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dollgxtz · 4 months ago

Note

Ok a fic where reader and sylus are at a business meeting, she “offers” herself as payment (maybe as a joke or just to rile sylus idk) and he makes sure to remind her who she belongs to? Please???

Kindred Spirits

Word Count: 5.1k

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, possessiveness, ownership, spanking, hitting, slight blood mention, pet names like kitten & sweetie, creampie, rough sex, crying, slight fluff at the end :3

AN: Anon ur a literal genius. This has Sylus written all over it. Im so happy to be back posting another story for you all! Also happy to announce my masterlist is now complete and can be found in my pinned! Ty all! Enjoy and remember, my asks are open for any character, Sylus is just my husband LOL. Remember to read my pinned before requesting please! This is a bit tamer than my other stories but trust I am cooking up some deviant content as soon as I publish this one :33

“Finally…”

You nearly collapse near your front door. A whole week of your life. Gone. To what you ask? Dealing with wanderers on a special aid mission. Sure sure, the job paid well but it had been weeks since your last off day. Every time it seemed like one was around the corner here they go with some emergency call and a spill about how some rich politician needed help or something.

You were starting to get tired of cleaning up other people’s mistakes.

You fumbled with your keys, fingers numb from the biting cold. The wind whipped around you, making you shiver as you tried to fit the right key into the lock. Your breath came out in visible puffs, and you could feel the frustration building with each failed attempt. Finally, with a relieved sigh, you heard the click of the lock turning.

The still warm air is such a welcoming contrast to the wind and biting cold outside. You quickly shut your door and melt to the floor, your feet aching with relief as the pressure you had been putting on them subsided. Peace at last. Time for a hot shower an-

Your peace was cut short with the distinct tone of your phone ringing. And not just any ring tone. The one you had set specifically for a certain white haired man that only ever brought trouble. Wondering if you should even pick up, you bring the phone to your face, knowing that you were going to answer regardless.

“Sylus…I’m really tired. Can we talk lat-"

“Long time no see kitten. You should stop by for a bit, hm?”

You roll your eyes, suppressing the urge to scoff out loud. Arrogant prick, you think, irritated by his inability to let you finish a sentence without interrupting. How did he even know you were home now?

You sigh deeply, feeling the tension building, and rub your temples to alleviate the mounting frustration. No, you tell yourself firmly. You wouldn’t put up with this today. Maybe another day, but definitely not today.

"Actually, no. I just returned from a week-long aid mission. Not today," you say firmly, aiming to be clear and resolute in your decision to stay put. Sylus however, seems to sense the cracks in your resolve and only responds with a chuckle.

“I want to see you. I’ll have Luke and Kieran come get you since you’re so tired”.

“Hu-”

“See you soon. They’re en route. Ciao”

The phone clicks, signaling the end of the call. For whatever reason, your ever growing frustration simply dissipates, defeat taking its place. You should be used to this by now. Sylus always gets what he wants. And you always let him. It goes without saying that it’s the same way for you as well. At least, Sylus always gives you what you want if it doesn’t interfere with his need to lay his eyes on you at least once in awhile. He knew that you wouldn’t push this though. You both knew.

Deep down, you wanted to see him too.

You asked Luke and Kieran to wait outside for a bit while you took a brisk shower and freshened up. Those two had always been very patient and understanding. You felt bad “bossing” them around, and yet they always insisted that you could. Though Luke had admitted on one occasion that he never expected to be helping a girl find hair ties or carrying shopping bags while working for Onychinus.

The statement had made you laugh a bit. You finally finish dressing in some plain sweats and rush to the car. Luke and Kieran are waiting outside of a dark colored jeep. Not too flashy as to not draw attention, but it was still clearly very expensive.

“Actually miss, Boss wanted you to wear these” Luke says, holding out an expensive looking dress. Clearly designed by hand and tailored to your measurements. Kieran follows his lead, holding out a box containing a pair of earrings and a lavish looking necklace.

“Huh? What’s this for? A date?”

“Business. That’s all he said” Kieran chimed in. Although you couldn’t see their faces, you knew they had no reason to lie to you about this.

“Ah. Dragging me into more trouble. Got it”.

When the three of you finally arrived to the location, the sun had already set for the day. You darted your eyes back and forth, squinting above at the bright neon sign of the establishment.

“We’re not going to the N109 Zone? This is a nightclub…” you mutter, taken aback by the unfamiliar surroundings. When did this even get here? There were plenty of clubs in Linkon of course, but you never seemed to notice this one. Not that you knew much about the night life to begin with. People were lined up at the entrance, chatting, fixing makeup, or texting.

“Boss wants you here. He’s waiting inside. Enjoy your time miss” Luke said, amusement written all over his tone. He gets out of the passenger seat to open the door and lend you a hand. You rolled your eyes, not wanting to appear shaken up by the situation. Sylus was always full of surprises. This was no different, act confident.

At least, that’s what you tried to tell yourself. After getting almost immediate entrance into the club with just a simple nod from the guard, you enter. As you walk inside the club, Luke and Kieran not far behind you, you can tell this was no ordinary night club. Everyone here was dressed lavishly and sharp, clearly possessing power and ulterior motives. A few eyes lay on you as you walk in, and you feel your hands start to sweat.

Keep cool. This isn’t the first time you’ve been around high ranking individuals. This is probably some test he set up…right? Or some kind of joke to get a laugh?

Clenching your fists, your eyes dart and search for a tall figure with white hair, feeling more nervous by the second that you don’t see him. You’re about to turn around and ask one of the twins, but at last your gaze settles on him, sipping on a glass of Gin Fizz. He’s sitting in a velvety booth by himself, people watching. He’s wearing his black button up with red streaks across it, coat hanging on his shoulders per usual. As if he felt you staring, his eyes shift to meet yours. He sets down his glass, giving you you a small smirk. His eyes narrow, sending a very clear message.

Come here.

As if you were suddenly possessed, your feet seem to start moving on their own. You weren’t sure if you were relieved to see him or if it was just the relief of seeing a familiar face in an unfamiliar place. You take a few deep breaths as you approach, readying your witful replies to any of his attempts to make fun of you. Without making any sound or looking at him, you quietly slide in next to him.

“You look nice. Seems I was right about this look on you” Sylus says, taking another sip of his drink. His eyes wander up and down behind the glass, seemingly devouring you. You squirm under his gaze.

“Hm. Thanks. This gift is the least you can do after dragging me to do whatever you want on a whim once again” you scoff, eyeing the full glass that sits on the table. It’s another glass of Gin Fizz, probably for Sylus. There’s three other very empty glasses on the table.

This man can definitely hold his alcohol.

He chuckles, taking a finger and pushing the glass of Gin closer to you.

“Don’t be like that sweetie. Loosen up a bit, you’ll need it”

“For what exactly? Business?” you mock, picking up the Gin. You didn’t exactly like the taste of this particular alcohol of choice but Sylus was right about one thing. Some liquid courage was definitely needed for whatever shenanigans he was dragging you into tonight.

“Yeah. Figured I could use Linkon’s darling Miss Hunter as backup” Sylus chuckles, watching you nearly choke as you take three big gulps of the drink. You squeeze your eyes in disgust as you finish the rest of the glass, shooting a death glare in his direction as you set it down.

“You’re perfectly capable. Don’t mock me Sylus”. You grit your teeth in irritation, almost ready to rip him to shreds with your words. Clearly your tone has no effect on him though, as all you get in return is a soft smile. Sylus places a hand on your upper leg, slowing sliding his fingers under your dress. You gasp, the coldness of his fingers making you twitch a bit. The warmness of your skin mixed with his cold touch makes the sensation feel like icy fire.

“Or what? You’ll use this on me?” he smirks, tugging on the concealed gun strapped under your dress. “I’m all for it honestly”

You slap his hand away, the woozy feeling from the Gin Fizz starting to kick in. What was in this drink? It was strong. Too strong.

“Pervert. Always touching me, making fun of me. Maybe I will shoot you. Again.” you growl, turning your head away from him. You attempt to scoot away as well, but are met with a strong grip around your waist as you’re pulled into closer proximity with him. Sylus grabs your chin and lifts it towards his face. He leans down a bit, the smell of alcohol and his bourbon vanilla cologne making you feel even more dizzy.

“You can put your claws away now kitten. Don’t make me have to melt your little tantrum away” he coos, gently caressing your face with his thumb.

You stare at him, dumbfounded, desperately searching your sluggish brain for a comeback but finding yourself too flustered to form any words. The look in Sylus’s eyes shifts from a smug expression to a much softer, almost tender gaze, and you wonder what his next move will be. Your face starts to burn as you feel heat rising in your core, your heart pounding in your chest. Panic sets in as you consider the possibilities, your mind racing with the fear of what might come next.

Don’t tell me he’s going to…?!

"You're so...confusing" you mutter.

You’re just about to try and squirm from his grip, when Luke and Kieran tap on the table, catching yalls attention.

“Boss man, Val says he’s ready for ya” Luke says, nonchalantly ignoring the scene that’s displayed in front of him. Sylus releases your face, his face going serious again. He gets up, reaching out a hand to help you out of the booth.

“Time for business, sweetie”

You’re guided by the twins and Sylus past the sweaty bodies on the dance floor to a somewhat hidden room located downstairs. The area the stairs led to was blocked off by a singular rope, clearly only meant for a select crowd.

In the room there’s a long black table, cards and chips all over it. There’s a few prominent figures already seated, along with a few bodyguards standing near the door. Sylus pulls a seat out for you, before taking his own. You study the figure that’s sitting at the head of the table as you sit. He’s short, a bit chubby, dark hair, smoking a cigar. A scar sits angrily on his forehead and you wonder what kinda grudges led to such an injury. He notices you looking at him, and gives you a devilish grin. Some of his teeth are crooked or missing.

All that money and he can't fix his smile?

You shudder. Sylus looks over at you, and back to the man at the head of the table. He’s reading you, clearly sensing your nervousness. He says nothing, simply reaching a hand over to rest on your thigh.

“Was starting to think you were going to keep me waiting Sylus. Seems you didn’t run after all” he laughs, wheezing a bit as he takes another puff of his cigar. You wrinkle your nose a bit as the potent smell hits your senses.

“I couldn’t turn down a game of cards with my dear old friend” Sylus says, irritation coating the last word. “Let’s keep things civil this time, hm Valentino?”

Valentino bursts into laughter, clearly amused. Despite his laughter, you couldn’t ignore the murderous tension in the air. Something tells you this isn’t any regular game of cards. You gulp, trying to force yourself to look at everyone at the table and smile.

“Well hello little lady. Sylus, you didn’t tell me you kept such gorgeous company…” Val says, his eyes snaking all over your body. You feel Sylus squeeze your thigh, clearly irritated. He pulls out a coin from his coat pocket, seemingly trying to channel his frustrations into something else.

“You know I’m not really the type to share, Val. She’s all mine. Down to every single strand of hair”. Sylus ends, catching the coin and shooting a glare in the man’s direction. It was plain, but conveyed a message very well.

You feel your palms start to sweat. Was he being serious right now?? You side eye him, trying to piece out whether or not this was some kind of facade you’re supposed to play into. Valentino clearly takes Sylus’s words as a challenge.

“I’ll give you twenty million for her. Maybe fifty million if you make her give us a little strip show. What do ya say? She looks so soft. Probably makes cute noises too…~” he chuckles, likely enjoying the look of surprise that washes across your face.

Sylus remains quiet, his face unmoving, frozen in a pissed glare. You don’t know if it was the alcohol you drank earlier, or if it was some inkling of an attempt to dissipate the tension, but you clear your throat and begin to speak.

“Well Sylus? You can share can’t you? It’s quite the generous offer Mr. Valentino. I’m quite flattered actually.” you express, putting on your best smug look. Sylus stiffens, a somewhat shocked expression washing over him. Valentino erupts into yet another fit of laughter, seemingly unable to contain himself. Turning to look back at Sylus, you see it in his face briefly. An uncaged look of rage before it quickly dissipates.

Shit. Shouldn’t have said that.

Far too late to stop now though.

“You heard the lady Sylus. Why don’t you try sharing just this once? What I would give to taste that sweet little body of he-”

Sylus slams a revolver on the table, then calmly starts picking up cards from the deck.

"I'd suggest you stop talking and start playing the game, Mr. Valentino," Sylus snarls, his words dripping with venom. The fury in his voice is palpable, and it's clear he's reached the end of his patience.

