitou has a blade secured over the pinky finger. 

You elbow yourself against the door in a theatrical entry. 

"What the hell are you guys doing?! That's my coworker!" You yell.

Daitou freezes, and Kazuya instantly releases his grasp. They turn to you, shocked.

"Stay out of it, (Y/N), this is to be settled among men. This bastard insulted your boyfriend, we can't let it slide!" Kazuya regains his composure and defends his cause fervently, pointing to the man that's now sobbing and crying uncontrollably. 

"Boyfriend?" You question, mouth agape. 

The blonde man stares at you. 

"You're...You're dating, aren't you?"

"Since when?" You demand, confused and upset.

Both you and Kazuya turn to Daitou for answers.

"I'm going to ask you one more time. Did you actually ask her out, Daitou? Did you say it out loud?" Kazuya's voice breaks in exasperation.

"W-well, I didn't...I didn't say it, but I thought..." the man's eyes dart between you and his friend. He gulps. "W-we almost held hands, didn't we?"

Overwhelmed with anger, the blonde stomps over to the shelves and kicks one to make his point, loudly bemoaning his friend's lack of social awareness. He can't believe he went along with his nonsense. Him, of all people! He should've anticipated it. 

As the coworker weeps and Kazuya continues his foul monologue, you can't help the blush that's now burning across your face. You fidget anxiously next to the tattooed man.

"Y-you thought we were dating?"

"Sorry for not making it clear." Daitou is once again twiddling with his prosthetic eye, dejected. "Is it too late to ask you out now? Because I do like you a lot..."

"Since you put it so nicely...I can't really say no~" Your ears are bright red and you're twirling your hair. Is it truly happening? Are you dreaming? Everything feels snug and fuzzy and the butterflies are swarming your stomach. 

You don't have time to enjoy your romantic encounter, as Kazuya is now behind you, clearing his throat.

"Alright, you lovebirds, what about this one here, then?" 

You suddenly remember your coworker and an icy cold flashes through your body. 

"Oh God, how will I explain this at work? I'll get fired!" You bite your nails in terror. You can already visualize the slip of unemployment. The long lines at the Job Center, you and the homeless. Panic begins to build up. 

Until Daitou's large hands rest on your shoulders. He's unexpectedly warm. 

"Don't worry about it, (Y/N). I'll have a word with Boss, and we can get you a job here. This way we can spend more time together", he suggests with childish enthusiasm. 

You glance up at him, moved by his soothing words.

"I wouldn't want to bother you like that."

"Hey, it's my fault you ended up in this situation. You can leave everything to me." He reassures you proudly.

"That didn't answer my damn question." Kazuya points out, annoyed.

"Can't we just kill him or something? He did call me a stalker, and I'm still upset about that..."

Daitou stretches and sighs in boredom, pondering the options. Once he's decided on the outcome, he shoos you away lovingly. You don't need to see this part. 

Bonus: Daitou's backstory 

"Oh, right, how did it go with your tickets?"

Kazuya is walking beside you, hands in pockets. Every now and then he removes the cigarette from his mouth to tap away the piling ash.

"Well, I still have both kidneys, but I won't be swimming in cash for the next months at least." You respond, slouching your shoulders dramatically for the effect. 

"Flying abroad is always expensive. Unless, I don't know, you book years in advance."

"Yeah. I should've looked earlier, but I wasn't sure about my work schedule. At least I get to see my family and friends for Christmas." 

After a few more steps in silence, you glance up at the blonde man. He notices your curious stare and raises his eyebrows, as if encouraging you to speak up. 

"What about you? Will you be going home for the holidays?"

He grins at your question and proudly places a hand on his chest.

"This is my home, actually! I was born and raised in this very neighborhood."

"Really? Was it not a yakuza quarter before?" Your eyes widen at his statement. 

"It was." Kazuya blows some of his smoke in your direction and you cough lightly. "You know the soapland further down the street?"

You nod.

"Mom used to work there. One of the clients got her pregnant and she found out too late. She had a room upstairs, and I just kind of tagged along. The other girls looked after me, too."

You recall one instance when Kazuya received a phone call about some drunkard causing a ruckus at the brothel, and he shot up without a word, rushed out and returned with bloodied knuckles. At the time, you'd assumed he's a client himself and maybe got attached to one of the girls. Now it makes sense. You're a little embarrassed of your obvious prejudice. If he grew up there, it must be his way of showing gratitude to the workers who loved him despite the circumstances. 

"Oh, what about Daitou, then? Is he from the area, too?"

The man frowns and purses his lips thoughtfully. After a moment, his features soften up again and he sighs.

"I suppose you're his girlfriend, after all. It's also not a secret per se..."

Your ears perk up at the strange reaction to your inquiry. 

"I mean, it's just a bit of a grim topic. No one knows for sure. Boss found him on the streets years ago, when he was a wee kid." 

He presses his thumb and index finger together, emphasizing the small size to you. 

"I don't know all the details, just what the Seniors told me - I was a kid myself back then - but it was pretty bad. Had no shoes on, scratches and cuts all over. His left eye was swollen and terribly infected, that's how he lost it, actually. Boss felt sorry for him, so he took him in.

They did try to ask him for parents or relatives, but apparently he wouldn't speak at all. Took him like a year to finally open his mouth. Even now, if you ask him anything about his past, he just pretends he didn't hear you. So maybe don't bring it up to him."

You shake your head along, urging him to continue with more details. Kazuya seems to warm up to the memories and slows down, indulging in the recollection. 

"Anyways, one day Boss' car is followed and he gets shot in the shoulder. Some snot-nosed trainees from the rival gang. They hadn't even gotten their pins yet, wanted to impress their older brothers I guess.

Daitou heard about it and went after them. One of our Seniors - he's a tough guy alright, been with the Family for decades - he told me he was sweating like mad when they found him. Daitou was just a teen at the time, but he butchered those guys up so bad they couldn't tell them apart anymore. Even bit a few bullets, and still kept going, like a crazed animal. The adults were freaking out. They didn't expect him to be this strong.

I suspect they were pretty afraid of him, you know? They were probably thinking, "if one day he has it out for us, we're done for!", so they told Boss they should kick him out. But at this point Daitou was like his own son, so he laughed and said, "What's the matter with ya, he does your dirty work and you wanna get rid of him?! If the boy wants to fight, let him!", and he arranged for Daitou to join the Family officially. I was recruited around the same time.

We didn't get along at first, I mean, they warned me to stay away because he's crazy and also Boss' favorite. He didn't hang out with anyone. He had his own jobs, the mercenary stuff no one else wanted to deal with.

You might not believe it, but back then I was an angry, stubborn asshole. It didn't sit well with me that this guy was out there, doing his own thing. I had a reputation myself, before I dropped out of high school I was pretty much undefeated. I thought I'd see it with my own eyes, this all-powerful jackass even the Seniors avoided."

You smile faintly, trying to imagine a young Kazuya without the expensive, flashy suit and polished appearance.

"So one evening I just walked up to him and told him to join me outside. Didn't even give him a speech, just rammed my fist into his face. This was my signature move, you know, I can't even count how many guys I knocked out with this punch. Straight into the jaw, sends your brain spinning. Whew, and this guy? He didn't even flinch! Just stood there and looked at me like I was dumb. I was pissed off at this point, you can imagine, it felt like he was mocking me. So I yelled we ain't done until one of us gives up. 

He understood what I wanted and finally fought me earnestly. Hell, he even knocked some of my teeth out. This one here's an implant. Mad expensive. Anyhow, as much as it hurt my pride, I'd lost fair and square. So I got up, wiped the blood, and asked him to come grab a drink with me. My treat. 

You should've seen his face, (Y/N). I think it was the first time I've witnessed him smile. 'Really? Can I? Are you sure?' He was like a stray dog after you've thrown him some leftovers. Kept that dumb grin the whole night. You could've given him a clown hat and people would've paid to see the circus. 

That's when I realized this poor bastard probably just wanted a friend. The next day I went to pick him up again and he was beaming like a princess. Heh. Afterwards he started following me around and eventually Boss called me in. I thought I got into trouble or something, even brought a bunch of gauze pads in case I needed to slice off my finger. Turns out he'd heard of us becoming pals, and he asked me to maybe attend Daitou every now and then because he always leaves a mess and everyone's too scared to deal with him. We've been teamed together ever since."

You realize you've been standing in the same spot ever since Kazuya begun talking, completely entranced by his story. He chuckles upon seeing your expression and ruffles your hair. 

"Man, I sure rambled a lot. Sorry about that. In any case, that was my piece about Daitou. I'm sure you already know this, but he's not a bad guy. Just has a twisted sense of loyalty. Once he finds someone to serve, he doesn't see anything else.

Hell, I'm his closest friend and I'm convinced he wouldn't hesitate to kill me if it was for Boss."

Upon further consideration, he smiles and winks at you.

"Or for you. Especially you."

[peachdues]

FREE USE UNIVERSITY!

Tengen x Sanemi x Kyojuro x Reader Roomate Free Use AU • NSFW

A/N: a new mini-series. this is meant to be a headcanon post that I can add to whenever horny. I have no excuse for this. It’s straight smut.

CW: MDNI • explicit sexual content below • free use • threesomes • voyuerisum • somnophilia • oral sex • references to anal sex • just straight filth tbh • creampies

Some roommates do group movies or grocery trips to bond; your roommates, however, have adopted a different approach. 

Tengen is the first to initiate this little exchange, and at the beginning, it really isn’t an exchange at all. Instead, it starts out as a simple request: stress relief. He’d come home angry and pissed after a lab went horribly wrong, and there you’d been, too irresistible to be hanging around the apartment in those too-short shorts. He’d taken one look at you, lounging on the couch in the living room, idly flipping through a textbook, and his frustration had made him bold enough to ask.

Maybe it had been the look in his eyes — fiery and sultry, an unusual contrast to his normal, loping swagger, that made you clench your thighs together. Or, perhaps it was simply because he was hot and it had been ages since you last got laid. Either way, Tengen ended up fucking you clear in the open, right on the couch. Every bit of it was hotter than you’d ever imagined — toe-curling and mind-numbingly good, the orgasm he fucked out of you strong enough to make you tear the glossy page of your text right from its binding as your fingers spasmed beyond your control. 

Maybe it would have been a one-time only sort of thing, or perhaps even the start of a secret, roommates-with-benefits arrangement. But then, Sanemi came home right as Tengen was in the middle of pumping a second load of cum into you, and your secret was out before you’d ever fully had the chance to keep it. You hadn’t seen Sanemi’s face, as yours was pressed into the sofa beneath the mass of Tengen’s palm, but you did hear Tengen’s snarky little what, you want some, too? 

Instead of answering, Sanemi had simply crossed the living room, drawing to a stop right in front of your head, and gently coaxed your face up from its place between the cushions. 

Sanemi’s fingers lingered under your chin, the pad of his thumb thick with calluses. “Well?” 

Call it orgasmic delusion or simple wantoness on your part, but your consent came with a dip of your head, and your lips parting around his thumb. The momoent you flicked your tongue out over his skin, Sanemi snapped, and his cock was down your throat faster than you could blink. 

Kyojuro was the last to join your little arrangement, quite literally stumbling across the sight of you, standing at the stove as you waited for your dinner to heat while Sanemi was on his knees behind you, his face buried in your ass. The sound of Kyojuro’s books hitting the floor as he stared was met only with a casual glance over your shoulder and a smile of greeting, before Sanemi did something downright sinister with his tongue and made your eyes roll into your head. 

Poor, sweet Kyojuro, still couldn’t bring himself to join in, no matter how many times he came across — or outright stared — at the way his two best friends used you so easily. You were kind and sweet, and a good roommate, so he couldn’t imagine debasing you that way, even if that quickly became the only thing he could think about. 

He tried, oh, he tried, to resist. But your dealings with Tengen and Sanemi meant that you wore less and less while at home until you were lounging about in only the thinnest underwear or the shortest little tops — all of which could easily be moved out of the way when the moment called for it. Soon, Kyojuro found himself standing behind you while you did the dishes, his cock in hand as he furiously pumped himself against the curve of your ass. You always stayed in place when you felt his warmth bearing into you from behind, even going so far as to grind against him to help him along. He almost could have been satisfied with just this, until you began moaning for his cum, pushing your hips back almost in demand as you waited to feel him spurt across your skin. That’s when he broke. 

Now, when Kyojuro is stressed — which is more often that you’d thought, to your surprise — you can almost guarantee he’s going to sit you down on the nearest surface and spread you wide.

Of course, it became obvious that all three of the boys were involved with you, and so, a roommate meeting is called. Details need to be hammered out, understandings need to be reached that everything was platonic and no one was at risk of developing any other feelings. Once that’s done, Tengen, always the instigator, is the one to suggest you as the group bonding activity. After all, you have three holes and two hands, he reminds you, slyly. 

They’re fair, of course, so a deal is struck: you in exchange for your share of the rent. An exchange of goods for services, as Tengen had put it. They lived in this apartment on their own before you moved in, so cost isn’t prohibitive. The only bills you have are your own groceries and your personal shit, so really, what do you have to lose? Besides, they’re all hot as hell, and you’re young. Might as well enjoy the ride. 

Sometimes they wait for the first one to finish with you, the other two wait in their rooms, pumping their stiffened cocks to the sounds of your whines and the other’s grunts or moans. Other times, though, one or both will join in, and you find yourself the object of three equally ravenous appetites. 

And, free use really means free use. Scrolling through social media? Fun! But if Tengen sidles up to where you lounge on the couch, his cock hard and balls full, you know to open your mouth. And you’re more than free to keep browsing the web as long as your throat is available. Talking to your mom? No problem; Kyojuro is still lifting up your shirt and taking one of your pretty tits in his mouth. He’ll do his best not to groan and suck at your nipple too loudly, but he only has so much self control. Besides, his hot mouth and devilish tongue are guaranteed to have you desperate to get off the phone before you get off while still on it — especially if his fingers start playing between your thighs. Trying to shave your legs in the shower? Might want to put the razor down, because Sanemi caught one glimpse of your ass in the foggy bathroom mirror and decided it would look better with his cum leaking out of it. Your pussy too, for that matter.

To keep everything within the bounds of fair play, the boys did agree to one rule: once someone comes, they move to sometbing different. That way, no one monopolizes any part of you, and everyone gets a fair shot at cumming where they want. Though, as time goes on, you do learn that they have their preferences. Tengen loves filling up your greedy little cunt with as much as it will take, while Sanemi loves cumming all over your tits or face. Kyojuro had been a bit of a surprise, preferring not your mouth, but your ass to pump his frustrations into.

It helps that the only bottoms you wear when lounging around the apartment is your underwear. That means whoever happens to walk by can simply reach over and tug your panties to the side and sate their need without the fuss of buttons or belts.

That sort of convenience is also the reason you’ve learned to sleep naked. It’s far easier to come out of sleep with their tongue or fingers or cock already inside you than it is to be startled awake by wandering hands trying to find you beneath unnecessary layers in the dark. 

Oh, don’t think being asleep matters, either. Your bedroom is public, as far as anyone is concerned. Besides, you don’t need to be awake to give your boys what they need, and that’s what this is all about, right?

Kyojuro was the first to pierce that veil, pushing into your room well after midnight one night, desperate and aching. Your body was far too pliant in his hands as he pushed your legs out of his way, his cock drawn to your center in the dark like a magnet. You’d woken up just as he fully sheathed himself inside you and widened your thighs to make room for him. 

Of course, Kyojuro didn’t know how to be quiet, which meant the rest of the apartment quickly became privy to his late night activities. Even half-asleep, you’d sensed Tengen and Sanemi watching from your doorway, admiring.

“Atta boy, Kyo,” Tengen claps Kyojuro on his shoulder the moment he finishes moaning out his ecstasy, his limbs shaky and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. “Got her nice and ready for us.” 

“Us?” You shoot back, your thighs rubbing lazily together as you savor the feeling of Kyojuro’s hot seed leaking out of you.

A hand — Sanemi’s judging by the roughness of skin — hooks around your ankle, tugging you to the edge of your bed before flipping you to your stomach. “You two woke up the whole damn apartment, so you’ve gotta help us get back to sleep.” 

You smother your grin against your blankets. “That was Kyojuro, not me.” 

Across the room, Kyojuro huffs out a half-hearted apology, still panting and breathless. In the dark, you can almost see the sweaty flush that always spreads across his chest after he comes; the glassiness that settles into his eyes once he’s successfully fucked every thought right out of his head and directly into you.

