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celestie0 · 6 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

title. around the clock

Hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision.

ᰔ pairing. babysitter/boxing au - underground boxer & babysitter!gojo x college student!reader (f)

ᰔ summary. when underground boxer gojo satoru becomes a little strapped for cash, he gets a day job as a babysitter for a five-year-old kid named yuuji who most definitely has adhd (but that’s besides the point). the kid’s mom gave gojo two rules, and two rules only: don’t accidentally kill my son, and do not flirt with my daughter. he’s pretty sure he’s got a good hold on the former, but he’s got no self control over the latter.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, smut, casual sex, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of crack, slight age gap (reader’s 22 & gojo’s 27), cum play, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, gojo is a sleazebag that cares?, sort of porn-coded smut except there’s a lil bit of lore so it’s kinda porn w plot, uhh having sex with risk of getting caught, gojo beats people up at night & then plays father figure to a 5 y/o during the day, mentions of violence/alcohol/drugs/blood/cigarettes

ᰔ word count. 12.6k

a/n. hiiii friends jeez it feels like FOREVER since i've posted some good ol' smut (still has plot tho xd)...hopefully you enjoy n see ya at the bottom! lmk if i missed any warnings! if you asked to be tagged but didn’t get tagged it’s bc you have your tags off aaa :( even when some ppl tried to fix it i still couldn’t tag them i’m sorry!!

alsoooooo so very much love to @starmapz for beta reading this for me :”) really helped me w my posting nerves haha. she is also a wonderful jjk author pls go check out her works!! 💕 ART CREDITS: @/3-aem

➸ masterlist

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): heyy um i’m sorry if this comes off kinda rude i just am kinda bad with this but i was wondering if you could text my mom for questions about yuuji’s care instead of me?

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Oh 2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Yeah, sure

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sorry i know my mom doesn’t know much ab how to take care of him bc i was the one that took care of him for a while but i just really want to separate myself from that guardian role now that i’ve transferred to NYU yknow? :/ i think it’s not my place anymore. i just wanna be big sis now haha

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: I get it. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable with my texts

2:48pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): no no not uncomfy by it, thanks for looking after him. it’s just i’m kind of busy n stuff so it can be distracting

2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it

2:52pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): and it was kind of an issue with his last babysitter

2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?

2:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeahhh like he would keep textinf me n stuff uhh kinda weird things… i told my mom about it and she was super pissed so she fired him

2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?

2:56pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah he was always “accidentally sexting me” n like he sent me a dick pic once sooooo yeah

2:56pm Gojo Satoru: Who tf 2:56pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll go beat him up

2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): oh no no its fine lol 2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): please dont beat anyone up 2:58pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i’m not saying you’re like him tho i just think maybe less texting unless its an emergency okay?

3:00pm Gojo Satoru: Are you sure because I will totally go beat him up for you

3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO I DONT WANT YOU TO BEAT ANYONE UP FOR ME 3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): also no offense but you dont look like you could beat someone up

3:01pm Gojo Satoru: WHAT 3:02pm Gojo Satoru: Tf you mean “no offense” that’s literally the most offensive thing you could say to a guy

3:04pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeaa i mean you have muscles ofc but in the ‘ohhh i wanna look good for instagram’ way and not like real man muscles yknow

3:06pm Gojo Satoru: Ok princess next time you visit home and go on one of your stupidly large grocery hauls I’ll make sure you carry all those groceries in by yourself

3:06pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): I WAS JUST JOKING 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): YOURE SO STRONG TY FOR ALWAYS CARRYING THE GROCERIES INSIDE 3:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): PLEASE KEEP CARRYING MY GROCERIES INSIDE

3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Nah 3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Should we be texting right now? I’m not sensing any emergencies here

3:11pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): pls. my groceries :(

3:16pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll let the kiddo know you say hi 👋🏼

The irony of it all was that, if Gojo really wanted to, he absolutely could beat the shit out of someone. And he has, hundreds of times, pseudo professionally. Although that isn’t something he’d admit to you, out of fear that you might relay that info back to your mom who would then become mortified that she’s entrusted her five-year-old son’s life to the hands of an underground boxer.

But he needed the money. A night-time job didn’t really make daytime money, not when they could easily replace him with the next dude the second he gets knocked out of the ring more than twice, let alone if he let it happen once. And although he sometimes made large sums, it wasn’t stable income. He needed a back-up plan, and so babysitting it was.

The babysitter working nights at unsanctioned dojos and gyms located in the back of cartel blocks, knocking teeth out of men twice his size, would put any decent mother into a coma or induce some episode of syncope, hence why it wasn’t something he put on his resume before he got hired. Not that he even needed to provide a resume; your mom seemed desperate to cover the position as fast as possible, that promotion at work was moving faster than she wanted to, and Gojo’s beneficial attribute that he possessed as a candidate to look after her son, compared to all the other potential hires, was that he had a penis.

He likes the kid. Yuuji. He’s got kind of a short attention span, and makes Gojo weary of his age. Hold up, that makes him sound like he’s geriatric, he’s really only the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but the immortality and infinite stamina that a five-year-old boy has on him is enough to have him huffing and puffing at the end of every single evening shift he takes on with the rascal.

Fighting is all sprint, and no stamina. Sure, there might be some more seasoned boxers that might disagree with him, but for someone as young as him in the field, it’s the tactic he’s been forced to gain. If he draws a fight on for too long, he'll get killed by a forty-two year old man with steroids clogging up his adipose tissue and enough testosterone to grow a full-body beard by the time the sun starts to set. No, his strategy is to knock them out within the first fifteen seconds. Use their weight against them, and whatnot. A tactic he’s found has worked, since he’s been undefeated thus far.

He can never wrap his head around it. The drug lords that run the rings who’ve gained millions the night before from selling crystal meth only to lose it all the night following in the second Gojo hooklines a solid punch to their betting boxer’s chin, making them see God & their Momma before they tap out (if they’re even able).

He doesn’t pocket much money from it, not anything compared to what the men who bet on him end up making at least, but it’s a decently solid sum. How lucrative it really is depends solely on what he thinks the value of his life is.

It’s not unheard of, boxers dying in the ring. Turns out, rich drug dealers care very little about the sheep they’ve captured to perform their entertaining little stunts. But Gojo wasn’t doing all of this to feel some sense of work-life pride, no, it was just sustenance. When basic needs are not met, humans resort to the most animalistic of all behaviors, and while he’s not proud of what he does, he can’t deny the fact that it’s turned him into an adrenaline junkie that gets a rush in his veins every time he knocks a jaw loose.

But balance was key. And hence why he’s a boxer by night, babysitter by day. For at least four days a week, he gets to pretend he’s the king’s most trusted appointed knight, or he’s the radioactive tyrannosaurus rex that wants to tyrannize all the other dinosaurs, or maybe he’s the evil power ranger (he always forgets which color that one was) that is determined to make the world a living hell by smashing mr. potatohead against the bunk bed post a billion times for all the other toys to see. Or whatever other imaginative hyperfixations Yuuji imposes on him in the later afternoon once he’s had his bowl of spaghetti-O’s and is ready to play. Lately, the kid’s been really into space. They’ve got all sorts of space toys these days. Back in Gojo’s day, he just had a good ol’ Buzz Lightyear.

“One rule, that’s it: don’t accidentally kill my son. Actually, one more rule. Don’t flirt with my daughter.”

There’s a part of Gojo that believes your mom kind of knows he’s up to shady shit at night, otherwise why else would she clause for him to not flirt with you if she didn’t read the slight swell to his eye and the healing gash across his cheek as anything other than this boy is trouble and I want him nowhere near my too-good-for-him daughter of reproductive capacity since that’s the exact tale of how I became a single mother in the first place. Or maybe he inherently looks like he’s up to no good? He’s not sure which angle is more offensive, and which one was more flattering. Well in any case, she entrusted Yuuji’s life to him, despite acknowledging the plausibility of harm, and that means she overall thinks positively of him, right? ……right?

The first night he met you, it was awkward to say the least. Gojo spends most of his nights performing deadly stunts for middle aged men with potbellies, and most of his days hanging out with a five-year-old (one who he’d argue is his only friend at this point). Sure, he’s got some people he sees occasionally back in his high school hometown when he can brave hearing about how everyone’s in college now or doing a masters or they’re working respectable nine-to-five day jobs meanwhile he has to lie to his Pops that he’s been working in insurance for the past two years. Listen, in fairness, he probably makes the same amount of money as an insurance broker would anyways, but he can’t exactly own up to the identity of his craft.

Anyways, the point is, he’s not used to seeing other people his age anymore. There’s the occasional hook-up with girls he hasn’t seen since Mrs. Tracy’s homeroom period back in sweet two-thousand-sixteen, or his twice-a-year hangout with Suguru where he only learns the day of where he's visiting from since the guy moves around more than Gojo can keep up with. But save for that, he mostly just sees your mom and then Yuuji.

So seeing you standing in the kitchen for the first time when he went to put Yuuji’s half-finished GoGurt back in the fridge was startling to say the least. When the sight of a woman startled him, he knew he needed to start getting out again.

You were on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab at something over the fridge, and wearing these ridiculously short shorts to where he could see the curve of your ass, his line of sight trailing down the skin of your bare legs. He couldn’t see anything of your form above your shorts, given you were wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt with NYU on it in big bolded university letters. As far as he knew, you were a senior at NYU, studying psychology, made dean’s list consecutively for the past three years given the way your mother posted all your stellar transcripts up on the fridge (he gets that she’s proud of her daughter, but doesn’t that kind of stuff usually end in grade school?) But other than that, it was all the information he had on you.

“Here,” he said, pressing his front to your back, maybe just to get a feel, as he reached over to you to finally grab the box of cereal you were swatting for, the one that he purposefully placed at the back because Yuuji learned how to climb counters recently. “Is this what you want?”

He had heard you gasp, spinning around on your heel fast, staring up at him with wide eyes like you weren’t expecting some random man to be in the house right now, and your first instinct ended up being to grab the knife out of the kitchen knife block and lunge it straight at his torso.

If it wasn’t for his boxer reflexes, he’d have ended up at the ER that evening. Or dead. All depending on the strength you could pack into a stab. But instead, he deflected it, though not without a gash to his torso through the fabric of his shirt, one that you spent the rest of the evening profusely apologizing for and eventually mending to with cotton balls and neosporin.

“I didn’t know you were my little brother’s babysitter,” you mumbled with a small wince on your face as you dabbed ointment on the wound while he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his shoulder. He’s never had an injury tended to before. It was nice.

“It’s fine, I get it, totally acceptable response to seeing a random dude in your house.”

He remembers the curl of your eyelashes while you stared down at his bare upper half, something he imprinted on his memory rather than the concern in your face as your fingertips traced the scars across his chest. He hoped they made you feel better about the one you just slashed into him, because after all, what was one more?

He knows he shouldn’t have, but he kissed you that night. Two minutes before your mom came home, and right after you bid him goodnight with one more apology, he backed you up against the door of your bedroom, his hands on your hips pulling you towards him, and his lips pressed against yours. Something seamless, from candid conversation that was heading towards an end, to full fledged making out against white-painted wood, his teeth nipping at your lip and he wondered just how touch-starved those university boys were leaving you given the desperate way you’d clinged to his shirt for dear life as he deepened the kiss.

The moment only lasted one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and in the remaining three, your mother’s key pushed into the front door and he had to pull away. Always, on the dot, 10PM, she was home. It was how he knew he had two minutes left to make a move in the first place.

So much for no flirting.

6:57pm Gojo Satoru: Bahahah I accidentally forgot where yuuji’s epipen is 6:58pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 6:59pm Gojo Satoru: Turns out this can-o-soup was just covering it in the cabinet

7:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): ??? why did you need to find his epipen

7:08pm Gojo Satoru: Oh he accidentally took a bite of my pad thai 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: I freaked cuz I thought it had peanuts in it but I remember I asked for it without any 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: shit’s crazy

7:10pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY THE FUCK DIDNT YOU TEXT ME????????

7:12pm Gojo Satoru: YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING YOU UNLESS IT WAS AN EMERGENCY ?

7:13pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): SATORU YOU THOGHT HE ATE SOMETHING W PEANUTS IN IT AND YOU FORGOT WHERE HIS EPIPEN WAS THATSS A FUCKIGN EMERGENCY

7:15pm Gojo Satoru: THE KID IS DOING FINE HES ALIVE JESUS LEAVE ME ALONE 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: See. he’s chill 7:17pm Gojo Satoru: with intact airways might I add 7:18pm Gojo Satoru: Also isn’t he a little too old to still be watching baby sensory videos?

7:20pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah my mom thinks he has adhd :(

7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh

He tried to keep his word though (although he doesn’t recall ever giving it) out of the respect he had for your mom. She was a hard-working lady, single mom of two who went from working three jobs to now being a major administrator at a big law firm near the outskirts of town. It was an underdog story if he’d ever heard one, and he loved an underdog story.

But a little texting here and there wouldn’t hurt, right? Or so he thought, until you told him to cut it out with the contact. Maybe you were just trying to be the good one in this situation. After all, hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision. Still, he’ll eventually get your replies to his which shirt should Yuuji wear to the park? and look, the toothfairy gave him the butt of a joint and a couple thumbtacks for his front tooth. he’s ecstatic texts, although in a less timely manner than before when you weren’t trying to preserve propriety. And when you’d occasionally visit every other weekend, he’d do his best to keep his hands in his pockets, and you’d fill up your nights with hangouts with your hometown friends to avoid spending too much time with him at the house. A silent agreement to not fuck each other, it was.

4:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): send pic of yuuji pls i miss him :(

5:04pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo]

5:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): IS THAT BLOOD?!?!?!?!

5:09pm Gojo Satoru: chillllllll it’s fake. We’re working on his halloween costume

5:09pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY DOES IT HAVE BLOOD?!?!?!?!?!?

5:10pm Gojo Satoru: He wants to be a baby xenomorph and I'm his parasitic host. You know that iconic chestburster scene from the old school alien movies? yeah

5:12pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): satoru please for the love of god just dress him up as a dinosaur or something

5:13pm Gojo Satoru: I’m not the one that came up with the idea, okay? It was him

5:14pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): because you let him watch adult swim with you before putting him to bed. you’ve deranged his brain.

5:14pm Gojo Satoru: He needs it. Builds character.

Gojo was living a double life, and if someone asked him, he’d say it was less of a Clark Kent way and more of a Bruce Wayne way, although in reality, he knows it’s close to neither. He’s no superhero with a concealed identity fighting crime, he’s a con artist that’s tricked a hard-working woman into hiring him just because he’s trying to save up enough money to get the fuck out of this godforsaken town, given he’s not knocked dead before then for the crime’s amusement.

But Yuuji looks up to him now. And Gojo’s grown attached to him too. He taught the kid how to tie his own shoes and piss inside the actual toilet like a real man. And that kid’s the only thing that’s made him question any of this. Maybe that’s what dads feel, suddenly held to all this impossible responsibility and the pressure to stop doing stupid shit so that you’ll stick around to see your kids get older. The thought that there are eyes on you now, eyes that are innocent and hopeful and learning, and because they know nothing at all, you feel the responsibility to protect them from everything. For fucks sake, remind him to never become a dad.

“Do you like my sister?” Yuuji had asked him out of nowhere one afternoon after he just got home from preschool, stacking a blue cube over a yellow one at the dining table.

“Uhh,” Gojo starts. He wondered if your mom had put a wire on the kid, so his answer was as diplomatic as he could manage. “Yeah, she’s cool. You’ve got a cool sister.”

“But. But.” Yuuji stutters, trying to find his big boy words. He stretches up higher to reach the top of his stack of blocks, but he only has so much arm real estate at the age of five. “Do you like her like you wanna kiss her?”

Gojo grabs the block from the kid’s hand, for a moment questioning Yuuji’s decision to want to put a blue block over another blue block, but he figures aesthetics are the least of a kid’s concern, and so he places the block where Yuuji wanted it.

Why does the kid know what kissing is anyway? Do kids know that kind of stuff at that age? Isn’t a kiss to a five-year-old just something their mom gives to them before they head off to preschool for the day? And not something that happens between adult men and women? Maybe he should stop watching that adult swim in front of him.

“No. I don’t want to kiss your sister,” he says, again, because he is suspicious of a wire. It was a lie and then some, because he wants to do a lot more than just kiss you.

Gojo lifts the RedBull he was nursing up to his lips and watches Yuuji in the corner of his eye as the kid stares at his growing stack of blocks with a concentrated expression on his face, his chubby fingers squeezing tightly into little round dimpled balls, like he’s putting together all his tiny brain cells together to form another coherent thought before turning to face Gojo on the chair.

“It’s ok. You can kiss her if you wan’ed to. You can marry her too,” Yuuji says.

Gojo almost spits out his RedBull. He barely manages to swallow it, a broken cough immediately leaving his throat when some of the liquid goes down the wrong pipe and he’s smacking a fist against his chest to knock the sanity back into himself.

“Where the fu—…where the flip did that come from?” he asks, blinking back tears from the rasp in his throat.

Yuuji’s small shoulders sulk as he sits back on his heels. “I want a papa.”

Oh fuck that hurt. Jesus christ, there was nothing more sad than that. Yuuji has literally never known what it’s like to have a dad, since his had left before he was even born. Gojo’s not really close to his old man by any means, but he had still been a fatherly figure in some pivotal moments when he had needed it growing up. Kids need their dads. And he’s seen enough people lose their way without one to know that the value of them is really underestimated.

He’s also kind of shocked that Yuuji really did think of you as his motherly figure. Maybe since it had always just been him and his dad, Gojo learned how to self sustain from a young age, and he and his dad became accustomed to just looking after their own interests to avoid the headache of tending to one another. My land is my land, and your land is yours, and there was the occasional Saturday night spent together with his dad’s millions of beer bottles emptied dry on the carpet in front of the 1992 box TV as the two shared a greasy pizza from the place down the street. That was the extent of family solidarity that he knew.

But he can’t imagine being barely eighteen and having to take care of your little brother all by yourself because your mom was too busy trying to put food on the table and was too poor to hire a babysitter. Your mom tried so damn hard to keep you away from the single teenage mother life, but somehow ended up giving it to you by proxy in the end anyway. It was no wonder you wanted space now that Yuuji’s a little older and your mom can afford a babysitter. No matter how much you might love your sibling, being their effective guardian out of pure necessity had to have taken a toll.

Gojo clears his throat before he speaks. “Buddy. If I married your sister, we’d be brothers. I wouldn’t be your dad.”