You give Val a sly look, feigning pity. “Ah, sorry Valentino. Seems this one can’t quite let me go yet”. You don’t know what you were trying to achieve, but it’s certainly not working to dissipate any tension. Val doesn’t respond to you though, all his focus on Sylus now.

“My dear friend. You should know me by now. There’s something I’m much more interested in now than some money. Now I want the girl, or nothing”.

Valentino wears a shit eating grin on his face, soaking in the fact that he thinks he’s gained some control of the situation, unaffected by the gun on the table. Sylus simply sighs, rubbing his fingers against the temple of his forehead.

“I see where this is going then”.

You barely process what’s happening before everything and everyone starts moving. As soon as Sylus begins to stand, Valentinos guards start shooting. Sylus wastes no time flipping the large table, sending the cards and game chips flying everywhere. You yelp as he yanks you towards him using his body and the table to shield the oncoming attack of bullets. You hear Luke and Kieran joining in the frenzy, yelling obscenities as they begin shooting their own hidden weapons.

You swiftly reach for the weapon concealed beneath your dress, your fingers brushing against the cool metal as you draw it out. Turning to face Sylus, you ready yourself for his instructions, your body tense with anticipation. Instead of giving you orders, he locks eyes with you, his gaze piercing through you with an intensity that feels like it's reaching into your very soul. The silence is heavy, charged with unspoken tension as bullets whip past the both of you, and you can feel your heartbeat quicken in response.

“I need you alive for what’s coming sweetie. Pay attention, stay close”

You blink. Twice. Unable to process his words before he yanks you both up, one hand using his evol to send the table crashing into several bodyguards. The four of you fight your way through the onslaught of people coming into the door, before eventually dashing up the stairs. People are running in all directions, seemingly caught up in the chaos of everything. You all manage to make it out the door and into the brisk cold air, the twins quickly hopping into the car to whisk you away.

“Go on, I’ll catch up soon” Sylus states, hurriedly pushing you into the car and slamming the door before you could protest. He signals Kieran to drive off, and that he does.

“He’s…going to level the building. Isn’t he?” you sigh, sighing at the fact that Sylus seemed to conveniently forget that this was in fact not the lawless land of the N109 Zone. No doubt the Hunter’s Association would have to investigate for potential wanderer activity, and that would be a lot of paperwork.

"It's fine. He owned that place anyway. He'll just build another," Luke says, his voice calm and unbothered. Just as the words leave his mouth, a deafening boom erupts behind the car, shaking the ground beneath yall. The explosion's shockwave rattles the windows, and the sky lights up with a fiery glow, cutting off Luke's next sentence mid-breath.

You groan.

The twins did drive you to the N109 this time, swiftly helping you out the car and into Sylus’s private villa. When you entered the front door, a nightgown and lacy underwear were laid neatly out for you in his room, your arrival clearly anticipated.

It wasn’t more than an hour before Sylus waltzed in the front door, eyeing your slouching figure on the couch. You sit up as soon as you see him, still somewhat annoyed.

“What took you so damn long? Also do you have to level every building you come across?” you spat, glaring at him. He says nothing though, walking straight past you and into his room.

“Huh? Sylus?? What the hell…”

Not liking the feeling of being ignored, you hurriedly chased after him. You had never really been uncomfortable barging into his room. You had done it plenty of times at this point, the first time being when he had challenged you to steal the brooch from him. No point in being shy now. He’s fumbling with something in his drawer when you reach up to tap his shoulder.

“Sylus! Don’t ignore me, I know you ca-”

He swiftly turns around, grabbing your wrist before you can touch him. His gaze is unreadable, cold even. You start to sweat, trying to take your arm back. But he only squeezes tighter.

"I was hoping you'd leave me be so I could calm down. But of course you're as petulant as ever" he says.

"Let go! What's wrong with you!?" You attempt to remove his hand from your wrist but he doesn't budge.

“Go to the bed. Place your hands on it” he says, face unchanging.

“Huh??”

“I don’t like to repeat myself”.

You freeze for only a moment before quickly moving to the bed. You meticulously put your hands where instructed, something deep in your core telling you that it’s likely best to listen for now. However, you can’t help to look over your should to quip at Sylus. You’re slightly bent at an angle, trying your best to keep your balance.

“What’s this about? I’m not that upset that you reduced the building to rubble”

Sylus snakes his way behind you, quietly, as if thinking of what to say. He reaches out a hand, grabbing the ends of your nightgown and moving the soft fabric around in his fingers. You feel the heat rise to your face, the skin of your ass feeling a slight gush of cold air.

“You like playing games with me, don’t you? Testing me” he says coldly, fingers trailing up the back of your legs slowly. You shiver, attempting to squirm away. His evol appears around you, its tight grip making you cry out.

Oh. This was about that.

“Huh?? No, I was just playing along. Just friendly banter yknow?” you say, voice wavering. You’ve clearly pissed him off. A part of you knows it’s a slight lie. You didn’t want to admit it out loud but it was kind of amusing to see Sylus get so riled up over something. Over you especially. But you hadn’t exactly done it fully on purpose. It was the alcohol.

But you knew he wasn’t buying it, as observant as he was.

“Sure. You were just pretending to act like a stray kitten trying to find a new owner?” he smirks, his fingers beginning to trace circles over the cloth of your panties. You let out a small whine, his touch just barely grazing your already wet cunt.

“Owner? I don’t belong to you. Or anyone” you scoff, the resolve in your voice wavering with every little circle he completes on your skin. You almost whine in disappointment when he pulls away.

“And yet…” Sylus trails off, leaving you with aching curiosity before you’re met with stinging pain on your ass. You cry out, unable to move with his evol still snaked around you. “You did exactly what I told you to do just now, wear the clothes I leave out for you, and practically melt everytime I even barely touch you”.

“Sylus?! What the hell was that…?!” you exclaim, trying your hardest to process his words and the situation at hand. He doesn’t respond, proceeding to gently caress the spot where he smacked you. The stinging pain gently eases away, and you feel yourself relaxing with his touch once again. He once again trails his fingers down to your clothed pussy, rubbing slow and meticulous circles around it. You start to whine, attempting to push yourself into his fingers for more friction. He pulls his hand away, making a disapproving sigh.

“Acting like you’re in heat per usual” he chuckles, watching as you wiggle around under the grip of his evol. “This is a punishment”.

“For what? Cause I let some sick and ugly looking crime boss think he had a chance with me?”

Sylus wastes no time bringing his hand to your ass again, earning another painful whine out of you. You feel tears forming in your eyes that you can’t wipe away. He’s certainly not holding back his strength, and yet you know this isn’t even a third of the force he could use on you.

“For entertaining him” he says plainly.

Another smack.

“Another for stupidly handing over your life, body and soul for a measly twenty million”

An even harder hit, this one fueled by rage.

“And lastly…”

You nearly choke as he delivers the final blow, your ass definitely bruising by now. Sylus offers no comfort this time, instead leaning down next to your crying face, breath hot against your ear.

“For forgetting that you belong to me, just as much as I belong to you. Kindred spirits remember?”

You have no chance to respond before he’s flipping you on your back, your nightgown flying up to reveal your wet panties.

“I-im sorry, Sy” you choke, tears blurring your vision.

“Show me then, sweetie. Spread your legs. Wide” he instructs, reaching up to brush your tears away. This isn’t done lovingly, more like calculated and cold.

This is far from over.

You silently but shakingly open your legs, your ass still painfully aching from his assault. You’re surprised when he doesn’t rip your underwear in two, choosing to rather peel them off your legs slowly. You notice the hunger in his eyes as he does so, as if savoring the view of your cunt at his fingertips. A small drop of arousal pools down your ass, and Sylus scoops it up with one finger.

You watch as he puts his finger in his mouth, savoring the drop of you with swiftness. His piercing gaze never leaves yours though, and you want to suddenly run away and hide. This is beyond thrilling, but you try your best to remain as still as possible, scared that he’ll think you’re enjoying it too much and punish you accordingly.

You suddenly can’t take the tension anymore, and close your eyes. You hear the sound of Sylus removing his belt from its loops, then the loud clang as it hits the floor. You feel the bed shift as he lowers himself over you, his face stopping just inches over yours, indicated by the sudden feel and warmth of his breath. He grabs your face in his hand and squeezes your jaw. Hard.

“Look at me kitten” he commands, his tone filled with unkempt rage and anger. Your eyes fly open, terrified.

“I’m the only one that will ever taste you. Repeat it” he says. Before you can get a word out, he’s pushing the fat tip of his cock in your entrance. You cry out in agony, nowhere near ready to have been penetrated. But he doesn’t stop filling you.

“Repeat it. Or I’ll hit you again. Do you want that?”

“You’re t-the…ah!” you whine, his cock halfway inside you at this point. Your poor cunt feels like it’s being impaled, splitting pain soaring through your core.

“Try again”

You let out a whimper, trying your best to push through the pain and put thoughts into words.

“You’re the oh-only one that gets to taste me” you choke out, voice wavering and your eyes teary. Sylus gives a hard thrust, pushing the rest of his length inside you. You cry out again, feeling like you’re on the verge of passing out. Sylus seems unmoved by your outbursts though.

“And?”

You stare at him, barely able to see his face through the tears. What? What does he mean and? He didn’t say anything else did he?

“Hu-what?”

You hear him sigh with disapproval, giving you yet another hard thrust. And another. And another. You’re clinging onto his back now, nails digging into his skin as the sound of the bed creaking and your pants fill the room. Blood has probably been drawn on his back, not that he’d even notice. You can hear him grunting in your ear, clearly enjoying the feeling of you tightening around him when you tense from the pain. Although it still hurts, you can feel yourself accumulating to the shape and size of his length, and the pain lessons a bit more with each thrust. He stops once again, tilting your face in his grip.

“What did I say you forgot? Or is this kitten filled with too much cock to think straight now?” he mocks. You can hear the smile on his face despite not being able to see him clearly. Heat creeps up on your cheeks as you wrack your brain for answers.

“I-you…we’re kindred spirits?”

“Before that sweetie”

You blink the tears on your face away, your vision becoming a bit more clear. Although he’s still gazing down at you, his expression is not as angry as before. Seems he’s gotten a bit of his pent up anger out now.

“I belong to you, Sylus” you say, voice small and whiny from crying. That’s definitely what he wanted to hear, as he began to pepper kisses on your neck, on your cheek, and eventually resting on your lips. You greedily return his affection, leaning into this feverish kiss, the both of you only periodically stopping to pant for air between kisses. He stops, resting his forehead with yours, gazing into your eyes once more.

“And I belong to you. What’s mine is yours. All of it”

You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s thrusting again, this time with a continuous and steady pace. You cling onto him, the exchange of flowery words and rigorous thrusting already bringing you on the verge of ecstasy. Sylus already noticed long before you did though, as he brought his hand between the two of you, circling your clit further your stimulation.

“Go ahead, come undone for me” he whispers, voice strained for nearly being at his end too. Your body obeys, unraveling and writhing with pleasure as Sylus continues to pound into you. You ride your orgasm to its end, till the touching of your clit becomes too much and you whine from overstimulation.

“Sylus…!” you moan, and he stops, already at the start of his own climax. You shudder as you feel him spill into you, his seed immediately beginning to pool down your cunt and to your ass. He pulls his heavy cock out of you, a feeling of emptiness taking its place. For a moment nothing is said, just the sound of the both of you catching your breath.

You decide to break the silence.

“Sylus…I’m really sorry” you start, looking up at him. He simply chuckles, placing a kiss on your cheek before getting up to grab a rag from the bathroom.

“You’ve taken your punishment quite well, why are you apologizing again sweetie?” he says from the bathroom, coming back to wipe you clean. You scoff, slightly tensing from the coldness of the cloth.

“Hmph. Fine, I take it back then. I’m holding a grudge anyways for how hard you hit me”

He simply sighs as he finishes wiping you up. “Back with the infamous wit already? Can’t a man catch a break?”

You sit up, feeling emboldened once more.

“Nope. Maybe don’t hit me with the strength of a thousand suns next time and we’ll see”

Sylus tosses the rag in a laundry basket, making his way back to your side. He pulls you into his arms, embracing you in his warmth. You can’t help but smile against his chest.

“Well, good thing I have all night to make it up to you”

You lightly pinch his side, giggling into his embrace. A question crosses your mind.

"Did you mean it Sylus? We belong to each other?"

Sylus took your face in his hand, giving you a slight smile.

"I don't say stuff I don't mean. You know this"

That's the furthest he was willing to explain it. At least for now. Who knows what kind of power trip would ensue if you truly knew how much you had the big bad leader of Onychinus wrapped around your finger.