“Not punishment,” Tengen corrects, tapping the bulbous head of his cock against the seam of your lips. “Just a little late-night treat.” 

Humming contentedly, you drag your tongue right across Tengen’s tip, savoring the hitch in his breath. Just as you part your lips to take his shaft into your mouth, you feel your mattress dip as Sanemi’s weight settles in behind you. 

“Fuck you came a lot,” Sanemi groans at Kyojuro, dragging the tip of his length up and down your swollen cente to coat himself. “She likes that, though. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

Your moan is drowned out by Tengen’s raspy swear, the vibrations of your mouth around his cock forcing his hips to buck, pushing him further down your throat. 

Sanemi chuckles and reaches under you, his fingers circling smoothly over your clit. “She’s good at holdin’ it, too.” He shuffles forward on his knees, his tip aligned at your entrance. “I’ll give you more, sweetness, don’t worry. Let’s see if I can get all of us off together again.” 

Last week, Sanemi had come home to the sight of you on all fours with Tengen halfway down your throat. He hasn’t wasted any time in throwing his books to the side, unbuckling his pants, and wedging himself between your spread thighs, his own cock heavy and hard in his hand. Tengen must’ve warmed you up already, because Sanemi slammed his hips forward with no resistance until he was groin to ass with you. 

You’d been the first to tap out, coming hard on him with a half-moan, half scream muffled by Tengen’s girth. The vibrations had proven to be too much for him, for not half a second later had his eyes rolled back, a strangled whine slicing through ragged pants and the sound of Sanemi’s skin clapping against yours. Tengen final thrust choked off the last of your air supply but before you could pull off him, he’d planted one massive hand right at the back of your skull and held you in place. Of course, the sight of Tengen fucking his cum down your throat and the way you creamed around his dick had Sanemi spilling into you hard and fast not a moment later, nearly going cross eyed in the process.

Now, with a single forward-pitch of his hips, Sanemi sheathes himself inside you with a loud swear. There’s no time for you to adjust; you didn’t need it, not when Kyojuro’s cum is steadily squelching out of you with every sticky thrust. Before long, your toes are curling against your sheets, the blankets fisted in your hands soaked with drool that spilled down your chin while Tengen languidly fucks your mouth, his fingers twisted hard in your hair. 

True to his word, Sanemi gets all three of you off together, though it’s his orgasm that sets off the train of euphoria. He comes with a firm twist of his hips, his fingers digging possessively into the meat on your hips as he holds you flush against his groin. The feeling of his balls pulsing right against your swollen center sets you off next, your thighs trembling almost violently in their effort to keep you from collapsing into your bed. Yet, for all your struggling, Sanemi only cants his hips forward to prolong the length of his release. The force of his movements sends you jolting forward until your nose is buried in the coarse smattering of silver-white hair that covers Tengen’s groin. Predictably, that’s all it takes to send him over the edge, and Tengen spilled down your throat with a cracked Fuck! 

All in all, no place — or surface — in the apartment is off-limits. The kitchen counter, the sofa, the shower, any of their rooms (including yours), the balcony, all of it is fair game when the mood strikes. No matter what you’re doing, no matter what time it is, if someone is hard, they’re coming to you to fix it. 

For instance, there are only two bathrooms in the apartment, and though the boys were considerate in letting you take the bedroom with the private, attached bath, that doesn’t mean your shower isn’t as fair game as the rest of your room. In fact, of the two apartment showers, Sanemi prefers your standing enclosure to the boys’ shared tub.

He’s especially fond of your glass doors, which fogs up easily because that means he could press your body right against it and fuck you senseless, guaranteeing the imprint of your perfect body will be left behind on the shower door even even after his cum runs down your legs and the drain.

By the end of the month, there isn’t a single place in the apartment where you haven’t been thoroughly fucked. That is, at least, until the swing arrives. 

I’m sure I’ll add onto this debauchery. I’ve no shortage of ideas, unfortunately for you all.

LIKES, REBLOGS, COMMENTS APPRECIATED!

[marstons-angel]

i thought of you so often.

arthur morgan x reader.

✧ tags : fem!reader (gendered language, explicit use of she/her in reference to reader), children / planning on children, generally sappiness, fluff, au where nothing bad happens to arthur hdskjsdkfhsj.

✧ wc : 2.4k (???)

✧ a/n : arthur morgan.... save me arthur morgan....also not a super original thought but i can't Stop thinking about it.

✧ synopsis : a collection of love letters, all unfinished, tucked somewhere you aren't meant to find them. oh, arthur loves you more than you knew.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

You try to keep out of Arthur's belongings.

He's owed some privacy, for one. More than that, you've never felt any reason to look into it. Arthur isn't a man of many words, though you catch moments of his introspection should you pry. He isn't stoic, neither. And above all things, he's kind. Really truly kind in a way that makes him different from other men.

You don't have any complaints about him is what you mean. Unlike the men you've loved before, there are no short-comings of Arthur that would drive you to wanting to investigate his own personal things. Especially something so personal like his journals, prior or present.

On top of that, you were there with him through everything. You were part of the gang and stayed by him when it all fell apart. It was towards the end of that that Arthur came to you near frenzied, told you his plans, his thoughts. Confided in you and no less than begged to go with him where he ran.

You loved Arthur enough to stay, and so things ended - and you ran. There isn't much his journal could tell that you couldn't surmise on your own.

It's been years now, and you've long since left that life. You live with Arthur quietly, peaceful in the moments with a garden and kitty sweet as sugar.

It's a good life. An honest, quiet one sometimes to the point of being boring. You rarely miss the action, though occasionally you'll take up a bounty just to feel alive and make some money.

Mostly though, you live as unassuming folk. No bloodshed, no wardens, no gunslinging.

Been talk between you both about having a baby, recently. Serious talk. You've made some money between here and there, and you've got a good life. You've traveled too. But it gets a little lonely, and you don't really get your fill with just Jack when John and Abi are ways away.

Before anything like that, though - you need to clear some space. Empty out some belongings and things collecting dust. Living in one place for too long creates all sorts of mess, you find. When Arthur is home to help, he does - but he's been busy lately figuring something out with Charles. Some business venture related to ranching that you know nothing about so far. They'll tell you when its ready.

Usually when you're tidying, you keep to just your things, or your shared things - but Arthur has lived more life than you. It shows in that big closet space filled with nick-knacks he has yet to toss.

You'd mentioned it to him not too long ago and he'd given you permission to go through them.

(A kiss to your forehead from chapped lips and hands holding your waist, Arthur hums in acknowledgement as you ask his permission.

"Ain't nothing I gotta hide from you. Do whatever you need.)

But like you said - you try to keep your nose out of his business if it's not necessary for you to be in it in anyway.

You weren't trying to look through his things, really. You started cleaning, worked your way to that last box. Up on a shelf in his closet, a little too high for you to reach easily. You made a misstep and dropped the damn thing. It barely missed your head as the whole thing fell open, and out came journals and papers and photographs.

You've always known Arthur to be sentimental, so none of it has been particularly surprising. A photo of wolves and him on a horse, the picture from John and Abigail's engagement. Some other scraps of sentimental value.

And then there was a journal. Not Arthur's journal that he's always using, but another you've never seen before. You know Arthur journals, seen the thing plenty though you never look unless he shows you first.

A journal with a dark brown stained leather binding, fallen open and your name scrawled out in pencil lead at the top of it.

The curiosity got the better of you, okay? Not your damn fault.

So you're thinking on it.

The fabric of your skirt is pooled out underneath you as you hold the thing in your hands, sitting down on the ground surrounded by things. You've stowed away everything else that fell out from the box after ensuring it was intact, including Arthur's journals. Everything with the exception of the one you're holding.

Some guilt eats at you. You don't wanna upset him potentially by having looked. Even if he gave you permission, looking in the damn thing is a little different. But your name was there so clearly, and well - you didn't think he wrote about you. Apart from here and there, maybe.

You hold the book out in front of you with a sigh, looking fondly at his name ingrained in the leather. You press your forehead against it with, resigning yourself completely.

"Lord forgive my pryin'," You mumble, hoping it's enough to absolve you.

Your heart feels funny as you let your fingers trace over the hard edge of the front cover, one eye shut as you start to open it slow.

The first few pages are nothing special.

A page outlining who the journal belongs to and when it was started, and some doodles of yarrow and oleander. The pages after that filled with mundane entries. About people he met or things he saw, all endearing to you. The corners of your lips tug up slightly.

You really love this man helplessly.

You flip through a few more pages, many of them blank before writing starts to appear again. Little by little, you find passages. You look to the dates up at the corner (though not all of them have one) and trace the timeline. This is from all the way back in Horseshoe Overlook.

It feels like ages ago now.

You look at a page with no date, and reading the writing in it. There's doodles of flowers and trees along the bottom of the page. The words are easy enough to make out - because Arthur has the most unusually beautiful handwriting.

There's some entries about you. At first, they all include your name in some context. Mentioned in the same way Arthur might mention Hosea or Abigail. The further you go, the less you see it. The more you become her and she.

It's a trend. The longer you read, the less there is about anyone else. Just you and all your silly idiosyncrasies tucked between pages. Something lovestruck and foolish lights its match in you.

Saw a body hanging at the tracks at Valentine. A gruesome sight. I told her about it and she laughed. Asked me to take her to see it. A strange woman, by all accounts.

You feel yourself smile a little as you continue to flip through the pages.

She joined me riding into town today. Said she had some business to attend but would not tell me any details. After, she came with me to purchase a new gun. I engraved a snake into it's handle, per her request.

Another few pages littered with drawings of delicate berries and waterfalls before you stumble across more writing. The more you flip, the longer the passages become you.

You can't tear your eyes away.

Rained today. Nothing too terrible or worth mentioning, except that she nearly caught a cold playing in it. I brought her coffee to keep her warm, but could not scold her further upon seeing her delight.

Another passage, this time written with messier hand writing. A coffee stain splatters on the white of the page.

Your heart tugs on itself. Swells about a thousand sizes. To think he wrote so much of your time together between these pages.

You read and read and read - and each passage is a little more mundane at the last. Some pages go on in vivid detail, but others are so short you aren't sure what to make of the fact he wrote them at all. As if such little details were important enough to keep in mind.

I picked a flower for her. I thought it would suit her taste. It was white with delicate petals. I did not know the name.

She wore it in her hair this evening. I find I can't stop grinning.

One passage on the next few pages, longer than the rest, catches your eye. From later in your time together, written when you were in Leymone. Near Scarlett Meadows and before the mess in Saint Denis.

After Arthur had been kidnapped.

I have gone on and on about the business with Colm O'Driscoll in many entries before this one. Yet, I find it difficult to forget. Many times I have come close to death, and still no experience lingers on my mind quite like this one. Everyone has done their best to look after me. For that I am grateful, though I do not care for being looked after. What use am I like this, I wonder? Perhaps, I should simply be grateful to be alive and in one piece, if a little uglier than I was. Alongside Miss Grimshaw and Miss Tilly, she has been by my side while I recovered. Such a carefree woman and yet I have seen her cry and weep over me countless times in the last few weeks alone. The decent man in me is apologetic for causing sorrow. Perhaps, it is the outlaw in me that feels some strange relief or satisfaction. Her fussing does not give me any grief. If anything, I find myself all the more endeared. Such a decent woman does not belong in a place like this. I hope she is able to go somewhere far away and live peacefully. I am not so shameless to want anything more. The time together we have spent, I will make sure to cherish.

Something painful and pitiful tugs at your heart. Even when Arthur admitted his feelings for you, he had started it on a similar tangent. You tell him often that you're the one who feels out of bounds with him. That a man as decent and as honest as him often feels like too much for you to have so easily.

A tear slips from your eye and you laugh at your own sentimentality, wiping it away before it can splatter onto the pages.

The further you read, the more sporadic entries become. You find that there are pages filled with sketches of you, but many of them are scratched out or half erased - like he did not find them good enough. Of your side profile, of your hands, of you pointing at a target with a gun. You feel a strange feeling of love wash over you.

Instead of concrete thoughts, you're met with Arthur's abstract. Subtle complexities and studies. There's honest tenderness in the way he sketches you and the words he chooses to caption each with. Lighter, thinner lines. Smaller doodles like stray daydreams caught onto a page.

You've never doubted Arthur in his love for you, quiet man he is - but it proves to overwhelm when presented to you in such a way.

You get to back pages. There, you're finally met with more writing. Except, instead of journal entries, there's the start of letters. You find your name at the top of the page.

Over and over. Love letters, all unfinished or scrapped. Written over and over and over, but not completed. There's tens of them at least. You've never received a love letter from Arthur before, though it's nothing you fault him for.

Now you're almost glad. You like this much better.

My darling girl My muse The better half of me, I must find some way to tell you all of what I think of you. It seems no words do it justice, I'm afraid. Still, it is in my best interest to try.

Damn that man.

When you find yourself starting to weep, you don't fight the feeling. You merely shut the book closed and set it in your lap before crying into your hands.

Such overwhelmingly happy tears. You feel off balance. If the whole world turned on its head this very minute, you're unsure you'd notice. What a decent, honest man you've come to love. What a tender one.

In the middle of your crying, you don't hear the door open or close. Nor do you hear Arthur's heavy footfall until he's in the doorway, with a voice worried half to death.

"Sweetheart, what in the hell?"

You turn your head to look at him, watching his eyes widen at your tear stained face. You clamber to your feet hurriedly, book dropping onto the ground next to you as you throw yourself at him as soon as you can.

Arthur is a steady enough man not to stumble when you do, though you can feel his apprehension. Eventually, he circles his arms around your waist. His hugs are strong. Bout strong as him and then some. An arm wrapped around your waist, the other crossed over your back all around your shoulder. Full pressure as he squeezes you tight, patting the back of your head.

"I leave you alone for a few hours. What has gotten into you, little lady?"

You pull back and and look at him, wet lashes and all, before leaning up to kiss him. Arthur meets your lips chastely at first before making a noise of surprise as you kiss him further. You use both hands to grab his face as you do, scruff scratching against your skin. His lips are soft, welcoming. He melts into the touch, so easily - blue eyes lovestruck as you pull away.

"You know I love you, don't you Arthur? More than anyone in this crazy world we live in,"

His face softens visibly. He smiles at you, touching his head to yours.

"Somehow, I do. Though, I'm wonderin' what the hell brought this on."

You tuck your face against his chest, feeling his laughter reverb through you at the way you cling to him so fervently. You sniffle as you talk.

"Found your journal. The one about me,"

He goes stiff, then silent. When you look up again, he's blushing red. He pinches his brow.

"Lord, I'd forgotten all about it,"

You shake your head.

"Ain't nothing for you to be embarrassed about. You are so wonderful,"

He pouts at you. Your heart swells. "You ain't helping with the embarrassment."

You hold him further. Hug him so tight, worried he'll disappear if you don't.

"I love you, Arthur."

"You already told me once, didn'tcha?"

"And I'll tell you one thousand times over," You emphasize, pouting at him. "Really. I love you,"

"I love you too sweetheart," His hand cups your face, thumb brushing along your waterline. "Don't cry no more. Spoils that pretty face."