Yuuji’s eyes light up at the word brother. “Brothers? Me and you?”

“Yeah. Bros.”

The kid giggles, all bubbly with cheeks rounding fully and eyes sparkling. Gojo reaches out to ruffle at his hair before Yuuji gets down onto one stubby leg at a time from the chair then bolts towards the kitchen.

“Juice!!” he yells somewhere around the corner out of sight.

Gojo sighs, staring at all the toys he pulled out for Yuuji to play with, all left in a scattered mess across the table. He gets up out of his chair and heads towards the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your juice, you little demon.”

The conclusion he comes to, and it might read like an obvious one, is that kids don’t really know the reality of life, hence why adults hide so much from them.

This is what he thinks of tonight when he wraps his worn out boxing tape around his hands and his wrist, tightening it with his teeth, and he can smell the sweat and grime from them. The back of the underground gym had an old dated locker room, and as Gojo stretches his neck side to side while sitting on the stiff metal bench, he eyes the peeling red paint of the locker in front of him, blurring vision making it look like spilt blood.

His phone pings with a text. He shuffles inside his duffle bag to look for it while his other hand scratches at his bare chest.

1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): omgomgomg sor y i’m

He blinks at the screen, confusion flashing across his face. He types one letter, but then he sees three dots and a speech text bubble in the bottom left, so he waits for you.

1:09am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i drunk :(

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly.

1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell

1:10am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): at a apartyyyy

His eyebrows raise slightly, the thought of you tipsy on some frat party couch flashing through his mind, yet of all things you could be doing at that frat party, you’re texting him? Must be a really boring party.

1:11am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): whyyy are you aawake?

1:12am Gojo Satoru: Couldn’t sleep 1:12am Gojo Satoru: Don’t you have a midterm in the morning?

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): wtf hwo do you knwo that

1:15am Gojo Satoru: Your mom keeps your schedule posted on the fridge

1:15am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): im so fucked;’;(((

He snorts. He’s got a bit more life experience than you, five-ish years to be exact, more than enough time to master the no-hangover hangout, but just before he can offer you some advice, he sees another text from you.

1:16am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): can i tell u smething

His gaze flits up to the ceiling briefly, and he hears commotion outside the thick walls of the locker room. The previous fight was over, and fast. The guy must’ve been knocked out in under twenty seconds tops, which means that Gojo was next up against whatever superbeast just beat him up.

1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure

He stands up, placing his phone down on the bench before he flexes the muscles in his arms a couple times to get the blood flowing into them. And there’s the noise of another ping. Actually, four.

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sonetimes 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i thikn of 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): when u kisse me 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): *kissed me

His eyes widen slightly, irises dry to the ashy cigarette smoke from outside lingering in the air, and his heart rate picks up a bit. An adrenaline junkie with close to no fear in his veins due to the way his amygdala’s been fried to a crisp from years of boxing, yet he’s got his breath hitched from the memory of your soft lips against his. It makes the blood rushing through the muscles of his arms rush somewhere down south instead.

Loud banging on the door of the locker room jolts him out of his trance, and he’s stiff around the edges once more.

“Satoru! You’re up, man,” he hears Danny, the fight coordinator, yell at him from the other side of the heavy & poorly-installed steel door.

Gojo sighs, glancing down at the texts on his phone. To respond, or not to respond. You’re off your face, clearly chatty from the alcohol, and he knows for certain you’ll regret every life decision you’ve ever made once you wake up in the morning and see the self sabotaging behaviors you’ve engaged in tonight. He knows that responding to you might put you at ease rather than straight up ignoring you, but the feeling will pass, and he has a match to win with no more room left to stall.

He makes his way out the locker room, pushing past the crowded halls of people underneath dim flashing club lighting, some dudes angrily jerking to face him when he pushes past them with a stiff shoulder, only for their eyes to widen when they see just exactly who pushed them.

There’s strippers in the ring, doing some routine for pre-match, and Gojo narrows his eyes at the man he sees laying back over the rubber boundary rope, head tipped back up to the ceiling with a wicked grin on his face. So that was his opponent? He’s never seen the guy before. Was he from a different district? Different district talent was tough, you had no background info on them, while they’ve been preparing to be here for weeks. Hence why boxers tend to do better when they visit a different district than they do in their own. There have been rules made to limit these types of fights, mostly over outrage that it was unfair to bid on them, but they were also usually more entertaining to watch. Gojo’s got a sick feeling to his stomach as the strippers clear the ring.

“Hey,” Gojo calls out, grabbing Danny by the back of his collar and dragging him towards him and away from the girls stepping down onto the floor, “what’s in for this fight?”

Danny glances up at the ceiling. “Tarp’s bettin’ tonight, so it can’t be anything less than ten grand for you. I’d say tops fifteen?”

Gojo narrows his eyes further, then glances off into the ring again. The man stands up, and Gojo gets a better look on his face. He’s got short hair, neon green in color with a dark fade underneath and tattoos all over his face. But those eyes. They were freakishingly red, and it made him uneasy. He knows the type. The type of boxers that do this to genuinely hurt people for thrill. Make no mistake, Gojo understands he’s made himself out to be like that too, gaining some kind of rush out of this profession, but this type of fighter was different. The type to literally continue smashing a dude’s face into the floor until they’re a bloody mess even minutes after the winning call, and no referee to stop it because that’s the kind of action the spectators wanted.

Danny reads his line of sight. “That’s Gale. Newton’s new boxing toy. Came outta nowhere about a month ago. He’s undefeated so far in his district, and Newton specifically wanted to see you up against him tonight,” Danny tells Gojo, resting his elbow up on his bare shoulder. “Chances are he’ll compete with Tarp for final bid if you win this one. I’m talking twenty-five grand in the next if you can knock him out in this.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo acknowledges, rolling his shoulder so Danny’s elbow falls from it. Forget the money, he just wants to make it out of this alive.

He sets his foot up on the square, ducking through the dividing boundary straps and the tacky caution construction tape that the gym thinks creates an exciting ambience. He hears the static of the speakers as the announcers call out Gojo’s name, then this other guy, loud bass club music booming through Gojo’s chest as he tries to take a few deep breaths through the thick air of this low-ceiling arena.

The dim overhead lights flickered, casting shadows over the makeshift ring, and the crowd pressed tight around at every perimeter area, yelling and pushing, one even tosses a beer bottle on the square and it shatters, spreading glass all across, a few shards reaching Gojo’s feet and he looks down at them with a shudder. A fight immediately breaks out in the crowd over something related or possibly entirely unrelated, and he’d have no way of knowing as he swipes the shards away with his heel.

The influential men always sat up on higher seating, off towards the back in their own VIP section where they suck in the smoke of fat cigarettes and peer through 100% tinted sunglasses to assess the boxers they’ve bid thousands on. The light reflects off the golden grills of their teeth with every snarl at any passerby that gets too close, like a lion in its den. That’s what the sanction was called. Lion’s den.

Gojo sighed, eyeing the twisted grin of this Gale guy across from him. Was that his real name? Usually, foreign district guys get nicknames. Gojo’s always thought the nicknames were tacky, and he’s accumulated some of his own over the years, but to his ears, none of them ever really landed, although The White Fox admittedly was kinda nice. Reminded him of throwback shooting games.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, holding his hands up in front of his chest in weak fists, storing energy in them in the form of pure anticipation alone, and then the bell rang.

His opponent lunged towards him immediately, fists flying in a barrage of reckless strikes, and Gojo’s eyes momentarily widened in the briefest moments of hesitation he had been allowed before ducking and dodging every one of this guy's shots, then jumping a step back to create distance.

Fuck. He was fast. Not just boxer fast, athlete fast. There was a difference. And it wasn’t a good one to be up against.

Gojo picked up light on his feet. He couldn’t win this one fast, that much was certain. One single careless or reckless move, and he’ll get tackled. He knows that by the malicious look he sees on that guy’s face, grin wide like he’s some cannibalistic beast.

Stepping back towards the center, Gojo purposefully set himself up for Gale to swipe a vicious hook towards his head, before Gojo last minute ducked down, crouched to the floor, and swung his leg out to knock the guy off balance by his ankles, and he falls onto his back with a loud thud!

There’s a moment of momentary silence from the crowd, right before Gojo put the man in a torso-lock, twisting him in a way a human body should absolutely not be twisted, hearing the grunts of pain and the crack of spine even through the shouts of the crowd.

He can hear it. Kill him! Knock his fucking teeth out! Snap his neck like a goose, man! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM!

He feels like throwing up.

Gojo looks up at the referee, who wasn’t really a referee, just there to run the clock when there was action and only barely stop it before near death. “This is enough, right?” he asks.

The referee nods. ��1-0, next round.”

Gojo lets go of his opponent, leaving him there to heave for a moment before he gets up onto his feet again. Just needs one more, and he’s a winner. Ten grand in his pocket, and he won’t have to come back here for a couple weeks.

Gale gets up, swiping at the spit that had trickled out the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and he had an enraged look on his face. The second the bell rang for the second round, he exploded forward towards Gojo with even more fervor than before, gritted expression with a thirst for violence fueling the storm of punches he was throwing towards Gojo but he tried to remain calm, light on his feet, swiftly duck and avoid before he can find another opportunity to clear a sharp, clean jab right to the ribs—

sometimes, i think of when you kissed me

Gojo misses his strike, leaving his guard wide open, and Gale takes the opportunity to land a solid punch straight to his jaw, sending his mouth guard flying straight out of his mouth into the air, and knocking him backwards onto the ground with a thud and then he finds himself staring up at the rusting metal ceiling and a ringing in his ears that almost matches the roar of the crowd.

His head is in a haze, dizzy like where one second could feel like a millennia. He feels a soreness underneath his chin, a pain that radiates to his mouth, and he briefly swipes his tongue over his front teeth to make sure he still has all of them.

What the fuck was that? That intrusive thought. There’s no intrusive thoughts allowed in life or death situations, not when he was always just one smash to the head away from a permanent concussion. But, fuck, he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of you. Even when his vision has gone blurry and he should really be weary about what happens next in this ring, his mind’s just thinking about you, at some frat party, tipping back shots of tequila and waiting for a text-back in response to your tipsy ones. Were you even waiting up on him? Have you already passed out on the couch, or were your friends dragging you back to your dorm? Or are you fucking some other dude right now? Has he got his hand up your top, squeezing at you, sleazily feeling you up before spilling beer all down your shirt, and are you kissing him back with the same enthusiasm, your phone now somewhere long slipped between the cushions of the couch and out of sight?

Even though it’s still sore, he tenses his jaw. Grinds his teeth, even. Tasting blood somewhere along the line of his gums, he realizes his lip is split. He licks at it, the flavor of copper more rich on his tongue, and he clenches his fists tightly. Why’s he thinking of that right now? It just pisses him off, the thought of you with some other dude. Maybe that’s what he needs to win this fight. Spite. Although he’s not sure why the guy across from him at the ring has to pay for it.

He lifts his head up off the ground, and while it felt like years he had been down, a glance at the timer tells him it’s only been a solid four seconds. A solid four seconds that his opponent had to fully charge a lunge towards him with the look of death in his face, raising his elbow up into the air in time with his leap, ready to come straight down, and Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight above him from where he’s still lying on the wood.

“Shit—” he cusses, rolling his body over to the side so that the dude falls straight down onto the floor rather than elbow Gojo in the fucking ribs, and then he gets back up on his feet.

Stakes were high, he has to end this, he has to end this now, and he flexes the muscle in his right bicep, channeling everything he has into this one blow, and before Gale even really has a chance to turn around and face him again, Gojo’s already three-fourths set up a knockout undercut that he drives straight up the guy’s chin, with so much force it has him lifting up off the floor, a vertebrate stretch to his spine before he’s sent flying backwards and slammed against the tight rubber lining of the ring to where he was half hanging over it.

The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted in a roar as the referee fell to one knee beside Gale, checking him for any semblance of consciousness, and when he found none, he waves the match off.

Gojo’s eyes flit up towards the lion’s den, the only opinions that he really needed to care about were sitting in those mahogany chairs with glasses of scotch swirling around in their hands, and he sees some of them looking straight at Gojo before leaning towards one another and discretely talking about something he can’t make out because he doesn’t know how to read lips.

He feels someone tug at his arms from behind, pulling him to crouch down and he balances back on the balls of his feet. He glances down through the ring at the floor. Danny was leaning against the wooden surface of it. “Dude. Go.” He jerks his head towards Gale, who still laid there sprawled across the now stretched out rubber perimeter bands. “Go fuck him up. Knock a few more teeth out, I don’t know, get some more blood out of him.”

“What?” Gojo huffs, yanking his arm away from Danny’s grip. “The fuck are you saying?”

“I told you, man, Newton’s here and he’s got his eye on you. Go give him a show,” Danny says, “do it.” And when he sees clear frustration on Gojo’s face he sighs. “Twenty-five grand, consider that, will you?”

Gojo sneers at the man, an awful taste in his mouth as he spits blood towards Danny’s feet. “Go fuck yourself on his cock if he wants a show that bad.” And then he ducks underneath the bands and hops back down onto the floor, pushing past people who were trying to grab at him and pull at him and lift him up and even throw him down until he made it through flashing hallways and back to the locker room.

He shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt lock into the frame so no one can follow him inside, and then he leans his weight back against the chilling steel before tipping his head back until it hits the surface too.

He lets out of a few deep breaths, then stares down at the sting he finds over his knuckles. Red and blistering from the last punch he delivered, and he’s almost certain he broke a bone in his hand. Fuck. It was bleeding across the cuts, too. He had to figure out a way to get it all healed by tomorrow, as if that was humanly possible, just because he doesn’t want Yuuji questioning him about it.

Yuuji. For fucks sake, when has he ever thought about the kid this much? When has he ever thought about much of anything when he’s out here or in the ring? He’s a babysitter by day. He’s a “part” of your family when the sun is up and normal functioning society is breathing their lives into the clean air. That’s it. He’s no five-year-old’s caretaker in front of all these primetime drug lords, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of you when facing big, burly men he’s aiming to rough up, all within the dead hours of night. So then how come these thoughts are on his mind at all times, twenty-four-seven, around the clock?

He heads further into the locker room, glancing down at the bench where he’d left his phone, then picks it up, neck craned all the way down to glance at the screen as he holds his phone by his hip because he doesn’t have any energy to pick it up any further towards his eyesight.

He sees your messages. You never sent any follow-up ones, just your horrendously typed out sonetimes, i thikn of when u kisse me *kissed me across the span of four texts, and Gojo runs a tired hand down his face.

He tips his head back to groan at the ceiling, guttural with no basis other than a release of all the pent up frustration of every sort, then he types in a couple messages to you,

3:23am Gojo Satoru: That’s nice 3:24am Gojo Satoru: I think about fucking you all the time

—and then tosses his phone into his duffel bag to call it a night.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You’re awoken to your alarm blaring heavily, and you whack your arm across your nightstand table beside your tiny twin-size bed to hit the snooze button, then rub your eye with a loose fist while smacking at the residual taste of alcohol you have on your tongue.

“Mm…” you mumble to yourself. And then the thirst hits you. The overwhelming, intense, unquenchable thirst that leaves your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert before you grab your twice-dented Hydroflask from the nightstand, twist the cap off and chug about twenty ounces of water in one breath.

You let out a deep exhale and fall back into bed, your hand resting on top of your water-filled tummy, and you stare up at the ceiling of your dorm.

Last night was horrible. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to that frat party, especially given you have an exam in—you checked the time on your phone—about an hour, and an hour was not enough time to recover from the raging hangover headache that’s pounding through your head. But your roommates insisted you went, and so go you did. You never knew what to expect, always torn between shaving your pussy before you go or throwing on a stained pair of sweatpants to keep the guys away instead. Sometimes, it was a combination of both. But last night, you ended up drinking more than you usually do, and that always led to poor, poor, poor decisions, in which all the sense of pride you had in yourself was washed down with the puke that you hurled into the upstairs toilet.

You grab at your phone again, briefly seeing that your friends had sent you some photos from the night. You immediately swiped off to the side to dismiss the notifications, because as far as you were concerned, you never wanted to see those photos in your life.

And then, in the briefest of moments, you saw a familiar name in your notifications that made you heart skip a beat.

Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)

With an immediate gasp, you pulled your phone to your chest and held it there, blinking up at the pale yellow ceiling, your heart picking up in rhythm.

Oh fuck.

That was right.

You drunk texted him last night.

You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.

Fuck.

Mortified was an understatement, possibly because you don’t even remember what you said, and so you don’t even want to see what he replied with.

You groan, rubbing both your hands across your face then kick your sheets back with your feet like a child having a temper tantrum because you were so embarrassed you had even texted him at all last night. I mean, he was hot. A little older than you, really gorgeous eyes, tall, and, yeah, you gave him shit for the Instagram muscles thing, but that’s only because you thought he’d find it cheeky that you were trying to humble him despite the fact that he’s more toned and ruggedly sculpted than any other man you’ve ever met. You didn’t want to have a flustered schoolgirl attitude because it would just seep through to his ego.

In any case, he was hot, there was no denying it, so can you really blame yourself? But still. There was collateral with this. You had to see him every other weekend. He knows your family, even your extended since they invited him to Thanksgiving dinner a couple weeks ago. A high-risque drunk text recipient if he ever was one (of course he has been, look at that face). Why couldn’t you have just drunk texted ECON160 guy from last semester who Clit DJ’d you underneath your desk at the back of the lecture hall instead?

The thing that made you nervous about Gojo Satoru was that he was just so…confident? Like, in that I was raised to be this way confident and not that I fought inner demons my whole life to barely end up this way confident, y’know? Never had to fake it ‘til he made it, he just was. At least that was the kind of energy you got from him, and unfortunately for you, it was nerve wracking but enticing all at the same time.

You sigh. “Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuupiiiiidddddddddddd. You. Are. So. Stuuuuuupiiiiddddddd,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair to grip at the strands.

You pull your phone away from your chest, and finally brave yourself to read the texts from your notifications screen, but not without blurring your vision a little to further stall. And then you finally refocus it to read them. The first one you see has you gasping—

3:24am Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter): I think about fucking you all the time

It has heat spreading across your cheeks, and you blink at your screen, then quickly swipe up to read the previous messages with rushed glides of your index finger on the screen to see that he had sent it to you in response to your barely coherent texts about how you still so often think about that time he randomly pressed you up against the door of your bedroom to kiss you that night you first met him.