#umi writes ♡︎#sylus x reader #love and deepspace #sylus #sylus x reader smut #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds smut #lads #lads smut #lads fic #lads scenarios #l&ds sylus #l&ds #love and deep space x reader #l&ds x reader #sylus x reader fic #love and deep space smut #lads sylus

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empresskylo · 1 year ago

Text

➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓

ZOMBIE!SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY X AFAB!READER

SUMMARY | Simon is dead. And you were forced to leave him behind as the rise of the dead took over. When you volunteer to sneak back into base to grab med supplies, you don't expect to run into Simon—alive, but certainly not himself...

WARNINGS | dead dove do not eat! this is literally smut about zombie!ghost... so... beware i suppose. gore. dub-con?? afab!reader. wc 3k

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ lock me up! send me to jail!!! i can't believe I wrote this yes i can. This is how down bad i am for Ghost, I literally wrote smut about fucking him as a zombie... someone send the authorities, i need my internet taken away. (happy oct 1st btw)

𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It had been less than two days since you lost Simon.

The image of him dying in the infirmary wing, bleeding out on the bed, was plastered behind your eyes. You saw it every waking moment and even dreamt of it during the night. You could still feel Soap’s hands squeezing your arms far too aggressively as he dragged you out of the infirmary while you cried out for Simon. You tried to claw your way to him but Soap was stronger than you by a long shot. “We have to get out of here!” he shouted at you over the cacophony of voices, people running around frantically. You let him drag you away to safety, your body limp in his hold, thinking of Simon’s dying breath.

The infirmary had promptly been boarded up, the doors all sealed tight. The breakout had begun a few weeks ago and it only just infiltrated the base. When Ghost had come back, bleeding out after a mission gone wrong, you furiously checked him for bite marks. The relief you felt when you didn’t find any was short-lived. Simon had lost a lot of blood. Too much blood. You could still see it covering your hands the days following like a wraith. You felt like his blood was still wedged under your fingernails even after scrubbing your hands violently in a bucket of water.

With the infirmary infected and the outside world gone, you had little options but to hunker down in the barracks. There were small hunting groups that would leave base and dare to edge into the city, trying to help people, and gathering resources. Ghost had been in one of those first groups to leave the safe confines of base. You wished you had begged him to stay. Pleaded with him not to go.

The lights above you flickered, the generator not the most reliable of equipment. You looked across the table to your teammates, trying to keep yourself pulled together. It was only at night that you let yourself feel the pain, crying yourself to sleep.

“We’re never gonna survive here if we don’t get that medical supplies,” Soap explained.

“It’s too dangerous, Soap. We have no idea how bad it got in there. We have no way of knowing if all the bodies left behind turned,” Price retorted, pulling off his beanie and running his hand through his hair in nerves.

“So, what then? We’re gonna send more men off to die, tryin’ to get shit from the city?”

Price closed his eyes momentarily. The bags forming under them showed just how little sleep he was getting. “We can’t risk more men. We’d be sendin’ them to their death, Soap. We don’t have the ammo to spare.”

“We don’t know that. We’re still not even sure if it's a guarantee the dead will change, or if they have to be bit.”

“It’s too–”

You cut the men off. “I can go.” Both their heads snapped in your direction. “I’m just a technician. With everything gone to shit, I haven’t been as much help as you guys have been. I can’t fight. I can’t–”

“No. We’re not riskin’ you,” Soap said sternly.

“Soap,” you breathed. “I’m the only one here that isn’t crucial to the team. And don’t argue with me. It’s just a fact. Let me go. I can sneak in and grab what we need. I’m far quieter than any of you boisterous men anyways.”

Soap breathed your name. He was worried about you. He could see the pain in your eyes after losing Simon. He was worried this was a suicide mission. And that you wanted that.

“Let me be of use,” you begged. Soap wanted to argue. So did Price. But you were right. You would be the fastest. And as much as they valued you, the remaining men couldn’t survive here without Soap or Price.

“Lass, are you sure?” Soap said finally. He wanted you to feel useful, but he didn’t want you running off and risking your life because of the pain you felt from losing Simon.

“Let me do it, Soap. Please. I need this.”

He couldn’t argue with you. He didn’t have it in him to hurt you more than you were already hurting.

“Fine. But I’m not happy about this.”

You stood in your gear, an empty backpack plastered to your back waiting to be filled with medical supplies. Price had gone over the layout of the wing with you, showing you exactly where you needed to go to get the right supplies on a map of the building.

You stood before the infirmary doors, the ones that would lead to a long, winding hall that would bring you to the center of the infirmary. Off of that were several rooms and more halls, and a surgical floor. It was a large span of space to cover, but you believed you could do this.

“Be quick about it, lass. We’ll be right here when you get back,” Soap said to you, his hand resting on your shoulder.

You took in a breath and walked up to the doors that had been unlocked, a large piece of plywood that had previously been nailed against it, removed so you could go in. Before you reached out to the door handle, you turned around and rushed into Soap’s arms. He held you tightly, your head tucked right under his chin. “Don’t you fuckin’ die on me,” he mumbled into your hair.

You pulled back and gave him a sad smile. Then you nodded at Price and faced the daunting doors again. Once you stepped through the threshold and the doors shut behind you, you could hear the plywood being put back up, a hammer nailing it in place. When you got back, you were to knock and Soap would be there waiting to let you back in.

The hall was flickering with a few overhead lights, the generator still powering a few of the rooms in this wing.

Ghost had a glazed-over expression when he rolled off his medical bed. The room around him was silent apart from the ticking of a clock in the corner. There was blood pooled all around him and dripping onto the tiled floor as he stood. He had some semblance of who he was, of what happened, but most of his thoughts were hazed over like he was stuck in a daydream.

He had walked the length of the room, a sudden craving for food hitting the pit of his stomach. Any sound made him snap in that direction, rushing towards it as if on cue. He heard banging coming from one of the med rooms, the door locked and nailed over with whatever scrap of wood they could find. More people like him were trapped behind those doors, their groaning echoing down the hall.

Ghost limped as he walked, remembering how he had been shot in his leg. He looked down at his crimson-stained pants, almost like he should be feeling pain, but he felt nothing.

Days had passed and he roamed the halls aimlessly, not even getting bored. His mind had drifted off, somewhere that wasn’t in his body, allowing him to walk around like a zombie, completely void of any logical thought.

He grumbled as he made his rounds, stuck in a time loop, walking down the flickering hall again and again, passing by bodies that had been left behind.

He hesitated when he heard something. He turned to look in the direction of the noise, intrigued. It sounded like someone had just walked blindly into a metal medical tray, knocking instruments onto the floor. His movements were fast and nimble as he approached the sound.

He froze in place when he saw you–though he didn’t know who you were at that moment. You cursed yourself for being loud but didn’t hear anything in retaliation so you figured you were safe. Your hand rested on the knife strapped to your hip anyway.

You were edging towards the main infirmary double doors, your hand touching the metal of the handle. You should go in there and get supplies, but that’s where you had last seen Simon. You didn’t have it in you to see what had become of him, his body rotting alone.

Instead, you walked down the hall and into a storage closet, oblivious to the shell of Ghost who trailed behind you.

You left the door to the storage room open to let in a few strips of light so you could see better. You hunched over and began to dig through the supplies that had been thrown all over the floor in panic.

Ghost rolled his neck as he saw you in the room, your back to him. He had a sudden urge to sink his teeth deep into your skin, to tear you to shreds. In fact, he wanted nothing more; the instinct was overpowering.

But when he got close, he could hear your voice as you mumbled to yourself, going over the list of the items you needed. You held up a pack of linens, trying to see if they were clean. “These will have to do,” you said softly, shoving them into your backpack.

A wave of familiarity surfaced inside Ghost, a strange feeling of being alive pumping through his veins. When he got to the doorframe, he could smell you. His senses heightened, the waft of your natural scent sent Ghost into a daze. He remembered—though he wasn’t sure what he was remembering. All he knew was that he recognized that smell.

His body had felt like it was in hibernation, his motors set on autopilot as he mindlessly walked down the halls. But suddenly, Ghost’s true mind was brought to the forefront. And his body craved you, though not in the way he had just moments earlier. He didn’t want to sink his teeth into your neck, he wanted to feel your warmth against him.

Ghost moved with such dexterity and silence, it was clear he was no longer human. When you stood, his arms immediately wrapped around you, eliciting a scream from your throat.

Ghost still wasn’t fully comprehending what was happening; all he knew was that his body wanted you. His hand slid up around your neck, leaving a trail of blood on your clothes. He tried to speak, but he couldn't fathom what he wanted to say. All that came out was a strangled groan.

You sputtered, trying to catch your breath as your heart raced in your chest. Ghost felt for your pulse beneath his fingertips, relishing in the way your blood pumped through your body.

You turned your head slightly, spying the man who had you trapped against the many shelves in the closet.

It was Simon.

Terror flooded your system. He didn’t look like himself. His eyes were glossed over, his pupils and iris almost unidentifiable, the entirety of his eyes were white, appearing like he was blind. The blood that had soaked his face had congealed, the rusted color running down his clothes where he was shot in the chest and leg. He looked just how you left him, and it sent a sense of terror through you.

“S-Simon?” You whispered, unsure if you were caught in a nightmare.

A groan escaped his cracked lips. You gulped. He had become one of them .

You were certain he was about to tear you apart, just as you had seen other fallen men do to your teammates. You closed your eyes, tears rushing down your cheeks as you prepared for the worst. His hands felt cold around your neck, like ice. You shivered against him. You accepted your fate—a small part of you actually wanted it. You wanted him to end you. To take you down with him. You didn't want to be alone anymore.

He nuzzled his nose against your neck and you squeezed your eyes shut, preparing for him to bite you. But it never came.

Instead, he just moved his nose against you, smelling your hair and skin. His hands were still locked tightly against you, but they began to travel across your body. You opened your eyes in shock. Ghost’s hands trailed your chest, groping you with one hand, the other sprawling over the front of your thigh and stomach. You gasped in surprise.

You felt him harden against you, something you had experienced many times before now, and the familiarity of it made your heart pound with mixed emotions. Your mind was too caught up trying to decipher what was happening to truly take the moment in.

Ghost’s cold hands slid under your black shirt, snaking their way up to your breasts, cupping each one in his hands. Your nipples immediately hardened from the iciness of his touch. He ground himself against your backside, making you close your eyes in a moment of reprieve. You got lost in the past, imagining this was how it used to be. How he had touched you so many times before.

You breathed his name and he seemed to like that, for he rolled his hips against you harder, his chest rumbling in satisfaction.

The cold of his hands left you, making you oddly yearn to have them back on your skin. His fingers traced the hem of your pants before aggressively pulling them down. He got them past the curve of your ass and turned your bodies so your hips hit the edge of a shelving unit that acted as a table. You knocked all the supplies off as Ghost pushed you down against it, using your hands to catch yourself.

Ghost shuffled with his own pants, wasting no time at all to slip himself inside you. You called out in a brief shock of pain. He held himself deep within you, his hands squeezing as he held you, his body bent over slightly, his chest flat against your back. Your own hands reached out to grab the edge of the table to help steady yourself. The searing heat of you against his frozen skin spread through him like wildfire.

Your cries ignited a flame in Ghost’s chest—the feel of your body, the sound of your gasps, the smell of your hair—felt natural, like this was exactly what he was supposed to be doing. That he was made to take you like this. That your body against him was something so ingrained in his system, that he had no choice to to let his limbs move on muscle memory.

He began to thrust inside you, your hips hitting the table with each snap of his hips. His hand snaked around your neck, the smear of blood now coating your skin. One of your hands came up to wrap around his wrist, resting it there in support.

You groaned as he rocked into you harder. The pain from his sudden intrusion had subsided, and now you were filled with a haze of rapture. A tear slid down your cheek. You were unable to process what was happening, but what you did know was that you had missed Simon more than anything and that this wasn’t real. This wouldn’t last longer than this moment in time.

Ghost’s chest rumbled in pleasure as he thrusted into you. Your walls squeezed around him and he let out a loud groan. His arm not clutching your neck wrapped around your midsection, pulling you away from the table so you were flesh against him. He held you tight, almost like he couldn’t get you close enough. That if he had his way, he’d let you make a home beneath his skin.

His hips snapped vehemently against you, his pace quickening. You moaned, your sounds coming out strangled as his cold hand held your neck. Your walls tightened around him, your climax rapidly approaching. You couldn’t quite believe that you were not only fucking your dead boyfriend, but you were going to come in record time.