"I'll try but I don't know if it's all out of me,"

Arthur laughs, pressing a kiss against your hairline. "Guess I'll just have to wipe your tears."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[lunarsworld]

ִֶָ࿐ jealousy, jealousy

warnings: MDNI, smut, unestablished relationship, unprotected p in v, overstim, squirting pairing: percy jackson x f!reader

(smut under the cut)

as one of the best archers in camp, you helped the new kid learn how to shoot a bow and arrow. the poor kid was a clutz and blushing the whole time, but he eventually got the gist of it. when the lesson was over you started walking back to your cabin and percy joined you. you noticed his eyes watching you and the new kid the whole time. a flicker of jealousy hid behind his eyes but you brushed it off, because it wasn’t like he owned you. the thing that bothered you about your whole “thing” with percy was that he never knew the right timing. “so, gonna start hanging out with that kid too?” he says calmly, however you can tell his tone is harsh. you open the door to your cabin and he follows you inside. “well, seaweed brain, it’s not like i’m your girlfriend! not like you claim me, so maybe now that i think about it i might-“ your sentence is cut off by percys grip around your throat. his grip isn’t tight enough to constrict your breathing but its enough to definitely make you shut your mouth. “not mine?” he chuckles. “we’ll see what you say by the end of the day, if you even last that long.”

he pulls the tie on your oversized shorts and they drop down to the floor. “no panties? ha- for all that talk you know what i like, angel.” he whips your body around so your facing the wall. he immediately frees his cock and spits on it. with no warning or prep he slams his cock into your weeping hole. “so fuckin wet for me angel. ah- your pussy fuckin loves me.” he groans. all you can feel is the tip of his cock thrashing at a violent speed into your cervix. “perce- fuck- m’ gonna cum.” you whine. “so who’s pussy is this?” he questions. you don’t reply, so he asks again, “didn’t hear an answer, angel.” you refuse to give into him that easily. “your not cummin’ till you answer baby, so it looks like we’re gonna be here for a long time.”

he grabs your body and throws you onto the bed. at this point it’s felt like hours of his abuse against your cunt. you were beginning to get fed up and just wanted to cum. the build up and let down of the knot in your stomach was becoming too much on your poor body. even percy himself was starting to feel bad (not really, your walls squeezing around him everytime was never a feeling he would get over).

percy had you in a mating press and was rubbing your clit at an almost extreme speed. through all your crying and whimpering from overstimulation, you begin to realize the friction on your bud isn’t just for pleasure, but its spelling something out. “what - ah- does it spell..” you muster out and he chuckles. “even your fucking pussy knows who it belongs to. just tell me baby and ill make you feel soo- ah- fuckin good.” you feel your climax approaching and there’s no way you can hold out anymore. “fuck baby, ‘m cummin. it’s yours, all fucking yours. i belong to you.” you whine out, fully letting go. “atta girl,” he says and smiles quickens his pace. “fuck- all mine baby. that’s right, squirt on my cock like the good girl you are.” the pleasure washes over your body like a tsunami and feel percy’s release immediately after yours. the hot juices of both of you mixing together was like what your body needed this whole time.

his body drops next to yours on the bed and he pulls you into his chest. “i know i was mean but i meant it y/n,” he mutters, kind of hoping you didn’t hear it. “meant what perce?” he turns to look at you. the running mascara under your eyes, the marks he left on your neck, your swollen lips from his jealousy. and so he said it. “you’re mine, always ‘n forever. i love you.” (like his insane jealousy wasn’t letting you know enough).

[ilium-ilia]

All Yours

Paring: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader

Synopsis: Your friends always tease you for being a virgin, so you decide to go home with someone they point out in the pub. Kyle seems kind enough, but he isn't very keen on letting you go.

Tags: smut, oral sex, PIV sex, virginity loss, hymen breaking, alcohol, possessiveness, implied break in, a hint of non-con touching at the end, Kyle is a little barmy but we can look past that, i did not edit a single word in this i had an idea and the energy to write it and that's it.

Liquor coats your tongue the same way it always does—alluring and biting. It sinks its teeth into the wet muscle and burrows down your esophagus until its created a lovely hibernaculum in which to rest in while it festers in your bloodstream. 

Pain, and comfort. 

That’s what tonight seems to be comprised of. As are most of your nights, these days. Bored fingers tap along the bartop as your friends indulge one another with debauched stories of their sex lives all while you smile and nod as if you understand the feelings they describe or the frustrations of laying in bed with someone who fucks like a cactus in a wind storm. 

Their gazes aren’t lost on you. It’s only natural for their eyes to wander over to the only virgin at the table. They look at you adoringly, as if you’re some mythical creature they often don’t happen across—something to be gawked at. Mortification joins the alcohol in your stomach as you tell yourself to ignore their gentle cooing and playful taunts. 

It’s not that deep. 

But it feels deep. It’s an abyss that swallows you whole—this idea of sex. They tell you it’s infinitesimal yet every time you attempt to wade through the waters you find your fingers clawing through the air as you attempt to keep yourself from drowning. You’d like to toss away your virginity just so it no longer hangs over your head like some thunder cloud ready to dump rain on your body, but you can’t quite get yourself to brave the blood that would follow after you cut it free from your body. 

What about him? He looks like a good lay. 

They point towards a man on the other side of the pub. He’s made himself comfortable at a table meant for two as his fingers choke the bottom of his pint. Short cropped hair lies close to his skull in thick curls while earthy brown eyes focus on the football game roaring on the television on the wall above him. His skin looks velvety smooth even with the faint scar on his cheek, and his face looks kind beneath the glow of the monitor. 

It would be a lie to say he wasn’t attractive. Between his broad shoulders and chiseled hands, he’s the poster boy for the models they used to plaster pictures of in the magazines meant for teen girls you used to read as a kid. 

He looks lonely. 

You echo the sentiment when you approach his table with pursed lips, already awaiting your rejection. He looks up at you and his lips pull into a wide smile over pearly white teeth—you don’t notice how sharpy they are through the sheer beauty that beams before you. 

“I might be,” he says, indulging your poor attempt at a pickup. His eyes flicker to the seat across from him for a short moment before he nods at you. “Gonna fix that for me, love?” 

His name is Kyle. You feared that the moment you sat down with him and he opened his mouth, he would do something to make you regret wandering over here in the first place, but he doesn’t. Each syllable that rolls off of his tongue is silky smooth with a voice with just enough vocal fry to haunt your dreams. He buys you another drink when you’re finished with your first one, and you find yourself giggling with him more than you ever do with your friends (though, it remains to be seen if it’s because of him, or your intoxication). 

Wanna get out of here? 

His apartment is quaint. Various video game consoles lie in perfect organization beneath his TV stand, and a few of the controllers rest on the coffee table next to the remote. Each counter glistens beneath the stove light, save for a few crumbs from a sandwich he had eaten for lunch earlier that day. There is a faint aroma of bleach, sandalwood and—

—iron? 

Kyle does not give you much time to mull over the state of his apartment before he’s got you buried in the duvet on his bed. Like a rocking boat in the ocean, you follow his whims as he strips you bare before him, body on display in the pallid light of his bedroom. Anticipation rears its head as your stomach churns. You’ve seen the films. You know how this is supposed to go. 

Still, you are pleasantly surprised when you find Kyle’s head between your thighs. He curiously thumbs over your clit a few times just to watch your body jolt, and he grins as you throw your head back into his pillows. When his mouth replaces his thumb, you feel your desire pound against your chest, ready to burst free into the cold air around you. 

His tongue swipes over you, not even bothering to temper you into the pure pleasure he plunges you into. All his efforts are focused onto one spot, the very spot that pulses with needy want as your hips twitch and buck against him. He chuckles, then hums lowly as his hands grip your hips to roll you along the flat of his tongue. Desperate fingers push at the back of his head. None of your friends described sex like this—wet and lewd. None of them ever talked about dancing on the tongue of their lovers like you are now. 

“Kyle, that- that feels so good,” you croon. 

He groans when you say his name. It bleeds between your lips like a hushed confession—a secret between you and God. His tongue quickens along your clit and the hinge of your jaw begins to tighten. He does not say anything to you when you begin to babble further. Kyle continues to devour—to eat—to consume—

Something snaps within you. Parichord frays then slices, leaving behind nothing but searing marks across your skin as endorphins numb your brain and sizzle throughout your legs. When your thighs close around Kyle's head, he does not push them aside for breath, but rather he allows you to ride this wave until your muscles melt around him and his tongue ceases to move. 

“You taste so sweet. Like tangerine and blood,” he murmurs as he pulls away. His comparison makes your head spin—and blood—but you push it out of your mind as you witness him sit back on his haunches and remove his shirt in one slick, practiced motion. Soft abs roll and swell with his breathing as his fingers begin to prod along your pussy. “You look so pretty like this. Nothing but a mess for me, aren’t you? Yeah, there-” 

You witness in real time as something ensnares Kyle's brain into silence. Eyes widening, his fingers hardly press into your entrance before they meet resistance. Pulling away from you, he puts his hands on the underside of your knees before he pushes your legs apart. 

“Hold your legs out for me. Yeah, just like that, love,” he orders. Trembling fingers hook underneath your thighs as you hold yourself apart for him. You stare up at him from between your knees with curious eyes. “Is that… fuck…” 

Slender fingers prod at your pussy once more, and you feel the cold air rush to meet the wetness on your skin as he inspects your cunt. You watch the soft brown of his eyes morph from wet autumn leaves into a dark void as he prods against some thin membrane just at your entrance. 

“You’re a virgin?” he asks. 

Embarrassment cuts through you like a dull blade. “You can tell?” 

“Your hymen is still intact.” Kyle doesn’t look at you. Instead, he continues to spread you apart, eyes locked onto your pussy. “You sure you want me to take this, love? To take you?” 

Your hips shift. Gathering as much spare courage as you’re able to find, you nod. “Please, Kyle.” 

It doesn’t take long for him to fish his cock from his trousers. Something whispers at you to ask him about a condom, but your mind is thrown into silence the moment he slaps himself against your clit. He’s thick—uncut and desperately leaking, he rubs himself over your cunt before he pushes himself into you. 

The burn is faint at first, but it progresses from flickering embers into a roaring fire. Kyle watches with dilated eyes as his cock splits and tears your hymen. The thin tissue weeps with trace amounts of blood, and he finds his throat growing tight as your cunt begins to constrict around him. 

“Kyle, that-” 

“I know,” he interrupts. “But fuck look at that. Never seen anything like that. Like you. You’re taking it so well, love, I just… there.” He bottoms out with a sharp thrust that has your nails digging into the back of your thighs. Dropping your legs, you slap your hands over your mouth to hold back a wail. Kyle falls forward, draping your body with his as he begins to shallowly thrust into you. “I’m not gonna be able to get enough of this.” 

The foreign sensation ripples through you, stunning you into silence as Kyle’s cock pistons through your cunt. You feel the very ridge of his cockhead, the swell of his balls against your rump, even the trimmed hair on his pubic bone rubbing against your clit. The very world begins to fall away beneath you, and your arms wrap around his neck to steady yourself. You feel the curve of his lips as he grins against your throat. 

“All mine. All fucking mine,” he repeats as his teeth nip beneath your jaw. A tense thumb makes its way to your clit once more just as you feel his hips begin to stutter and jolt. “Say it. All fucking mine, aren’t you love?” 

“Yes!” you wail. “All yours, Kyle. Please, please let me come!” 

He greedily times his orgasm with yours, and it isn’t long before you’re constricting around him and he’s spilling his cum into you with several throbbing pulses of his cock. Eyes rolling into the back of your head, your muscles go slack as he continues to shallowly thrust into you, grunting each time he bottoms out, refusing to waste a single drop. 

“All mine.”

Kyle’s mantra only repeats in your mind for a little while after that night. He had tenderly cleaned you up in the shower before lovingly taking you to work the next morning—then, you vanished. Into thin air. Dissipated into nothing more than a tricky zephyr between his fingers. 

The two of you were nothing more than a fling. 

That’s what you thought. 

When your confidence grows enough to take another stranger home from the bar with you, you shouldn’t be surprised to find Kyle already waiting in your apartment when the two of you arrive, but you are. He sits comfortably on your sofa with narrowed eyes as the door swings open, and your jaw goes slack at the sight of him. 

Baby, who’s this? 

Your one-night-stand rushes out of the door behind you, muttering something about being the other man, leaving you to stand in front of Kyle, trembling as if you’re out in the cold. 

“Kyle? What the hell are you doing here?” you ask. “Did you-? How did you even know I lived here? Seriously, what the fuck?” 

“Did you not mean it?” Kyle’s eyes are severe as he stands. He stalks forward with raised brows until your back is pressed against the door and his arms are on either side of your head. “When you said you were all mine, did you not mean it?” 

Shaking your head, your bottom lip begins to tremble. “I don’t understand.” 

His hands snake down until he’s palming at you through your pants. Gasping at the pressure, your eyes squeeze shut as his teeth nip at the side of your cheek, and you wince. 

“You let me take this. Your virginity. It’s mine now. You’re mine now.” His lips brush away the pain on your cheek with a chaste kiss. “Say it to me, love.” 

Fear pierces through your heart at the deep growl of authority in his tone. He has you trapped, caged in his arms like you’re nothing more than an animal. Knowing you have no other choice, your throat bobs as you swallow. 

“I… I’m all yours, Kyle.” 

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 29

Din Djarin + Excessive Cum

Hey yall, super late to finish kinktober, hows everyone doing? Changing my major has been a lot more work than I imagined besides usual classwork, so its only now ive had any free time to write. But I still want to finish kinktober, even if its late.

On the shorter side, since I just wanted to finish kinktober.

Kinktober 2024 masterlist

Din Djarin let out a shaky whine, soft and quiet enough that the vocoder of his helmet almost didn’t pick it up. He was never one to make much noise, even when you guys had been apart for long when bounties were drawn out, or when you were busy in return.

The only way you could truly tell it had been too long, was the way Din couldn’t control his hips, and how they jolted and twitched into your hands or mouth. Hed jump and jolt like a rabbit, giving short and fast thrusts of his hips as if he couldn’t control himself or his reactions.

He was always so full after you two had been apart. Din never saw a reason to get off on his own. There hadn’t been much need for it before you two got together, when all that mattered to him was bringing credits back to the clan. And after you two became an item, Din only felt it made sense to allow you to be the one to bring him that pleasure.

Hed never known what he was missing as your hands twisted and pulled at his weeping sensitive cock for the first time, his balls so full you almost cooed at him in pity. It must have been so uncomfortable to be so backed up, to be so incredibly full and heavy, ready to blow from the smallest of touches.

The lack of skin on skin contact Din experienced only added onto it, making him even more sensitive as he oozed and dripped in your hands. It seemed as if his body was trying to catch up to the many years of neglect he had given it, now that it knew you were there to empty his balls when they got too full.

It left Din desperate and panting whenever you got your hands on his dick, after you would remove as little armor as possible to get to his crotch or ass. Sometimes he felt like an animal, his jaw hanging open as his eyes glazed over under his helmet. The Mandalorian felt as if you knew the exact expression on his face, even if you couldn’t see it, making him pulse even more.

You were always shocked at just how much Din could cum, no matter how many times you tried to empty him out or milk him like some kind of cattle. It only ever resulted in Dins noises getting so loud that his vocoder crackled at the volume and pitch, his legs shaking as he tried his damnest to fuck into your grip, no matter how sensitive he was.

There was so much to catch, so much to swallow, there had even been a few times where the sudden gush of spend had made some of it shoot out your nose, only making Din moan even louder when he saw it.

it shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that someone who never got down and dirty with another being, had a lot of fantasies, and luckily for Din, you were willing to try out most of them, even if that meant allowing Din to stand or kneel above you and spill his seed all over you until he was drained dry.

It was attractive, sure, but also made a real mess. Lucky for the both of you the ship you spent most of your time on had the ability to air out, or else the entire thing would reek of your intimacy. And the closet full of cleaning supplies was restocked regularly. In the end you just liked making Din feel good, and you couldn’t blame him for shooting like a firehose. At least it was hot.

[yandere-daydreams]

Screening: Rosemary's Baby (1968)

Pairing: Yandere!Ieiri Shoko x Reader (JJK).

Runtime: 3.2k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con (False Pretenses), Mentions of Pregnancy, Cheating (Reader is in an Established Relationship With Gojo), Fingering, Medical Malpractice, Manipulation, and Overstimulation. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

The examination table was cold as ice against your back.

She’d been nice enough to put down a sheet of sterilizing parchment, but not much more. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt as you waited, too nervous to check your phone and risk seeing the newest addition to Satoru’s never-ending barrage of texts, too obedient to do anything other than stay where you were and stare blankly at the chipped, white tiles of her ceiling. That was what she told you to do – or, at least, what you thought she’d told you to do. It’d been difficult to understand her through her surgical mask, only pulled down slightly to accommodate the cigarette she was holding up to her lips, and come to think if it, she might’ve just meant to wait near the table, not strictly on—

The door opened, creating a break in the silence just long enough for you to pull yourself back together, and you bolted upright before your thoughts could start to slip, again – the stiff parchment crackling in protest underneath you. Your eyes found Shoko just as she slipped inside, letting the door fall shut on its own behind her.

Out of all of Satoru’s friends, Shoko had always been your favorite. There was obviously the gender bias (you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t have gravitated towards any woman in Satoru’s overall civil, but absolutely male-dominated social sphere), but even if that hadn’t been the case, you liked to think that you would’ve gotten along with Shoko, regardless. She was always so calm, always so level-headed, rarely smiling but slow to lose her temper, too. Being around her made you feel a little less like the awkward, oblivious non-sorcerer who’d stumbled into a world you still didn’t completely understand and a little more like someone who knew what they’d gotten into and who to rely on, when your own limited abilities fell short. You trusted Shoko, even if you’d only talked to her alone a handful of times. If you didn’t, you never would’ve come to her for something like this.