I think about fucking you all the time

At 3 in the morning? He decided to send that text at 3 in the fucking morning? That was the devil’s hour. What’s he trying to tell you?

Oh come on, you’re not stupid. And you know he isn’t either. The sexual tension was palpable, it was there since the day you two met and you almost stabbed him, and also everytime you were visiting the house, and his shoulder brushes against yours when he’s trying to get past you in the kitchen, or when you’ve got Yuuji in your arms and the kid is clinging to Gojo’s sleeve because he wants him near him at all times. There’s even sexual tension over the phone, in those stupid texts he sends you all the time about meaningless child care stuff, and honestly, those little updates made your day.

But… you don’t know much about him, and your mom would kill you if she ever found out you wanted him. And she’d probably pulverize him if she found out he ever made a move on you. Cremated without leaving a trace behind would be an understatement. She thinks he’s no good and she thinks you’re too good. You know she’s warned him before to not get close to you, as if she was pre-emptively expecting him to try to get in your pants like it was some canon force of the universe, hence why he’s probably so fucking awkward around you whenever she’s there too. Like if he accidentally got caught staring at your ankles, your mom would light him on fire, so he’d rather not risk it by just avoiding looking at you at all.

Your mom has always been protective of you. Your father was a deadbeat, one she thought she loved, only to watch him leave. And she had to raise a baby all by herself. He re-entered your lives right before you graduated high school, knocked up your mom again with Yuuji, and guess what? Left again without a trace. To be doubly humiliated by a man is a fate you wouldn’t wish on any woman, but that’s exactly what your mom went through. It was a wake-up call for her, though. No more living paycheck to paycheck like you had been your whole lives up until Yuuji was born. The kid doesn’t even know how lucky he is with everything he has right now. Your mom worked her way up the corporate ladder and made something of herself and now you guys were comfortable, so it was safe to say she had some sort of right to look after her daughter, of whom she simply doesn’t want to follow in the same naive footsteps of her youth.

You get it. She wants to break the generational cycle. But it made being with men tough on all fronts, let alone dating. You could never bring a guy home because he’d never be enough, even if he cured cancer or could make you orgasm while doing a sixty-nine handstand. And while her overbearing paranoia over what you do or where you are or who you’re with has since dimmed slightly since you officially moved out to finish your last year of higher education at NYU, you can still feel her disappointment from a hundred miles away when you’re making out with some random frat guy on his beer-stained couch at eleven AM on a Tuesday.

But you got to college. You’ve already made it this far. You’re on dean’s list. You graduated high school as salutatorian. You’re the most highly decorated cello player in the state. You won Miss County pageant when you were sixteen for your philanthropic efforts towards feline leukemia. You did online community college for three years so you could stick back after high school and help your mom raise Yuuji, which meant that you had to forfeit your scholarship to Cornell. You’ve spent your whole life being good, you just wanna be bad for a little bit.

And if bad meant fucking the hot and mysterious babysitter, then so be it.

You pick your phone up, begin blasting what the hell by Avril Lavigne on your dorm room bluetooth speaker, then type a message to him that says—

10:34am you: do it then

—then shove your phone under the sheets and belt out the lyrics aaaall my life i’ve been good, but now, ahhhh i’m thinkin’ what the hell!!! while kicking your feet and clutching your pillow.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gojo has no clue what divine entity has overcast their gratuitous spirit over him on this blessed Monday afternoon, but he’ll thank them for it later once his balls are empty.

He’s got you on your back, sprawled across the couch in the living room, the first fuck being a rushed one that you offered him with before he has to go pick Yuuji up from circle time at preschool, which wasn’t ideal, but he’s delirious at the sight of you underneath him right now. Your little NYU shirt, a tighter one this time, bunched up over your bare breasts, otherwise entirely naked other than the flimsy panties dangling at your ankle, and the view of the tip of his cock looking hot and heavy against the velvet of your cunt, slowly pushing in, feeling the warmth of your walls squeeze around him paired with the sweet moan that leaves your lips, makes him fall forward with a bracing hand dug into the cushion by the side of your head because the sensation feels so fucking good he can hardly keep himself upright.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, pushing himself in further to try and bottom out but he’s still got a couple inches he needs you to take, and so you curl your hips upwards towards the cieling to make more room for him, practically putting yourself into a mating press and soon enough he’s balls deep, “you on any birth control?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, eyes closed and head tipped back with one hand squeezing your own tit.

“I can cum inside then, yeah?” he asks you, pushing your knees to your chest, slowly drawing his hips back and you squirm underneath him.

“Let’s get there first, and then we’ll discuss,” you breathe out.

“I’ve been there for the past ten minutes, baby. I could cum at any second with the way you look and feel,” he informs you flatly, because it was just the truth and you had to know it, then he feels himself twitch inside, slowly working up to a languid rhythm, almost fearfully like your mom’s going to pop out somewhere around the corner with a camera crew ready like one of those retro TV shows just to humiliate him on national television for not keeping it in his pants like she’d told him to.

“Harder,” he hears you whisper, and he rolls his eyes shut to just focus on the feeling. The feeling of your nails grazing down the skin of his chest and his abs, tracing the scars he’s collected over the years, and he feels you tightening around him. He leans down to kiss you, fucking you properly now with the squeak of the couch springs echoing across the room, your hums of moans seeping through his lips until he’s fully taking them on with an open-mouthed kiss of sloppy tongue.

The fact that it was wrong felt right to him, and he realizes in this moment he’s lost all sense of control. He wasn’t just an adrenaline junkie that liked to rough up dudes, he was an adrenaline junkie that wanted to fuck you against all better judgement or moral compass. The way your tits were bouncing, the slap of skin on skin, his balls slapping against your ass while you wrap your legs around him tighter, all convincing him that any consequence made it worth it.

“Good,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rams his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears and he feels heat spread all the way up his neck, “goooood, keep squeezin’ me like that, fuck.” He slows down momentarily, just to take a moment and watch, really look and see the way his length disappears inside of your pretty self with every push forward, and then he works back up to a relentless pace that has you tipping your head back with a slack jaw and eyes closed tightly shut, sprained expression of pleasure spread across.

“Oh, oh my god, Satoru—” you mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His hand finds it’s way between your legs, calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your clit and you jolt underneath him, gasping as your hand shoots out to dig your nails into his bicep for purchase. “I’m gonna cum, better tell me where you want it.”

“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”

He presses his mouth against your cheek in a lazy smile, “Atta girl,” he drawls before pushing your ankles down as far as they’d go near your ears, folding you in half and then reigns all hell into your cunt. He should really care a bit more about your pleasure, but testing your flexibility like this with both his hands holding you down was doing sinful things to his brain, and besides, you had yourself covered with the messy circles you were rubbing over your clit. It was hot to see that too, your nimble pretty fingers so close to the place where he was pounding into you.

“Oh shit, shit, shit—” he grunts when starts to see blistering white in his vision, balls straining with a pleasure that was almost painful. The moment he finishes feels like hot flashes in his brain, a heat like the cum he begins to paint inside your walls in time with your release, thrusting over and over and over, each one more staggered as he lets off a long, drawn out groan that comes from deep within his chest with the feeling of you milking him dry and the sound of you enjoying every second of it. He can’t remember the last time he came this much or this hard and even after coming down from the high, he feels the remnant pulse of your orgasm around his now half-flaccid dick.

He leisurely pulls out, hearing you let out a soft whimper as he marvels at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you and down towards the couch, before he scoops it up with a couple fingers and pushes it back inside. You grip his wrist tightly, but you weren’t stopping it, that motion of him plunging it all back into you.

“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.

“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.

He pulls his fingers out of you, coated with sex, then plugs your pussy with the fingers of his other hand because he kinda likes the idea of you walking around all day with him inside of you, so he doesn’t want it getting out. He’s then pushing his other fingers past your lips, pleased to find he’s met with not even so much as a grazing of teeth, and he grins, “bet you take a dick in your mouth as good as you take it down here.”

Your furrow your brows at him, the pout of your lips seen in the way they were puckered to lick his fingers off clean, and when you release the suction with a smack of your tongue and his fingers were wet from your saliva now, his eyes narrow with desire. You push his face away with the heel of your palm to his forehead. “Flattery won’t make me suck your dick.”

“Alright. So? How is it?” he jerks his chin towards your face, pushing against your hand with his forehead until he’s hovering over you again, “taste good?”

“It’s cum, Satoru.”

He shrugs. “Bad?”

“No,” you say, and you can’t make eye contact, “good.” You sigh. “Hot. I don’t know. Salty, sweet. I’m the sweet. You’re the salty. And this conversation is obscene.”

He kisses you, capturing your lips softly, tongue darting out to taste what’s on yours. “I like it that way. Dirty. Nasty. Obscene, whatever.”

There’s the slam of a car door heard from the driveway, and the two of you instantly make eye contact with round eyes.

“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”

He gets up off the couch in a panic, and heads to the window of the living room fully butt-ass naked, then peers through the blinds to see—

Your mom was making it up towards the front door, rustling with her keys in her purse. And the last thing he sees before he turns around to face you is her pushing the keys through the lock.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he cusses, finding his boxers off of the floor, hopping on one foot with his cum & slick coated dick flapping around and slapping against his thighs unceremoniously as he tries to get one leg in through them and then the other. You’re trembling as you hook your panties back into place, pull your shirt back down your torso, and even in his extremely panicked state, he’s still sad he can’t freely stare at your tits anymore. You’re rummaging for your skirt in a haste, looking everywhere for it, and he finds it underneath the coffee table before tossing it to you and then he side-to-side hops towards the coat closet while he pulls his sweatpants up over his ass, in time for you to quickly run and shut the door of the closet closed just before the front door of the house swings open.

The inside of the coat closet is dark, barely enough space in there for a six-foot-four two-hundred-and-twenty pound man, but it’s better than being balls deep inside his boss’s daughter on the couch when said boss just came home from work.

He hears conversation on the other side of the door, albeit muffled, and he presses his ear to it to hear better while he tucks his dick into his boxers from where it was hanging over the waistline.

“Mom! You…you’re home so early,” he hears you squeak out.

“Yes,” your mom says, “The rest of my meetings today are online, so I figured I’d come home when there’s less traffic.”

Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.

“I see, I see, how was your day at work?” you ask with a tremble in your voice.

“Fine.” And then nothing. The silence could mean that was all she had to say, since your mom wasn’t really a woman of many words, or it could be a silence that means she’s suspicious about something. “Darling, why is your skirt flipped up and tucked into your panties? Your whole butt is showing.”

Through the wood of the door, he hears you softly gasp. “Oh, um, I just went to pee. Must’ve—…must’ve got caught when I pulled it back up.”

“I see,” your mother says, and Gojo can hear her dropping her heels down near the shoe rack at the entrance. “You know, I really don’t like those short skirts you wear often. Maybe it’s just your generation, but I think it looks tacky and cheap.”

“Mom,” you say, in as stern of a voice as you can manage without sounding embarrassed.

Your mother sighs. “In any case, where is Satoru? I still would like him to go pick up Yuuji. I don’t have the patience to sit in preschool & daycare traffic right now.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” you chirp, and then he hears you let out a small oh no before you lean even more weight against the door, this time somewhere lower, and he realizes you’re pressing your ass against it. His eyes narrow with a small frown, and then he realizes— his cum must still be trickling down your thighs. You couldn’t put your panties on fast enough.

Shit. That’s hot. A little fucked up, but hot. He feels his dick harden against the fabric of his boxers, and he rests his forehead against the door, fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat as he slips his hands down his sweatpants and then gives his cock a firm squeeze. The thought of you discretely swiping his cum up your inner thigh and smearing it against your thin panties so your mom doesn’t catch sight of it dripping down your legs has him slowly working up to a rock-solid erection, and he almost lets out a broken grunt from the feeling.

“What?” your mother says, “what do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve just been watching TV this whole time,” you say, “last time I saw him…he was…um, in the backyard pulling weeds?”

He lets out a small scoff through his nose at your cover-up. Cute. And not bad.

Your mother sighs loudly, and he glances down at the strained veins on his dick as he tugs it through his hand, the tip rearing and appearing flushed and dripping with precum. God, you were just on the other side of this door. Less than a few inches away, and he’d be inside of you.

“I’m going to take a shower. Go find him and tell him to pick up Yuuji soon. But before then, change into something less revealing,” your mother says in a more or less detached tone, and he can hear the stomps of her footsteps up the stairs from above him in the coat closet.

The two of you wait at least a solid minute, and just when the coast is clear, he hears you turn the knob of the coat closet and slowly crack it open.

“Okay, I think she’s in the shower, I hear the water running,” you whisper at him, “you can go now—” You glance down towards his groin, your jaw dropping. “What—…Satoru, why the fuck is your dick staring at me right now?!” you whisper-hiss at him.

He pulls you into the coat closet, pushing your front against the door to where it clicks shut, and you gasp when his hands pin your wrists crossed behind your back and his dick presses into the plush of your ass.

“You talkin’ to your mom while your pussy’s stuffed full of my cum was the single hottest thing that’s ever grazed my lizard brain,” he tells you, flipping your skirt up and hooking your panties to the side, his index finger briefly brushing against your entrance to find it still leaking from the way your walls were pulsating from his words. And then he aligns his tip to your entrance. “Now keep quiet while I do this, ‘kay?”

“Oh—” you gasp, your cheek pressed against the door as you arch your back and push your ass out for him, “okay—” you say, barely vocalizing the first syllable before he’s already stuffing himself inside of you with one solid glide of a push, making you yelp loudly and he has to instantly cup a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh,” he hisses at you, immediately starting to pound you from behind, “told you to— fuuuck,” he catches sight of his length covered with a mix of your glassy arousal and his white cum, now starting to cream at the base of his cock, “jesus christ—” he breathes out, squeezing the flesh of your ass harshly with his other hand and you let out another yelp, “I told you to fuckin’ keep quiet.”

“I’m—mff,” you muffle against his palm, “I’m trying but,” your hips move back in time with his, “feels good, feels too good,” you mewl, and his hand desperately yanks up the fabric of your shirt so he can squeeze at your breast.

“Yeah?” he grunts, hypocritical for telling you to keep it down when he was slamming his hips against your ass with so much fervor he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was reverberating across the entire house, “you like it when I fuck you while your mom’s all clueless just up the stairs?” His rhythm falters, feeling his release building, and his hand reaches in front of you to rub your clit, making you drop your head against the door with tightly closed eyes. “Gets— you—wet, doesn’t it?” he torments you, his lips near your ear as he slams his hips against you harshly with every enunciated syllable.

“Mhm, mhm,” you easily agree, or maybe that’s because it’s all you can really articulate, and he angles his hips up so his balls slap more fervently against your clit, making you scream into his palm while he picks up the pace of the circles he draws on your clit and in one, two, three— beats of his pounding heart, he feels you come undone around his cock, gushing wetness leaking out of you, he can feel the mess of fluids splattering on the skin of his thighs due to each of his heaving thrusts as he cusses out a fuuuuuuckkk before spilling his cum inside of you, a short-lived and thicker release this time that has you mewling from overstimulation, and in a few following thrusts, he’s given you everything he had to give.

His eyes open, he wasn’t even aware he had shut them in the first place, and he glances down at where the two of you were joined. Rings of arousal coat the length of his half-pulled-out dick, and the second he retreats all of it, a bulging push of his cum seeps out of you, dripping and pooling all over the hardwood floors.

“Holy shit, I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says, taking a step away to commit the sight to memory, your legs trembling and still slightly spread, ass pushed out and when you wiggle it a little, he lets out a huff of an exhale because he just can’t believe how sexy you are. Are all college girls like this? He’s never been to college, his old man’s been trying to get him to go for years, but maybe this is what finally convinces him.

“No pics,” you breathe out once you catch your breath, standing up straight slowly, “that’s my one sex rule.”

He takes a step closer to you, flipping your skirt back over your ass while you shimmy your shirt down to cover your chest. “That’s the only rule you have? Anything else goes?” he asks.

You spin around to face him, his eyes briefly flitting down to the still exposed skin of your midriff. “I have a feeling I’d be making up more specific rules if it was with you.”

He smiles, his hands grabbing your hips before pressing you up against the door again. “I also had a rule. It was to not fuck you. Wait, no, to not flirt with you. Which, technically, I didn’t do.”

You blink your eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused, “I didn’t.”

“Huh—” you scoff, “how do you think we got into this situation in the first place?? You didn’t just say wanna fuck? You were insufferably flirty with me.”

“Nahhh nah nah nah nah, baby, that’s not flirting,” he tells you, thumb running circles over your hips, “that’s, like—…I don’t even fuckin’ know how it worked on you to be honest, I was just being stupid.”

“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid?”

“Well you said you were being stupid so me falling for it must mean I’m stupid.”

“Pshhh. You’re cute. Pulling weeds, by the way? Adorable.”

Your hand slowly roams up the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching at your wrists until you uncovered up to his collar bone, and you stare at his skin. He tries to not let the way his heart’s beating faster show through the heave of his chest.

“Why do you have all these scars, anyway?” you whisper to him.

“Too many girls tryna stab me,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” Your thumb traces the one you had left on him.

“I—” He stops himself.

Does he tell you? Should he tell you? What, just because he’s seen you naked and you took his dick like a queen he’s supposed to open up to you about these things now? He doesn’t know. Maybe he could? Maybe you already suspect what he does at night. And if not, at the very least, I’m an underground boxer might make you think he’s hot? At the very worst, you’ll report him to the cops and he’d get fired as your little brother’s babysitter then thrown into jail, but not before the busted cartel gets him first.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling it from his chest, “no hyper personal details until you’ve had my dick in your mouth at least once or twice. That’s my one rule.”

You snort. “I could’ve guessed that rule from a mile away.”

He hums. And then there’s the sound of steps creaking down the stairs above the two of you.

You both make eye contact, eyes widening, internally yelling at each other: how the fuck did we get into this situation twice?!

This time, Gojo opens the door and stumbles out of the closet, leaving you inside of it, just in time for your mom to come down the stairs.

“Satoru. I was looking for you,” she says as she rounds the post. “Have you picked up Yuuji? He has to go for his swimming lessons soon.”

“Ah, nope, was just about to head out,” he says, letting out a cough to diffuse tension, “sorry, I was—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind him, “…pulling out some gnarly weeds.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I see. Well, thanks. If you want, I can add a gardening stipend to your paycheck. Let me know.” And he’s not sure how to respond because he’s not sure if she’s joking.