You were absolutely intoxicating to him as your warmth clenched down on him, your heat something recognizable to him, and yet, the intimacy was foreign at the same time. Now that he was devoid of his usual body temperature, the warm feeling of you around him was almost painful.

When you mewled and cried under him, your walls spasaming, he drew himself to the edge right behind you. Ghost came inside you with a great urge, growling in your ear as he tried to support the two of you. You felt him fill you, the white fluid seeping out around where his cock continued to pump in and out of you. His movements became sloppy, your legs shaking, your hand clutching onto his wrist for dear life.

You couldn’t hold back the cascade of tears, finally letting them flow as Ghost slowed his pace before stopping altogether. He edged out of you, his arms hesitantly letting you go, and you immediately turned around to face him, burying your face in his chest. You sobbed as he stood there. His arms didn’t reach out and hold you like he once would. He didn’t try to comfort you like he always did so well.

But still, he just let you huddle against him, taking what you needed from him. He didn’t attack you. He didn’t try to kill you. He wasn’t himself, but he wasn’t fully gone either. You turned to look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. He looked down and you stifled a cry. His white eyes were going to be permanently burned into your mind, haunting you for eternity. His face was sullen and blanched, blood smearing all across him; fresh blood dripping slightly from his mouth.

You tentatively reached a hand up and rested it on his frozen cheek. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled. Ghost made no indication he could even hear you.

You took in a deep breath, willing yourself to do this, and stepped back. You adjusted yourself before slowly reaching down for your bag. Ghost stood and watched you, the only thing moving was the tilt of his head as he traced your movements.

You shuffled to the door, anticipating him to reach out and end this daydream, ripping you apart. But he just watched you go, his mind riddled with foggy thoughts. He wanted to tear into you, but another part of him prevented him from doing so. He wanted to grab you and hold you against him for some reason. He liked the warmth your body provided. But another part of him felt nothing at all.

He watched you leave in a stupor, his mind just barely grasping onto the image and memory of you. It’s true, he wasn’t completely gone, but he was fading fast.

You cried violently as you stumbled back to the exit. When you banged on the doors, you heard the plywood being ripped off and the doors swinging open. Soap pulled you back into the base and held you at arm's length. “What happened?” he asked desperately. You were sobbing and covered in blood.

Should you tell him? Would Soap let you return to Simon knowing he wasn’t gone? Or would they make you stay here, letting Simon slip away forever?

You suddenly regretted leaving him. You should have stayed with Simon, even if he was a shell of who he used to be. You should have waited the time out together until he fully lost himself, and you would let him take you down with him.

7K notes · View notes

rene-darling · 8 months ago

Note

Hi hiii

How do you feel about Choso from jjk? He's literally so fucking pretty, maybe it was the cool lighting in the episode but bro is majestic. I need to fuck him dumb so bad until he's babbling and his mind is so gone.

Yeah but that's me, how do you feel about him?

(⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

DUMB- choso

...I feel the same ml, pretty sure this is gender neutral since I didn't use any pronouns for the reader, if I did feel free to inform me!...pic credits..sybbatra

...choso...

Choso is a pretty tame person, he's had limited contact with people so Imagine this hundred of years old curse who has never slept with anyone,

He's so pretty, isn't he? He definitely throws his head back while you're fucking him. Deep breathy moans and when he's really far gone he starts whining and pleading with you, what's he pleading for? He doesn't know. He just is.

Fuck him on your lap facing him towards a mirror, he's far too embarrassed to look. Throwing his head back onto your shoulder, his hot breath tickles your neck while he moans and whines right into your ear.

Getting too embarrassed by moaning into you, he's forced to look forward, to look at himself being fucked dumb it's so embarrassing he starts crying from shame! Cute darling is now crying into your neck, hiding his face in shame.

"aww... what's wrong soso-..? Hm?" fuck. He hates that nickname- no, he loves it. What? He hates it when you act dumb. "..so mean..y-you're-..s-so meAN-!" cutting off his babbling by suddenly grabbing and jerking his sloppy dick

It's tip is a raging red. It looks so silly.

His long hair flows down his neck and over your shoulder and back as he rests his head there. You jerk his dick a few times before letting it go, his hard-on slaps against his stomach with a wet sound, it makes you chuckle, while he whines at the sound. You're really so mean!!

His muscles tense up, he's really so close! You can tell. It's like clockwork how his body acts the same way before every release, you have its pattern memorized.

Tensing up, his mouth falls dry, and his breath hitches. He convulses, slightly shivering as his body slumps back into you.

His hand reaches out towards yours, and he grabs at it, tugging it, shaking his head he mumbles out "Mhm..n-no more...please, I've-...I've had enough, it's enough experimenting- f-..for today." He finds the energy to turn his head and look over at you. His eyes glossed over as he tries finding mercy in yours.

Sighing, you shake your head, getting a strained whine from him "I told you, we'll fuck until you can't speak- but it seems my pretty boyfriend here is quite coherent and able to make sense of things. We can't have that can we?"

You're so mean, so very mean. But he loves you, and he loves how you make him feel, so he takes a deep breath as he nods squeezing his eyes shut as he pouts his lips, he at least wants a kiss from you before you ravage him again!

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muntitled · 10 months ago

Text

𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞 ♡

Summary: Taking care of your touch starved boyfriend proves to be more difficult than you initially thought...

Warnings: Established Relationship, Sickeningly sweet Fluff, Heated Making Out, Smut +18 (Minors DNI), Touch Starved!Wonbin, Groping, Dirty Talk, Choking, Daddy Kink, Slight!DDLG, Praise Kink, Fingering

Literally no one asked. But I just had to write something sweet and domestic

A melody that is equal parts romantic, equal parts horrifically tragic bleeds from the strings being coaxed by Wonbin's long fingers. You watch dreamily as he plays you a tune, while you both lay utterly defeated on the couch.

The Friday night lights scattered around the city, bleed in through the cracks in the curtain and your entire front is warmed by Wonbin's back. Your eyes had fluttered closed sometime in between his playing and so you would never know that his eyes were trained on you, as his head rested backwards and his fingers played away.

“Why are you always playing me some Orwellian shit?” You attempt to sound annoyed.

Your eyes are still closed but a light chuckle reaches your ears and you smile, satisfied. Wonbin peers down at his fingers, mindlessly dancing ober the cords as he says,“I think it was supposed to be romantic,” His voice is like gravel and thunder and your stomach warms inside you.

“Almost as romantic as two teenagers killing themselves for one another.” Your eyes flutter open as your fingers find their way at the tips of Wonbin's messy hair, “Would you die for me, Binnie?” his answer is grim in its intensity and instancy,

“Die? Probably not. But I would probably attempt to hurt someone very, very badly for you,” his gaze is still lowered to his strumming as he softly says, “not just physically, but there's plenty of other ways to hurt someone. I'd probably do that, instead of actually dying for you.”

You were forced to get accustomed to Wonbin's morbidity because it almost came as a by-product of his various other terrific attributes. He speaks with a near constant air of grimness that makes your irrational heart swell.

He continues his morose little tune until you cut him off quite abruptly, quite rudely when you say:

"When was the last time you did some hair care?"

That had probably been the very last question he expected to hear (and perhaps maybe even wanted to hear) so early into a rainy Friday evening. His limbs were laden with post-performance exhaustion and all he wished to do, was continue laying between your legs, his head cushioned by your breasts. He was in absolute bliss with your hand patting down his head nearly coaxing him into an early slumber.

It was the perfect way to end a stressful day, until you invariably decided to choose violence.

Wonbin cranes his head back slightly and he narrows his sleepy eyes as he groans out, "Is this your characteristically nice way of telling me my hair looks bad?"

You try to coax his head back down onto your chest, and he steadily complies as you try to pepper him with reassurances, "This is my characteristically nice way of telling you that you need some hair care."

And he concedes, almost immediately with a daft little shrug. He's not sure if it's the affect of the softness of your chest pillowing his cheek or the softness of your body underneath him but Wonbin chooses to see this as the universe gifting him with the possibility of being seated between your thighs while you weave your fingers through his hair to your heart's content.

The thought effects him in ways he did not anticipate and soon, he is turning his face into your chest and nuzzling into the cleavage. "When do we start?"

An obnoxious, borderline unladylike laugh pushes its way through youre throat as you try to shrug the boy off of your chest but to no avail. Wonbin's kisses along your cleavage are unrelenting and you release a breathless little chuckle. "I proposed that we do your hair-" You finally succeed in pushing his head back, "Not that you end up inside of me on the damn couch."

"Why can't you do my hair…” Wonbin turns to ease his fingers along the waistband of your sweats, “...After you let me inside.” He continues to splay wet, needy kisses along your chest.

While he distracts himself, you inconspicuously hook your fingers into the hair tie securing his raven hair back and you pull, letting his hair fall like a across his face while he continues to assault your skin with hickies. You're momentarily stunned by the sheer length of Wonbin's hair as he continues to lap hungrily at your skin, deciding to stretch his bravery and let his hand crawl up under your loose shirt.

"Your hair is so pretty, Binnie,"

"Your everything is so pretty, baby," He groans and you can tell from the low panting in his voice and the hand skimming the underside of your breasts that he is getting himself worked up.

While Wonbin shifts his weight on top of you so that he begins to straddle you, you're very alarmed but not surprised to find him already completely hard.

A very familiar, very distracting bulge pushing against your thigh brings you back to earth.

"I need to fuck you now," He affirms robotically with a curt nod of his head of hair spilling around his face.

"Down boy,” you shoot out a hand against his chest. Keeping him at arm's length. “We need to wash it now,"

"I need to fuck you now,"

"You're insatiable today,"

"You say this as if it's something new."

"Fair enough," you murmer, letting your head fall on the armrest as you watch your boyfriend seated above. His bushy eyebrows scrunch up until he's racking his fingers through his hair, attempting to detangle the web of raven locks and failing horribly.

"Hurry up, so I can tie this back up," he grumbles in apparent vexation. "I hate having it like this." You throw your head back as you wrestle to wriggle yourself up from underneath him but he stays put.

"Afterwards, you let me give you the most mind blowing orgasm you've ever had,"

"Afterwards," you grumbled back, using his distraction to knock his balance of kilter, "-you let me put some of my hair clips in."

He had been a grumbling, moody mess throughout the entire process. Washing his hair in the bathroom sink while Wonbin sat on a stool had been a nightmare filled with you having to swat away at Wonbin's hand whenever it got too bold and decided to attack you while you were hovering over him, letting the water wash the suds away. You were pleasantly surprised by just how much you were enjoying running your fingers through his scalp, stirring up the shampoo until it created a halo of bubbles on his head, all while you were humming steadily to his latest song.

"You're very pretty," Wonbin said suddenly as you proceeded to towel down his hair. Your heart squeezed with adoration inside its cage.

"You're very pretty, too."

Your reply released a whirlwind of butterflies scattering inside his stomach, threatening to climb out his oesophagus and spill out of his mouth. The exchange was perhaps so tender it almost felt unreal.

His eyes, as dark as they are, as endless as they are, bore into yours. You're still hovering above him, but the towel falls gently to the floor, and soon, you're being pulled into that spindly web that was the force of Wonbin's entire freaking aura and you're leaning in close.

“I have to finish up.” It comes out as a whisper.

You immediately know when your eyes flit down to his lips, thay you're already too far gone.

“Why are you leaning in then?” He whispers back with a lazy smirk spilling across his lips.

“Because you're making me,” whispering is all you're both able to do, in fear of shattering this incredibly charged energy between you.

“Am I?” He asks with a slight tilt of his head with his own eyes now staring up at your lips. He is feeling less apologetic for his unsavoury thoughts because Wonbin's has been forced to endure all of 5 minutes of you scrubbing at his hair, while your breast pushed right against his face.

Apologetic is the last thing he feels right now.

“You're a fucking tease,” he breathes out. And his large hand is slithering up the back of your neck until your lips are crashing onto his with a surprised yelp.

As your lips move in tandem with one another, Wonbin's hand never leaves your neck. Instead, he chooses to prolong the kiss by breaking away in short intervals. Never straying too far.

Wonbin's mouth is all encompassing. He slithers his tongue in almost conspiratorially and you gasp at the sudden yet swift intrusion. Both your tongues meet in a fiery, borderline barbaric kiss and you swear on everything you love that you could cum off of making out with him alone.

How utterly embarrassing that would be.

When the faintest moan slips out of your mouth Wonbin abandons all other inhibitions. He rises from the chair like lightning and you nearly roll backwards from the sheer size of him.