She stopped at the nearest counter, retrieving a pair of latex gloves from a nearly empty container, before coming to stand next to your table. You knew she’d been smoking, but the heavy scent of disinfect and rubbing alcohol smothered any traces of lingering smoke there might’ve been. You were thankful. You’d been sick with nerves for the better part of the past week, and you didn’t need another reason to feel like you were on the verge of throwing up.

(In the back of your skull, something cruel and vile whispered that there might be another explanation for your sudden bouts of nausea – something less ignorable than pure, ungrounded anxiety. You drowned it out before it could reach your conscious mind.)

Shoko broke the silence without prompting. You were grateful for that, too – you really didn’t have the courage to speak up first. “So,” she started, leaning on the edge of your metal slab. “You wanted to see me because of a… late period?”

Her mask hid most her expression, but you could make out the faint hint of a chuckle underneath her bedside manner. Your eyes fell into your lap. “A missed period,” you corrected. “I haven’t gotten it this month, either.”

She hummed, but didn’t respond. You sighed. Shoko was grounded, but she wasn’t kind. You should’ve known she wouldn’t make this easy for you.

“I’m worried I might be pregnant.”

To her credit, if she was surprised, it was impossible to tell. “Have you been taking your birth control?”

“Yeah, obviously, but I’m terrible about remembering condoms and Satoru never manages to pull out.” It felt strange to describe your sex life to your boyfriend’s closest friend, but you soldiered on. She was a medical professional, a doctor. Your preferred methods of protection (or lack thereof) couldn’t have been the worst thing she’d heard that day. “I’ve already taken a test, but I just want to make sure. Cursed energy is already so complicated, and I know Satoru exceeds a lot of expectations. I don’t know if he, like, has—”

This time, she cut you off with an airy, but blatant laugh. “You think he’s got magic sperm?”

“He fights invisible monsters and teleports,” you snapped, your anxiety turning into irritation in the blink of an eye. “I don’t think ‘magic sperm’ is that unrealistic!”

For a moment, she seemed to regard you – her dark eyes boring into your wrinkled clothes, your disheveled hair, the bags under your eyes nearly deep enough to match her own. Even if she didn’t understand why you were worried, she’d have to recognize that you were, in fact, worried. And, if she really was your friend, she’d at least offer to help.

You held your breath until finally, she cracked, straightening her back with and audible sigh. “And why, exactly, couldn’t you go to a standard obstetrician about this?”

“Because you’re the best doctor I know and I’d trust you with my life?”

“Try again.”

“Because I can’t afford the co-pay and if I use Satoru’s card, he’ll find out.” You deflated after finishing, crossing your arms over your chest. “I… I really just want to know. If it turns out I did have a reason to worry, I’ll figure out what to do next, but—” This time, your voice cut out all on its own. You forced yourself to swallow before going on. “I just want to know, first. Satoru doesn’t have to be involved.”

It was an awful position to put her in, you knew. For as much as you trusted her, she’d known Satoru for years. She had every right to go to him about this, even if you really, really wished she wouldn’t. She didn’t owe you anything, much less her help. Much less her silence.

But there was a reason you trusted Shoko, that you felt as unreasonable close to her as you did. Above her mask, you saw her eyes soften before they flickered away from you, landing on the counter she’d already visited. “Lay down and take off what you need to,” she said, her gruff professionalism back in full force. “It might not be conclusive, but the most I can do is a physical examination. It’s not much, but if you don’t trust a real test, it’s the best thing I can offer you.”

You couldn’t help yourself – nearly falling off the table as you pulled her into a bone-crushing, lung-flattening hug. “Ieiri, you’re the best,” you nearly shouted, your voice bouncing off the blank walls of her office. You moved to thank her again, and again, and again, but she pried you off of her before you had the chance, muttering a curt ‘you’re welcome’ before turning away to make her preparations and escape your unwanted gratitude. You managed to stop yourself from chasing after her, and yet, you were still smiling as you settled back onto the table.

Still, embarrassment quickly dampened the brighter edges of your relief as Shoko glanced over her shoulder. “Are you comfortable with undressing here, or would you rather leave the room?”

You blanched, and Shoko was kind enough not to laugh before going on. “You did know you were basically coming to be for a gynecological exam, right?”

“I mean, yes, but—” You hadn’t, but then again, you weren’t sure what else you’d expected. This made sense, even if it was leagues beyond anything you thought to brace yourself for. If Shoko thought it would help, then it’d help. “Do I get a gown, or…?”

Her eyes fell to your skirt, long enough to fall just an inch or so above your knee. “That won’t be necessary. Take off your panties and lay down – I’ll be over in a second.”

Your face burnt, but you nodded, and she turned away. Biting your inner cheek, you swung your legs over the side of the table and kicked off your shoes. Shoko pretended to be preoccupied while you shrugged your panties down your legs and, with no other option, stuffed them into the pocket of your jacket. It was awkward – lying down and spreading your legs with Shoko less than a full ten feet away. It was one thing to ask your acquaintance for medical advice, and another to let your boyfriend’s friend act as your pro-bono gynecologist.

You heard a few tools clatter onto a metal tray, the padded feet of a stool scrape across the tiled floor, and wordlessly, Shoko positioned herself at the foot of the examination table. “This should only take a few minutes,” she said, as her gloved fingers skirted along the inside of your knee, then your thigh, before reaching your pussy. Your labia, you corrected, internally. If she could be a professional about this, so could you. “Let me know if you feel any pain.”

You nodded, keeping your eyes focused intently on the ceiling above you. Even if you had looked down, your skirt would’ve blocked most of your view, which was how you preferred it. You couldn’t see Shoko, and hopefully, she couldn’t see the way you flinched as she spread a cold, pricking sort of lubricant over your entrance, as she eased two fingers into your otherwise dry cunt. You’d assumed she would use a tool, but then again, you couldn’t imagine what kind. And besides, you really shouldn’t have been questioning a doctor.

Shoko’s voice was gruff, distracted. “How’s that?”

“F-Fine,” you squeaked. “Please, do whatever you need to.”

“Satoru’s got you that worn down, huh?” She let out a breath of a laugh, but leaned in, easing her digits into until she was knuckle deep. Her fingers were thin, but long and graceful in a way that made them difficult to ignore when paired with the strange tactility of her gloves. Her free hand curled around your ankle, as if to hold you in place. “I’m going start the test. It might feel a little strange, so try not to move.”

She gave you a moment to brace yourself before spreading her fingers apart, inadvertently pressing against the sensitive walls of your pussy. On reflex, you snapped your thighs shut, but Shoko caught you by the knee before you could attempt to break her arm. “Easy there.” And then, as her thumb pushed slow circles into your skin, “Think you can hold these open for me?”

You didn’t try to say anything, but with more than a little effort, you spread your legs – planting your feet more firmly on either corner of the table. “Thatta girl,” Shoko muttered, seemingly more used to comforting scared pets than nervous patients. “Remember – we’re here because you wanted to be. If you want to back out, just say the word.”

You shook your head furiously, instinctually. You’d never do that to Shoko, and she seemed to know that – not waiting for verbal confirmation before starting to move. She seemed to need to stretch you open, judging by the repetitive, scissor-like motions of her fingers, the way she huffed in irritation as she slipped yet another digit inside of you. You knew it was inappropriate, but it would’ve been impossible to stop yourself from heating up, from squirming, from dampening around her in a way that you couldn’t entirely separate from arousal. You kept your hips still and dug your teeth into your bottom lip with enough force to break the skin (you would’ve rather died than moaned during a medical exam), but your cunt wasn’t as easily reigned in. It wasn’t long before a sickeningly slick clicking-type noise accompanied every little movement of her fingers. Hopefully, she’d just assume she’d used more lube than she’d meant to. You didn’t know what you’d do with yourself, if she didn’t.

“Like I said – it’s a quick procedure, not a comfortable one. Most patients have a difficult time staying still.” It was humiliating – how steady her voice was while you were falling apart, fighting just to keep yourself from bucking into a medical professional’s hand. It took everything you had not to whimper when the scissoring slowed, then stopped altogether, only to be immediately replaced by the awful, terrible, embarrassingly wonderful feeling of her fingers curling inside of you, grinding against the most vulnerable part of your cunt. “It’s important to be thorough, though. I’m sure you understand why this is necessary.”

She couldn’t have done it on purpose. Nothing about this could’ve ever been intentional, and yet, when her wrist slipped, the heel of her palm seemed to land perfectly onto your neglected clit. It wasn’t much, just the hint of stimulation, but it was enough for you to seize-up – your nails scrambling helplessly over smooth titanium as you came, silently, around her fingers. Shoko, ever the professional, didn’t so much as slow down.

She only hummed, keeping her hand where it was – her palm now grinding broad, harsh patterns into your clit. “Are you usually this easily stimulated?”

You opened your mouth, but all you could seem to choke out was a single, jagged whimper. Shoko clicked her tongue. “I’m sorry, I should’ve phrased that in a way you’d understand.” And then, as she spread her fingers apart cruelly, “Do you normally cum in less than a minute with Satoru?”

This time, a strangled cry was as much of an answer as you could’ve possibly given. You weren’t sure why she was asking, but… this wasn’t normal for you, was it? And now that she mentioned it, you did feel more stimulated than you should’ve during anything remotely medical. Your skin felt hotter, more sensitive where it’d come into contact with her lubricant, and it was getting hard to think, hard to justify not grinding into her hand as she curled and twisted her fingers inside of you. God. You knew you’d been a wreck, lately, but you never would’ve thought that it gotten this bad.

The nails of Shoko’s free hand bit into your ankle, and too strung-out to stop yourself, you let out a whine by way of protest. She chuckled, and suddenly, you were empty, left bucking your hips into vacant air as she drew back. “Poor thing,” she muttered, her sympathy tinged with a sardonic sort of condescension. “I’ve got one last test. Think you can bear with me?”

“Ye—Yes,” you chirped. At that point, it was meaningless – you would’ve agreed to anything so long as she was the one suggesting it. You’d shut your eyes at some point, but you could still hear Shoko’s footsteps, feel her standing above you as she positioned herself at your side. One gloved hand cupped your cheek while the other pressed something blunt and thick against your cunt and, with no warning other than a mumbled reminder to ‘breathe, pretty girl, breathe’, thrust it inside of you.

Her reminder, sadly, proved useless. The air hitched in your lungs as a ribbed shaft filled your overeager pussy, the object curved in a way that made it feel like it was pressing into every fucking part of you at the exact same fucking time. Your hands shot to Shoko’s wrist, searching for something more forgiving than cold metal to ground yourself with. You tried to pull yourself together, and you might’ve been able to if two distinct, silicone-wrapped prongs hadn’t slotted against your clit or, even more damningly, if whatever tool Shoko was using hadn’t started to shake.

Saying you came embarrassingly quickly would’ve been an understatement. There was no pretense of dignity, this time; just grit teeth and twitching legs and one long, miserable sob. Shoko nursed you through it, rocking her vibrating tool inside of you gently until your climax had died into total limpness and the occasional, unsteady gasp. The tool was drawn back, but Shoko’s hand lingered, her thumb tracing patterns into your cheek. “Such a good girl,” she mumbled, and you melted into her touch. “Feeling a little tired?”

It was sickeningly guilt-inducing, just how nice she was being to you after you’d done nothing but humiliate yourself in front of her. “A little,” you admitted, smiling sheepishly. Shoko smiled back. You couldn’t remember when she’d taken off her mask.

“Close your eyes and catch your breath. I’ll finish up while you get a little rest.”

It was all you could do to nod before slumping into yourself, your body going slack despite your best attempts to hold yourself up. Her reassurance was nice, but unnecessary.

In less than a full second, you were out like a light.

~

In Shoko’s defense, she did actually take the time to check. After you passed out, as delicate as Satoru had always bragged you were, she tested the blood sample taken prior to your “exam”. It took a total of three minutes, and left her with good news and bad news to deliver when you woke up.

The good news was, predictably, that you’d been right. You were pregnant. About a month along, in fact. Congratulations, mazel tov, etc.

The bad news was, of course, that you were pregnant, and that Satoru had finally managed to knock you up. Thoughts and prayers, get well soon, etc.

 From her make-shift desk on the far side of the room, she spared a glance to where you were still sleeping on her autopsy table. You’d rolled onto your side since she last checked on you, your pleated shirt bunching at your waist as you used your arms as a rudimentary pillow. It’d be a lie to say she didn’t understand why Satoru had gone so crazy about you so quickly. What you were – an ordinary human with enough cursed energy to see, but not act – was rare, your continuous ability to gloss over the uglier parts of their world in favor of perpetual, delusional optimism even more so. It’d be impressive, if she didn’t know it was going to get you fucked over eventually.

You were cute. It’s surprised her when she first met you in-person, when she first realized that.

It’d surprised her a little less when she realized that you even cuter mumbling gibberish as you came around her fingers.

Her eyes fell back to the phone in her hand. Her messages with Satoru were already open, what she’d been deliberating on telling him already typed out. She sighed, checked the picture she’d taken of you sprawled out on her table, three of her fingers buried in your cunt, and hit send.

[1 attachment]

your girlfriend has something to tell you.

sending a bill for my time btw.

Three dots appeared at the bottom of the screen, signaling that Satoru was typing a response, before disappearing just as quickly. He tried calling her a second later, and she muted her phone before tossing it half-heartedly in the nearest drawer and turning back to you. Judging by your durability (or lack thereof), she’d have a few more minutes before you woke up, and another half an hour before the aphrodisiac gel she’d used on you started to wear off. You’d likely want to rush home to Satoru, when you finally got your hard-earned results.

Again, Shoko sighed, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

It’d just be a waste not to have a little fun while she could, right?

[take-it-on-the-run]

The End

Wally Clark x Reader

Two people died on September 23rd, 1983. One laid out on a football field before hundreds of people, and the other left behind on the cold floor of the boy's locker room.

Word Count: 1.7k

Tags: Sexual assault, semi-graphic depictions of SA, including: almost direct aftermath, reader is naked in the beginning, mentions of blood, and implied loss of virginity via SA, flashback to SA; death, reader's death is overlooked, ANGST

Characters: Wally Clark, Reader, Dalton (OC)

Read it on AO3!

A/N: The Doors title. Hey ya'll. I cannot believe the love I've been getting on this page, and it's driving me past my writer's block more than anything. With school starting, I can feel the academic anxiety kicking in, but I use my writing as a coping method when I can. This story has very intense topics (as stated in the tags) and is not meant to idealize any topics in any way. This was inspired by @general-fanfiction's Hopes and Fears series (GO READ IT RN), and @whoopsyeahokay's October Sun series (ALSO GO READ IT RN). If this story is well received, or I just feel the urge to, I'll probably turn it into a series (bc this sucks as a one-shot). As always, please heed the warnings, and read only if you're comfortable.

Part 1 | Part 2

Wally Clark Masterlist | School Spirits Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Blood was everywhere.

It slid down your legs and dribbled onto the cold floor of the locker room. Every inch of your skin felt like it was too tight for your bones, and all you wanted to do was reach down your throat and rip out your heart.

Copper flooded your mouth. The tang brushed against the back of your chattering teeth, and all you could think about was how you wanted to crawl to the nearby shower and let it run until one of the coaches found you and dragged you out.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Move. You told yourself. All of your limbs ached. Nothing felt real.

You didn’t want this to be real.

It was supposed to be kind. Gentle. An act out of pure love.

Standing up proved to be hard, and it was like no one was able to hear you screaming out for help. Filtered out by the people flooding the halls, hustling to the big homecoming game going on that night.

The tiled walls provided little help as you brought yourself to a standing position, walking slowly as you felt your feet brush against the pile of your shoes, pants, and underwear on the floor. The touch stopped your heart, breaking a new tier of hate and regret across your body.

He said he loved me.

You turned on the shower, cranking the knob to the hottest setting, knowing that the water wouldn’t get anywhere near warm. Water slid harshly over your body, and you felt it pelt against spots of dried blood on your thighs.

You wished you never come to this stupid football game.

You wished you weren’t as ignorant, or as gullible, or as love-blind as you had been in the past three months.

You wished you never met him.

His face felt bitter and sharp in your head, poking and prodding, as if trying to stick the memory of his hands on you for eternity.

Time passed irregularly, no one came in or out of the locker room, and you were sure that the football game had to have reached its end by all of the cheering and yelling you heard outside.

After using all of the hot water in the gym wing, you slowly walked to the lines of lockers, trying even glimpsing in the direction of your clothes. tried to open every locker until one popped open, revealing a pair of grey sweatpants, a sweatshirt, a muscle tank, blue gym shorts, and a matching varsity jacket with #57 stitched on the arm.