He heads out the door, the keys to your mom’s minivan in his palm as he throws them up into the air and catches them a couple times. And just before he gets inside the car, he turns on his heel to face the house and pulls his phone out of his pocket to type in a message for you.

3:22pm Gojo Satoru: Send over those me-specific sex rules soon

[the end]

a/n. hope u enjoyed im shitting bricks posting this bc i haven't posted a oneshot smut since february but thanks so much for reading i appreciate u!! i got way too invested in the whole underground boxer thing 😂😂 but the fact i managed to keep everything under 12k is an accomplishment to me bc if u read my other fics you know i’m a yapper LOL i have another kind of a similarly written smut oneshot n it’s a lil angsty (totally different au tho) i’ll probs post that one next but yea i really like, hmm, i really like exploring entire characters within a short amount of time i enjoy writing the obscure lore drops xd it’s been kinda fun so far anywho much loveee hope to see u around! <3

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saintrosalyn · 3 months ago

Text

JAILBIRD

Ghost becomes pen pals with an inmate before deciding that he wants to adopt his little jailbird.

Word count: 4.1k

Tw: inmate reader, reader is kept as vauge as possible but is implied to be younger than Ghost, violence, stalking, ghost is a perv, p in v, oral (f! Receiving), creampie, spanking (once), orgasm denial if you squint, unprotected sex, NOT edited we die like men.

Edited to Add: Part Two is posted :)

Notes: Baby’s first fanfic, please be gentle. Let me know if I missed any trigger warnings or if you want to see more! I have an idea for a second part but I don’t know if anyone wants it, right now it’s tucked away safely in my drafts. Enjoy! :)

P.S. I’m thinking about making an ao3 account and publishing an edited version of this on there. I’ll link it if I do! I’ve already spent too much time procrastinating finals but christmas break is around the corner so who knows.

The letter came with the top serrated, already opened, as all your letters came. You mostly ignored them. There were a couple of programs that allowed people to become pen pals with prisoners but you’d been there long enough to know what they often contained.

Many of the women milked poor losers on the outside. Money given and sent. Promises of butterfly kisses and blowjobs whispered over the phone. Exchanges. Some were even able to sweet talk their honeys into giving bribes. Money passed into hands of guards, currency that was then exchanged for cigarettes, which were much more valuable on the inside than the bills used on the outside.

You don’t know why you read this letter. It certainly wasn’t the penmanship, a scrawled handwriting that lay between cursive and print. Maybe it was the blue pen, you’d recognize a Bic anywhere, or maybe it was the fact that it smelled a bit like top-shelf liquor.

It was rather blunt. But not in an obscene way. Simple and straight to the point as if constrained by an unknown word count. It wasn’t memorable, but what else was there to do? Pace your cell back and forth and wait for zoochosis to settle further in your bones. Close your eyes and remember what freedom tasted like before it dissolved in your mouth.

The pen they gave you was cheap, the paper even cheaper, but you were used to making things work. Your reply was shorter than his, than Simon’s, but it got the job done. If he wanted to write back he would. If he didn’t, well, the new prison guard was starting to get rather handsy with you. The time will pass no matter what.

___

His replies came in strange patterns. Some weeks you’d get eight in a week, other times you wouldn’t hear from him for a few months. It took a year for the first phone call of which lasted less than a minute and consisted mostly of him grunting on the other end and a schlick sound you pretended not to notice. It was his fourth phone call that he finally said a few words in a voice so low it made the phone buzz against your ear, tickling like a lover's breath. Eventually, you had some semblance of conversations, even if they were interrupted by a recorded voice warning you of the time you had left.

He told you he was a soldier and at first, you planned on cutting the whole penpal idea off. Even before you got arrested you hated bootlickers more than anything. But Simon grew on you, and your friends all suggested you get in his good graces to see if he could pull some strings. You would’ve felt guilty if he was anything other than glorified government property. Both of you were.

The first thing he gave you was a book, The Yellow Wallpaper, which was thicker than you remembered from the time you read it in school. It was only when you cracked open the spine did you find a pack of cigarettes inside, the pages carved out so your real present could be placed inside. You couldn’t help the smile that split your lips as you pressed one between your lips, not noticing the tiny S carved into it.

You thank him for the gift by whispering his name into the phone. A mantra, a prayer, it didn’t matter as long as you kept your voice breathy. He promises to get you more and you learn not to refuse him. At one point, you notice that little robotic voice doesn’t time you anymore. The guard who couldn’t keep his hands to himself was replaced with a woman, hair pulled back into a military-style bun. And you got an extra cookie with your meals.

It took a year for him to visit. You knew it was coming eventually, men are only fine with their imagination for so long before they crave something tangible. Hell, even you were curious about the man who wanted to sink his teeth into you. It almost felt like getting ready for a date. Butterflies dropped like lead in your stomach as you tried to tidy your appearance as much as you could. You smelled, but there wasn’t much you could do about that. The whole damn prison smelled like a county fair bathroom. The lack of air conditioning in the heat of summer just added a sweet BO tinge.

The first thing you noticed about Simon was his size. You had never met a man as big as he was. The next was the thick scar tissue that marred his face. Though, even without the scars you would be hesitant to ever call him handsome.

Intimidating.

That was what came to mind staring at the thick cords of muscle that covered his arms and the broadness of his shoulders wasn’t just genetics. And he just stared at you. You glanced at the phone that connected to his on the other side of the glass and back at him but decided against it.

You offered him a small smile and an awkward wave. It unnerved you. The focus and attention pinned you in place. Normally you kinned yourself to a tiger you saw at a zoo when you were a child. One that paced back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. A habit you understood all too well. But sitting in front of your pen pal you realized you were rather off.

Simon was the tiger and you were the bird that caught his attention.

It took far too long for the guard to come and collect you. For once you were grateful to retreat back to your cell, so much so that in your retreat you failed to notice the nod your warden gave Simon.

___

After that Simon met with you in person as often as was allowed. He never said anything and neither did you. Eventually, the novelty of him wore off. Humans were rather adaptable creatures, and you could only be scared of the man for so long before your body adjusted to him. Despite your silence, Simon didn’t appear displeased with you. In fact, it was almost the opposite of it. More gifts arrived.

A pillow, high-end shampoo, a toothbrush (that you had a strange suspicion was used before being given to you), nail polish, and more cigarettes. Some of the women were jealous of the attention given to you, others tried to get with you to share your bounty. Somehow you dodged most of the conflict. But you can only run so long while trapped with so many women.

When you showed up to your meeting sporting a bruised cheek and split lip the air quickly changed. Before you thought Simon looked like a predator.

You were wrong.

Fear coursed through your veins and you recognized the look in his eyes. Every woman in the damn place knows what a hunger for violence looked like. Slowly he reached out an arm, the sleeve of his hoodie riding up slightly showing off tattoos, before grabbing the phone and pressing it to his ear. With a shaking hand, you did the same.

“Bird.” His voice was somehow deeper in real life than over the phone.

“You should see the other guy.”

His lips twitched.

There was something uncanny about his eyes. They weren’t brown, they were black. Obsidian. You realized that before, the first time you met him, he wasn’t trying to scare you. Though, you were pretty sure it wasn’t directed at you.

“Just a little spat is all Simon. Everything sorted itself out.”

All over a bottle of nail polish. Tempers run short in prison. You spend most of your days in a cell, and what little free time you get surrounded by the same insufferable bitches, it’s a mystery there isn’t more violence. For the most part, things were settled with words. The more physical an inmate gets the more time spent in your cell. There were some weeks where you spent twenty-three hours a day in that little room.

Simon let out a sigh as if dealing with you was the most insufferable part of his day.

“Did ye’ get medical attention a’ least?”

You nodded your head.

He gave a grunt.

That seemed to be his preferred method of communication with you. Caveman grunts and growls, the occasional moan over the phone he couldn’t hold back. You figured it had something to do with his job. He was quite tight-lipped about it, but you gathered he has co-workers (his squad? Platoon? What was the proper lingo?). Despite this, you were under the impression he spent the majority of his time alone. He always seemed more primal after those month-long stints of silence.

You always wondered how you would feel if he never contacted you again. Went out and didn’t come back. Would you assume he was dead? That he moved on to prettier things that aren’t locked away? Would it make a difference to you?

No. It wouldn’t.

Even now you got letters upon letters from other men. Though none were as giving as Simon was.

It was back to silence and staring contests that you were used to. The both of you slipping into a familiarity. He never put the phone back. Even when your warden came and escorted you back. You didn’t glance back at him.

Tucked away in your cell you didn’t get to watch Simon slowly rise out of his seat, chair creaking from the shifting of his weight. You didn’t see Simon lurk in the back as the inmates met with their loved ones on the out. Didn’t see him take notice of a particular girls with nails painted the same shade as his gift to you. The same shade as the tip of his cock.

___

The girl was transferred. For a singular moment, you thought Simon had something to do with it. Then laughed at the idea. Simon may be in the military, but you highly doubted he had anything to do with the bitch who got transferred. At least you got your nail polish back. It was a strange shade, and the idea of a man as big as Simon standing in an isle trying to pick out a shade made you chuckle, it was the thought that counted.

Time marched on. Penpals came and went but Simon stayed the consistent part in your life.

Eventually, the possibility of parole was on the horizon.

Freedom.

So close you could practically taste it.

Unfortunately, that meant a laundry list of to-do items. Court hearings, lawyers bankrolled by Simon, arranging for transportation and housing. Simon handled most of it. By now, the lingering guilt of using your soldier fiance had long left you. He seemed like the kind of man who needed to learn lessons the hard way, and entering a relationship with a felon was a lesson most didn’t need to learn. Still, he had been putting in quite a hard amount of work. He deserved a treat.

And after years of forced celibacy, you needed it bad.

The two of you would enjoy each other for a week or two. Simon would realize he made a mistake moving you in. He would kick you out. You’d pawn the ring he’d give you and use the money as a cushion as you landed, getting back on your feet. The two of you would go your separate ways and never see each other again.

Being in prison taught you a lot of things. Despite everything, patience wasn’t one of those lessons. The day you were gaining your freedom passed was the slowest part of your life. The checking, double checking, retrieving your stuff, checking again, until finally,

Finally,

You were outside. You were outside in something other than a uniform that stunk of sweat, there were no handcuffs. Anxiety crept everywhere. You wanted to get as far away from the prison as you could, if you breathed wrong a warden would drag you back. A pair of arms snatched you.

You looked up and couldn’t help but laugh, pressing your lips against his scarred ones.

“Fucking Christ your tall.”

He chuckled against your lips before taking them again, hands digging near painfully into your ass. The two of you somehow managed to walk back to his car peeling off one another before Simon peeled away, hand clutching the fat of your thighs as he drove.

“Never pictured you as a reckless driver.” You giggled.

The adrenaline and giddiness of being free hadn’t worn off yet. If anything it seemed to slowly be morphing into a different beast entirely. You pressed your lips against his bicep causing him to groan. You glanced up at him, watching as his jaw clenched weaving in and out of traffic in a way that was certainly not legal. You would’ve been worried about being pulled over if he wasn’t driving a military vehicle. They answered to a different police, or so he told you.

Eventually, he pulled into the yard of a house with an honest-to-God white picket fence. You smiled as you got out, curiosity creeping in about what his house was like. Simon opened the door for you, which would probably should’ve made you swoon at his gentleman-like behavior, but truthfully it was how he hauled you out of the card and dragged you inside that got your heart racing.

Impatient.

The door barely closed before his body was pressed against yours and his lips were pressed against your jugular. One of his rough hands slipped up your shirt, grunting when he found a clear path to your tits instead of meeting the edge of a bra. The other dipped into the waistband of your pants, running over your clothed cunt, no doubt feeling the wet spot against your underwear. Your hands slid over his arms, squeezing at the muscle, before slowly sliding them up and up, going to the back of his neck, a hand threading through his short hair the other cupping his face to kiss yours.

A large thumb found your clit, only the thin cotton stopped him from rubbing directly against it. He pressed down hard on it, causing your breath to catch in your throat, his thumb moving down your slit. The seam of your mouth parted in a moan and he used that to stick his tongue down your throat.

The kiss was obscenely wet, beastly as his spit passed from his mouth into yours. Before prison, you would’ve pulled away with a grimace. Too much tongue, too much teeth, too much. But your whole body was on fire, years of pent-up orgasms made you desperate for it all. For someone to press against you, to be inside you.

Simon was oh-so-convenient.

You tried to pull away, lungs burning enough to convince you that air was in fact a need, but the door stopped you. Pressed between it and Simon you had no escape. You whimpered against his mouth, again and again until he finally got the hint and pulled away, a string of spit connecting your mouths as if it too was reluctant to pull away from you.

“Bedroom?” You panted, though if he took you here against the door you would die happy.

Simon threw you over his shoulder and took his stairs two at a time before tossing you on his bed making you laugh. The caveman and his prize. Simon took the moment of being away from you to pull at the collar of his shirt. You watched in appreciation as it lifted higher and higher until it was discarded on his carpet.

His body was marred in scar tissue, muscle, and a layer of fat that made for a solid fine specimen of the male species. His pants were discarded next, and either he pulled his underwear down with them or he just wasn’t wearing any to begin with. You didn’t have much time to ponder that thought distracted by his hard cock.

Jesus Christ.

Big was an understatement, monster was the word that popped into your mind. It crossed the territory between delicious into scary. Large and thicker than you thought possible. You swallowed and for a second hoped he would forget about the blowjob you promised him after he gave you a pillow.

“Yer’ wearin’ too many clothes Birdie.”

Quickly, though not as quickly as Simon was, you wiggled out of your pants, shrugged off your shirt throwing it in the same pile as his clothes. He stepped closer to you, one large hand grabbing your ankle before retching you towards him.

He leaned down, mouthing at your bare tits, slobbering over them. The soft press of his tongue flicked over your nipple before he moved to the other and grazed his teeth over it. His hands were everywhere. He was everywhere. Impossibly big and pressed against you everywhere. Until all your senses were filled with him. As if Simon was the only thing that mattered in the world.

The artificial sun in your glass cage.

His mouth moved lower, nipping at your skin before he moved between your legs. He settled his body in between them, the calloused palm of his hands pressing your legs further and further apart until the stretch burned in the muscles where your legs met your pelvis. Quickly the pain faded into the background as he pressed a kiss against your bare clit, before taking it in his mouth and sucking. You felt the rough pad of his fingertips press against your hole rubbing against it but never quite dipping inside. Again and again, he moved it against you but never in you.

It was maddening.

You tilted your pelvis against his mouth, trying to coax his fingers into your welcoming body. He growled against your clit, removing his mouth causing you to whine. A sharp sting met your ass cheek and you yelped.

He spanked you.

“Behave.”

You never took the man to be hungry for anything other than missionary, but it seemed he had learned a few tricks over the years. He did have a few on you, you were sure of it. Your thoughts leaked out of your ears as he moved back up, slotting his hips in between your legs. Liquid lust ran through your veins at the sight of him rubbing his dick against your mound, a mess of your slick and his pre dragging along your pussy and up to your belly button. Your poor hole clenching around nothing at the image of how deep he was about to be in you.

You took a deep breath, mesmerized as he pressed the tip against your entrance, catching it before pressing himself inside. He went slowly, and you couldn’t help the moan that left you as he finally began to sink home. Throwing your head back you closed your eyes as he stretched your body out.

You weren’t a virgin before you were locked away, but years of celibacy made you feel born again. Hell, with the size Simon was even if you had fucked him before he would’ve made you feel virginal with the way he was splitting you open.

When you opened them again you caught his gaze, he stared at you watching your expression pinch as he gave small thrusts, working the last of him inside you. When his balls pressed against your ass you let out a shaky breath. You had passed your limit two inches ago but somehow Simon had managed to coax your sweet pussy to take the last of him inside. The pain of him had taken you away from the edge of an orgasm he was working you towards, but when his hand found your clit again you knew you weren’t going to last long.

If his shaky breaths were anything to go by Simon wasn’t going to last long either.

He kissed you again, this time it was softer. Sweeter. Made your stomach turn in a moment of guilt. It was replaced when he drew out of you, slowly letting you feel inch after inch leave your body, before slamming back in.

He moved again against you. And again. Building up a punishing rhythm. You couldn’t help the small ah ah ah’s that left your lips as he rutted in you. Your hips pushed against his, working with him as you both chased your highs.

His hand never left your clit, as if glued to it working in tight fast circles. His other hand traveled along your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you. Squeezing at your tits so hard you thought it might bruise, running up your bare skin, constantly moving and feeling. As if he couldn’t believe that you were real. That you were out of your cage and underneath him panting his name in his ear instead of against the end of a phone.

Your own hands wandered. Moving over his arms, God’s gift to you, his chest. But mostly they moved down his back, feeling his muscles move and contract under your hands. Before you left you would convince him to put a mirror over his bed, so you could watch his shoulders shift and move as he thrust inside you.

It was too much. The feel of Simon, the stimulation on your clit, the thick cock pistoning like a machine inside you, pressure built and built inside you. Your nails dug into his back, dragging down as he pushed you off that ledge.

Simon’s thrusts stuttered as he felt your walls fluttering around him, suckling at his cock, coaxing him. He came with a groan soon after you, painting your walls with thick globs of his cum.

You panted as he rested against you, letting his cock soften inside you as you ran your nails over the nape of his neck and caressed his short hair. It was oddly soft, comforting to run your hands over.

Simon began to untangle himself from you, slowly as if reluctant to part from your embrace. He moved to what you now realize was the on-suite connected to his bedroom. You could feel his cum start to drip out of your cunt and down your asshole, shifting at the uncomfortable feeling. You couldn’t find the energy yet to move, not even sure if your legs could support you right now. Simon came back to you, wash-cloth in hand, and began wiping up the mess he made.

“We’ll have to get a Plan B tomorrow.” You murmured as he crawled back into bed next to you.

Simon didn’t say anything, but he had always been a quiet man. He maneuvered the both of you until you rested under the covers, your hand running along his bare chest. Tracing his happy trail before moving back up, not ready to go again.

The adrenaline from before had worn off, leaving you suddenly exhausted. Sated and free you dozed off against him.

When you woke up again it was darker outside. Not yet the full black of night but rather the soft blue that came after the sun had only just dipped out of sight. Simon wasn’t in bed next to you. You rolled over with a sigh, sitting up and smoothing your hair. Thirsty you threw the covers off your body and padded across out of his room entering into a small hallway. There was a door directly across his room and with a shrug, you went into it.