His heavy shoulders are bent down to keep your lips locked against his as he pushes you against the sink. With one more kiss, Wonbin spins you around until your front is facing the foggy mirror, and his front is pressed against your back.

He leans his head down, pressing his lips to your ear as he says, “Are you gonna let me in now?” His fingers slide against the waistband of your sweats and you immediately know what he means.

A wanton sound bleeds from your chest and you push your ass backwards, pressing it against the bulge in his sweats.

Wonbin's other hand finds the front of your throat as he cranes your neck backwards.

“You gonna be good for me, Princess?” He asks in a vaguely condescending manner as he juts his bottom lip out and gazes down at you, mirroring your pained, wanton expression.

“You finally ready to be a good little girl, huh?”

You couldn't stand his infuriating teasing any longer and so you make the daring decision to push your own hand into the front of your sweats- or perhaps you try to. Wonbin's hand locks around your wrist and squeezes until you're wincing in pain. His gaze is unfazed as he releases the grip on your wrist and pushes his own hand down your pants.

“You're so fucking stupid sometimes, Angel.” His words run like rain on the forest floor and your eyes flutter shut when his fingers push past your drenched underwear.

“You're fucking soaked, baby,” He croaks, keeping his nose nuzzled in your neck as he swipes his fingers along your folds. Wonbin soon loses himself the movements of his own fingers, until his bucking against your ass while muttering dirty nothings into your ear in a dizzying amalgamation.

“M-More, please-”

That immediately rouses him from his pleasure filled state. Wonbin blinks away the pleasure and straightens his slightly hunched frame.

“You want my cock inside you baby?” His eyes are trained on the side of your face while swiping his hands across the mirror so you could see the mess he's already made of you.

Your lips hang open and Wonbin's damp hair falls over his face as he towers over you.

“My good girl wants me inside of her so badly,” he whispers, almost robotically, as if he were chanting the words to himself as he pushes his hand in his sweats. As he begins to fist his aching cock Wonbin lazily brings his hooded eyes up to your reflection and you both watch each other through the mirror.

He looks so incredibly hungry and so you do nothing but comply as he places a hand on your lower back, forcing you over the sink.

“You're gonna be good for me?” He looks visibly pained when you nod slowly before allowing him to pull your sweats down enough to accommodate his cock at your centre.

“Tell me you'll be good,” his voice shook with the force of his own arousal and you could tell, from his voice alone, that he was already slipping into domspace.

“I'll be goo- fuck!” He's already easing to you with little to no preparation and from his shallow thrusts alone, you can tell how needy he is.

“Ah-fuck, you're so tight…”

Wonbin loses himself in the warmth of your cunt. He paws at your breasts, his fingers tweaking your nipples as he cock fucks you deeper and deeper. He breathes heavily as he pulls the hem of his shirt up, dead set on watching his cock disappear inside your wet folds.

And you watch in the mirror: his flat stomach glistening and moving in tandem with his needy thrusts while his hand swipes obliviously away at his bangs.

“F-Fuck you feel so good- You feel so fucking good, baby,”

You're clenching around him in the wake of his endless praise and your moans are amplified inside the bathroom.

“F-Fuck- Binnie-”

“Binnie?” He pants out with his fingers latching onto your hips, pulling you back to meet his furious thrusts, “Who the fuck's ‘Binnie’?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and your arms grow particularly weak when Wonbin hits that incredibly sensitive bundle of nerves inside you. You're so completely cock drunk but Wonbin holds your weakening frame up with his hand around your throat.

Wonbin's lips tickle your ear as he says, “You wanna call me Daddy, don't you?”

You're absolutely fargone, and you're muttering incoherently while he uses you. In a moment like this, you would say yes to damn near anything.

“It's too m-much, Daddy,”

He's shaking his head, big eyes boring into yours as he tuts in a faux baby voice, “It's just the right amount, baby,” His thrusts grow irregular as he gazes down at your fucked out expression, “Daddy's fucking you just right, isn't he Princess-”

“Daddy, I'm gonna-”

“It's okay, Baby,” His melodic voice succeeds in bringing you to the crevice of your orgasm and melt into him, “You're listening so well, aren't you?” His voice cracks as he spills his seed inside of you, “S-So fucking good.” Wonbin buries his face in the crook of your neck as he shoots his cum inside of you. The hand on your neck never eases away and you're still caught in throes of pleasure when he splayed multiple drunken kisses against the side of your head

“God you're such a good girl.” He whispers before splaying one final kiss to the back of your head.

You would always be terrified that one day, you would wake up and realise that this big hearted raven haired boy had been a fragment of your imagination.

Nothing but a dream.

A really, really good dream.

That thought, no matter how irrational, never left you without a wave of unease.

"Now I need to brush your hair,"

#park wonbin x reader #wonbin x reader #wonbin fluff #wonbin #riize #riize x reader #riize imagines #riize smut #wonbin smut

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houseofceline · 1 year ago

Text

My Pretty Girl - T.N.

Pretty Bow Cardigan

Pairing: Ravenclaw and sort of ditzy but talented Reader x Slytherin notorious playboy Theodore Nott

Warnings: None (yet ;))

Summary: Theo hates listening to rants but he could listen to you talk about your sweater for hours.

< 4

__________________

You nibbled on your bottom lip as you looked around the classroom.

You were one of the first to finish your exams which is very unusual, resulting in an uneasy feeling in your stomach. You felt like you had done all the problems wrong.

The test felt really easy in the worst way possible.

You watched as Theo stood up from his stool to hand in his paper.

He was better than you in potions and the fact that you had finished before him made you want to vomit up your breakfast.

As he walked back to his desk you locked eyes with him.

He took his hands and did a thumbs up and down, as a question to you.

You tilted your thumbs up till it was in the middle.

So,so.

He smiled and even though there was nothing to smile about considering you probably just failed another test, you smiled back anyways because his smile was just that contagious.

There was nothing you could do now but hope.

—-------------------

“THEO THEO!” You ran after him after catching sight of him in the hallways.

Theo looked around confused, tense even, but instantly relaxed as he saw you running towards him with a paper in hand.

His smile matched the big bright one on your face and he held his arms out.

You ran into his chest and in the heat of the moment he picked you up and spun you around.

“Bro wh-” Lorenzo was cut off by Mattheo who covered the boy’s mouth before dragging him away, letting the two have their moment.

“Look Theo, look!” You exclaimed as you held up your test paper, waving it in his face.

A big E marked on the top right corner, the best test grade you’ve ever received in that class.

“Congratulations bella,” he praised and reciprocated your smile as he took the paper from your hands before holding it out like he was examining it.

You blushed at his compliment now getting shy. All you wanted to do now was go back into his arms and hide in his chest so he wouldn’t catch you getting all worked up over a simple praise.

“This deserves a special reward,” Theo stated as he handed you back your paper and patted your head.

He pushed one of your hair strands out of your face and looked down at you.

“There’s a hot chocolate shop in Hogsmeade, if you’re up for it this weekend,” Theo placed his hands in the pockets of his robe, feeling a little nervous for your answer.

You nodded eagerly. You loved chocolate. The rich and creamy taste and the way it just melts in your mouth. Not only was it good in candy form, but literally in everything else. Well besides cake. Chocolate cake is one of the worst things ever.

It was simply too much chocolate and it tastes so dry and makes you want to throw up.

However vanilla cake with chocolate icing, that you would die for.

“Alright I’ll come get you Saturday morning at ten,” Theo chuckled trying to bring you back to him as he watched you get lost in thought.

“See you soon bella.”

You grinned happily to yourself as he walked away.

Saturday. That was tomorrow!

What were you even going to wear? There’s not enough time, there is nothing in your closet.

You had to calm down. It wasn’t even a date, you reminded yourself.

Getting all worked up over a simple hang out was silly.

You took a deep breath and tried to calm your nerves.

Too bad it’s not working.

You’re hanging out with a super attractive guy all by yourself.

You were scared and nervous, never hung out with a guy alone before.

At least you were getting hot chocolate out of this.

Hmm you wonder if they have whipped cream. You didn’t like any marshmallows in your hot chocolate because you drank it so fast the marshmallows wouldn’t even melt all the way therefore it was too sweet when you ate the half melted marshmallow at the end.

All you needed was whipped cream and a candy cane.

—-------------------

“Y/n you’re going to be fine. You look amazing,” Cho assured, sitting on her bed as you tried on multiple pieces of clothing.

You had 10 more minutes until Theo’s arrival and technically you were ready 30 minutes ago but suddenly you decided that you didn’t look nice anymore.

“I don’t think I knitted this correctly,” you frowned, examining your cardigan.

A miniature mistake. You would have to really, really pay attention to detail to recognize it, but since you were already critiquing everything miniature about yourself, it was a huge mistake.

“Theo is not going to notice it babe I promise, and plus you made the whole thing yourself! In my eyes that’s really impressive,” Cho claimed as she walked out of the dorm to check if Theo was here yet.

You eyed yourself in the mirror one last time.

White knitted cardigan with a bow in the back, black jeans, and your favorite white fur snow boots.

This wasn’t even a date, you reminded yourself for the hundredth time this past hour.

Stop overthinking.

“Theo’s here,” Cho peeked her head into the dorm.

“Good luck babes, I expect a big debriefing session after,” she called out to you as you left.

“Hello..” you drawled out quietly waving as you approached Theo.

He was wearing a navy blue sweater with the Slytherin scarf wrapped around his neck which put great emphasis on his eyes and broad shoulders.

“Morning bella,” Theo greeted happily, holding out a hand to you.

You cheesed and placed your hand into his.

“Do a spin for me bella ragazza,” he lifted your hand up and eyed you up and down as you spun around.

Even if it was an Italian word you didn’t know Theo still made it sound attractive, maybe you shouldn’t have worn a sweater from the quick rising of your body heat.

“Cute cardigan,” he complimented as he kept your hands intertwined, beginning your walk to Hogsmeade.

“Thank you! I made it myself!” You looked up at him proudly while your other hand was toying with the hems.

Theo could’ve swore that your eyes were the sparkliest things he’s ever seen. He felt as if could spend forever studying and mapping out the constellations in your eyes.

“Really?” Theo gaped even though it wasn’t a huge surprise to him since he’s seen your sketches.

“Yes!” You exclaimed happily knowing that there was finally someone other than your friends who cared about your passions and supported them.

The two of you continued to walk hand in hand towards Hogsmeade. You talked and rambled on about the whole design process of your top while Theo pretended like he knew what you were talking about and definitely not just trying to make you talk more so he could hear your voice and watch your eyes sparkle with passion.

#theodore nott x you #theo nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #draco malfoy x reader #hogwarts oc #hogwarts au #harry potter #slytherin #ravenclaw #slytherin boys #draco malfoy #blaise zabini #theodore nott #mattheo riddle #lorenzo berkshire #hp fandom #hp fanfic

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hamilando · 4 months ago

Text

ੈ✩ watashi wa sutaa (smau) ੈ✩

pairing : charles leclerc x fem reader

summary : “you are my best friend!” “ I AM HIS WIFE !”

tw : suggestive, cursing

fc: Giselle from Aespa*she is so pretty-*

a/n : thank you so much to @xshazxx for suggesting this ! lysm 🫶🏻

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ

liked by kikagnome, pierreneedsgas, lordperceval and 129 others

gisisyn me wondering what did the 10/10 baddie find in this gorilla looking man

view comments

kikagnomes he is not that bad now 🫷🏻

kikagnomes I will steal his money and run away with you 🤭

gisisyn OMG, KIKA, MY LOVE * plays dramatic music*

pierreneedsgas keep your freaky japanese ass away from her

pierreneedsgas YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE MY BEST FRIEND

norizz and my wife 😮‍💨

lordperceval mine too 🤺

gisisyn and I -

gisisyn ALL THESE MEN FOR ME !?

gisisyn PIEEEEEEE CAN I DATE YOUR FRIEND

gisisyn for scientific purposes ofc

pierreneedsgas and you will get those eurpoean dick inside you for educational purposes ?

gisisyn DOCTOR, HE HAS ESCAPED

albono esteban made his brain rot

gisisyn estie-bestie follows me

albono FUCK WHY HAVE YOU SWITCHED ON THE SETTING

albono ITS NOT LETTING ME DELETE MY COMMENT

lilihye Alex, it was nice being your last love 🫶🏻

gisisyn I was joking 😚

albono i will kill you

lordperceval stay away from MY wife bro

pierreneedsgas charles, we need to talk, NOW

liked by pierreneedsgas, hamsandwich and 78 others

gisisyn WATASHI WA SUTAAA🌟🌟🌟

view comments

pierreneedsgas you look pretty

gisisyn DOCTOR HE IS OUT

pierreneedsgas what? It's just a compliment ?