You grabbed the matching sweatsuit, balling it in your arms and silently apologizing to the boy you’d never return the clothing to.

He probably won’t even notice, you told yourself.

You turned the corner around a line of lockers and you could swear you were going crazy. A bare foot poked out from behind the last line of lockers, limply tilted against your pile of clothes, painted a chipped wine red.

You blinked hard, looking down at your own chipped wine-red toes, and you clutched the clothing you stole to your naked body. The cotton was soft compared to the cold tile bracing against your feet, and you brought your eyes to look back to the pile of clothing on the floor.

Bile pooled at the back of your mouth as you hesitantly stepped closer to the foot that hadn’t disappeared. You’re going crazy, you told yourself, but the more and more you stared at the limp, pale body - your limp, pale body - whose features were more of a brutal mass than a face, the less it was going away.

You barely made it past the urinals and into an open stall before you dry-heaved into a toilet.

You were dead.

You couldn’t be.

As you zipped up the stolen hoodie and sweatpants, you tried to remember it all. Kissing under the bleachers before the game, him asking you to come with him while he grabbed something from his gym locker.

Every agonizing second you asked him to stop, to stop pressing you into the lockers because one of the locks was digging into your back; his decrepit hands sliding at your waistline, pushing and prodding past the fabric of your clothes.

Nothing would come up from your stomach.

Could ghosts vomit? You asked yourself, slowly standing to your feet and walking back over to your dead body.

Conversations started to flood the hallway, every muscle in your body coming briefly to attention before you flew out the door and screamed into the rushing crowd of students.

“Hello?” You called out, reaching your arm into the crowd, only to watch it get run through like something out of Star Wars.

Your body became hot, and even though you knew deep down that no one could see you, you pushed your tears back down your choking throat and felt your cheeks heat up with shame.

You walked into the crowd, who was thinning out the further you got from the hallway. Your body tensed for a moment, seeing the lights of police cars and ambulances pulling up to the school. Expecting to see the paramedics rushing toward your body, you waited for them to split the crowd, to start heading toward the school, but they were bolting the other way.

Straight toward the football field.

This school has to be fucking cursed.

One of the players was splayed out on the field, his head gently being lifted as paramedics were tugging his helmet off his head. The football team from whatever school yours was playing against was sitting on the bench, whispering and pointing to another one of their players who was talking to a police officer further down the field.

57.

The number sewn on the jacket hanging among the clothes you stole stood out against the dark blue of the player’s helmet. People gasped and a woman cried out as the paramedic set the helmet aside, revealing the face of the school’s resident golden boy; a dark bruise crawled up his neck, and his mouth guard slid between his lips as his limp head hung unnaturally over his shoulder.

You walked closer, straight through the forming line of police officers, and looked into the field. At the edge of the bleachers, waving his arms around and yelling into a silent group of people, stood Wally Clark.

Wally Clark is dead.

Just like I am.

You took off running, the activity coming easier to you when you were alive.

Alive.

“Wally!” You called out, and the football player snapped his body to your voice, his eyes wide and seeming relieved that someone was talking to him.

You stopped, resting your hands on your hips as he hopped down from the bleachers.

“What’s happening? Why- why is no one talking to me? What did I do?” He asked, skipping the formalities. He came to stand on the field before you, the football gear he was wearing sending a rush of debilitating shame through your body.

You faltered for a moment, his face flashing in your eyes before you rubbed your face back to reality.

“You didn’t do anything, Wally.” You managed to push out, pushing your eyes anywhere but on him.

“Then what is happening? I feel like I’m going crazy, one minute I’m running with the ball, and boom- I’m at the bleachers, trying to get my mother to talk to me and she won’t even look up at me. I know she’s pissed at me about going on the bench, but I mean I got back in the game, and now I’m guessing coach is pissed at me on insisting to get back in and-”

“You’re dead.” You cut off his rambling, forcing yourself to meet his face without looking away after a second, “I mean, I think we’re both dead.”

First, he smiled. Like what you said was some kind of joke. After you said nothing, he started toward the sidewalk, where his mother was now alongside a stretcher being lifted into an ambulance. You could see the tears on her face from where you were, each step you followed Wally, the easier it was to see her sorrow.

Then, as he was following his mother, he suddenly was gone, like he was plucked off the Earth by God himself.

That was until you turned to see him standing on the football field, right where his body was previously lying, tugging at the roots of his hair.

You hovered your foot, leveraging that if you stood on the sidewalk, you would be slingshotted back to the men’s locker room.

You decided to trust your gut and instead talked to Wally.

“I can’t be dead, I mean, that would mean you’re dead, and I literally saw you in the hallway this morning,” Wally said as he paced in a small area before you, “and I know for sure that I saw you because you were hanging around Dalton’s locker, which was weird because everyone on the team thought he had some college girl or something he was hanging out with-”

You didn’t register some of the words he was saying, instead you tried to control your thoughts from ripping you back to your last moments on earth at his name.

“-I mean, do you even know how crazy this sounds?”

You took in a shaky breath, wiping your hands over your face to poorly conceal any emotions that unwillingly spread onto your features, “Yeah, but that’s the thing, Wally. I am dead.”

Saying you were dead for the first time out loud was a lot heavier than you thought it would be.

You’re pretty sure that if the insanity of Wally being killed hadn’t overridden your brain, you would be somewhere huddled up and screaming for some greater power to give you eternal rest.

“What? That’s not possible, I mean, the people you were here with would’ve noticed you were gone. Dalton would’ve noticed you were gone.”

You didn’t want to give his name as much power as you did, but your body tightened up hearing it. You didn’t correct him, instead opting to stare at the dark woods on the far end of the field, your eyes burning once more.

“Y/N,” you were a little surprised that he knew your name, and even more when he stood in front of you with the most gentle expression you’d ever seen, “what happened after school? How did you die?”

[catiuskaa]

RAINKISSED CHERRIES.

summary: by chance or luck, you and minho found each other that rainy summer evening. dirty dishes, cherries and all.

series masterlist (☆) collab with @dalamjisung !

wc: 3.1k

cw: absolute heart-wreaking fluff! short mentions of bullying, minho is a soft introverted cutie pie, the reader is a cherry enthusiast, and a slight suggestive thing on the end [as a present for all of you who thought the cherry emoji on the poll was for dirty stuff, lololol]

[🔺 ★ 🍒 ★ 🔺]

Minho was used to being alone. 

It didn’t scare him, not really. He didn’t feel fear when all that was happening around him was the silence that crowded the restaurant after a busy day as he cleaned up his kitchen. He relished the scent of lemons that lingered on him after he was done, sometimes going as far as doing the dishes by hand instead of popping them into the dishwasher, in an attempt to intensify it.

He knew most people wouldn’t understand. And quite frankly, he didn’t mind it. The kitchen was his space. No one came in during their shifts, merely speaking to him through the window that divided it from the rest of the place. He could cook without interruption, with the tranquil chatter that the clients brought merely on the background as he hummed distant tunes he couldn’t remember the lyrics to while chopping vegetables or cleaning up a fish.

So he took his time cleaning too, waiting for his ears to get used to the absence of noise and to welcome the reverberation his steps made when he walked around cleaning the counters, or when he moved the plates and cutlery and glasses, the sounds all too familiar, or sometimes new ones, like the door to the fridge that now chirped as he opened it while checking on the list next to it to see what he’d need to buy or refill.

The rain sounded shyly as it fell on the roof over him, like a gentle reminder to bring an umbrella to work. Its soothing charm made him sigh in comfort, and Minho relished in the sound of nothing at all that filled the restaurant after closing.

And when there was a sudden shaking of the backdoor, is why his heart skipped a beat. Or that’s what he liked to think at first, considering that it seemed much more normal to relate that to the unexpected sound rather than the unexpected, unknown visit.

“We’re… closed,” Minho uttered, frowning lightly, confused at the sight of you.

He was pretty sure it was late enough for you to know that the restaurant was closed —if the fact that the sign over the main door that read HAVEN wasn’t on couldn’t have been a dead giveaway already—.

But under his disoriented grin, he found you smiling. “Right. S-sorry,” you mumbled. Your hair was wet, your clothes too, which was also weird, considering summer rain showers were never intense to such an extent.

It brought the conclusion that you had probably been walking under the rain for a while.

“Did you… um.” He felt a small lump in his throat, and he cursed in his mind.

Minho knew he wasn’t cut out for customer service. That’s why his brother, Felix, like the everlasting ray of sunshine he was and had always been, was the one who managed the front while he stayed in the kitchen. The sole contact he had with clients would be when they sat on the window by the kitchen, and that was only allowed in the early mornings, which meant barely any people interacted with him aside from the casual, “coffee, black,” or “is there a newspaper I could read?” He kind of enjoyed that sort of contact. Minho didn’t even need to answer, merely nodding and following suit to what the clients demanded.

But this was different, and despite himself, he tried to push through. “You’re soaked.” He stated, a fact you didn’t dare to contradict, as foolish as that might have been, taking in the state of you. “Come in. You’ll get a cold.”

He moved on autopilot as he headed to the locker that stood in the corner of the kitchen. There was a small smile of triumph that crossed his face when he found the towels that Felix kept there for rain showers, and grabbed one.

“Take a seat… if you, um, want to.”

You blinked at him, puzzled, watching as he left the neatly folded towel over the windowsill-like counter.

Licking his lips, Minho just stared at you, doubting his every action, going as far as wondering if his breathing was too loud for the silence that crowded the restaurant, bubbling with the gentle words he had just spoken.

But then your eyes got teary, and you smiled at him like he had hung the stars in the sky for you to see. His heart did a thing at the sight of your new-formed happiness, beating a bit faster as you took the towel and messily squeezed your hair with it, sitting on the other side of the counter.

You were an unexpected visit in his space. His kitchen. His mind related that to the fact that his heart was going what his brother would call “bananas”, now timidly troubled at the sight of you.

It was a small diner in a small village. With the exception of tourists here and there, arriving in boats to enjoy the cool water to ease the warmth the Sun brought. But there were no boats that night, if Minho’s view of the sea from the kitchen was right. Still, he had no idea who you were, nor how it was that he had never seen you before.

“Do you have a charger I could borrow?” The tone of your voice was soft, almost as soothing as the silence had been before your arrival.

He nodded, handing it to you with a sheepish smile on his features, ones that matched your own.

You sighed, plopping your head down against the towel, laying on the counter, fidgeting with the stool you were sitting on, moving side to side.

“Are you not going to ask?” You mumbled softly, playing with the wet strands of hair that fell over your eyes.

Truth be told, Minho hadn’t planned to, not when he had just remembered he had to dry and hang the wine glasses over the counter.

He let out a somewhat breathless chuckle as he unloaded the glasses from the dishwasher.

“Last time I walked for hours in the rain, I wasn’t keen on people wondering why.”

Your gaze felt piercing against his face, but he pretended to be so very interested in drying the glass in his hands. Mmh, oh, yes, glass was made out of glass. Surprising.

The snicker that passed your lips felt equally sad and amused, and a small part of Minho couldn’t help but think that it sounded way better than the tinkles of the dishes.

“Guess so, yeah.”

“You do look like you have a good story to tell.” He grinned bashfully.

The tips of his ears turned pink, but he didn’t mind it when he noticed the shimmer in your eyes turning lighter, entertained by his words.

“You think so?”

He cherished the giggle you let out. Better than a bittersweet snicker. Much better. 

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

A gentle blush dusted your cheeks, and you remained silent, wondering what could be the best way to explain how you had ended up there, like a stray kitten, scratching the wooden door.

“A friend invited me over. I live nearby, I moved recently, but her house is closer to the main plaza here. You know, where the summer concerts are.” He nodded, attentively listening to your every word.

It wasn’t a place he frequented, much less when it was so crowded, but it was easy to hear the music and see the lights from his room, a recurrent scenario every summer since he could recall.

“I don’t drink. Which, to a bunch of twenty-something-year-olds, seems weird enough to comment on it every single time. Sometimes they say that I ruin the vibe, that I’m a killjoy. It’s whatever.”

Now, Minho sucked at social cues half of the time, —the other half he just wasn’t interested enough to give a flying fuck—, but even for him it was easy to say that, to you, it wasn’t just whatever.

“We went to today’s—, well, yesterday’s concert.” You snickered, but your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It was okay. They had their fair share of alcohol, I had apple juice. I can’t say I didn’t have fun.”

Minho felt his heart pout inside his chest when he saw you shrug nonchalantly. And he lied too, by omission, deciding not to comment on it.

“Then we went back to my friend's house.” Your tone had changed, and the palms of your hands pressed into your eye sockets, as if that could make the memory of a few hours ago more bearable. “And I had this necklace on. A silly thing. Gold.” You muttered, moving your hands to your jaw as you kept speaking. “Probably fake anyways.”

You gulped, as if swallowing dry. “Suddenly, the girl who invited me turned against me.” You bit your lip, chuckling a cold laugh out of your system. “Said I was only there to drive them, because I didn’t drink. But now her boyfriend had a license.” You rolled your eyes, frowning. “Like, girl, your sad excuse of a boyfriend is one shove away from an alcoholic coma. Sure. Let him drive. First one who ends up in a ditch loses.”

Hanging up yet another wine glass, Minho snickered, which got you out of your head lightly, making you smile shyly, noticing your phone had turned back on.

But instead of throwing yourself at it head first, you sighed, continuing the story.

“She said I wasn’t needed now.” Your voice felt heavy with pent-up emotions. “That the only cute thing I could bring to the group was my necklace.” Your eyes were teary again, and Minho couldn’t help but scoff, frowning.

“Sounds like a handful.” He mumbled.

“God, yeah,” you passed your hands through your hair, “but the worst was when her boyfriend, drunk as fuck, decided that if she liked my necklace, she should have it.”

His hands stopped, as if someone had pressed pause on him, and Minho promptly left the wine glass on the counter, cloth inside it. 

“He… grabbed the necklace and… and shoved me.” You recalled the motion, taking a hand to your neck, tightening it on a fist, and tensing up your body, as if you had been pushed right then and there before Minho’s eyes. 

“And, well, the thing couldn’t really hold my weight to begin with…” You scratched the back of your head, your hair still damp under your fingertips. “The clasp got loose and… I fell back to the swimming pool.”

“God, you must be freezing, then,” Minho mumbled, the shock passing through his tone, mixed with light worry. 

You dismissed it with a gentle groan and a flick of the wrist, but when he got you another towel, you were quick to settle it over your shoulders. 

“I don’t know if Lix could have left something around here…” 

But you settled your hand over his wrist, smiling. “No, please. You’ve done enough for me already. More than any of my so-called friends to begin with.”

That’s why I should keep doing more. 

It was a thought, just a random idea, something far from being a grand gesture of any kind. Still, the weight of it threatened to tint Minho’s ears a deep shade of red and take his breath away. It was then and only then that he noticed a red scratch on your neck, just a bit over your collarbone.

You could only blink, puzzled, when he didn’t move his arm away from you, but instead leaned forward, slightly over the counter, boring his eyes to your neck. 

“He did this to you?” 

Ah. You were talking. Mmh. Having a conversation, yes. He— god, he was a total stranger. Handsome, sure, whatever. Ok, maybe not exactly whatever, fine. Still. Huh? What had you been thinking?

“I, uh,” you swallowed dry, but it hadn’t been full of awkward tension. Not as much as you had expected. “What… what?” 

Breathless. It was ridiculous! How could a random, gorgeous, beautiful young man from the countryside make you so weak in such little time? It wasn’t normal to fall so easily for anyone, was it?

His eyes stared at yours, and the brown of his calmed your racing heart and fuzzy mind. 

Oh. 

“Um. You have a… t-there’s a… scratch. Red. From, um, the necklace, probably.” 

But neither of you had moved from the closeness that you had just discovered. 

“Is it, eh, bleeding?” 

Minho’s tone matched your own. A whisper, barely loud enough to be called a sound. 

“No. Just a scratch.” 

His eyes —bright and kind, yet guarded— held yours with an intensity that was both unnerving and comforting, whereas Minho felt like he was being seen, really seen, for the first time in a long while. Which was, again, bananas. One hundred per cent bananas. 

Like I said, ridiculous. Odds are that you had spent less than an hour in his space, his kitchen, and now he didn’t find himself yearning for the tranquil buzz of his ears after a loud day. Tonight, he wanted your voice, telling him a story. And he’d love to listen to anything, especially if you didn’t have that sad undertone while you spoke, because when you had giggled, it had reverberated in his space. Not his kitchen, honestly, but his chest, fluttering butterflies fighting inside of him. 