It wasn’t snooping if you lived here now too. Even if you were only going to stay for a little bit.

The handle turned easily but the room was darker than you expected, no windows to let in any natural light. Your hands patted at the wall until you found the edge of a light switch, with a click the room was bathed in a soft glow.

Your breath hitched.

The room was bare except for a small desk and chair, the walls were covered in photos. Photos of you. Old photos, from before your prison stint. Mugshots. But what made your skin crawl were photos of you in your cell. You sprawled out on your uncomfortable cot. You sitting cross-legged across from your cellmate. Images of you in the cafeteria. Images of you in the yard.

You took a step back, then another, and another.

You flicked the light back off and slowly closed the door. You took a shuddering breath and yelped when you felt a chest pressed against yours.

Simon’s hands dug into your hips, pulling you tight against him.

“You look like you’ve seen a Ghost, Birdie.”

Poor little bird, trading one cage for another.

___

Part Two

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon x reader #ghost x you #ghost #simon ghost riley #reader is delulu in this

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cloverapple · 26 days ago

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How To Finally Shift If You’ve Been Trying For 2+ Years

⚠️ Little warning before we begin: don’t get scared off! I might sound a little negative at first, but that’s not the point of this post. My goal is for you to reach the end of this and think “Oh, I’m definitely going to shift to my DR now!”

Having said that:

If you’ve been on your shifting journey for two or more years, doing methods, reprogramming your mind, consuming advice, maintaining a mental diet, manifesting, forcing assumptions, trying to create assumptions, etc, etc⏤and you still haven’t shifted your awareness to your DR, maybe it’s time to stop trying to make yourself shift.

Stop trying to shift.

Stop trying to trigger a shift.

Maybe the thing you need at this point in your journey is to stop trying to make yourself shift.

And I’ll explain why by asking you a question:

In these two, three, four, however many years of effort, don’t you think you would have shifted by now?

Think about it. You’ve oversaturated your mind with the intention to shift. You do all your methods correctly. You try to convince yourself that you're already in your DR. You feel symptoms. Sometimes you even "mini shift." And yet… you're still here. Doing the same things. Searching for advice that leads you right back to doing the same thing:

Trying to shift. Trying to trigger a shift. Trying to shift your awareness.

Trying.

Trying confidently.

Trying hopelessly.

Trying angrily.

…Trying.

If you were going to shift by inducing a shift, triggering a shift, or successfully shifting with a method, it would have happened by now.

“But Clover, I still have a lot of soul-searching and work to do! I just need to put in more effort!”

Awesome! Then click away, because this advice isn’t for you. I’m not talking to you.

I’m talking to the person who is tired. Who is drained. Who, despite applying all the sage advice on the internet, is just burnt out from the process of shifting.

And if that sounds like you, let me repeat: Maybe you need to stop actively trying to shift.

Your work is done. And that’s a good thing.

You’ve spent years ingraining the idea of shifting into your subconscious. You’ve impressed the intention to shift so deeply that it’s already there. Congratulations! You did all the mental work. It’s done.

Your DR is already yours. You already have the ability to shift.

So stop trying to trigger it. Stop trying to make yourself shift.

Let go of the “making yourself shift” process.

“Oh my god, she’s going to tell me to take a break.”

LMAO you thought.

Yes, breaks are excellent. They help reset and recharge your mindset. I always encourage taking breaks if you need them. But let’s be honest. Sometimes, even the thought of taking a break feels just as mentally exhausting as staying on your shifting journey.

“Oh no, she’s going to tell me to do nothing at all.”

Once again, you thought.

Instead, you’re going to capitalize on the fact that you’ve already done all this work. The intention to shift is always, always, always in your mind. Your subconscious knows you want to shift. Just like it knows how to shift your awareness.

So, the next time you lay down to do your shifting process...

Instead of trying to shift…

Instead of trying to induce a shift, induce the void, or force an outcome…

Give yourself exactly what you want.

Give yourself the feeling of being in your DR.

Drop the conscious, active intention to shift because your subconscious already has it covered. You don’t need to keep hammering it in. Instead, focus on inducing the emotions you would feel if you were in your DR.

Imagine waking up in your DR. Imagine being there. Imagine spending time with your DR friends, your S/O, whatever makes you happiest. Personally, I lean toward wake-up scenarios. You can listen to music, meditate, visualize, even do a shifting method if you enjoy it—but instead of doing it with the intention to shift, you’re doing it just to give your body and mind the feeling of being there. The happiness, the calm, the excitement, whatever it is for you.

This does not mean you’re lying there thinking, “Okay, this is going to make me shift.”

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Drop the idea of shifting entirely. That process is done.

And I’ll say it one more time:

If you were going to shift by inducing a shift, making yourself shift, or triggering a shift, it would have happened already.

So let it go. Drop it.

Induce the emotions of being in your DR, and then let go. Once you do that, go to sleep. Or go about your day. That’s it.

So why does this actually make you shift?

Because feeling is the language of the subconscious.

Think about it: The moments in your life that shaped you the most weren’t just things you thought. They were things you felt deeply. Joy, fear, excitement, grief. Emotions imprint on the subconscious. That’s why certain smells, songs, or places instantly bring back vivid memories. Because your subconscious records experiences based on emotions, not logic.

So when you stop trying to shift and instead just focus on feeling like you’re in your DR, your subconscious responds by aligning your awareness to match that emotional state.

Because to the subconscious, there’s no difference between imagination and reality. When you visualize something vividly enough, your brain fires the same neurons as if you were actually experiencing it. Athletes use this trick to enhance performance. Musicians use it to refine their skills. And guess what? It works for shifting too.

When you let go of the effort and just immerse yourself in the emotions of already being there, you bypass the resistance that trying creates.

And that’s when the shift happens.

It happens because you stopped forcing it.

It happens because your subconscious already knows how to shift, you just needed to get out of its way.

So, again, drop the struggle. Drop the effort. Stop trying to shift.

The more precise or perfect you want the shift to be, the more pressure you put on yourself. Your brain rebels against that because rigid control drains energy.

Remember this:

High Emotion + Low Attachment = Flow.

When you feel something strongly but aren’t clinging to the result, your subconscious has room to act. This is why sometimes, when you care less or focus on something in a passing, emotional way, it manifests easily.

This is why people can give up on shifting entirely and shift. This is why people let go of the need to shift and shift. This is why you shift without meaning to.

You: “No, I can’t do this! I need to keep trying to shift or else my subconscious will think I don’t want to shift anymore!”

Me:

youtube

*As always, take what resonates, discard what doesn’t, because we’re all different people who need to hear different things :)

#reality shifting #shifting #shifting community #shifting blog #shifting motivation #shifting reality #permashifting #shifting methods #shiftblr #shifting antis dni #shifters #shifting tips

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unluckiestmember · 7 months ago

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YAY, YOU'RE BACK TO WRITING FOR ARCANE. How would the arcane characters react (mainly vi, ekko, and jinx because i would marry, marry, and marry them all!!) to a reader who is sooo affectionate and finds every last thing they do so cute they get cuteness aggression and just jump at them like a cuddle bug often? thank you so much!!

Coming right up!

Arcane x Cuddle Bug! Reader

Characters: Powder/Jinx, Violet "Vi", Ekko, Caitlyn Kiramman, Viktor, Jayce Talis, Mel Medarda, Sevika and Ran.

Warning: None really. SFW.

A/N: Am I the only one who wants to snuggle into Caitlyn? Ugh, I love her so much.

Powder/Jinx

“Oh! Hey there, sugar! You want to cuddle? Don’t have to ask me twice! I’ll cuddle you so much that you get tired of me! But you’d never get tired of me, right?”

Jinx is a super clingy person, so for you to be as clingy as her it’s like you two are a match made in heaven. There’s barely any time that passes when you two are not touching each other and she lives for your cuddles. It doesn’t matter if you hug her out of nowhere or she sees you about to embrace her, she is stopping everything she is doing and pulling you into the tightest of hugs.

Most of the time if she isn’t causing mayhem in the streets of Zaun or busy with her inventions, she will spend her time just holding you so close and showering your face with the cutest but most childish of kisses. She doesn’t care if it’s in private or public, she will make it known that you two can’t keep your hands off each other. You are her cuddlebug and she is yours and that won’t ever change.

Violet “Vi”

“Woah there, cuddle bug! You’re gonna make me screw up my workout… Oh forget it. How can I say no to you?”

Because Violet is absolutely touch starved, she will never decline your cuddles, even if you take her by surprise a few times with how you hug her so suddenly. She finds it adorable how you fangirl around her and find everything she does to be awesome or cute. Granted she does wish you’d call her hot or sexy, but knows that isn’t really in tune with your personality.

Regardless, she tries to make sure you know how adorable you are, always telling you while you two are cuddled up together how lucky she is to have you and how you are so adorable. Even when you visit her at work, she’ll try to drop everything and have you run into her arms to pick you up. And every time she’s got time off work or is coming back from a job, she’s automatically looking for you so she could hook you in her arms and never let go.

Ekko

“Y/N, haha! You know we gotta keep this private, babe- The kids are gonna pounce on us any second now!”

Does Ekko love hugging you? Absolutely. The warmth of your arms around his body makes him stop everything he’s doing and just hug you while calling you his firelight or firefly. Unless he’s calling you an angel or lovebug, which never fails to make Scar either look at you two in awe or roll their eyes in mock annoyance. Unfortunately, Ekko does try his best to make sure you two don’t get super affectionate around the children, especially when it comes to hugs.

Why? Because as soon as you hug him, the children find this as an invitation to gather around him and have him nearly die under a cuteness overload of a group hug. It’s nice as a once in a while occurrence, but all the time? Maybe not. Outside of the reactions you two garnish and even the teasing of you being the firelight king/queen, Ekko lives for your cuddlebug energy, wanting to be in your arms after a long day’s work. It’s always the best way to end the night…

Caitlyn Kiramman

“And that’s why if I am able to block this end of the road, I’ll- Oh!... Oh come here, sweetheart. If you wanted to cuddle so badly, you could’ve asked.”

Caitlyn has always been someone who was more subtle with her love, pulling you into brief kisses, cupping your cheek and holding you by your waist. She usually leaves the more out there gestures like hugging and cuddling for you to initiate. But when you do? It might be harder for you to get her off of you instead of the other way around. It can be at work, in her home, outside of work or at an event. As soon as she feels your arms wrap around her slender body, she’s stopping for a second to hold you back and kiss your forehead.

She will continue working if you interrupt her during a briefing or in the middle of cracking a case, but the entire time, she will have at least one arm around your body and make sure you are comfortable. Her comrades tease her about it and she’ll scowl a bit, but she doesn’t care. As far as she can tell, she’s extremely lucky to have you as a lover.

Viktor

“Ah! Oh, it is just you, zolotse. Remember, you have to warn me of these cute little hugs of yours.”

At first, Viktor wasn’t used to your physical affection and how you were in awe of everything he did. He actually thought you were mocking him at first or being silly. But after a while, especially when the two of you became a couple, he grew accustomed to your affections. He does get a bit startled when you hug him out of nowhere and he does have moments where you cheering him on does make him a bit bashful, but he enjoys your sweet gestures regardless.

He does find it difficult to be as outgoing with his love for you as you are with him, but he does try his best to make you realize he loves you, especially in the form of quality time and calling you by sweet pet names bound to make you blush. Viktor has a tendency to pass out from working too hard and waking up in your arms. And though he’d never say it out loud, you know based on the way he snuggles into you, he adores it and adores you.

Jayce Talis

“I know what you want and I want it too- So bring it in! I’ve waited all day to be in your arms!”

Because Jayce is always out at work, it’s kind of hard for you two to be around one another all the time. That’s why when he does reunite with you after hours or you two can be together on days off, he’s spending the majority of his free time with you or wrapped around you. He sort of craves for your praise and compliments as much as he craves your cuddles.

Many would compare the councilman to a needy dog wanting his owner’s undivided attention and he definitely gets that through you. Though he may try to act all cool or play coy, everyone knows that you mean so much to him and that he becomes putty around you. Even if they don’t, you’re not afraid to say it aloud. Just make sure Jayce isn’t around or that man will become redder than a beet.

Mel Medarda

“What’s wrong?... I know that look. You want to- Ah! Well looks like you beat me to the punch, darling. How about we take this to the bed, hmm?”

Mel wasn’t really given physical affection when she was younger. She was more someone who preferred verbal affection with words of affirmation. So when it came to you and how affectionate you are, she found herself adapting and loving physical affection as much as telling you how much she loved you.

Your cuddles and sweet gestures are her personal heaven she loves returning to after a long day’s work, especially if she can spend an evening with you platonically in your shared bed. In your arms, she feels she can air out anything that’s bothering her or interests her, especially when you admit how cute it is when she does. Though this kind of intimate affection is delegated to private quarters, anyone can know from the way Mel speaks of you outside of home and at events that you mean so much to her.

Sevika

“Yeah! So then I was like screw you, I can do whatever- Hold on. Uh, Y/N. I thought we agreed to not do this at work?”

Sevika is considered the Right Hand of Zaun, a woman who is feared if not respected by her peers. And she’d like to keep it that way. Which means that while you two are at work, she prefers it if you don’t cuddle her around co-workers and give them something to tease her about. You two can only flirt and kiss and even then, it has to be sexy…

But alone, when both of you are away from the public eye, Sevika is at your beck and call wishing for nothing else but to hear your sweet praises and melt into your arms and touch. Expect her to call you the cutest thing ever and tease you on occasion, but afterwards she’s basically a big needy cat, or as she prefers to be called, a panther. It’s moments like these where you can really consider yourself lucky to see a raw side of Sevika. And it was only preserved for you.

If you got any requests for Arcane or X-Men '97, send them my way!

Likes and retweets are always appreciated! I love you all, stay hydrated and have a good day! <3

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seumyo · 2 months ago

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bakugou “do it yourself—no—i’ll do it” katsuki.

In simple theory, you have your husband, Bakugou Katsuki, wrapped around your finger. And he can fight it all he wants, but it’s nothing if not the wholehearted truth.

“Hey, can you grab me some coffee?”

Bakugou didn’t even look up from his phone. “No. Get your own damn coffee.”

“Fine,” you sighed dramatically, turning your attention back to your work. You didn’t miss the way Bakugou grumbled under his breath as he stood up a few moments later. When he returned, he placed a steaming cup of coffee on your desk without a word.

You hid your smile behind the rim of the cup. “Thanks, Katsuki.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, glaring at you.

Later that afternoon, you two were sparring in the gym in the comfort of your home—courtesy to your husband insisting that it’s a non-negotiable when arranging the first designs of your dream home together. You were struggling to move one of the heavier training dummies back into its original position, and once again you had the brilliant idea of putting your theory to the test.

What’s the point of having a husband if he doesn’t let you do things like these?

You let out an exaggerated sigh and turned to Bakugou, who was wiping sweat from his brow. For a moment, you forgot what you were about to say—momentarily distracted by how good he looks, muscles glistening and all with his signature black tank top.

Goddamn, you scored a hottie.

“Katsuki, help me move this,” you called, pointing at the dummy.

“No way,” he shot back immediately. “You’re the one who moved it there, so you deal with it.”

“Fine,” you sighed, turning back to the dummy and giving it an exaggerated shove. Before you could try again, Bakugou had stormed over, cursing at the dummy under his breath. He grabbed the dummy with one hand and effortlessly dragged it back into place.

“There. Happy now?” he grunted.

Oh, so it could be resist, then actually do it, or refuse while doing it anyway.

You smiled. “Very. Thanks, Katsuki.”

“Shut up,” he growled, his ears slightly tinged with pink.

By the end of the week, it had become a game for you. You’d ask for the simplest things, knowing full well that Bakugou would always refuse—only to do it anyway. Maybe it’s his love language to refuse but comply nevertheless.

“Can you pass me the remote?”

“No. Use your legs.” Hands it over.

“Can you open this jar for me?”

“Do it yourself.” Opens it in one twist.

“Can you get groceries on your way home?”

“Fuck no.” What do you mean he’s already loading the grocery bags in his car?

“Can you carry my bag for a second?”

“Die. I’m not your damn pack mule.” Carries it all the way home.

One evening, you two were sitting on the couch of your home, eating takeout and watching a movie. You were cuddled up with a freshly ironed blanket—thanks to Bakugou, who had done the laundry yesterday while you did the ironing when everything had dried enough—poking at your food lazily. You turned to Bakugou, your head resting on the couch cushion.

“Hey, can you grab me some water?” you asked with a sweet smile.

Bakugou glared at you, pausing mid-bite, his usual scowl in place. “No. You’ve got legs. Use ‘em.”

“Okay,” you said simply, turning your attention back to the movie.

You decided that you’ll get water once you finish this specific scene.

Bakugou lasted all of five minutes before he let out a loud groan, stomping to the kitchen and returning with a glass of water. He shoved it into your hands, his expression equal parts annoyed and resigned.

“There,” he grumbled. “Happy now?”

You took the glass with a smug grin. “Thanks, Katsuki. You’re the best.”

He sank back onto the couch, crossing his arms and glaring at the screen. “You’re so damn annoying.”

“You love me,” you said teasingly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his ears turning red. But he didn’t deny it.

“Married me, too. So I don’t think you mind at all.”

“Die.”

“‘til death do we part, Kats.”

And despite all his protests, you knew the truth. Katsuki Bakugou might have sworn you’d never have him wrapped around your finger, but with every little thing he did for you—grudgingly or not—you knew you had your conclusion.

Even if it’s a little bit.

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trickbxbes · 1 month ago

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ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜ’ʟʟ ꜱᴛᴀʏ

[ᴅᴀᴇ ʜᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

Summary: After the Mingle game, your friends win the vote and get to go home. You reunite with Dae-Ho on the outside and finally get to go on that date.

Warnings: Eventual smut, friends to lovers speedrun, fem reader, switch! Dae-Ho, handjobs, mutual blowjobs, fingering, p in v, safe sex, I don’t know what happens to them right after they vote to leave. Only what happens after,

Word Count: 3,769 words

You couldn’t believe it, was it too good to be true? 51 votes for X, 49 votes for O. Everyone around you on your side cheered, wept with joy and relief. The nightmare was over. And you wouldn’t go home empty handed either. 300 million was enough for you to clear your debt, finally start over.

And maybe, not alone.

You feel arms wrap around you tightly, shaking you like a Ragdoll. It was Dae-Ho. The two of you had formed a bond since being in here. The friendship was instant. His bright and bubbly personality pulling you in like a moth to a flame. Only, there was no pain. He looked out for you every step of the way. You were inseparable. The two of you even arranging a date of sorts once on the outside. You remember how he asked too, the boy was nervous, prepared to laugh the idea off painfully if rejected.