gisisyn you have a fever or what ? you never anything good to me

pierreneedsgas HE DOES NOT !? HE IS GETTING HIS BALLS CUT

gisisyn kika...?

pierreneedsgas hi bbygirl 💌

kika.gnomes pls give me my account back

lordperceval I have money, success and looks, let's be stars together ?

maxtheax success in that red tractor ?

lordperceval tractors are only Mercedes

georgey you sure about that ?

hamsandwich it's ok, I get the best of both worlds 🤺

norizz you cut your hair bangs, let's bang in real life also

lordperceval dude, she is satisfied with my dick

pierreneedsgas CHARLES PERCEVAL LECLERC, THATS LITERALLY MY SISTER, CAN YOU STOP FLIRTING WITH HER

pierreneedsgas AND THIS IS PIERRE AND NOT KIKA

gisisyn aw.

pierreneedsgas stfu, even If I tease you, I will always protect you, I made that promise ❤️

gisisyn I will start crying

gisisyn fuck I am crying

gisisyn charlws I need help

lordperceval omw 🏃🏻

pierreneedsgas this better be a joke

gisisyn it's not-

liked by lordperceval, kika.gnomes and 105 others

gisisyn my dad is french, my mum is japanese, my husband is monegasque, so I japrenchgasque ?

view comments

pierreneedgas what the actually hell

pierreneedsgas charles, I am cutting off your dick

pierreneedsgas y/n? seriously ? without telling me ?

gisisyn hard launch ..?

pierreneedsgas did anyone know ?

norriz MEEEEE

chillsainz MEEE TOO

lordperceval they walked in on us

pierredneedsgas doing what exactly ? it better not include anything any touching

norizz IT INCLUDES LAP SITTING

chillsainz ALSO A COUCH

maxtheax and no clothes ?

gisisyn HOW DO YOU KNOW !?

pierreneedsgas y/n and charles. run.

991 notes · View notes

vatelixx · 23 days ago

Text

The visionary, the willing executor,

Spencer Reid x afab!UNSUB!reader (written with mid!seasons Spencer Reid in mind)

SMUT!! copious amounts of angst (there’s traces of fluff in there as well if u get out ur magnifying glass)

BASED ON THIS SONG (it got so stuck in my head that I had to write something that correlated):

──── autistic spencer (it’s not explored that much, but it’s always gonna be present in my oneshots), evil evil reader (im not being dramatic this time. she’s literally a serial killer. like her ‘body count’ is copious. but idk, she’s kinda sweet. if u squint and ignore the bodies). They were in love ur honour !!! they’re still in love ur honour !!!! She pays him a visit two years after he found out about her homicidal tendencies (they miss each other, Spencer might also hate her a little but it’s okay, don’t worry about that).

Warnings: sub spencer (aaaaaaalways), maybe perhaps some vague, very faint mentions of switch!spencer but idk i blacked out writing this, choking, mentions of death and general behaviour that would get you a life sentence, praise more than degradation surprisingly, coming untouched, crying (you’d think that was a kink or something?), she fucks the good out of him, hopeful ending (eh, kinda), mentions of dante’s inferno, copious amounts of religious imagery, greek mythology references, this isn’t dead dove at all i promise.

w.c: 5k

a/n: everything i write has been so angsty recently. i’m working on something softer for my next upload i swear (alongside the requests, I promise, they’re being written im just a die-hard perfectionist). aaaaanyway, happy (belated) halloween!! It’s Spencer’s favourite season so i thought i’d write him getting destroyed by a serial killer (god when is it my turn????)

────────────

Spencer would consider himself a good person, by default. It’s reasonable: a renowned member of the BAU, with intellect he’s weaponized for morality. The blood etched onto his hands is justified. Necessary evil for greater cause. He’s willing to blemish his skin for the virtue, for the lives of others.

He remembers naivety. He remembers being so fragile he could easily crack into fragmented pieces of wasted innocence. Maybe that’s been stolen from him now, maybe the ruins of his sacrifices are too sharp to touch upon still, but he’s good. He knows he will always be good.

And yet, there’s a bruise. Something ugly and distorted that stains his skin. Something that has the ability to crawl deep into his bones and leave behind a mess of pain. Something bad. Festering and tainted, it haunts him with every breath.

You.

You, who came into his life as an abundance of sunlight. Helios personified. Pretty and warm, and everything he needed. He wanted to kiss you: the moment he stumbled into the coffee shop, tousled hair, overworked and raw from a burdening case. When you took his order, marking constellations onto the styrofoam cup. Andromeda, Ursa Major, Cassiopeia. Later, much later, then when you became an indomitable presence to his apartment.

But for all the good he’s preserved, Spencer knows he’s not allowed to receive it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” is the first thing he says when he finds you waiting for him. He always knew you would come back; you’re bound to follow him indefinitely. Like his shadow, his guilty consciousness, his cracked past of addiction and pre-pubescent torment.

He let you go. When the act was over, the curtain drawn, when he saw you. Homicidal, the perpetrator of the case he was working on, malevolence packed into the frame of perfection, oh even still, he let you go. Free to continue the cycle of death, he was left to scramble in the mess of his own misguided heart.

There’s risk in reward, and reward in risk. You’re meticulous, hedonistic to the last detail. But Spencer? Well, he will always be the one loose end you could never quite force yourself to clean up. The thread that kept untangling, even as time passed. Cut it off, you should be rational, wash every bleeding trace of him from your skin.

But there’s irrationality in love.

Blood adorns your features; there’s no need to touch up your appearance, to return to the domesticated facade you once used on him. No, he’s been exposed to the ugly now. There can be no do overs, no back-tracking, game over try again doesn’t exist in real time.

“What are you going to do about it?” you ask, and god, hes just as beautiful as the day you left him. So perfectly real, with dragging exhaustion and pretty brown eyes to ease the sting of his tight-faced, troubled expression.

You didn’t cut the phone lines, nor move the gun he keeps stashed in his cabinet drawer. Down the hall, to the left. You know he won’t make any abrupt actions. Know, in an intuitive way, telepathic communication between past lovers.

“It was a gamble coming here, aren’t you pleased to see me pretty boy?”

Spencer has to fight every urge he has, every moral he believes in to not lunge at you; to not strangle your slender neck, crack you in half, destroy you the way you’ve destroyed his sanity.

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since you cataclysmically uprooted his routined life. He fell in love with softness, not the jagged edge of a blade.

“I let you go. Wasn’t that enough?” it feels too natural, fighting in his apartment, some sort of twisted lovers quarrel. There’s a definite list of everything he should do in this moment, and despite all logic, he just blanks at the sight of you.

“You had to come back. Rub salt in the wound. Do you get off on this?” a sigh falls from his pretty lips, “Actually, don’t— don’t answer that. We both know the answer.”

“I get off on you,” you correct.

It’s true. If he was to analyse you, profile your warped brain like his other unsubs, he’d find nothing but unyielding loyalty to him. For all the damage you’ve done, there’s always been one anomaly to your detachment.

He stands right before you.

And, sure, maybe you’ve got a leg up in this situation. Perhaps the distorted memory of you holds him back: lazy nights and tangled sheets, his body pressed up against yours. The way he’d talk, quantum physics, philosophy, rambles that dissolved into open admissions of feelings. There’s a lot that was fake, but to be a good liar, you have to add subsidiary details of truth.

God, he wishes the world would be cruel—a cosmic alignment of karmic righteousness that would grant him relief: some kind of justification for what he must do. But the universe is indifferent, nothing but a distant star, a fleeting speck of dust in the grand scheme of life. There’s no such thing as good or bad, only consequences.

Consequences. Consequences for his actions. Butterfly effect. He can comprehend it. But, there were many things he adored about you, while the illusion of love was tangible. The way your hair would curl just above your shoulders, your skin in the morning light. The way you’d laugh at one of his obscure Star Trek references, better yet his criticism on modern, inaccurate horror. He could stare at you for eons, as though he was trying to make out the secrets of the universe in the constellation lines of your scars.

The illusion of love, as it was. He sees you now with the clarity of reality, the same way a mirage fades away as you approach; a distortion of perception.

“And you get off on me. Even now. Don’t you?” you say, shifting forward to close gravitational space.

There’s no way to disregard this morbid connection. No psychological justification he can exploit to demean your feelings. You’re not a psychopath, nor anything that relates to a lack of empathy. You feel— you feel empathy for all of your victims, the line of bodies that mark your path. But it goes deeper than that. There was reasoning for your actions, just as there was for his.

“Say it,” you goad. And there’s satisfaction here, sure. Something mean and condescending. But there’s also hurt, because he was supposed to be a means to an end, and now, he might very well be your end.

“Say you miss me. C’mon boy genius, a few little words and i’ll have enough content to satisfy me for years. Don’t be mean— you know I hate being edged.”

He does miss you, every day that he wakes up, his bones too hollow and cold to leave his bed. The ache in his chest where his heart was supposed to be, too empty to function. No amount of caffeine can fill the void in his skull where thoughts of you used to reside. The longing, the desire for the past to rewrite itself.

“You’re sick,” he tries. But he’s not good at this. Not when the love remained after the inevitable fall out, not when the darkest parts of him still clung to want, even after he realised the truth.

“You’re sick, and..” he tries again, “and I hate how much I miss you. There? Is that enough? Are you happy? Got what you wanted?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “No. If I ‘got what I wanted’, I would still have you.”

Spencer dies. Metaphorically, literally, what does it even matter? He dies, respawns, and then kisses the admittance from your lips.

Instinctively, just like the past, your hands tangle through his hair, and perhaps there’s a sense of ownership to the gesture. The knowledge that he will always be yours. Scarred from your touch, returning to your lips like a dog with a bird. There’s a mindless attempt at anger on his part, biting lips and rough teeth, but just like always, he quickly melts.

He melts, and you catch him. Because for all it’s worth, lies and deceit aside, you’ve always loved him.

There’s something powerful to the gesture; knowing you have someone wrapped around your finger. Even after you’ve bared the worst of you, the ugliness of man-kind. There’s someone out there that will wipe the blood from your cheek, and kiss you through it.

“Oh, even better,” you mutter against his lips, “Much, much better. C’mon Spence, show me just how much you’ve missed me.”

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since he felt like he could breathe.

It hurts, it hurts so much, because there’s a sense of coming home to the kiss, and he just wants you to stay. To ruin him forever. To leave behind a deformed version of him, something unrecognisable and equally scarring.

You’re too loyal and he’s too susceptible to any form of attention. Because you want him, and it’s easy to fall into a cyclical cycle of self-destruction when you’re the catalyst.

“I did miss you.” he admits again. “You— crazy, homicidal excuse of a person.”

Spencer’s hand comes up to touch your cheek, the rough texture of skin meeting something soft. His thumb traces down the curvature of your jawline, a silent hello that doesn’t linger long, too soon to be replaced with his lips.

You push him back against the wall, a painful groan escaping your lips when you feel his hips canting forward, searching aimlessly for a friction you’ve both been denied. Two years. His body still aches for you. It’s primal, something perverted and tainted and so very good.

You knew this would happen. There was not a doubt in your clouded mind that he would deny you. What you do to me, I do to you.

“There’s my boy.” you mutter when you grip said hips, fingers finding their natural, fated position against divine bone. When he begins to find a stable pace, bucking up to meet you with every kiss that you press to his lips.

He whimpers when you touch him, soft sounds of need slipping past his parted lips into the confines of his empty apartment. He’s trying so hard to maintain composure, but he can’t find it in him to fight the inevitable. The ache of separation between himself and you. So he lets it happen, like he always does.

My boy, the possession goes straight to his head. One simple phrase and he’s untangling, breaking to pieces because yes, he is yours. And yes, he will forever want to be reminded.

“Mhm, mhm. Oh— oh, fuck.” he’s so hard, clothed cock pushing up against you with every movement. He could get off on less of you. He has. Every night.

And yes, it certainly feels like home. It’s only the thing your body has been aimlessly yearning for, day in and day out. It’s not fair, not fair to you, that you’ve allowed your resolve to crumble, your strategic, one-track mind, for the fleeting body of a past lover.

But then again, demeaning him to a past lover doesn’t even begin to articulate this.

You’re fairly certain he was put on this earth, just to torment you.

And you’re fairly certain you’ll always let him.