Neither of you spoke, but the silence was no longer awkward. It was filled with something else, something tender and unspoken. You licked your lips, chuckling lightly, and tucked a wet strand of hair behind your ear, a delicate movement that had only seemed to draw him closer, despite the stillness of your bodies.

“I think there are bandaids here somewhere.” He grinned gently, and you watched him, almost mesmerized. “It’s better than nothing.” There was a slight doubt in his mind, but he ended up shoving it away, speaking softly. “I can’t offer you much aside from bandaids and cherries, really.  Let me.” Minho chuckled.

He had to hold back the impulse to bite his lip at your toothy grin. “You have cherries?” 

For you, yes. But instead, he merely smiled, cruising to the counter close to the window, moving the bowl closer to you. 

Plopping a cherry in your mouth, you sighed in contentment. The familiar, almost homey feeling of the explosion of sweetness in your mouth brought you back to the comfort of your own house. You picked a paper napkin from the corner of the windowsill counter, leaving the pits over it. 

“You must really like cherries.” He tongued his cheek, missing your enthusiastic nod, heading to one of the small drawers of the aisle in the kitchen, like a man on a mission, and you snickered, staring at his back as he looked around in the different drawers. But then, he paused, and his shoulders made a weird motion. “Ah, Yongbok…” 

You couldn’t help but frown at him, yet it was obvious that the giggle you let out after he turned back to face you had been totally on purpose. 

“Hello Kitty bandaids?” You relished on the light blush that dusted his cheeks pink, before sparing him. “That’s so cute.”

Minho let out a chuckle that was full of relief. “My little brother. A menace, as you can see.” 

“Mmh, I’m thoroughly terrified.” 

“You don’t say.” 

He snickered, getting out of the kitchen, standing now before you, towering over your sitting figure, even on the bar stool. 

You watched as he skilfully unwrapped the pink and colourful bandaid, lemon-scented hands tenderly pressing the sticky band over the red scratch. 

“There,” Minho mumbled. “You can keep an extra one if you’d like.”

Only in certain moments, he could remember not missing the old clock that used to tick every second, hanging over the backdoor like an impending sign that his time in the kitchen was well past midnight. And that night was not only one more to the list, but most likely its number one addition. Minho loved the feeling that came over him when he stared into your eyes, and that old wooden thing would have ruined everything. 

No old clock. Just two strangers standing in front of each other, on a late August night, inside a closed diner, waiting for something to interrupt what was too early to happen yet. 

There would be other chances, Minho was sure of it. At least a small part of him was, whereas the other debated how stupid he was because he hadn’t asked for your name yet. Nevertheless, the other part of his brain —a much, much funnier one, if you asked for this humble author’s opinion— knew there was time. 

He didn’t need an old clock in the diner, because there would be time on other rainy evenings, when you’d come back from wherever you had been in the day, the lingering scent of rain on you, and he’d melt in your arms, as if that could make the lemon scent stain on you as much as you had stained him. 

Minho would scrunch his nose. 

“You reek of cherries.” 

And you’d smile, guilty as charged, both of you fully aware that you had probably bought and finished a small box of cherries on your way to him. 

“Change that, then.” 

It would only take a playful giggle escape from your cherry-tinted lips for him to grab you in his arms and sit you down, not behind the counter like the night you two had met, and not on the edge of his bed like he had done barely a couple of months after —one could only resist a sweet sweet cherry for so long—, but on top of the recently-cleaned surface, and he’d giggle too, torn between kissing away the day off you as you both simmered in the late, rainy night, protected only by the diner’s roof, or melting in your hold, your hands, slightly cold from being outside running through his hair and scratching his scalp, letting rain, cherries and lemons lull him to sleep. 

He hadn’t seen any of this in your eyes, that first night. But Minho knew deep inside that there was no way in hell he’d let you go without you coming back the next morning.

“I should go.” You grinned, looking down sheepishly. “Thank you for tonight.”

After folding the towels —an excuse to stay just a bit more—, you both parted ways under the rain. 

Were there things left unsaid? Sure. Honestly, it’s why this author keeps adding small bits and pieces between long hyphens. Minho hadn’t told you how he was dying to see you again someday —the sooner the better, if you asked him—. 

And you had just smiled cheekily as you walked away to find your car instead of saying what you had been thinking for a while, Hello Kitty bandaid in hand —that would surely end up stuck to the wall of your room—. 

It wasn’t your name, as some of you might be thinking. You had scribbled that on another napkin when he wasn’t looking. No, it was something even better. 

See you tomorrow.

[🔺 ★ 🍒 ★ 🔺]

kats, who is craving not cherries but a late-night, lemon-scented minho for herself to cuddle to sleep.

catiuskaa, august 2024 ©

POLL TAGLIST! @felixglow @beccasmecka @loubouskz @dreamerwasfound @renjunniex @planetstars-blog @frickinmad @jeongsoo-jin @raptorbait529 @skz-supernovaa @midnightlunaaa @xuxibelle @ppurple-reignn @s3onghaswifey

bold and red means i couldn’t tag you! </3

PERMANENT TAGLIST! @lyramundana @stayconnecteed

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

Astro thoughts : short n sweet <3 moonshinin' <3

Moon in the first house - Very empathetic sweet creatures. Def could be used a lot by people that they love and trust because they can be very giving to their energy a little too much. Attractiveness is through the roof as their auras are usually more open. Very smooth, soft bodies and have an innocent energy around them majority of the time. Its hard to stay mad at them.

Moon in the second house - They need time alone so they can get their thoughts in check. This is a taurus ruled house, so sometimes their emotions can be thru the roof, but they can be extremely level-headed/grounded with the way they move through their circumstances. Money can flow to them smoothly if they keep their focus high on the prize. Other wise, they can be duped by peasants with their fortune if they are not careful.

Moon in the third house - Very practical, intelligent nature. Honest and self aware. Very deep and can bond with anyone if you let them. Truly can keep you on your toes with each convo they have. Can talk to much, or can be way too quiet No in between. Can make a friend outta anyone tbh.

Moon in the fourth house - Light hearted nature. Very sweet and kind to anyone they meet but they keep to themselves a lot. They do NOT like too many people in they're space and it is a treasure to meet them AND to have them around 24/7 because they do not like being around just anybody. You gotta be more complex to get to know them, they are truly a one of a kind. Mysterious nature.

Moon in the fifth house - Great actors. Have a lot of gifts in the arts and could soothe people's emotions with them if they allow their vulnerable side to show. Children LOVE them and are usually inspired by them. The personality of this individual is raw, gentle and nurturing and they must be protected.

Moon in the sixth house - Boundaries is a big thing for this group. Gotta keep their energy in check because they can almost be like in hermit mode. Needs friends that understand their nature to keep them balanced. Animals and plants are their best friend.

Moon in the seventh house - Can have issues with lovers do to their high intensity with their emotions. It's almost like people can't see them for who they are and theirs a lot of potential of a transformative love. With the moon shining its light here, they are almost capable of turning anyone into a special relationship if the chemistry permits.

Moon in the 8th house - Beautiful souls that have a gift in penetrating the minds, souls and bodies of the people they meet. They have internal woes that never seem to make it to the sky, but they know how to water them and make them grow in the ground. True balance is needed with them so they almost always are going thru dark nights of the soul just to get them their. They have a lot to learn, but also so much to show to themselves and others as the journey is a long beautiful one in the end.

Moon in the ninth house - Captivating souls who are needing to bond with people who can change the perception of their mind through the eyes of travel or simply growing in this lifes journey. They know a lot about their favorite topics and would love to share it with anyone who wants to listen to them. Calming auras who enlightens you with the way they think, and are meant to teach and inspire in some way, shape, or form.

Moon in the tenth house - The sweet talkers of the group. The audience just adores them. You really can't stay mad at them for to long. They have sensual energy and people feel this right away. Celebrity energy. Secretive by nature. Most don't know a lot about you, even if your emotional state is in full view to everyone. Masters of manipulation, don't say I didn't warn you ;)

Moon in the eleventh house - Can make friends as soon as they walk out of their house. Shy and reserved in new environments but tend to be a lot sweeter and open up when their comforted. Has a unique presence and a distinctive style. Could almost convince anyone of anything as their looks and attraction tends to make people look the other way.

Moon in the 12th house - Alluring. Majestic. Spontaneous & a wanderer. Protect these children at all cost. There is more than what meets the eye. They attract a lot of people like bees to honey. But flies like you too. Can't let everyone in, they don't know what to do with you. Gotta be more open with being yourself, no matter how mysterious you come off. Boundaries are needed for this group since they are more prone to evil eye as their secretive by nature. People are always trying to spy on them and see what they have that they don't.

[strangerstilinski]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫

𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝟏𝟖+

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: reader with breasts and a vagina, lil bit of established-relationship domesticity, eddie being a goofball, barely-there smut at the end (0.9k)

𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚢 @strangergraphics

It's late.. Or maybe technically it's early, if the birdsong that's begun to drift through the open window is any indication. The sky is already starting to bleed from inky black to a deep blue, with purple and orange threatening to creep over the horizon any minute.

You've got a leech in the form of your boyfriend draped over your sweaty body, one of his hairy legs thrown over your own, his arm curled around your waist. His cock is still softening against your thigh, your combined spend slowly drying on your skin while your breathing re-regulates following an energetic late-night romp. His pale skin is still flushed pink in the dim lamplight of the bedroom, black ink of his tattoos seeming to stretch beyond their usual shape with the help of dark shadows.

"Soo," Eddie drawls, his voice soft when his face presses to the side of your throat. He leans back, propping himself up on an elbow so he can waggle his eyebrows playfully at you, "How many times was that? For you?"

His teeth nip at the soft flesh of your shoulder between the questions, a bid at playing up his innocence, no doubt. Because he's clearly not at all looking for a little something to boost to his ego. No way. Not your Eddie. Never.

You indulge him all the same. Giving in and playing along with his little over-dramatized bits was all just par for the course of dating him. Not that you minded in the slightest. Honestly, you found his vivacious spirit to be a special kind of intoxicating, and his dedication to it was nothing short of admirable.

You hum as your mind runs back over the last half hour or so, going back and forth with yourself on the exact number as you ponder whether at least one of those ninety second almosts counted — where you'd been clinging onto a truly earth-shattering, brain-dumbing peak that hadn't been meant to be. You debate whether it counted despite them never quite teetering over into orgasm.

Your hand strokes softly along the length Eddie's arm draped across your stomach, the hairs tickling along the pads of your fingers. After much deliberation you tell him, "Three and a half."

His outrage is immediate.

"Half?!" Eddie's voice goes high in disbelief, pushing back a little farther to give you a wide-eyed look to pair with his shock, "When was the half?" He demands, just shy of shrill. The hand on your hip kneads lovingly at the doughy flesh to soften the sheer lack of tact in his delivery.

A smile pulls at your lips at the genuine upset in his hushed tone, a small eyeroll born of nothing but fondness as you try to explain your reasoning, "Well there were a few times, at the end there-"

"No, nope." Eddie's voice only rises in volume, far too loud for the hour but he can't make himself care.

He is well and truly affronted. He can't believe he didn't notice a goddamn half-orgasm — it was horrendous. He's meant to know your body better than anyone else in the world. The thought of you settling for a half-orgasm without saying anything, of you just accepting a half because Eddie busted too quick to get you there again? Maybe he was being a bit dramatic about it all, but, no. It was not acceptable, not in his book.

He says as much.

"That's preposterous. Won't do." Eddie says matter-of-factly as he shuffles up onto his knees again in a rush

"What are you-" You're words cut off with a squeal when Eddie's clumsy sex-weakened limbs give out for a moment and he nearly collapses on top of you. Laughter pushes its way up from your chest, your fingers curling around his biceps to offer him a bit of stability as his head dips so that his nose can brush the tip of your own, "Eddumf-!"

He cuts you off with a kiss, nosing at your cheek until you go pliant underneath him and your mouth opens enough for him to stroke his tongue along your own for just a moment.

He still tastes like sex, the essence of you a little stale and lingering at the back of his mouth, but he kisses you with everything he has. His passion and excitement are as infectious as always and you're keening into the kiss before a minute has passed, your spine arching up off the mattress just a bit to bring your naked chest flush with his.

Your fingers are forced to fall a little loose on his arms when he pushes up onto his hands and shakes out his curls with dramatic flair. There's one stubborn strand sticking at the spit-slick corner of his mouth and a stupidly endearing, crazed look sparkling in his eyes as he begins to backpedal tellingly down your body. His kiss-swollen lips mark a path, kissing his way past your belly button and between your thighs. The round tip of his nose drags lightly up the length of your cunt and you can't help the way your hips jump when he catches your clit.

"Down we go-" Eddie's voice is thrown deep, a ridiculous animated thing that sounds like it's been pulled straight from the table at one of his campaigns. It's a voice that decidedly did not belong fanning out over your cunt while one of his knuckles softly parted your slick folds.

"God, Ed, if you're gonna do it just do it," You speak around a sigh as his finger collects a bit of your combined cum and he swirls it gently around your clit a few times. "I-if you get all goofy on me I'm gonn- oh."

But then his lips are wrapped around your clit and he's sucking like his life depends on it — Three and a half very quickly turns into seven.

[lila-dalilah]

SPECIAL I

S2!sevika x chubby!reader

Part 2

3.2k words

Contents: Masturbating (short), Sevika being a horny fuck, mentions of drinking and smoking weed, mentions of age gap, reader as body hair (?), kind of slow burn.

Summary: Sevika meets you at a dingy bar and can’t get your body out of her mind.

A.N: I wrote this because I’m at the motherland (🇩🇴) and my partner isn’t, so i’m horny and touch starved as fuck. This is the first time I put this much time and effort into writing fanfiction. Originally it was wayyy longer but I wanted to split it up and see how this performs first. Honestly not much happens, just Sevika being down bad. Also, I’m trying something new with the way I make my posts but idk if it’s prettier this way. Anyways, enjoy!

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MINORS AND MEN DNI

Rock Bottom was a dingy, hole-in-the-wall type of place that had once been the hot spot in Zaun. Now, it was filled by empty stools and wobbly tables. The lights would flicker from time to time, some bulbs giving out before the end of the night.

Sevika and Miguel sat in their usual spot, just as they had done for years. Their families had always been very close, and they had known each other since childhood. When Rock Bottom was in its prime, they would drink themselves stupid on the cheapest booze they could get their hands on. Now, instead of dancing and trying to pick up one night stands, they sat and reminisced about their youngest years. The loud music and chatter were gone, substituted by an almost heavy silence only interrupted by the occasional clanking of glasses or muffled conversations.

Sevika had already downed a drink before Miguel arrived. She had been desperate to meet up with him. Miguel seemed to be the only constant in her life. The new weight on her shoulders was suffocating. Sevika felt responsible for continuing Silco’s legacy while also taking care of Jinx, who had taken in a kid herself somehow. Neither of those tasks were easy to accomplish.

Those who had once been partners seemed to be turning on her one by one, and she felt the need to always keep an eye on the girls. Jinx seemed to be dealing with things fairly well, but after so many years Sevika knew better. There was always calm before the storm. She was always in high alert, waiting for something to go wrong, which happened more often than she’d liked.

On top of that, Sevika had just started getting used to the new mechanical arm that Jinx had built for her. Some everyday tasks, like holding a glass or opening a door, proved to be very difficult now. She had broken at least half a dozen of glasses in the past two weeks either from squezimg them to hard or not gripping them tightly enough. Sevika had been forcing herself to use her right hand, which felt clumsy after not being used for so long. Still, it was the safer option.

Sevika grabbed the half full glass of whiskey with her non-dominant hand and downed it all at once. She could feel the alcohol burning its way down, hoping that it would drown out everything else, at least for a bit.

“If these walls could talk…”said Miguel, recalling all the anecdotes that had taken place there.

Sevika barely heard him, her eyes fixated on you. You were wearing a short, form fitting dress that hugged every curve. When you walked, your whole body jiggled.

In Zaun, being big was almost a sign of wealth. It meant you had enough to eat well. Sevika took pride in her body, for her it showed how far she had come. She could afford to eat well enough to maintain her muscles.

Sevika also loved the contrast of being with someone softer, the feeling of their plush curves against her angular and solid body. Sevika could almost imagine how you would feel on top of her, your soft thighs pressing her sides, your belly and breasts on full display. She wanted to run her hands through every inch of your body, using your rolls to pull you closer and closer.