In disbelief, you slowly wrap your arms back around the man. Everything fell silent to your ears. Dae-Ho screams out with joy alongside his mentor, Jung-Bae, before looking at you again. He had the brightest of grins on his face. He cupped the sides of your face briefly, so happy, he could kiss you.

Could.

He lets go of your face after tenderly gazing into your eyes. You step forward and tightly hug him close, finally allowing everything to process. You were going home. You were safe.

Dae-Ho’s also overwhelmed with emotion, embracing you close. His hand gently pets the back of your hair, pressing his head against it. His heart was soaring with relief, and care, knowing you’d be okay.

“We did it…”

He murmured. You’re barely able to hear him through the cheers. “Yeah… we’re going home.” You chuckle weakly.

But the world wouldn’t grant you a moment of peace, no, not for a second.

“Please line up, you will be escorted out in an orderly fashion the same way you were brought in.”

It all came crashing down. You were leaving, now. You and Dae-Ho break apart quick at the realization. Guards were already pouring in. There’s so much you wanted to say, goodbyes you had to give! Team O did something helpful for once though, they bought you time as they started to argue against this.

“W-we’re leaving now…?!”

You see more guards taking control of the situation. People were being separated. You look to Dae-Ho, who was just as unsure and panicked. But then he visibly lightens up with realization.

“The korean barbecue place I told you about! Meet me there in two days! Noon!”

He tried to reach out to you, but the crowd began to push. You felt your anxiety beginning to slow at his request. You didn’t have his phone number, or his address, hell, you didn’t even know what area he lived in, but that was a start. You nod vigorously.

“O-Okay! I’ll see you there!”

A relived smile befalls Dae-Ho, knowing he at least got that out before he’s ushered away.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊

┊ ┊⋆ ┊ .

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭

✧. ┊ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭

⋆ ★

Two days passed, and you were at the place to be. It was a tough, settling back. You swore you’d never see the light of day again. Waking up on a cold street while half naked wasn’t exactly a pleasurable experience. Neither was choking out a card in your mouth, but alas. But you got your shit sorted, and now you were here.

Only issue now was, you didn’t know what time to arrive! You wanted to play it safe and meet a little early, wearing your best. You didn’t exactly know how much effort to put into this. What do you wear to something like this? Was it a date? Or a meetup with a crush? Or, a meet with just a friend?

You wait, and wait. An hour passed, then two.

You looked like a madman from how much you kept looking about.

But then it hit you.

What if he doesn’t show?

What if he didnt feel the same?

What were you thinking? That a man you knew for three days would have such strong feelings for you? Maybe you got your hopes up. Maybe he was too busy for you. You frown to yourself, your breathing getting faster. From where you sat, you hugged yourself. You were a miserable sight.

But then, like an angel’s choir, you hear,

“(Y,n)!”

It was slightly distant. Your head snapped up at the all too familiar voice. Making their way through the bustling crowd, was Dae-Ho. His hair wasn’t tied in his usual top knot, but down, letting the fluff bounce freely. The once unforgiving sunlight was now shining on the man like a star, only making him glow. He maneuvers his way through the mass and pops out holding a bouquet of ruby red roses. He pants, standing in front of you with that nervous smile of his.

“I-I’m so sorry, were you waiting long? There’s two different ones here. The one I went to was all the way across— a-and I waited and waited before I realized you were probably here! And—“

You’re unable to stay away any longer. You stand up and wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him close. Dae/Ho stops his rambles, instead, tucking an arm around your waist and holding you close, his other arm holding the flowers. “A-are you okay?” He asks with concern. You smile ear to ear, chuckling.

“I’m just really happy to see you, Dae-Ho.”

Your response made the boy sigh in relief, happy he didn’t upset you.

“I am too, really. I couldn’t get you off my mind.”

You’d pull away, still smiling joyously. Finally, you address the flowers in his hands. “Oh my gosh…!” You take them, giddy as a kid on their birthday. Dae-Ho smiles brightly at your enjoyment.

“I hope they’re not damaged or anything… I kinda sprinted everywhere to make it here.”

He confesses. You don’t notice a single flaw, but you also don’t care to notice. “I love them.” You solidify your appreciation. Dae-Ho looks up at the restaurant sign and back to you, licking his lips a moment. “You ready to go inside?” He sticks his hand out for you to take. Your heart felt full, and you take his hand. Butterflies fluttering along in your stomach.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊

┊ ┊⋆ ┊ .

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭

✧. ┊ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭

⋆ ★

The day didn’t end there. Dae-Ho took you out to see all the sights there were to see in his town. The two of you hand in hand, throughout the day, you didn’t drop your roses. From checking out different shops, interacting with street performers, and getting some sweet treats. Life hasn’t been so terrible since you both no longer had terrible debts to worry about. Even if it was blood money, and came with such terrible trauma, at least you wouldn’t have to go through it alone. You had someone to lean on through it.

Now, you two ended up at one of the hotels. You were sitting outside on one of the fountains, scrolling through your phone with laughter. “Aww, this one’s cute!” The two of you were admiring photos of today. You had taken a special liking to the man giving a cute peace sign over some deserts. Dae-Ho huffs, but couldn’t get his grin off his face.

“You don’t think I look dorky? I can take a more manly photo for you if you want.”

To prove his point, he’d flex his arm muscle. You giggle, patting his shoulder before you simply rest your hand there.

“I think you look perfect.”

Something about the way you said it, made Dae-Ho gulp subtly. His dark eyes gazing at you with awe. To calm his quick beating heart, he deflects off of him.

“I… wanna do this again, sometime.”

The ball was now in your court. Your heart skipped a beat. You look down a little bashfully.

“Y’know, I was kinda afraid for a while you didn’t… Y’know… That maybe it was just the heat of the moment from the games.”

Dae-Ho’s eyes widen. He lets out a dry chuckle, casting his eyes away. “Time went by differently for me there, I think. It honestly felt like I was there with you for a lot longer than it actually was.” He says truthfully. His exterior that was once shining, was now shy. You don’t say anything, allowing him to continue.

“Every second I spent with you, is all I wanted to do with my time.”

He looks back to you, his words carried a weight heavier than any boulder. You bring your hands to your lap, setting the roses aside. A crooked smile forms on your face as you shyly glance at your thighs.

“Well, it’s good to know I’m not crazy then… because I felt the same.”

When you look back to Dae-Ho, you see him gazing with an expression you’re unable to pinpoint. A mixture of adoration, and yearing. His pupils dart toward your lips, and then back to your eyes. He gulps again, unable to meet them for long. But you got the hint. You purse your lips, and gently cup his face. It regains his attention immediately. He’s close, you can feel the heat from his skin, his breath on your hand. He looks at your lips again, and leans in. You meet him halfway, and the two of you share a loving kiss. His lips molded with yours almost perfectly, like that’s where they were meant to be.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊

┊ ┊⋆ ┊ .

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭

✧. ┊ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭

⋆ ★

The next thing either of you knew, you’re trading kisses as Dae-Ho tries unlocking the door to his apartment complex. Your kissing was passionate, forward. All of your want and need was transferred which each tongue exchange.

As soon as you’re both inside, the man shuts the door and you press him against it, not breaking the kiss for a sweat. He moans softly against your lips, his tone urging his desire forward. Your kiss grew sloppier, but consistent as you run your hasty hands under his shirt. Feeling his toned stomach, you press your body against him further. You drew another moan out of Dae-Ho, the male gasping and breaking the kiss so he could say,

“I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t e-expecting company so…ngh…”

You were barely listening, leaving pecks down his neck. Little nips to his skin lead to full love bites. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this since I watched you play gongi…” You leave a trail of hickeys on his once clean neck. Dae-Ho brings his finger to his lips, biting down to muffle his whimpers. “W-what do you mean?” He gasps as you release his skin with a ‘pop.’ You meet his eyes, lust shadowing yours.

“‘Wanted to feel those hands on me.”

You take his hands and place them on your hips. He meets your mouth again, his tongue intertwining with yours in a messy dance. His hands run up your sides and then down to your ass, finally finding a resting point to the back of your thighs. “Fuck…”

For once the male was happy to live in a studio. You push him onto the bed, letting him scramble to take off his shirt. You slowly slide down to the ground on your knees. He gazes at you with such kindness and appreciation. He wanted you to feel it, somehow. There was a sea of emotion he was withholding, but you saw lust was the strongest in the waves.

“(Y,n)…”

You look up to him with doe eyes, sending rushes of hunger through him. “Can I…?”

His breathing was uneven, trembling, he nods.

“P-please…” He pulls his pants down, allowing his cock to spring free. He was already half hard, and it only grew as you close your hand around it. You admire its length, its width, and most of all, you feel the way it throbbed for you as it grew in your hand. You gave it a few test pumps, making your man bite his lip to stifle a whimper. Once he was fully hardened, you sped up your pace. Dae-Ho whines out, ever the vocal one. But it’s not like you minded, in fact, you encouraged it.

“You’re being so good for me, Dae-Ho…”

Hearing your praise, the male lets out another moan, his eyes closing. You feel his member twitch in your hand. “Oh? You liked that didn’t you? Wanna be called a good boy?” As soon as the words left your mouth, Dae-Ho moans loudly. He looks down at you with half lidded eyes.

“Oh shit…”

You lower your mouth over his throbbing member, keeping your touch ever so soft. The man leans back, looking to the ceiling. “Oh fuck…!” He grips the bedsheets beside him. For a brief moment, he nearly grabs your hair, but he stops himself. Instead, he gently runs his fingers through your hair. The way he held back to be a gentleman, it only made you wetter. You use one hand to pump his base while you sucked on the rest. Your other hand slid down under your bottoms, rubbing your already wet cunt. When Dae-Ho notices, his face somehow flushes more. “A-are you…?” To answer, you hum an eager note on his cock, sending vibrations down it.

“Fuck~! Ah…I—“ He’s unable to really keep his train of thought on track as another low groan rumbles through him. “Oh my God—“ He just mindlessly babbled on as you took him deeper. He’d involuntarily jerk his hips upward, and you felt the tip reach the back of your throat. Your gag made Dae-Ho immediately check in, concerned. “I-I’m sorry! Are you— fuck!”

But you didn’t care much, speeding up your motions. You take him in even deeper, now deep throating him. It hurt a little, but you cared more about the sweet tune of Dae-Ho’s whines. It might be your new favorite song.

“(Y-Y,n)…! Keep going like that and I’m g-gonna…I’m…!”

He was close, you could feel it. And so you continued your usual motions before showing special attention to his tip, his most sensitive spot. Dae-Ho grit his teeth and cried out, his back arching as he came. His shadow looked glorious, the way it mirrored his position and his gasps. It was almost like a painting, a work of art.

White hot strings enter your mouth, and you swallow it all. You blink up at him, removing your lips and clicking your tongue. Dae-Ho’s expression was priceless, his vulnerability was shown, the walls were down. “(Y,n)…” He cups your face and pulls lightly, a silent gesture he wants you to rise. You do so gracefully and stop. Seeing as the man was basically naked for you, you thought you should return the favor. Dae-Ho watches you slowly strip, undoing your outfit completely. He shakily sighs,

“You’re so beautiful…”

Once bare, you meet him in a ravenous kiss. Your hands hold the sides of his jaw as he wraps his arm around your waist. He whimpers against your lips, rolling you over so you were on your back, not breaking the kiss for a second. Dae-Ho gently takes both of your hands and pin them above your head, one hand having a grip on your wrists. You lament, feeling more aroused in such a helpless position.

He pulls back, a string of saliva connecting you both. He admires you, your returned flushed face staring back at him lustfully. He leans back down, kissing down your neck. His touch was so sweet, feather light. Every kiss was gentle, as if you were delicate. He kissed down your body, stopping at your chest. His eyes meet yours again, asking for permission. You nod, gulping subtly. He’d continue, muttering,

“You deserve to be worshipped.”

He trails his tongue around your nipple and plants a peck on the top, before taking your breast into his mouth. Somehow, he knew the exact way to worship you. He sucked at the perfect intensity and rhythm. With his other hand, he massages your other breast. You loved the way he treated you.

“Dae-Ho…”

It sent waves of pleasure up your body. He started to work his way down, reaching your drenched pussy.

“God, you’re soaked…”

His tongue meets your dripping hole, running through your folds. You cry out, gripping his hair lightly. “Dae-Ho…! Fuck..” You feel his tongue swirl around your clit. The wet muscle circling as he sucked on the pearl. He started eating you out like he was damned starving. You massage his scalp, gripping every now and then. But then, you feel a wave of pleasure shoot through you as Dae-Ho inserts a finger. “Fuck…!” You whine, your eyes now shut. Sucking on your clit, he adds another, pushing them both in and curling his fingers. Your back arches as you’re shocked from too much stimulation.

“I-It’s too much…! D-Dae-Ho! Fuck. T-too m-much!”

“You can take it.”

His immediate response makes your orgasm race forward faster than you can blink. He continues pushing his fingers in an out of you, curling them each time and abusing your G spot. You cry out his name as you finish all over his face, unable to warn him in time. But he just laps up your juices like any other meal.

Dae-Ho looks back up at you with dreamy eyes. He’s met with your panting and flushed expression. You reach your hands out, trying to beckon him closer.

“Dae-Ho… j-just kiss me please!”

You didn’t have to tell him twice as he slams his lips on yours, crawling back atop your body. You grind against his now hard again cock, moaning against him. Soft hums and grunts come from his throat and vibrate on your skin. You pull back, needing to feel him inside of you for certainty. “D-do you have a condom?” Your question catches him off guard, but it’s a necessary one. Dae-Ho blinks and nods. “Yeah— one second.” He kisses your cheek, making you smile as he scrambles to grab one.

As soon as he rolled one on, he’s back on top of you, gazing into your eyes once more. You swear you could see an entire night sky in his dark orbs. “Dae-Ho…” You kiss him again, he more than happily reciprocates. He breathes in through his nose, breathing in you. He lines up his cock with your entrance, pulling back to cup your face.

“Do you want this?”

Consent is a beautiful and mandatory thing. He caresses your cheek with his thumb. You nod, resting your hand atop his with a kind smile.

“I want you, Dae-Ho.”

Dae-Ho leans in and kisses you softly. His lips softly trying to tell you, ‘I’ve got you.’

He slowly enters you, his hands now gripping your hips. You grimace, adjusting to his length. Dae-Ho intertwines his fingers with yours on the bedsheets, giving a reassuring squeeze. His eyes were clamped shut, soft shudders escaping him as he continued in. “Fuck… (Y,n)…”

He bottoms out, and you’re a whimpering mess. Dae-Ho, despite being in a similar position, slants over and kisses up your neck. His lips comforting you generously.

“That’s it… that’s my girl.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes your heart flutter.

“Yeah… yeah, fuck, your girl.”

He starts to move slowly, his breathing shaky from ecstasy. He mewls in your ear, biting his lip at an attempt to keep quiet. But you weren’t going to let that slide. “…Wanna hear you… wanna hear how good you feel.” You order. Dae-Ho’s hips stutter before he speeds up his thrusts. He lets out a louder whimper, you match his vocals, gripping his shoulders.

“D-Dae!”

“(Y,n)…!”

He holds you closer to him, his thrusts getting faster and deeper. His body was warm. You could feel his muscles tensing with every push and movement.

“Tell me I’m yours,”

He starts, his voice dripping with need.

“Tell me you’ll stay.”

The vulnerability in his tone was enough to make you tear up. He was opening his heart out to you, leaving himself exposed. You wrap your arms around his back, covering his open wound with your own body. You cradle his head in your hand.

“I’ll stay, you’re mine, and I’m yours.”

Your words of affirmation carry in the air. Dae-Ho hugs you even tighter. “(Y,n)!” He goes at an incredible speed, pounding into you. You claw at his back, needing the support. “Dae-Ho!” You wail, overwhelmed with pleasure. The male moves from your neck to rest his forehead against his. You feel every bit of love he was pumping into you. It’s a different level of intimacy, truly seeing each other’s soul like this.

You feel that familiar knot forming in your stomach. “Dae-Ho~! I’m close!” You moan, moaning in rhythm with each thrust. Dae-Ho nods frantically. “M-me too! Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…!” He’s unable to control his blabbering mouth. “Fuck. (Y,n)—you’re so good. So good. Need you… fuck…gonna—“

With that, you both come undone together, your moaning screams mixing together. Dae-Ho nearly collapses on top of you as he catches his breath, his face resting in your neck again. You pant, running your fingers through his hair as you both close your eyes.

He’d roll to his side, pulling out of you and disposing of the condom, tossing it into a trash can by his desk. He lays back down, resting on your collarbone. His arm snugly tucks around your waist.

“Did you mean it… what you said?”

Dae Ho’s question was so innocent, full of hope. He looked up at you expectantly. You feel yourself melt under his gaze, smiling softly and cupping his cheek.

“Of course I did. I’m yours.”

A satisfied smile forms on his face and he rests back down, closing his eyes with contentment. The two of you play together for the rest of the night. The last thing you’d hear before your slumber was a small mutter from your boy.

“I’m yours.”

#dae ho #dae ho x reader #dae ho squid game #squid game #squid game s2 #squid game x reader #squid game smut #kang dae ho x reader #kang dae ho #Spotify

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kitten4sannie · 21 days ago

Text

ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ

ᴘᴇʀᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴏɴ/ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ ➠ ʏᴜɴɢɪ

pairing: bf! mingi x gf! reader x roommate! yunho

genre: smut

summary: there’s something irresistible about your boyfriend’s roommate.

w.c: 3k

warnings: established poly relationship, switch! mingi + reader, dom! yunho, lots of perverted activities going on (panty sniffing for one…), voyeurism/exhibitionism, mxm, mostly pet names + praise <33, glasses kink idk i really like glasses if you couldn’t tell,, a tiny amount of false praise/name calling, kissing (including a three way kiss 🫣), manhandling, instruction giving, masturbation, oral (receiving), cum eating/swapping, cockwarming, dp in one hole, brief tit play, bulge kink, breeding kink, squirting, creampies

a/n: DON’T YOU LOOK AT ME 🫵🏼 i had to write this okayyy it was the only way to quell the brainworms uwu esp after that dance challenge yuyu posted ohmygodohmfhwwh and migiii GRRRRRRRR BARK anyways, i’ll return to my enclosure now 😔 if you enjoyed plz lemme know~~

song rec: kiss & tell by ethan low + gen neo

ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

It only took a week of dating your boyfriend to know that he had a special relationship with his roommate. The both of them could deny it all they wanted, but you weren’t blind. You didn’t even mind it, either — in fact, it intrigued you. The more the merrier, after all. Now that you had just moved in with them, you expected to see it first hand, but you would come to realize that there was a lot more to the story — and you were a major part of it.