“God, you’re such a slut for me.” you say, drawing back from the friction just to prove your point. The disintegrating whimpers that bleed out of his mouth in response are enough alone to confirm.

His head falls back against the wall, baring that lovely length of his neck and its pretty bruises. He wants you to kiss him there, to leave one last mark before he says ‘I won’t see you again’ and means it this time.

“Don’t— don’t stop—” even as he speaks, a mess of jumbled words and breathless sentences, you’re still teasing him. He hates how much it works, how much he’d rather fall into the pleasure of your hands.

“Fine. Whatever. Yes. What do you want to hear? That it’s whorish the way I want you. That you’re able to just… corrupt me with all these dirty words, even though I have an extensive vocabulary. Even though i’m supposed to be—“

He’s not even sure what he’s supposed to be anymore.

“You know the extent of my devotion.” he concedes.

There will always be sadistic pleasure in reducing him to such an ignominious version of himself. You’ve seen it before, back when you were trapped in an artificial, yet domesticated, haze of bliss. But to hear it now? Even after everything has been said and done?

That’s a new type of pleasure.

You know he still holds onto the facade of you, aimlessly reaching for something intangible, something that never truly existed. “You want me to be good for you, huh? Just pack up my shit, leave it all behind, get better? Think about it. White picket fence. Coffee every morning. God— it would be insufferable. Coming home to feed the dogs, talking every night over the phone, begging you to be safe on a case, or or—“

Spencer breaks. Silencing your words with a pained whimper.

Usually, he doesn’t allow himself to think about that fantastical hypothetic. He can’t afford to. Months after he let you go, when the truth had been exposed to his naive eyes, he’d spend hours in a mess of aching limbs, dreaming up alternative realities where your hands weren’t stained from blood, and the most despicable thing you could do was make his coffee bitter.

So when you force him to open old wounds, to rehash past hopes, he falls apart. A whine escapes his lips, hips bucking, once, twice and then he’s coming untouched. Making a mess out of himself— and it’s sick, so very sick to get off on the thought of you permanent, the epitome of good.

Something he could hold onto without slicing open skin.

It’s not a good orgasm, it never is without your direct help, but at least it’s some form of release. In the aftermath, he blinks away tears, vaguely aware of the cum staining his boxers, creating damp spots through fabric.

There’s something painful, cutting to your gaze when you look at him. At the debauched sight, corrupted from just a few words.

Give it all up? For what? Him?

All things considered, it’s tempting.

“Spencer,” you mutter in the serrated moments between. When he’s still nebulous, caught in the aftershocks of abrupt pleasure. When he’s just gotten off, untouched, on the notion of a domesticated life with you.

He’s struggling to breathe. He’s spent nights gasping for you, reduced to the most debasing version of himself. So out of touch, you drove a blade through his back, catching his heart on the way.

“Why are you— doing this?” he asks, but before you can even answer, provide him with an explanation that will devastate, he’s lunging forward, kissing the lies that cling to your lips. Kissing you because his mouth hurts when it’s not attached to yours.

“One last time.” he says; he’s too intelligent, too intellectually adept, to allow this swallowing cycle of humiliation to continue.

But, underneath it all, he’s also inherently selfish for you. He’s fairly certain you were engrained into his skin, long before he fell into your barbed trap, teeth and penetrative ruin.

“Then you leave. You actually leave, never contact me again. No showing up at my apartment unprovoked. I have a good life without you. Understood?”

You scoff. He presses forward, “Understood?”

You don’t protest when he elucidates his life as good. Even if it’s quite the contrary. Even if he has to bare witness to depravity every single day, scrutinise his way through the minds of the most perverse. Perhaps this is a social experiment to him, perhaps you are the guinea pig, Laika sentenced to space. You know he loved you once, but it’s hard to comprehend the feelings remained unscarred, it’s hard to imagine you’re anything but a test subject now.

You look at him. Look at that pretty face. Your undoing. He could be your achilles heel, hamartia in its rawest form, or maybe you willingly chose to do this. Maybe fate, and divine intervention played no part in your attachment to him. Maybe it’s just chemicals. The logics explanation. Imbalanced, skewed chemicals.

“Don’t worry, boy genius.” you respond, “You won’t get anything, not even a postcard, from me. It’ll be like I never even existed.” no trace. D.C has always been a monotone cesspit of nothing anyway.

It’s cruel. Because if you leave, truly leave. And he never hears from you again, never catches you in his kitchen, drinking coffee with an unadulterated smile, then he will begin to forget.

The curve of your spine, the scars beneath your chest, the way your fingers fit into his own. The way he was able to memorise your body until he could draw it in the dark, when your body was pressed to his, when there was nothing but a false establishment of safety.

He knows he can’t forget. Not technically. But it’ll grow distant, it’ll be replaced with new normals and routines. That, that, he can’t compute.

“Good,” he says, kissing you again, kissing you because this is it.

Spencer wants you. In every sense of the word, he wants you so badly it’s killing him.

His bedroom still holds traces of you. That, itself, is a crime. But he just falls into you. The way lovers do. Your hands against his skin— his hair threaded through your fingers, your lips at the base of his neck. He lets you leave another bruise, a mark, a confirmation of possession, because even if this is the last time, he is, and always will be yours.

“Still the prettiest person i’ve ever seen,” you admit when he’s flushed naked beneath you.

There’s something in those doe-eyes, brown irises blown out of proportion, that hooked you. Even at the worst, it was still soft with him.

Slender frame, slightly arched, you want to bite into his hips, mark every inch of him as yours. It’s greedy, gluttonous, his messy hair, fanning out like a halo, the tangled curls he never bothers to properly care for.

“God, fucking look at you,” you grip his jaw, tilt his head back to bare that blemished neck of his. To have and to own. He’s so inexplicably different to you, so good it runs down to the bone. And maybe you’ve always been insatiable for what you’ve lacked.

He can’t take this. He can’t, not again. The past, the future will have to dissolve with this moment, because there will never be another again.

You will never get this close to him. It’s a terrifying thought, that this’ll be the standard of intimacy, of love - because he knows it isn’t. But he can’t risk the reality he’s faced with, the reality of living without this. Of living without you.

Your words only make it worse. He wants to beg you to stop. To cease the torture.

“Shut up.” He kisses you, as if to remind you that your mouth is made for kissing, for his lips, for a litany of dirty words that he can’t bear to hear. Those words are for someone else. For someone similar. Not him. Never him.

Defying fate. He gets off on being something bad beneath the surface. No one would ever expect it; boyish maladroit Spencer, the youngest of the team, willingly allowing, condoning, a killer to sink into his skin.

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” you respond, muffled against his lips. “If this is the last time, i’m going to enjoy it. Going to enjoy the sight of you, all desperate for me alone.”

“You assume i’ve ever been desperate for anyone else—“ he counters.

“Oh, that’s it. Keep talking dirty to me.”

“It’s not dirty. It’s a factual statement.”

You pull away, a trail of saliva bridging the space between your mouths. If there is higher power at play here, you want to curse, to spite your creator. Because if ‘things’ had been different, if you had been born from the same rib, this could’ve ended differently.

Or for that matter, never ended at all.

“Sit there and watch me.” you say, and Spencer hates the way he obliges. Pushing himself up against the headboard, he stares at you, at the way you position yourself, standing by the foot of the bed.

“Do you even know what you do to me? Do you even understand the gravity your existence has on me?” you continue, unfastening the lace corset that clings to your frame. When it drops to the floor, breasts exposed, you run your hands across them, catching pierced nipples for a vindictive moment of pleasure.

“I— uh,” Spencer is admittedly a little distracted. Sex had always been something ruinous between you two. Something that conflicted his lack of experience, forced him to adapt.

He always wondered how someone so soft, the epitome of light, could be this obscene. Now he understands.

“Lost your words? Come on, pretty boy. I thought you had an ‘extensive vocabulary?’ Hm?”

He wants to touch himself, to ease the pulsing throb that centres in his cock. But he doesn’t, because despite the time that has passed, he still knows your rules. “Don’t use my words against me. I’m being tortured.”

“Tortured, huh?” your hands fumble over buttons until you’re reduced to a pair of panties, soaked throughly, leaving scarce to the imagination.

“So so tortured. Oh my god, who are you? Can I please have my soul back?” he’s joking, but not really.

“Well maybe if you beg for it,” your words fade into a mess of moans, fingers slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. Spencer’s head spills back against the wall; he looks more affected by the movements than you.

It’s easy to fall back into old habits. Relapse.

“Come here, come here, i’m having an existential crisis.” he says, watching as you slip one finger, then two inside you, struggling to stand now. It’s strange how pleasure can reduce the most antagonising minds to vulnerability.

“Please— oh fuck, please. Please. Don’t make me watch, I can’t. Need you. Need you so bad.”

He thought he found the core of torture in you touching yourself, but he was wrong. Because when you crawl closer, when you slot yourself between his thighs, lips finding skin that only you have ever touched, he sees the root of evil in his brain. The ninth circle of hell.

It’s justified, he supposes. For all the good he’s done, he has betrayed. Himself, his friends, family, existence itself. There is not one thing he wouldn’t ruin, just to feel you. It’s incriminating, so yes, he deserves to freeze in Cocytus. He’ll willingly plead guilty, accept his entrapment in the ring of Caina.

“Poor baby, look at you.” you say, kissing his tip, catching the pre-cum on your tongue. Spencer responds: fisting bedsheets, fighting the restraint to buck forward, to find misplaced solace in the warmth of your mouth. He’s sprawled out across sheets now, lying back in a tangled heap of want. “Shh, it’s okay,” you continue, “I like my men desperate.”

“Desperate? Ah—,” he fights the urge to shut his eyes, too aware that this is the last memory he will ever retain of you.

You, painted into his mind. The final evidence left in the fire: mouth sinking down his length, taking him to the hilt, watery eyes and leaking mascara.

“This isn’t even desperation. You’re killing me. Just, oh oh— please, don’t. ‘M gonna cum. Gonna cum—“

Is it sick that he doesn’t want to? If only to prolong this transitory moment of destruction? Like the lotus eaters, he will always be mindless in the pursuit of more, more, more of you.

You draw back from his cock, only to press a soft kiss against the tip. The gesture alone has him reeling, has him begging to be saved, to atone for every sin he found in the comfort of your divinely crafted lips.

“Gonna let me sit on that pretty cock of yours, hm? Let me use you one last time? Promise i’ll be good,” a lie, “So so good.”

“God, yes. Yes, please. That would—“ You take him deep, deep enough that everything aches. He only feels alive when you’re wrapped around him, when there’s not an ounce of distance between your bodies, when he can touch the insides of you. Pry open the raw, unfiltered version of you.

He only feels alive when he’s sunk inside the harbinger of death. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt.

You’ve got one hand tangled in your hair, the other pressed flat against his waist, supporting you through each bump of movement. Eyes like marbles, Spencer looks up, and wonders why this will never be enough for you.

You look back, meet his gaze, as if you’re Orpheus, predestined to turn around, to always return. Even if it’s just for one last second. Even if the fall-out is so much worse than pushing forward blindly.

Oh, hes certain you’re carving a hole inside him, something that will only grow and expand, imploring to be filled by it’s inventor. It’ll hurt, for the rest of time, he supposes.

When he finds your hand around his neck, he isn’t startled. Neither, when your thumb presses against his throat, applying pressure until the world cracks and fades, distorting his refined mind to the here and now. He floats, feeling transient in the curse of your touch.

“That’s it. Just let go. I’ve got you.”

He is a sacrificial lamb. The priests favourite. He will take the knife every time, and thank you for it after.

You release the tension, hand taking his instead. For all the cruelty you possess, you’d never think to harm him. Not physically at least. The emotional damage, however, finds you both. There can be no happiness in either of your worlds, not when the memory of each other festers. “Good boy— taking it so well. God, no one is ever gonna compare.”

He cries at the words. Pretty tears streaming down his face, because the reciprocation to his undying piety will forever trigger the warped chemicals in his brain. Will forever reduce him to something saccharine.

“Love you. Love you so much. Don’t go. Please,” he fractures, “please don’t go.” he begs, besmirched words he’ll regret in the wake of his pleasure. They don’t count, and yet, he knows, in the most depraved sections of his mind, they’re true.

You ride him harder. Back curved, finding god in the washed-out body of someone fatally destroyed. “Not going anywhere— fuck, fuckfuckfuck. That feels so good. You’re so good,” maybe it’s a kink to ruin something so perfectly spotless.

Maybe it’s a kink that he wants it.