Sevika almost startled herself has those thoughts ran through her mind. She had too many things on her mind, sex or arousal hadn’t been a priority for a while. Her libido had always been high, but her schedule had been too tight as of late to accommodate it.

Sevika spent her days at work and her nights with Jinx and Isha, who, after much insistence, had practically moved into Sevika’s place, staying over at least three times a week. In an effort to keep Isha away from danger, Sevika took it upon herself to look after her while Jinx worked on new projects. Most nights, she was exhausted, her back aching more often than not. If she had any energy left in her, Sevika would try to catch up with friends or go for a drink with other associates, not because she enjoyed it, but because she wanted to stay informed.

She hadn’t visited the brothel in about a month. Now that everything had settled a bit, Sevika had started to feel the effects of her unintentional abstinence. The sight of you reawakened a hunger that had been missing for a while.

You approached Miguel from the side, wide smile across your face. You placed a hand on the table, leaning slightly forward, towards Miguel. Sevika started at your cleavage, noticing any subtle movement of your breast while you greeted Miguel.

“Damn, didn’t expect to see you here”Miguel said cheerfully ”come, have a drink with us”

“I’d love to, but I’m all out of cash for the night”you said”Just wanted to say hi”

“Come on”insisted Miguel”One more round won’t ruin you!”

“Seriously, I can’t”you said, shaking your head from side to side.

Sevika couldn’t pull her eyes away from your body. It just had something special, magnetic. It was almost like an instinct. She wanted to have you. No reason or hesitation. You hadn’t noticed her yet, too caught up giggling as Miguel tried to convince you to stay.

“Next round’s on me”said Sevika, her voice directed at you for the first time.

Her voice caught you off guard. You knew who she was, who wouldn’t? She was Silco’s right hand back when he was running things. Now, with him gone, she had taken over, hand in hand with his daughter. Miguel had talked to you about her, mostly when telling you stories about his youth. She seemed to be in all of them. You had heard how she could take down multiple men as if it was nothing, or break chairs in half as if they were made of twigs. You thought she was probably the coolest woman of all of Zaun.

“Have a seat”said Sevika.

And with that, you moved to sit down at Miguel’s other side, just in front of her. She followed the movement of your hips as you took a seat. Sevika tried to get a peek at your thighs discreetly, barely resisting the urge to stare . The way your dress rode up slightly while your thighs covered the whole chair made her heart go slightly faster. Further up, she noticed the soft curve of your belly, round and inviting, the kind of place Sevika would love to rest her head on. She imagined having her hands around your belly, her nails almost digging into your flesh while you were on top of her. Sevika forced her gaze towards your face, pushing those thoughts away. You smiled softly when she made eye contact, making her heart stutter.

Sevika tried to play it cool, stealing glances at you from time to time. Beneath her poker face, Sevika was almost jittery. The way your body shook with laughter, how your lips wrapped around the rim of the glass every time you took a sip, the sweetness of your voice. All of it was messing with her head, the lust your body created overcoming most of her brainpower. She was silent for most of the conversation, adding some comments here and there. Sevika hated how easily her mind slipped into desire around your body. You weren’t doing anything special, yet her imagination was spinning out of control.

“You know, JJ told me he has some good new stuff. He’s coming over later”you mentioned, then turned to Sevika”y’all can come by if you want”

“That sounds good”added Sevika, earning a strange look from Miguel.

“I heard it’s pretty strong, mixed with something exotic”commented Miguel.

Sevika knew that JJ’s “good new stuff” would be some kind of genetically modified strain of weed. He would try to manipulate the plant to get stronger, better weed as a hobby, chasing the perfect high. Sevika didn’t smoke weed anymore, hadn’t for more than a decade. She just consumed shimmer now, and Miguel knew it. Still, she was intrigued by you, not the weed. Something about you made her want to linger, even if your presence made her feel like a fool for staring. Sevika wanted more time with you.

It didn’t take long for you to leave. You thanked Sevika for the drinks and said goodbye before getting up, showing her your smile one last time. Sevika’s eyes were fixated on your has you walked away. The way your wide hips moved from side to side with every step and how you ass moved were just the last nail in the coffin. Sevika knew she needed you as she tightened her grip on the glass.

You were a bit flirty around Sevika because she was undeniably attractive, but you doubted she saw you the same way. You didn’t hate your looks, but you felt like you were nothing to write home about, just average. Sevika probably had multiple women throwing themselves at her already. You didn’t think you would stand out. Still, Sevika seemed interesting and a good friend from what Miguel had told you, albeit a bit more reserved than you had expected.

“So… how do you know her?”asked Sevika once you had exited the building.

“We used to be coworkers”Miguel answered.

“Coworkers, uh…”Sevika repeated absent minded.

“You fancy her, don’t you?”

That question caught Sevika off guard, pausing mid sip. Had she been that obvious?

“I mean, she’s just your type”added Miguel, watching her reaction.

“I don’t have a type”Sevika scoffed.

Sevika had been with a lot of women before. Tall, short, big, small, light skinned, dark skinned, long hair, short hair, hybrid. She had been with all kinds of woman, but her preference remained. Bigger women always caught her eye first. Sevika wouldn’t brush off the smaller women that hit on her, but she wouldn’t go up to them either. Still, Miguel didn’t need to know that.

“Whatever”Miguel said, taking a sip” you haven’t smoked weed in, what, 15 years? but she brings it up and all of a sudden it sounds good?”

Miguel had a sly grin across his face. He enjoyed teasing Sevika. She stayed silent for a bit because Miguel was right. She didn’t have a good comeback. Sevika exhaled sharply, irritated.

“She and JJ are nice, that’s all”Sevika said.

“Sure thing”said Miguel, shiteating grin still imprinted on his face.

On the way to your place, Sevika was unusually restless, thoughts and heart racing. She wasn’t used to feeling that way, nor did she like it.

When Sevika and Miguel arrived, the room was filled with smoke, all windows closed. The scent was trapped, pungent, yet pleasant, slightly sweeter than usual. With the celling light off, the living room was illuminated by a few candles and a lamp. JJ lounged on the armchair while you were sat on a tiny couch in front of him, passing the joint back and forth. The coffee table between you was cluttered. A few lighters, a pack of filters, a pack of rolling papers, a grinder. And in the center a big, round bowl full of dried, pinkish leaves, JJ’s new project.

You smiled as Sevika sat by your side, your eyes redder than before.

“Here, glad you could make it” you said handing Sevika the blunt.

During the night, Sevika watched you with no caution. You figured she was zoning out, after all, JJ’s batch had turned out to be very strong. She had complimented your necklace and earrings earlier, so you didn’t think anything of her looking in that general direction.

But really, Sevika was taking in every detail of your lips and your neck, taking full advantage of her closeness. Her eyes fixated on your lips while you took a drag, the tip of the joint glowing, a faint stain of lipstick left around the filter. Then you would exhale, shaping your lips into an “O” that made them look plumper as the smoke dissipated around you.

Further down, your neck was adorned with a necklace that once shone, but had since adopted a dull, spotty pinkish color. Real silver or gold was expensive, so you just settled for what you could get. Sevika felt the urge to change that. Someone as beautiful as you deserved jewelry that wouldn’t tarnish, something that would last.

You weren’t the most discreet either. You knew she was older, around Miguel’s age, but that didn’t deter you that night. Alcohol and weed made you frisky on their own, together they made you downright horny. Having a woman like Sevika near you wasn’t helping the situation.

For all you knew, Sevika was the type to be bold, going after what she wanted. If she found you attractive, she probably would have made a move by now, right?. Still, you leaned on her more than you would with others, your legs touching hers and your hand going on her bicep every time you laughed. With each touch, Sevika would almost stop breathing, tensing up a bit under your hand. She wasn’t fond of physical affection for the most part, but yours was different. Nobody had really touched her like that in a long time. Sevika was surprised to find that she didn’t mind it, even liked it.

Your eyes kept drifting to her metallic arm . It was a big, probably heavy, metal structure covered in doodles. Sevika didn’t seem like the type to decorate things in that way, but Jinx and Isha were. Isha had taken to doodling in Sevika’s arm when she took it off or was distracted. Sevika would act grumpy when she caught the little girl in the act, but her heart melted looking at every little thing drawn on it and she wore it with pride. And, when Jinx repaired or updated Sevika’s arm, it would come back with at least one new drawing around it.

As you adjusted your position to get more comfortable, Sevika couldn’t help but look at your thighs. By that point you were fairly intoxicated, your moves a bit messy. She just kept staring as your dress rode up, showing a few centimeters of your plain grey underwear, dark, short hairs peeking through the sides. It was barely anything, but she felt the heat raising up. Sdvika clenched her jaw, forcing her eyes away from you. She felt worse than a fucking perv, getting riled up over just that. But she couldn’t help herself. She wondered how soft your pussy would be, probably as soft as the rest of you. Her eyes went back for a second peek. The thought of burying her head in between your thighs made her clear her throat.

Then you leaned into her, resting your head on her shoulder as if it were natural. Sevika hesitated for a few seconds before wrapping her flesh arm around your shoulders. She knew nothing smart would come out of her mouth that far into the night, so she let the gesture speak for itself. Miguel flashed her a slight, knowing smile. Sevika ignored him, instead running her fingers up and down your soft upper arm, waiting to see your reaction.

You weren’t really paying attention, your eyes closing every couple of minutes because it felt just right, as if you were meant to do it. It was just so pleasant that you drifted off to sleep without even noticing. Sevika only noticed when Miguel and JJ started talking in a softer voice. She had been too busy thinking about what she would say or do to you based on your reaction to notice that your breathing got heavier, faint snores coming out of your mouth. Soon enough, Miguel made up some flimsy excuse for him and JJ to leave. It was just the two of you now.

Sevika tried to stay as still as possible, not wanting to wake you up. Her heart was going way too fast for no good reason. She just had someone sleeping on her shoulder, no big deal. Except, it was you. Sevika just stared at your face. Eyes closed, mouth half open, chest raising and lowering rhythmically. You looked at peace, probably having a very deep sleep fueled by the drugs consumed. Sevika still didn’t know what her next move would be. Ultimately she just sat there, enjoying your warmth against her.

Eventually, Sevika had to go to the bathroom. She shifted slowly, trying to slip from under you without waking you. Sevika moved around you as if you were some kind of bomb that could detonate at any moment. As she finally got on her feet, a slight grin appeared on her face, almost proud for not waking you up. That dissipated the second Sevika came back into the living room to find you sitting up on the couch, groggy but awake. Sevika sighed softly, then explained where JJ and Miguel had gone. You only hummed, reaching towards the table.

“Guess I’ll roll another one for us, then”you said, matter or factly.

Sevika watched your hands while you rolled the joint slowly. Neither of you seemed to be in a hurry.

Sevika had been quiet for most of the night. You figured she was the type to listen rather than talk. You decided to take matters into your hands and just started asking her questions. She humored you, sharing stories about her childhood antics. In turn, you launched into your own memories. You would always ramble on and on when you were intoxicated, jumping between slightly related topics. After a while, you decided to call it a night. Sevika was exhausted by then, ready to crash into bed for a couple of hours before heading to work. Still, she didn’t mind staying over for a bit more. You weren’t just easy on the eyes, you were easy to be around.

Before Sevika walked out of your home, you hugged her, thanking her for coming over. Sevika almost blushed, caught off guard by your body pressing into hers. You squished her tightly, while she hesitated before just lightly patting your back and awkwardly wrapping her arms around you, stiff as a stick. On her way home, all she could think about was your touch. You, on the other hand, thought you had made her uncomfortable, maybe gotten too close for her comfort. After all, you had only known each other for a couple hours.

That night, your hug kept replaying on Sevika’s mind. She wished she could go back in time and tighten her arms around you, explore every inch of your body with her hands while kissing along your face and neck. Sevika needed to touch somebody and be touched again. It had been just way too long for her and your body was calling to her.

When her hand made its way down in between her legs, she was already wet. With a sigh, Sevika’s fingers pressed against her clit and rubbed it with urgency while she closed her eyes, trying to remember every detail of your body. She imagined you on top of her face, feeling the pressure of your whole body weight in her while your thighs caged her in, heath and softness overwhelming her. Sevika whimpered, bitting her lower lip until she was finally relieved.

While she changed her sheets, an uncomfortable feeling washed over her. She felt ridiculous, like a horny teenager, getting off just thinking about your thighs and cleavage. As the embarrassment started to settle in, Sevika knew one thing for sure: you had something special.

[cumikering]

Gym bro Soap x reader 3 (end)

3.7k | fluff You never had to ask again (part 1)

It was close to three months before you saw each other again.

Johnny was on the incline bench with his weights when you called his name. He froze. Nobody needed to know that soft voice still made him weak.

“H- Hi.” He turned to you, placing his dumbbells on the ground before searching your eyes. “I hope you’ve been alright.”

It felt forever ago, since the last time he saw your smile or heard you laugh at his lame jokes, since the last time you made tea at his. It had been forever since you wounded his heart.

“I have. I hope you are too.” Your gaze dropped to your feet.

“Aye. I’m fantastic, of course.”

“Right. Um- well, I didn’t mean to disturb.” You took a step back. “Sorry, I’ll leave you to it.”

You walked away before he could protest. He took a beat before picking his weights back up, surprised by the wave of emotions that rushed back from the innocent exchange.

He wasn’t facing the door so you could have walked out if you wanted to avoid him, but you went out of your way to greet him. Were you trying to be friendly? Why was it only a hello before you rushed away? Did you change your mind?

It was stupid, but he would be lying if he said he’d stopped thinking about you, let alone missing you. He wondered about how you were doing, about work and your fitness progress. How had you been shopping without him driving you? It was too far of a walk to carry your groceries.

But you must have already found someone. Any man would want you, and would claim you as his you as soon as he could – the way Johnny never had the balls to. He should have spat out the flickering hope out of his mouth and extinguish it under his heavy boot, so why was he walking over to you on the elliptical after he finished his set?

“I was wondering if ye’d like to get dinner? Just to catch up a bit?”

You should tell him he was insane, and break his heart once and for all. Maybe then he could finally let go.

But you smiled so gratefully at him instead. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Did he hear you right? He wasn’t helping himself, but he was a hurting man with a hole in the shape of you in his chest.

You spotted each other. It unwedged something from his chest, like a dead clock finally moving its rusted hands once more. Working out alone could never compare, and the satisfied smile on your face after each set still made him swell with pride.

Half an hour after the session, Johnny knocked on your door before strolling to the nearby kebab shop. He willed himself to not get ahead of himself, for his heart to stop fluttering as he pondered what the dinner meant – the dinner that hadn’t happened yet.

“Have you got a deployment coming up?” You glanced at him.

“Not yet. I just came back last week, was away fer almost a month.”

“And you’re alright? Not hurt?”

“Bruises here an’ there, but nothing time can’t fix.” He clasped a hand over his chest.

“You got a new haircut,” you noted, nodding at his hair.

“Och, aye.” He ruffled his short hair with a chuckle. “I… I needed the change. Somethin’ easier t’maintain.”

He used to enjoy standing out with his mohawk, but if you weren’t looking, it didn’t matter. He only wanted your attention.

“The beard too?”

He’d forgotten he’d let his stubble grow out. Was it ugly?

He rubbed a self-conscious hand down the side of his face. “Just tryin’ things out. Not sure I’ll keep it.”

“You look different, but I like it.”

He averted his gaze from your reassuring smile and continued his steps.

He let you split the bill that night, already thankful you said yes to dinner. At the table in the far corner, you popped open your meal.

”Erm- I finished the papercraft. I messed up a few times and had to paint over some parts so it took forever.”

“I hope you like how it turned out.”

“I do. It’s real pretty. I can take a photo fer ye.”

“I’d like that.”

That smile made his stomach flip again so he shoved another bite into his mouth. What kind of voodoo hold did you have on him? Someone please smack Johnny across the face, because how dare he fantasise that this was another Friday night date with his missus when before this, you hadn’t even spoken for over two months.

He cleared his throat. “Hav’ ye been? To Edinburg Castle?”

“No, which is weird come to think of it.” You laughed. “I love castles and Scotland isn’t even that far.”

“How so?”

“Oh, I guess I just never had a reason to go.”

“Well, it’s beautiful this time of year. Maybe my maw’s stew can be it,” he pretended to tease. Pretended, because how mad would you be if you knew he meant it?

You let out a small laugh as you held his gaze. “Maybe.”

Did you miss me too? The words threaten to claw up his throat and he forced them down with another sip of his drink.