“All we did was jerk off together, Y/N, it was one time, maybe two…” Mingi explained to you over the sound of running water, as if that even helped his case, handing you the plastic plate he had just washed.

“Riiight, and I only scissored my bestie once or twice, right after the group orgy,” you replied sarcastically, wiping the dish with a rag and putting it back into your shared cabinet.

Mingi almost dropped your favorite cat mug into the sink. “Y-you didn’t tell me you were into group sex.”

You quickly took the mug from his grasp, holding it to your chest. “I was just joking, Min, so that you could see how silly you sound.” You reached up to caress his cheek with your cold hand, making him shiver. “Who cares if you’re attracted to your roommate. You know I don’t mind.”

Mingi’s eyebrows screwed upwards, looking down at you with wide eyes. “B-but, he’s a dude.”

“And?”

He bit into his plump lip. “He’s got a dick.”

You nodded your head. “Even better.”

Mingi turned off the sink. “He’s my best friend, Y/N…”

“I don’t see why that’s a problem, Min. You can’t control who you like.”

“I-i don’t like him!” your boyfriend protested weakly, his rosy cheeks betraying him.

You sighed, accepting defeat for now. “Okay, baby, I hear you.”

Mingi suddenly cornered you against the sink, his hands on each side of the counter. He towered over you. “Why are you so interested in Yunho, huh? Do you want him?”

Now that the tables had turned, it was your turn to blush. “Wh-what?”

Mingi slowly pressed himself into you, his body warm against yours. He was hard. You could feel it. “You heard me.” He leaned down to whisper, “You want to fuck my roommate, don’t you, baby?”

Just then, the front door opened, a set of heavy footsteps making their way through the corridor until the very roommate you were speaking of appeared in the kitchen. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there,” Yunho chuckled softly, pulling his heavy black coat off, along with his foggy glasses, before shaking his head like a dog, his dirty blond bangs sticking to his forehead.

Mingi had positioned you in front of him to conceal his boner, trying his best to look casual with his arms wrapped around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. “I told you to bring an umbrella, dumbass.”

Yunho dropped his stuff down onto the kitchen counter, tugging at the thin white turtleneck he was wearing, the soaked material rolling up his waist. It had been soaked through, leaving little to the imagination. The both of you gulped audibly from where you stood. “You’re right, like always, Min.” Humming, Yunho used the loose material of his sweatpants to wipe his glasses clean, putting them back on, his gaze softening at the sight of his two favorite people. “Silly me.”

“You’re going to catch a cold like that,” you whined, trying not to focus on the way his top clung to the ridges of his abs, or how his heavy sweatpants began to fall slightly from his hips. “You should take a shower, Yunho.”

You weren’t the only one sizing him up, though Mingi wasn’t quite as capable of being subtle, instead biting straight into his lip, his deep-set eyes scanning lower until he could see the prominent outline of the very cock he was just talking about a few minutes ago. “Yeah, Yun. You’re soaked…”

Yunho’s eyes formed half moons. His roommate and girlfriend were just too cute. He wanted nothing more than to fuck the living daylights out of the both of you, preferably in front of the other. Yunho couldn’t even keep track of the amount of times he’s jerked off to the thought of what you’d both act like when he was turning one of you out. He wondered which one of you would cry from being fucked full of cum, who could throat his cock the best, whose hole was the tightest, the list went on. These days, he’s even gone as far as to steal your panties, or Mingi’s boxers out of the laundry basket, just to wrap them around his dick and jerk himself off inside your shared room when the both of you were at work. And, as soon as he brought the soiled undergarments to his nose and inhaled your pretty scent, he blew his load all over your bed, like clockwork. Then, he almost always slipped in the hallway on the way to throw your blankets into the wash. It was getting bad.

He observed the splotches of water that had soaked into your own top and Mingi’s shirt alike, his lips curling up into a small smirk. “Looks like the both of you are wet too. Maybe we could all use a shower.”

“M-maybe,” you choked out, worried your cover was blown by how flustered you looked.

“You can go first though, bro,” Mingi finished for you, just about finishing in his pants from the thought of showering alongside Yunho, with you in between them.

Yunho simply ran his long fingers through his wet hair, letting out a small sigh. “Your loss.” And with that, he made his way down the dark hallway to the bathroom.

You didn’t even have to say anything for Mingi to know where your head was at, not when his other one poked into your abdomen when you turned around to face him. “Min…” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Bed, yeah,” Mingi breathed out, lifting you up from the floor and carrying you down the same hallway to your bedroom, the one that just so happened to share a wall with the bathroom.

Beads of water slipped past the edge of Yunho’s tensing jaw, dripping past his contracting abdomen, and collecting inside the palm of his hand, aiding him in the pursuit of getting off, jerking himself off to the sound of Mingi piping you down. He could always tell when his best friend was about to cum; Mingi’s breath would get caught inside his dry throat and his words would start to come out jumbled. You were similar in that aspect, growing breathless, except you would always voice your desperation, that is, until all you could do was whine just before your insides were painted white. Knowing you were coming undone together in such proximity to Yunho made him so dizzy, he had to squeeze around the base of his cock to keep himself from cumming too soon. However, it was far too late, already letting out a sudden groan, leaving a few hefty splatters of cum on himself and the shower wall. Seeing white dots around his vision when he blinked, Yunho fought to catch his breath, pressing his cheek to the cool shower wall.

“Haven’t had enough, baby? Bet you need Yunho inside you next. Isn’t that right?” he heard Mingi ask you, finding it hard to swallow. Was he hearing right?

“Yeah, I need him, Min, please–” you whined from underneath him, your thighs starting to tremble from being so close.

“Ask him, princess,” Mingi cooed inside your ear, too drunk on lust to truly consider how his actions could backfire, bringing one sweat-covered arm to knock his fist into the wall, his hips smacking relentlessly into yours. “He’s right there.”

Yunho jumped at the sensation of Mingi knocking through the wall, reaching over his body to turn the shower water off, his heart thumping loudly inside his chest. Finally, it was his time.

“Y-Yun, please, come here..!” Yunho heard your muffled plea, and that was all it took for him to burst through your door, a small, useless towel clinging desperately to his hips, gazing at his roommates past the foggy lenses of his glasses.

“Y-you actually came.” Mingi swallowed hard, his thrusts growing sloppy, about to climb off of you, but staying while when Yunho slowly shook his head in disapproval.

“I did. Now, you’re going to cum for me,” Yunho told him in a low voice, slowly climbing onto the bed, reaching down to run his fingers along his arm, leaving light, feathered touches over your collarbone next, sending a shiver through the both of you. He licked at his lips. “You’ll let me see, won’t you?”

Neither you nor your boyfriend needed to have a discussion about the budding development of your relationship with Yunho. It just felt right. You immediately hooked your thighs around his waist, Mingi responding by pounding eagerly into your cunt until the both of you began to cry out.

Yunho hovered behind Mingi, his wandering fingers closing around his friend’s waist, controlling the rate of Mingi’s strokes until he began to shudder, Yunho’s leaking cock rubbing along the other’s heated skin. He chuckled softly at the sound of Mingi’s whimpers, holding him still. “You’re cumming, aren’t you, Min? Inside your pretty girlfriend?”

A bit of drool leaking from his lips, Mingi nodded weakly, as though his head was too heavy to lift, letting Yunho push his hips further and locking him in place, coating your pulsing walls with his seed. “F-fuck, I’m filling her up, Yun, it won’t stop…”

Humming in approval, Yunho gently coaxed Mingi to the side to access your body next, grabbing ahold of your nearest thigh and lifting it up and out of the way. “What do we have here? Mmm, no protection, huh?” He observed closely as his roommate’s load began to leak out past your fluttering hole. “I didn’t know your girlfriend liked it raw, Min.” He smiled perversely at Mingi, suddenly lifting your hips up in the air until you were folded in half like a paper doll, blowing a bit of air onto your cunt just to see you squirm. “Do you like having your little used pussy eaten too, baby?”

“Y-yes, Yuyu,” you gasped, not used to having your ankles near your head like this, your filled hole on full display. It was so embarrassing, being looked at by your boyfriend and his roommate like they were going to eat you alive, but you couldn’t help but want more of their attention. You reached up, spreading yourself open, feeling Yunho’s heavy breaths against your skin. “Hurry, before it all spills out…”

Groaning, Yunho dipped his tongue in between your slick lips, licking a long stripe up to your swollen clit with his tongue laid flat, languidly gathering up your combined arousal, repeating this action over and over, earning moan after wanton moan from you. Yunho opened his eyes to see how Mingi had positioned himself behind you, sitting on the opposite side of him, Mingi’s ringed fingers groping at your tits. They eventually shared heated eye contact, both growing harder at the mere sight of one another.

“How does she taste?” Mingi’s voice is gravelly, low, and dripping with lust. “Tell me, Yun.”

“Like heaven,” Yunho sighs out onto your hot skin, tonguing at your wet hole and pushing the tip inside. It slips out when you tighten up around it, but Yunho doesn’t give up, forcing it back in, much to your approval, flicking it in and out, in and out, until his chin is soaked with your arousal. He couldn’t help but chuckle with delight, licking his lips clean. “Your princess is making a mess.”

Mingi couldn’t help but run the pad of his thumb over his twitching cock head, spreading the abundant pre-cum along the rest of his length. “Keep going, and she’ll make an even bigger one…”

Taking that as a challenge, Yunho dove back in, with even more enthusiastic drags of his tongue this time around, aggressively guiding your hips to his favor.

You tossed your head back, broken moans and expletives falling from your lips. You instinctively reached out, wanting to hold onto something: Yunho’s shaggy hair, your boyfriend, the warm sheets, or something, anything, when Mingi took hold of your wrists and held you still, his fingers slowly moving down to interlace with yours. “Oh my god–fuck, please…!”

“Yes, that’s it, baby,” Mingi encouraged softly, giving your hands a gentle squeeze or two. “That’s my girl, being so good for us…”

Yunho’s hum vibrated through your lower half, his nose only bumping into your clit one more time, before a spray of arousal hit his moving tongue. It wasn’t until he could hear your juices splatter down onto his bare skin and the bed that his eyes rolled underneath his fluttering eyelids. “Oh my god…” He was so dizzy with lust, he was going to bust at any second, if he wasn’t careful. Just then, he noticed Mingi pulling you up into his arms, your back to his chest. He watched Mingi tilt your head until your lips met, throbbing at the sight of his tongue disappearing into your mouth.

With Mingi’s arm snaking around your middle, his hand cupping your sensitive cunt and his tongue down your throat, you opened your eyes to gaze at Yunho’s lips. Wanting to taste yourself, you lazily broke the kiss with Mingi, pulling Yunho closer to you, so close that you could still see drops of your arousal stuck to his glasses. “I taste like heaven, huh?”

“Mm-hm…” Yunho pressed in closer, sandwiching you in between him and your boyfriend, his hands moving downwards to explore the closest expanse of skin, whether it was yours or Mingi’s. “I’ll show you.”

Yunho’s tongue slid into your mouth before you had a chance to properly taste his lips, letting you taste your warm arousal instead. Just then, Mingi lifted your hips up and back down onto his stiff cock, not even moving, just wanting to feel the way you stretched open to accommodate him. It felt so good, he couldn’t help but throb, eyes shutting tight from the pleasure, immediately kissing back when your lips were back on his. You turned your head slightly to kiss each of them, your boyfriend and roommate taking turns swallowing each and every moan you let out, that is, until your lips and tongues met in the middle.

Soon, you pulled away to take a much needed breath, unable to catch it, especially now that you realized the two men didn’t seem to stop like you did, instead tilting their heads in opposite directions to deepen the kiss, drool dripping along their chins. They both gripped your hips from either side, mutually guiding them up and down, just as Mingi began to thrust up into you, Yunho’s cock rubbing along your clit at the same time. Once your cunt squeezed around Mingi’s cock, he knocked his head back, forcing the string of saliva that connected their lips to break apart. “Fuck, baby– princess, you’re squeezing so tight…feels so good…”

“Is she? I bet she’ll squeeze even harder with me inside,” Yunho panted near your ear, his head spinning, swearing all the blood in his body had traveled to his heavy cock.

“What are you waiting for? Give it to me..!” you gasped out, unable to control the volume of your voice, not when Mingi was slamming into you like a short-circuiting sex machine.

“Give it to her, Yun,” Mingi encouraged raspily, lifting your body up and lowering you back down, feeling your cunt slowly stretch open to fit the both of them inside and swallow them up completely. Once Yunho bucked his hips up, Mingi joined suit, their slick cocks rubbing along one another so quick, they would occasionally slip out, though they simply pushed back in and fucked you harder than before. “Oh, that’s it…oh, god…”

“I’m gonna–nnnngh,” Yunho cut his announcement off with a moan, gritting his teeth tight, pumping what seemed to be an endless load into your already used pussy. “Fuck, it really won’t stop…I’m gonna knock up your girlfriend, Min…”

Just when you thought you would pass out, Mingi wrapped his arms tight around your middle, his hands laid flat against your stomach, swearing he could feel his roommate’s cock underneath the pads of his fingers. “What’s mine is yours,” Mingi sighed out, pulling out for a moment, just to force himself back in, shooting thick ropes of cum deep into your womb. Panting heavily, your boyfriend’s hands slid down along your abdomen, only having to pinch and rub at your clit for a moment, before you completely unraveled in between their heaving bodies.

Yunho pulled his glasses off, tossing them onto the bed. “You really mean that, Min?” he asked, leaning in closer. Not only did he have free rein with his roommate’s pretty little girlfriend, but Mingi seemed to be up for grabs as well. If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up. “Does that include you?”

Mingi scoffed, his cheeks hot to the touch, hoping Yunho couldn’t feel how hard he just got. “Now, let’s not get carried away.”

fff taglist: @yutasbutterfly02 @wisejudgedragonhairdo @dawn-iscozy @bbdeongi @multistanbaby @cr4zyf0rm @kittenfrostt @magicshop1913 @enbysforhongjoong @londonbridges01 @mingisdimple @motherseonghwa23 @wwooyology @everyonewooeverywhere @leo-seonghwa @yourfatherlucifer @hwallazia @vampzity

#ateez #ateez smut #jeong yunho #song mingi #mingi smut #yunho smut #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #mingi x reader #yunho x reader #kpop smut

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downbad4sylus · 1 month ago

Text

“Sylus, something’s wrong.”

(inspired by this post)

synopsis: After an impromptu mission with Sylus, you have a sudden flare up of your Protocore Syndrome.

content: sylus x afab!reader; reader is MC; use of Y/N; established relationship; angst. so much angst; zayne cameo; happy ending; mostly proofread

word count: ~2.4k

a/n: been cooking this up for a while, then was inspired by the post referenced above. hope everyone enjoys like two thousand words of pure angst :D

Sylus always enjoyed tagging along on your missions. He enjoyed all the time he spent with you of course, but fighting beside you was like seeing a physical manifestation of how far you’d come in your relationship. You moved in perfect synchronicity, supporting and anticipating the other’s moves without so much as a word passed between you. And when you resonated, when your powers combined and your light filled his darkness, Sylus felt like he was floating on air. Oh how far you’d come with him, and now you were his and only his.

Working in tandem, you and Sylus finished off the last of the Wanderers that had interrupted your walk through the park, the protofield dissipating.

Breathing heavily, but otherwise unharmed, you checked your Hunter’s Watch. “The area’s all clear,” you announced.

“That was fun, sweetie,” Sylus drawled with a grin. “We should fight Wanderers on our walks more often.”

You chucked. “They do spice things up, don’t they?”

“They do,” he agreed. He held out his hand for yours. “Come, let’s go sit and catch our breaths.”

Smiling, you reached for his hand—

A sudden wave of discomfort washed over you. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Sweetie?”

Instinctively, the hand that reached for his retreated, curling against your chest.

You looked up into Sylus’s red, gem-like eyes and took a staggering step toward him. “Sylus, something’s wrong. I don’t feel right.”

Sylus’s face twisted with concern, and he closed what little distance lay between you, gently gripping your upper arms. “What is it? Tell me.”

“My…heart...”

You went limp.

Sylus caught you before you could fall, tilting your head up. “Y/N?”

No answer, you were unconscious.

Sylus was well aware of your heart condition, however for as long as he’d known you, you’d never had a flare up.

A fear he hadn’t felt before—so visceral in the way it stole the air from his lungs—washed over him.

He didn’t know what to do.

You never told him what he was supposed to do if this happened.

What was he supposed to do?

Sylus moved on instinct alone, sweeping you into his arms as he strode for his car. He pulled your phone out of your pocket, unlocking it with practiced ease, and scrolled through your contacts until he found who he was looking for.

It rang only once before the caller picked up.

“Y/N, should I be worried you’re calling me out of the blue like this?” asked the cool, slightly amused voice.

“Are you at the hospital?” Sylus questioned, trying very hard to keep the panic from his voice.

He felt the shift in demeanor through the phone.

“Who is this?”

He might have appreciated Dr. Zayne’s suspicion were these different circumstances, but right now, Sylus didn’t have the patience for it.

“Her boyfriend,” Sylus snapped. “Are you at the hospital?”

There was a pause. “Yes, I’m at the hospital. Is Y/N all right?”

Sylus swallowed against the growing lump in his throat and choked out, “It’s her heart.”

Zayne swore softly. “How far away are you?” His tone was more frantic now, mirroring Sylus’s own inner turmoil.

“Maybe ten minutes,” Sylus said, finally reaching his car. He didn’t bother to put you in the passenger seat, he simply held your limp body in his lap as he started the car and peeled out of the parking lot.

“Come to the emergency room, I’ll have a stretcher and team ready by the time you arrive.”

The line went dead, so Sylus tossed your phone onto the empty passenger seat and focused on the road ahead of him.

He weaved in and out of traffic, ignoring a myriad of laws to do so. He didn’t care about the others cars on the road, or the pedestrians trying to cross the street, all that mattered to him was you.

Sylus kissed the top of your head, willing and praying for you to be okay. “Come on,” he whispered, his hand tightening around the steering wheel, “just hold on a little longer for me, kitten.”