“Say it. God, just say it. This once.” for old times sake, he almost adds. But that wouldn’t be objectively correct. For all the intimacy you shared, you never once articulated those three words. Perhaps it was to save your dignity, to hold pieces of yourself in the lies you beautifully crafted.

His thumb runs over your clit, and in the tangle of your orgasm, he almost thinks you forget about his demand. But after, when you’re still taking him, when you’re still clenching, unclenching, clenching around his cock, when you know you own every part of him, you answer.

“I love you.”

He falls apart. Hips canting, body squirming, whimper after whimper escaping his bruised lips as he releases inside of you. Pushed deep, defiled to the limit. For a moment, everything is okay, everything will be alright, because there’s pleasure, and it’s you. It’s always you.

How can he justify falling in love with you again? How can he, when he still clings onto the artificial love of the past? He’s not sure his heart can handle one set of feelings, nevermind two.

He takes you again, well… mostly you take him again. In ways that have him polluted with the remnants of your teeth. Canine marks, etched deep enough to bleed. He hopes the swelling leaves behind perennial scars, anything to remind him. Anything to hold onto when you’re gone and it’s cold.

After, when you lie together, he presses his forehead against yours and wishes he was in any other universe. One where you’re happy. Where everything is pure and simple, clean from sin.

There was always truth in what we shared before, you admit. Lazy nights spent draped over the couch, kissing him to silence convoluted rambles. Your presence in the morning, bathed in holy glow, sunlight bleeding over the pretty sight of you. The first night he touched you and saw god. And then the following night, when he ascended all over again.

He wakes to find no body. He wakes to find nothing. It feels like self-sabotage, the promise that you would leave, even if it’s quite the contrary.

In the absence, abstinence of your presence, he discovers traces of you in everything he sees, all of it, everything consumed, returning to the simple thought of you you you.

When the first postcard comes, Portland, dreary weather— beaches and ports, there’s no anger. No exasperation that you broke your word.

You love him, it’s morbid, but for someone like him, it overrules everything. Sanity, dignity, his own stable existence.

You overrule everything.

#criminal minds #sub spencer reid #sub spencer #halloween #unsub!reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #CRAAAAWLING BACK TO U #idk guys they might be in love??#all i do is write smut wtf (i need help)

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xxsabitoxx · 1 year ago

Text

Look, Don't Touch

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Warnings: Major DUBCON, pervert Satoru, somnophilia, jerking off, whiny, whimpering, need Satoru.

A/N: this is literally a dream I had so naturally here it is in written form... hehe

WORD COUNT: 2,148 | Not proof read (forgive me)

“Sa-to-ru '' you drawl slowly, giggling as he only whines in response. “I can walk ya know, Sa-to-ru~” but the man refused to put you down, carrying bridal style down the streets of Tokyo with your apartment as his end destination. “Stop talking.” But there was no malice in his tone, he was just getting antsy, and it was all your fault.

You had been teasing him relentlessly, in the club, at the bar, even now as he carried you home. You weren’t even that bad off but he still didn’t trust you to walk by his side if he set you down. Given the fact that Satoru himself had a couple drinks, he was in no state to chase after you. “Never, you know you love the sound of my voice, Sa-to-ru.”

He did, and the way you drew out his name was sending shrills of need down his spine.

“You’re so mean to me… so fucking cruel.” He whined, not caring how desperate he sounded as he rounded the next corner. “You love how mean I am to you, makes you hard, huh?” You whispered the last part in his ear, giggling softly as you felt him tremble. “So cruel.” was all Satoru could mutter in response, nearly crumbling when your building was in sight.

“Tell ya what, Sa-to-ru.” You started, head swaying a bit before you decided to rest it on his shoulder. He didn’t answer, trying to ignore your hand gently trialing across the broad plains of his chest. You could feel his heart racing, it excited you to no end. “C’mon, answer me.” You pouted, fingers still trailing along his chest before finding your way to his neck.

“Go ahead…” his voice strained as he spoke “...Tell me what you want to say.” He knew he’d regret it, the moment you shimmied in his grasp so your lips could ghost his ear. “If you can remember the code to my apartment, I’ll let you spend the night.” You laughed softly as he sighed. “I don’t need a place to sleep, sweetheart.” He tried to sound uninterested but dammit…

“Not to sleep, silly boy.” You teased him further, dragging your nail under his chin and watching him try and fight off the shiver that it sent through his whole body. You watched his throat bob, the grip he had on your body tightening a bit. “I wanna play with you.” You whined softly, legs kicking a bit where they dangled in his grasp.

“Play with me?” he huffed out, legs carrying him quickly as you spoke. “Yeah, wanna play with your co–” but he cut you off with a choked “Woah!” which only made you laugh harder. “Sorry, Sa-to-ru. The drinks make me feel more than I should.” But the white haired man only shook his head, if he spoke he was certain his restraint would go out the window.

He wasn’t mad nor was he uncomfortable. Quite the fucking opposite, he was seconds away from taking you up on your drunken offers. He was shouldering the glass double doors open, ignoring any glances the two of you may get by any passersby. He knew your apartment code just like he knew your phone number, he spent enough time over at your place to know.

“So what you’re telling me…” he clicked the button for your floor as he stepped into the elevator, strong enough to hold you with one hand as he did so. “... you’ll let me fuck you if I remember your apartment code?” He finally smirked down at you, trying not to chuckle at your lidded eyes and smeared lipstick. “Mmhmm, thats exactly what you can do… fuck me really good.”

His moment of confidence fizzled away at your tone, so seductive, so needy.

Fuck he wanted you bad…

By the time the elevator door opened, Satoru was uncomfortably hard. It was the only thing he could truly focus on, the way his cock was stiff in his boxers, straining against the material and slowly leaking. Every step sent shivers up his spine, the material brushing his sensitive cock just right as he stopped in front of your door. “You better know it, Sa-to-ru.”

Your words had begun to slur from a mix of alcohol and exhaustion, you could feel your own arousal dampening your underwear but you had a funny feeling you wouldn’t even be awake by the time he got you in bed. It took three seconds for him to type your code, door clicking to signal it had been unlocked. “Ha…” soft and triumphant as he pushed his way inside.

You had been right of course, Satoru hadn’t bothered looking down at you again until he was moving to place you on your plush mattress. “No way…” he choked as he set you down, your eyes shut and chest evening out as you began to snore softly. “Such a fucking tease…” he whined, he should have expected you to pass out. He could feel his own exhaustion the entire walk here…

But you had worked him up so well that his tiredness was long forgotten. Now all Satoru could think about was the aching hard-on he had in his pants. “You’re lucky I’m a gentleman.” He mumbled to you despite you not being able to hear, carefully taking off the shoulders of your dress and pulling it down your body. He would only undress you and tuck you in, that's it.

At least that was what the rational portion of his mind was saying, the other part was starting to lose its cool at the sight of your bare skin. “You’re so fucking perfect.” Satoru muttered again, trying to restrain himself as he pulled off your pantyhose to toss into the hamper as well. Your panties had dragged down a bit with it, revealing soft skin that made him salivate.

“This is a form of torture.” he whined, moving to place you up against your pillows. He admired the way you looked, peacefully asleep in nothing but a lacy bra and panties… teasing him thoroughly even in your sleep. The thing is, Satoru couldn’t seem to pull himself away, not even to pull the blankets up and give you some modesty. His feet were glued to his spot on the floor.

“You… you wouldn’t mind, right? Surely you would understand…” he babbled softly, hands moving to hook in the waistband of your underwear. “Just… just to look. I won’t touch…” His breathing stuttered as your cunt was revealed to him, so soft looking and utterly perfect. Satoru’s cock twitched, reminding him of what he really needed.

Large, warm hands were spreading your thighs, revealing the sticky, shiny arousal coating your pretty cunt, leaving Satoru’s throat dry. “Fuck…” he was shaking as he undid his pants, pulling them off completely and letting them drop to the floor before stepping out of them. His boxers followed, slightly soiled from his precum dampening the front.

Satoru was careful, climbing onto your bed and sitting on his knees. You laid before him, fast asleep with your legs spread and cunt out in the open. That was more than enough for him, fuck was it more than enough for him. Satoru’s fist wrapped around his shaft ,giving it a hard squeeze, whining lowly as his pretty eyes locked on your cunt.

Carefully, he tugged at himself, collecting spit in his mouth to drool down over his length. “You’d be such a fucking tease right now, huh?” he spoke to you, hand moving faster now that his saliva was acting as lubricant. “Bet you’d be telling me how bad you want my dick, huh?” he groaned out, his free hand reaching down to fondle his balls as he watched arousal leak from your cunt.

“Fuck you’re so cute… even your fucking cunt is cute…” his lips twitched, cheeks flushing pink as he spoke those words to you. Dirty talk was never his forte… unless he was alone… or in this case, the other party was sleeping. He could never say the things he imagined when the other person was present. He could only fantasize about the things he would like to do.

“I wanna eat your pussy so bad… you’re so mean for falling asleep on me…”

Satoru whimpered as he thumbed his slit, collecting the precum and massaging it around his sensitive tip. “Fuck it looks so good… wanna bury my face down there and eat you out…” he gasped, squeezing his balls so tight he nearly doubled over from the wave of pleasure that passed through him. “My fist is nothing compared to your pussy…” he drawled out now… cheeks flushed red as his pleasure only grew with his words.

“Bet you’d feel so good, your nails digging in my hair and keeping me there…” he could feel his mouth water, the thought of going down on you was going to have him blowing his load before he was ready too. “You probably taste so good, fuck I want to eat you out so bad…” he whined, brows creasing as he repeated his desires, his fist gliding up and down his shaft in fluid motions.

Your thighs twitched in your sleep, threatening to close but Satoru’s hand shot out and stopped you. “A-almost done… please let me keep looking at your pretty pussy… almost done I swear…” but you had long since relaxed again, and his fingers had found their way back to his cock head. Satoru massaged himself, his tip flushed a pretty pink and leaking desperately as he pleased himself to the sight of your cunt. “So good… but your hands would be so much better than mine.”

He was going to cum, he knew he was, he could feel his cock twitching in his grasp as he whimpered about how badly he needed you. “So cruel to tease me and then leave me hanging, especially when your cunt is so pretty and wet for me…” He kept moving, his pleasure building deep in his gut and making his balls tighten. He was going to cum at any second. “You wanted to play with me and now I’m just playing by myself…” Satoru huffed, chest rising and falling faster.

“You wanted me to play with your pretty cunt and now you’re sleeping… your punishment is not getting off like I’m about to… but still.” He whimpered as he thumbed his slit again, head falling back momentarily to let out a guttural moan, he certainly knew how to get himself off… but it wasn’t you. Fuck it wasn’t you, your hands, your cunt… “So mean…” he gasped out again.

Satoru could feel sweat dripping down his brow as his fist pumped along his length over and over, he’d cum soon, so soon, but he didn’t quite want this to end yet. Your cunt looked so inviting, but he wouldn’t dare touch you while you were sleeping. He needed to see your sweet face contort in pleasure when he impaled you on his dick.

“Fuck I want your pussy so bad…"

He could really feel it now, especially with the way his cock was twitching. One glance downward and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Blue eyes focused back on your cunt, the idea creeping up his spine and reminding him just how perverted this whole thing was. “You’ll let me cum on your pussy, right? I mean it’s the least you could do…” He wanted to cover your cunt in his release, he wanted to see sticky globs of cum coating your pretty pussy.

“Y-yeah… no better place…” He mumbled, tugging his fist faster as his cock felt heavy in his own grasp, twitching and aching to spill his release. So he scooted closer, pulling your body closer to him as he did so. His cock was hovering just above your cunt now, the heat teasing him as he pumped himself closer and closer to his end. “Gonna cum…fuck I’m gonna cum all over this pretty pussy… so fucking mean.. You’re so mean… so fucking mean…”

He whimpered out, over and over as his eyes squeezed shut. Thick ropes of cum spurted from his head, covering your cunt in sticky white. Satoru didn’t stop, hand moving up and down his length over and over even as the pleasure turned into overstimulation. Whimpers and moans fell from his pretty lips as he watched his cum leak down your cunt and pool just under your ass.

“Ruined your sheets…” Satoru spoke to himself, still incredibly turned on by the sight of your cunt covered in his release. “A-again.. You wouldn’t mind if I did it again…” His cock hadn’t softened after all, still stiff and aching in his palm despite dumping a load on you. “You just drive me crazy… you and that cunt…” He whined, fist already moving again while you slept

#banner from @cafekitsune #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x you #satoru x reader

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