You probably only spoke to him because it’d been long enough, thinking he’d have moved on. You wouldn’t think he was pathetic if you knew the truth, would you? That he was close to tears from how much his bones hopelessly ached for this, and how natural it was to be with you even after the void.

After the meal, he dawdled. Would time sit down and catch its breath? It didn’t have to hurry, really. His chest had just stopped bleeding, and he wanted to be here a little longer before it poured again.

He told himself to not think that maybe you lingered too. That you leaned back with that shy smile and toyed with the straw of your empty cup, pretty lashes flicking as your gaze went between his eyes and the floor… Like looking into his eyes too long would shift the stars and make you change your mind.

He didn’t mind at all.

Alas, the shop had to close. Johnny let out a resigned sigh as he pushed the glass door open of you, accepting that the magic would vaporise with your exit. At least he’d had another taste – his last. Maybe it would be easier now. Maybe in a few more months, it didn’t have to hurt anymore.

He dragged his feet to yours, bracing for the finality of the goodbye. His chest had started to ache again. The way you looked at him with a smile that didn’t reach your eyes – was that sympathy? Like an unspoken agreement that this was a bad idea all along, like this was only dragging the pain on.

Still, to him, it was not one to regret.

But the doormat squelched when you stepped onto it.

“Erm- hen?” He pointed at the puddle seeping from under your door.

You gasped and promptly unlocked your door, only to discover your flat pooled in an inch of water.

He hurried to the bathroom, learning that a trickle of clear water poured from the ceiling. “Shit, I think yer neighbour’s got a burst pipe or somethin’.”

“Oh, no, no no…” You ran a hand over your face. “I can’t afford the repairs.”

He grabbed you by the shoulders, eyes trained on yours. “Hey, it’s not yer fault. Call the landlord.”

Meanwhile, Johnny got your belongings off the floor. Thankfully, the water hadn’t ruined anything apart from the carpeted floors.

Your landlord lived a few floors down and promptly inspected the flat above yours. Your neighbour wasn’t home, but his sink’s pipe had burst and flooded his place too. The landlord assured you that the building was insured and that you didn’t have to pay for damages. If any, you were covered for yours.

She moved you to another flat, a bigger one for the same price, for how bad she felt. However, it was freshly renovated so it needed a major clean and some furniture hadn’t been moved back in yet.

You figured you could spend another night in your soggy flat, but Johnny insisted it couldn’t have been good for you, especially not in the weather. He promised to help you move the day after.

He could tell you wanted to say no, but the exhaustion gripping your shoulders made you pack your necessities for the night without a fight. When you said you’d take the couch, he firmly told you to take the bed. How could he let you have anything less than the best? It was the least he could do in such a misfortune.

While you cleaned yourself up, he hurried to tidy his room and change his sheets. Later when he emerged with a bundle of dirty sheets and shirts he’d picked up off the floor, you were at the kitchen counter, your back to him.

“Sorry fer the mess, but the room is good t’go now.”

You turned with a smile. “Thanks, Johnny, really. Here, I made you tea.” When you placed his mug on the table, you paused, gaze fixed on it.

When he realised what you’d seen, he sprinted to the dining table where he’d been sketching that afternoon. He didn’t plan on meeting you today, let alone have you in his flat.

“Aw, no, no- fuck.” He scurried to shut his sketchbook, clutching it to his chest with hot cheeks. He looked up at you, a stunned or perhaps even pained expression across your face. “I- I swear it’s nothin’ weird! I can throw em’ out-”

“Who’s that?”

“What?” he said incredulously.

“Who’s that, that you drew? Is she…” Your eyes darted to the ground before you continued in a small voice, “Are you seeing her?”

He blinked. Did you think it was someone else?

“I fockin’ wish I was!” He tilted the sketch he was working on towards you, the one where he was supposedly cupping your smiling face, mindless doodles of hearts piled in the corner of the page. “It’s you!”

“No, I don’t look like that… It’s not me.”

“Did ye just insult my drawing prowess?”

He flipped back to a page of smaller sketches from your last dinner. It was the night his lovelorn mind kept drifting off too, the only time you dressed up for him, the closest he had been to having you.

He did a full body sketch of your outfit. Next to it, you at the table across him with the prettiest smile. He drew each dish, even the one you didn’t like, as he didn’t want to forget a thing from that perfect moment.

“She’s beautiful,” you muttered, eyes softening as you took in the illustration.

“Because you are. I love looking at you. I love drawing you,” he confessed. “But I guess yer too busy avoiding me to care.”

Your eyes met his blue ones as your shoulders sagged. “Johnny…”

“M’ sorry. I wasn’t trying to make ye feel bad.” He closed his book again with a sigh. “But if I’m honest, it hurts. A lot. But at least yer not leading me on, so I’m just… trying to forget.” He chuckled humourlessly as he shook his head. “It’s stupid how I can’t stop liking ye.”

“You like me?” you repeated.

His brows furrowed. “Isn’t that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“No! Oh God-“ You held your hand over your mouth. “I was… I started liking you too much and I had to stop before it was too late, because you don’t like me like that.”

“Me? I don’t like ye!?” He pointed at himself. “Who the fuck said that?”

“Well, no one, but-“

“I can say with certainty ah’ve never not liked ye.”

You paused before your gaze shifted to the mug in your hand. “I didn’t think it would matter to you.“

“Of course it matters, hen.” He rounded the table and placed his hand over yours, lowering the mug onto the table. “It hurts, losing ye like tha’.”

“I’m sorry, Johnny. I didn’t mean to,” you mumbled.

“So do ye still like me or not? Because I like you a lot.”

You couldn’t meet his baby blues, but you gave a small nod as you supressed a smile.

He set the sketchbook down, a grin forming on his lips. “Will you finally let me hug you now?”

You reached out for his hand, your touch feather-light as you stepped in. He wrapped his arms around you with a content sigh. You felt better than what he’d always imagined – softer, warmer. He didn’t let go for a few moments as he smiled to himself, still not believing his mind-boggling luck that you liked him.

With his lungs full of your scent, he pulled away to cup your smiling face, just like in his last sketch. It was perfect in his rough hand. Was he allowed to touch something so beautiful with it?

He didn’t expect you to lean in as your eyes locked with his, but it was second nature to pull you closer. Your lips against his made his knees tremble. When your hot tongue swiped across his lower lip, goosebumps broke out on his arms. You lit him up with a zap up his spine.

His lips parted as he let out a noise, something between a gasp and a moan. Another pathetic whimper escaped him when his tongue swirled with yours. He could only hold onto you tighter as he melted against you.

This was how it was supposed to be like all along.

When he pulled away, he couldn’t help but bring his fingertips to his wet lips. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Was tha’ real or am I dreamin’?”

“Kiss me again, Johnny,” you said breathlessly, cupping his bearded jaw.

“You never have to ask again.”

Johnny didn’t think it would ever come to this, but you and him became the gym couple.

“Can I get a kiss for every sit-up, hen?”

“Bon, let’s make out between sets.”

“Do ye want to see how many times I can hip-thrust yer weight, love?”

You’d giggle, swatting his arm as he gave you a smug grin. But you were the one he pressed up against the far wall of the deserted gym, your hips squirming against his.

“So glad there’s no cameras here,” he muttered between kisses.

“I still would prefer no possibility of someone walking in.”

“Everyone knows not to walk in when we’re here.”

It was true. People didn’t take long to learn to give you space, lest the muscular Scot stared them down. That, and he imagined it was rather awkward to witness him smack your butt not-so discreetly.

You laughed against his lips, pinching his ass lightly.

“Ye know I like it when ye do that harder, bon.”

He should start wearing oversized shirts that hung past his groin again. He didn’t need a compression shirt anymore when he could rip his shirt off anytime to tempt you now that you were his - in the privacy of his or your flat of course.

Before his next deployment, Johnny gave you his key and let you drive his car in case you needed it. When he came back two weeks later, you greeted him with a new papercraft kit. He didn’t have enough time to thank you because he dove right into your lips. Did you have any idea how much he missed you?

Spending time at his sketching or crafting became a nightly routine as you joked and chatted about the day.

Across him, you hunched, laser-focused on attaching the conical roof to one of the castle towers with a pair of tweezers. The way you furrowed your brows in concentration always made him smile.

“Hen,” he said again, finally gaining your attention as you looked up at him. “I said I can take a leave next month.”

“Oh, how long? Have you got anything planned?”

“I wantae take ye t’see the real thing.” He nodded at the half-built Glamis castle in the middle of the table.

The smile bloomed on your lips. “Are you serious?”

“Aye, of course.”

“That would be wonderful.”

He shifted his attention to the piece of paper in his hand. “Ye know, I could- if you want to see my home, meet the rest of my family… Maybe have my maw’s stew.” When you didn’t respond, his eyes flicked up to your warm ones.

“I’d love to, Johnny,” you muttered.

He gave you a relieved smile and you continued the activity until you called it a day. You washed the tea set as he put away the papercraft.

He watched you for a moment, your back to him at the sink wearing one of his shirts. It was a familiar sight, you in his flat. It was silly, but even after hours of being with you, he grew clingy when it inched closer to bedtime on weekdays as it meant you had to go back to yours.

While he was grateful for each night spent in each other’s arms, it was never enough. These walls had never been this much like home before you. It was your home too, wasn’t it?

He shouldn’t have asked. He didn’t want to scare you or make you uncomfortable, but his heart belonged to you. How could he not be honest?

“Love,” he placed a gentle hand on your hip. “Would you consider moving in with me? It doesn’t have to be anytime soon, but later on. In the future, whenever you want to.”

You turned to him with a teasing smile. “You sure you won’t get sick of me?”

“Never, bon,” he said under his breath. “I’ll take care of rent, and you can use the savings to take that course you always wanted.”

You held his gaze for another beat. “I’ll only consider if we split rent.”

“In that case, I’ll just have to find more ways to spoil you.”

He planted a kiss on your forehead, making you smile. He’d make sure you’d never think of him as anything less than the best boyfriend.

Johnny couldn’t stop bouncing as you boarded the train to Scotland. He hadn’t been able to wipe that grin off his face either.

“I’m so excited, bon.” He gripped your hand with two of his, holding it against his chest as his eyes sparkled. “My maw’s going to love ye.”

Under the clear blue skies, the city tapered into a line as the train bolted through vast grasslands.

You turned to him with a small laugh. “Why are you saying that as if I don’t know her, like she hasn’t been giving us cooking lessons on video call?”

“Ah, well, that’s true.” He shrugged. “But she’s gonnae love ye even more. And my niece and nephews.”

“I can’t wait to meet them.”

“They grow so fast, some could only sit on my lap last year. Don’t know if they still can this time.”

“What if I also want to sit on your lap?”

He grinned. “There’s always space for ye between my legs.”

Johnny took you to his nan’s to meet his extended family, which included his niece and nephews who were devastated that their favourite uncle didn’t have a mohawk anymore. Looking at the dejection in their little cute faces, of course he promised he would return with it next time.

His mum and aunts gushed over how sweet you were together. His cousins included you in the conversation, asking about your itinerary in Scotland and recommending spots to check out. Of course they’d also asked how you two met. They weren’t surprised you found the rat in the gym.

After lunch, the energised kids took Johnny and you by the hand to the backyard to play. Because he’d been bench pressing you, he could swing the kids around as they latched onto his arms and legs, shrieking in glee. The others formed a line for their turn with a giggle while you gave his niece a piggyback ride.

Before heading back home, Johnny gave you a tour of the town. It was quiet, but he showed you his schools, the hip places he and his friends frequented as teens and the football field he used to play on. Lastly, he drove past his first ever gym - the one that started it all.

“Tha’ fine summer day when I was 15th, I decided I needed t’carry all my maw’s shoppin’ in a go,” he lamented in front of the small building. “Mr. Russel’s the owner. He was always so nice, gave me free protein shake every Saturday. He was so proud when SAS accepted me.”

You unbuckled your seatbelt. “Alright, let’s go.”

“Wha’?”

“I know you’ve been itching to lift. Come on.” You climbed out of the car.

He followed with a grin. Perpetually dressed in athleisure clothing had its perks. “This is why I love ye, hen.”

Mr. Russell was scribbling behind the desk when the door swung open.

“Hiya, welcome-“ His face lit up when he saw the sergeant. “Johnny!”

“Good t’see ya, Mr. Russell.”

The middle-aged man patted his shoulder firmly, looking him over with pride. “Looking huge, pal. Are you following a new split?”

“Ta, mate, but it’s the same as always.” He grinned. “Giza day pass, would ye?”

“Don’t be daft, Mactavish! Yer free t’walk in whenever.” He swatted his hand and turned to you. “An’ who’s the lady?”

“Och, sorry, this is m’friend.“ He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and shot you a teasing smile.

You frowned, but immediately recovered with a smile. “We’re super best friends actually, and flatmates. Nice to meet you.”

He laughed, his thumb rubbing your shoulder. “No, she’s ma pretty burd. We’re staying fer the weekend.”

“Hope ye enjoy yer stay, miss.” Mr. Russell chuckled along. “Go ahead then. Have a good session ye two!”

Past the turnstile gate, your hand slipped down to pinch his butt making him jump.

Yeah, he should stop teasing you in public, or at least wear baggy shirts when he did it.

Masterlist

Thank you so much for sticking around until the end :D I'm grateful for the support this fic has got, always enjoy writing for you guys. Hope to see you around again. Take care!

@tiredmetalenthusiast @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot @marvelssssssss @mydaiilyescape @teranyaa

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[cherryblossom-heart]

Stealing the spotlight (Media coverage)

Model!Satoru x Makeup Artist!Reader

<Previous chapter. Next Chapter>

New Faces Light Up Aether Vision Runway: Suguru Geto and Kento Nanami Shine, While Satoru Gojo Falls Short

Osaka, Japan – The Aether Vision Runway event, designed to spotlight fresh talent hoping to make their mark in the modeling industry, proved to be an unforgettable night—but not for the same reasons for everyone involved. While Suguru Geto and Kento Nanami impressed with their poise and professionalism, Satoru Gojo’s flamboyant performance left much to be desired, casting a shadow over what could have been a promising debut.

The event brought together aspiring models from across Japan, offering them a chance to showcase their skills in front of industry insiders. Among the hopefuls, Geto, Nanami, and Gojo stood out as the night’s most talked-about participants.

Suguru Geto quickly established himself as the highlight of the show, exuding confidence and charisma as he commanded the runway. His ability to embody the mood of each outfit, paired with his intense, magnetic presence, left the audience captivated. Industry insiders have already begun speculating that Geto’s performance may open doors beyond modeling, with rumors of casting offers for both fashion campaigns and film roles circulating after the show.

“Suguru has that rare ability to make you stop and watch,” said one casting agent. “He understands how to tell a story without saying a word.”

Kento Nanami also left a lasting impression, albeit with a very different approach. His clean-cut style and quiet elegance stood in stark contrast to the dramatic flair of the event’s theme, but it worked in his favor. Nanami’s composed demeanor on the runway resonated with audiences and industry professionals alike, showcasing a classic charm that some say is sorely missing in modern fashion. Whispers suggest Nanami may already be in talks for future international runway shows, as well as appearances in television dramas.

“Kento is the kind of model who can fit anywhere, whether it’s on a high-end runway or in front of a camera,” commented one fashion journalist. “His versatility is going to take him far.”

Satoru Gojo, on the other hand, struggled to find the right balance between personality and professionalism. His bold style and cheeky attitude generated excitement leading up to the event, but his performance on the runway failed to live up to the hype. Gojo’s exaggerated gestures, such as repeatedly adjusting his sunglasses and breaking into playful smirks, drew more laughter than admiration. Many felt his antics detracted from the outfits he was meant to highlight.

“Satoru definitely caught attention, but not for the right reasons,” said a fashion insider. “He has the charisma, but he needs to remember that the runway is about showcasing the designs, not himself.”

Despite the criticism, Gojo’s natural charm and striking appearance still garnered some attention, with whispers of potential casting in light-hearted commercials and possibly even action-oriented projects. However, his road to establishing himself as a serious model might require some reevaluation.

Social media buzzed with commentary after the event, with hashtags like #GetoBreakout and #NanamiElegance trending, while #GojoOverhyped became the center of heated debate. Fans of all three models defended their favorites, but even Gojo’s supporters acknowledged that his performance didn’t meet expectations.

As Aether Vision Runway closes its doors, the future seems bright for Suguru Geto and Kento Nanami, whose professionalism and talent have made them names to watch in the industry. For Satoru Gojo, this debut served as a learning experience—and perhaps a reminder that charm alone won’t always carry the day.