—

Pulling up to the curb in front of Akso Hospital’s emergency room, Sylus had barely put the car in park before barreling out, leaving the door wide open as he ran for the entrance with you cradled in his arms.

Zayne was waiting inside, just as he’d said, with a team of doctors and a stretcher. Sylus carefully laid you out on the stretcher, keeping your hand in his.

“What happened?” Zayne asked, leading the team out of the lobby and into the emergency ward.

“We were fighting Wanderers,” Sylus explained, “Y/N wasn’t injured but she said something was wrong all of sudden, and before she collapsed, she said it was her heart.”

Zayne, with a clinical precision, began barking orders at his team of which Sylus paid no attention. He was laser focused on you, on your unconscious form on the stretcher, on the hand he gripped tightly with his own.

He couldn’t lose you, not so soon after he’d finally been able to call you his.

Only moments later, Zayne stopped at another set of double doors, marked for hospital staff only.

“I need to evaluate Y/N’s condition and from there I’ll determine the best course of treatment,” he explained as the team rolled you through the doors, your hand slipping from Sylus’s grasp. “I’ll update you when I can. You can wait in my office, just ask one of the nurses at the front for directions.”

Zayne didn’t wait for Sylus’s reply and strode through the doors after you.

Sylus stood frozen for a moment, still in shock that this was even happening. That you were no longer by his side and he now had to wait for updates on your condition.

He felt so useless, and Sylus hated feeling useless.

Sylus wrestled with his emotions as he finally moved from the doors and headed toward Zayne’s office. He knew the way, he’d memorized the location of where your doctor conducted your check ups long ago.

He was furious with himself as he stalked through the halls. He was supposed to take care of you but now had to rely on others to do it for him. Sylus could heal your physical wounds with his Evol, but he wouldn’t dare touch your heart with it for fear he would do much more harm than good. He did not have the wealth of knowledge and experience of Protocore Syndrome like Zayne. He could do nothing but pass you off to those more equipped to help you. He could do nothing but wait and pray that you’d be okay.

—

Sylus waited in Zayne’s office for hours.

Naturally, he’d searched through its entirety. It was mostly out of the need to do something more than just sit around and wait.

There wasn’t much of note, but Sylus did notice a few odds and ends on Zayne’s desk that he knew had come from you. Again, were the circumstances different, Sylus would’ve been more upset seeing your touches on your doctor’s desk, touches that should be reserved solely for him and no one else. But rather than be upset, seeing these things only produced a hollow ache in Sylus’s chest.

Would he lose the touches you made in his life? Would the growing collection of odds and ends on his desk back at the base stop in its tracks, never to be added to again? Would the slow plushy takeover of his bed, his couches, cease as well? What would he do with your things? He couldn’t get rid of them, but would he be able to bear looking at them, day in and day out, knowing you were no longer there alongside them? Alongside him?

The pain of losing you quite literally knocked Sylus off his feet. He collapsed on the couch, burying his face in his hands.

He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t lose you.

Sylus wondered if this was how you felt after you’d lost him, in another lifetime amongst a field of flowers. He prayed that fate be kind to him, that fate spare you, so he could make it up to you, for leaving you as he did. He would shower you in love, to make up for a lifetime lost but also to promise a lifetime anew. He never took you for granted, not for one second, but if you survived this, he would make damn sure you knew how much he loved and appreciated you.

The office door opening tore Sylus from his thoughts, his head snapping up to find Zayne striding toward him. The doctor sat on the couch beside Sylus, staring at his hands. Sylus noticed the scars on his arms, peeking out from his slightly rolled up sleeves.

“Y/N is stable,” Zayne said, prompting a tidal wave of relief to crash over Sylus. “Her flare up was nothing too serious this time, but she’ll need to rest for a few weeks before returning to work.” Zayne met Sylus’s gaze, hazel tinged with green locked on striking, ruby-red. “Can I trust you’ll make her follow my treatment plan?”

Despite himself, Sylus huffed a laugh. “She is a stubborn one, isn’t she?”

“To a fault,” replied Zayne.

“Yeah, I’ll make her,” said Sylus. “I have no intention of having her repeat this anytime soon. Once was more than enough for me.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Zayne rose from the couch. “Would you like to see her?”

—

Seeing you laying in the hospital bed, hooked up to an IV, your steady pulse beeping from the heart monitor, was a sight that almost brought Sylus to his knees.

At first glance, he thought you were dead, despite knowing that Zayne had said you were stable. But even as his emotions caught up with his logic, it was still a hard pill from him to swallow.

As Zayne stayed near the door to give you both a semblance of privacy, Sylus swiftly crossed the room and sat in the chair beside the bed, taking your hand without the IV needle in it between both of his.

“I’m here, sweetie,” he murmured, running his thumb along your skin. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Your brow furrowed as your nose scrunched. Your eyes opened slowly, as if hearing Sylus’s voice had roused you into consciousness.

You blinked slowly, taking in the strange space in front of you. It took a few moments before it became clear, before you realized you were in the hospital, when the last thing you remembered was being in the park with Sylus.

Sylus.

Your gaze drifted to where he sat at your bedside, cradling your hand in both of his. “Sy?” you croaked. “Why are we at the hospital? I thought we were at the park.”

His face was nothing but tender as he looked at you, providing you with an innate sense of safety and comfort. “We were,” he said softly. “What do you remember?”

“We fought some Wanderers…and we were going to sit on a bench to catch our breaths…and then nothing,” you said.

“Before we could sit, you told me that you didn’t feel right,” Sylus explained. “You said something was wrong with your heart, and then you fainted. I brought you straight to the hospital.”

Your brows knitted. “Is Zayne here?”

“I am, Y/N,” Zayne said, moving from his spot near the door to the end of your bed.

“Doctor Zayne.” You managed a small smile. “What’s the prognosis?”

The exasperation was clear in your doctor’s expression as he grabbed your chart and looked it over. “You’ll live,” he replied dryly.

You chuckled. “Isn’t that a relief.”

Sylus squeezed your hand and you looked to him. He was frowning and did not seem remotely amused at your attempt at levity. Knowing you had probably scared the poor man half to death, you resisted the urge to stick your tongue out at him.

“You’ll need to stay overnight for observation,” Zayne continued, either unaware or uncaring of yours and Sylus’s silent conversation. “As long as your vitals are normal come the morning, you’ll be able to go home, under a strict treatment regiment of course.”

You rolled your eyes, earning another disapproving squeeze from Sylus.

Zayne glanced up from your chart, meeting your gaze.

“Thank you, doctor,” you said to him, genuinely meaning it.

“It’s my job,” was his simple reply. He glanced between you and Sylus. “I’ll leave you for now, but I’ll be back later to check on you.”

“Thank you,” Sylus said, surprising you.

Zayne gave a curt nod before making a swift exit.

You opened your mouth to speak to Sylus but was interrupted by his phone vibrating in his pocket.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” you asked when he made no move to retrieve it.

He shook his head. “It’s just the twins looking for an update.” He reached up with one of his hands, gently cupping your cheek. “How do you feel?”

You leaned into his touch. “I feel okay.”

“Don’t ever do that to me again.” There was a rare vulnerability in Sylus’s voice as he said those words, one that told you all you needed to know about the time he spent while Zayne was treating you.

But you couldn’t make him that promise. You knew that, and you knew he knew that.

Still, this didn’t stop you from saying, “I won’t.”

Satisfied, Sylus rose from the chair and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I love you too much to lose you, okay?” he whispered against your skin.

“Okay,” you whispered back. “And I love you too.”

—

Bonus:

“No rigorous activity of any kind for at least a week,” Zayne instructed harshly as he wrapped up your strict treatment plan before you were to be discharged. A positively smug glint sparkled in his eyes as he said, “That includes sexual activity.”

Your face went beet red. “Zayne!” you exclaimed, burying your face in your hands to hide your embarrassment. “Why would you say that?! I understood what you meant!”

“It’s a doctor’s duty to be as detailed as possible when giving a patient’s treatment plan,” he responded with a slight smirk.

“I’m seeing Greyson from now on.”

“Let’s not be dramatic.”

“Zayne! Just let me go home already!”

As Sylus silently observed the back and forth, he begrudgingly admitted to himself that he might actually like your doctor.

#l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #sylus angst #lads angst #love and deepspace angst #l&ds angst

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tojisteddy · 29 days ago

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After Care with Toji.

cw: no use of ‘y/n’ I use ‘[+]’, depicting after care (obviously), sub space, softdom!toji, fluff, dom/sub dynamics, treading the line of dd/lg (anyone could digest this), pet names (baby, doll, mama, ma), it’s LONG (idk how many words, I know know it’s LONG), toji is the sweetest bf ever.

Toji knew your limits. He knew just how much he could push and pull, throw you around until you were delirious. And he knew when you were fucked out of your mind, when you couldn’t think properly, you who’d only knew how to moan and spew gibberish.

He’d had half of his manhood in you, slowly sliding out of your gushing cunt as he looked down at your ravished body. He had hickies and bite marks from the top of your neck to your toes, both of juices on your stomach down an absolute mess coming from both of your thighs. He adored the sight of it.

He gently lifted your chin to look at him, your eyes kept wandering around, “no, no, look at me mama, focus.” His voice was gentle but it was a command.

It sorta sounded like God was calling you, maybe the pearly gates were opening. You wouldn’t have minded.

“Where’s yer head at? Tell me.” He always asked when you were blissed out.

You couldn’t verbally answer though. You reached for the back of his knee and tapped. Once, twice, three times. Toji’d known from the first tap alone you were calling it quits, he sat you up on the pillows. Running to go get a damp towel or two to clean you off.

“Such a good girl f’ me today Doll. Did so well.”

You hiccuped, rubbing your face that was once full of tears. “Really?”

Fuck, you were so damn cute like this.

“Course mama,” he lifted your hand and kissing your knuckles and intertwined your fingers, “Loved bein with you. You love it too?”

“Course papa.” You replied, using his same sweet tone.

The ends of his lips curved up, leaving a quick kiss at your temple, “Yer so sweet baby.”

You hadn’t even realized when Toji finished cleaning you up and had sat you up, legs dangling off the bed. You felt his fingers going into your hair.

“I-I can take care ‘f myself Toji.”

“Sure you can ma, but not right now. Let me help you.”

Togi was consistent with after care. It was something he learned how to do after being with so many women, to look out for them. Help them clean up, get them properly conscious, relaxed.

It was different with you, though.

Not that he wasn’t a fan of it already, but after pushing you to your limit, manhandling you every which way known to man, forcing you to take everything he had— he loved taking care of you. To the point that even when his dick K.O’ed you into darkness, you’d wake up at 3 am, the moonlight slithering it’s way into the your shades bedroom through the curtains. You’d sit all the way up, rubbing your tired eyes to find yourself completely wiped down, in one of Toji’s sweatshirts that hung off him just right but gave you sweater paws, a pair of underwear and a scarf to protect your hair because he knew you’d be grumbling all morning if you woke up with out.

He didn’t mind because he loved you.

You, who never asked too much of him or pushed him too hard. You, who felt every need to be independent, and he had to teach you to rely on him. You, who had every wall built up as far as the eye can see, worse than him— it was Toji who broke every one of them down, breaking his own in the process.

Yes, you were his play thing in the bedroom, a messy girl, his slut— but everywhere else, you were his baby, his gorgeous girl, cute future momma to his kids, his lover.

Oh how he absolutely adored you.

“What’ddya wanna do, huh? Take a drive, eat, a bath?” He had put your curls up with one of the silk scrunchies you left lying around, leaving peppering kisses on the back of your neck.

“A bath.” You mumbled.

“Yeah?” He carefully rubbed your hips, thankfully they didn’t bruise this time.

“Go on, take a shower first ‘nd I’ll meet you there. You know what to do.”

With a pat to your ass, you were off. Legs wobbly from so much action.

Toji took care of everything. From changing the sheets, lighting candles, playing whatever music you wanted to hear to wind down, running the overly hot bath water with bubbles, just how you liked it. Whatever you wanted at the moment, Toji would give it to you. He loved how reliant you were when you were blissed out.

He liked it when you were completely relaxed, completely trusting of him with not a care in the world. Your only focus was him and being with him. He also loved being needed by you, how you were like two peas in a pod— both of you needing each other.

You pressed your head on the cool tile of the shower, closing your eyes as the soap and water ran down your body. It felt soooo nice against your skin.

“Oi, if yer tired sit on the hinoki!”

He snapped you out of whatever trance you were in with the wall, but you closed your eyes again with a scuff, “fuck off… ‘m not tired… You’re fuckin tired.”

Toji chuckled, setting both of your pajamas on the bathroom counter and then joining you under the hot water.

“You talkin shit?” An amused look on his face, leaning down closer to see you. As if he wasn’t already following your every move, just to make sure you were safe on your own.

“You get in my face… talkin- talkin ‘bout me… you’rrre the one yellin. Yoouu must be tired.” You slurred out, a grin forming on your face.

“ ‘S that right?”

“ ‘M always righ—”

You yelped out, Tojis devious fingers immediately going to your tummy, your arm pits— anywhere he knew he could get a bustle of laughter out of you. At the best and worst times, Toji was a literal tickle monster. He could get anything out of you that way.

“That’s— haha- you’re cheating! Ah! Hehee- you cheater!”

“Come on! I know yer tired, I’ll stop if you sit.”

“Oh, come awn!”

Without another word, Toji had you trapped between his body and the tile wall of the shower, tickling you so much it hurt.

You groaned, still giggling up a storm, slapping his large arms that held you, “Damn it! I give! I give!”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his fingers were off of you body, taking your hand and guiding you to the hinoki.

“Doesn’t that feel better?”

“Whatever.”

It did feel better, your legs had been contorted in every in every way imaginable. Above his head, above your head, spread out from the Atlantic Ocean to the pacific. It felt good to take a rest.

Your eyes trailed up Toji’s body, skin riddled with scratch marks from his arms to his back, a few hickies on his neck, water cascading down his toned muscles, chiseled cheek bones—

“You starin mama?”

Toji hummed to himself, he loved when your eyes were on him. They were so pretty to him, especially when you were in the sun and he could really get a look at them. Like two Hershey kisses staring back at his green ones.

“Look so cute when you blush.”

“Shut up! You can’t even see it!”

He couldn’t, your brown skin didn’t let it peek through.

But it was in the way your eyes immediately went else where, unconsciously going to feel your heated cheeks or even trying to hide your face that had a small toothy smile— so fucking cute.

“Is the bath done?” Your eyes going to the tub a few feet away back to Toji who was washing his body with a wash cloth.

“Course, but you always fall asleep in there Doll ‘nd I told you I don’t like. It’s not safe.”

“I’ve never fallin asleep in there!”

His eyes met yours, eyebrow raised. Try it [+], I dare you.

“Maybe once.”

He shook his head, going back to washing his body. Unbelievable.

“More than once.” It came out more like a question even though you knew the answer to it.

Toji peered down at you, your eyes back at the tub. The steam was rising from the water, bubbles floating to and fro in the water. Slowly disappearing. Then your eyes went back to him. Big brown doe eyes, a tilt of your head and the cherry on top; a pout on your two tone lips. Not two big, not too small- just enough to push.

You were hell.

How could he say no when you were looking up at him like that.

“Fine- fuck baby, take your time!”

You slipped twice getting to the tub. Once because of how wet your foot was because of the water and another time because your legs felt exactly like the water under your foot. If it weren’t for the bath, you wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow. Now you would be able to, a little limp like you worked out (I mean you probably could consider what you did an hour ago a workout) but you’d be able to!

Toji was right there with you, towel in his lap just barely covering his manhood, sitting on the hinoki and washing his hair. Talking to you about anything from the lunch you packed him last week to the new sake he wanted to try. You loved it, Toji’s voice was like a melody, deep, scratchy because of all the cigarettes yet smooth— a shot of whiskey.

“Scoot.”

You moved forward so Toji could sit behind you, it was his spot whenever you took baths together. After care or not. He loved getting to hold you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder, leaving kisses at every place he left a hickey, maybe placing one or two new ones there.

Tonight was quiet, The Light In by Lana playing. You really were tired, unwilling to fight it but at peace— right where you needed to be. Toji was rubbing your arms, your thighs, your shoulders, just in the right places— he had some godly hands. Toji looked at you, who was completely slumped, your head resting against the tub, your long lashes slowly meeting each again and again.

“Ready for bed?”

“Mmm.”

You don’t know how, or when but by the time you’d realized— Toji had you in bed, teeth brushed, pajamas and scarf on and was rubbing the small of your back. Whispering how you did so well for him, how good you were, his adorable baby— a total sweetheart.

“Love you papa.” You mumbled, drifting off without a second thought.

Toji smiled, taking in your gorgeous face one more time before closing his eyes.

“Love you too mama.”

#tojisteddy presents #jjk x reader #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji fluff #x poc reader #x black reader #black reader #poc reader #toji x reader #toji zenin #toji x y/n #jjk x y/n #someone PLEASE LIKE THIS OMFG JDJDJDJD #toji drabble #idk if this is drabble it is what I say it is #toji oneshot #toji smut #toji x reader smut

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cloudwisp · 7 months ago

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𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 · 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦

contents: smut. minors dni 18+. reader wears a nightgown to subtly get the message across. attempt at seduction. lots of teasing and kissing. first time with him. size difference. fingering. borderline overstimulation. no protection. mostly sweet lovemaking but implications of leading to rougher sex. sylus has a huge dick (he is standing at 6’2 after all). 2.9k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ based off of this arranged marriage sylus x wife!reader post but can be read as a standalone. smut writing is never one of my strengths but I had fun with this one!! and I can only hope it’s an enjoyable read to those who were anticipating a sequel 🤍꒱

“Doing a little late night reading?” Sylus glances at your form through his peripheral as you enter his bedroom with a light skip in your steps. He’s perched at the end of his bed with a high profile report in hand, and with a tilt of your head and prying eyes you hover over the document between his fingers as you stand before him. You skim through a few lines before he tosses it aside, murmuring that it’s nothing of importance when something more interesting happens to catch his attention and you feel the heat of his gaze doing you a once-over.

Your cheeks warm and you feel a tad shyness wash over you when he quietly appraises your body clad in a gorgeous silk slip with lace embellishments. He hums in appreciation, a slow smirk curling on his lips before he reaches out to grasp your waist and pull you forward onto his lap. He secures one arm around you to keep you in place and his thumb sweeps over the delicate sleepwear and the bare skin of your thigh in a soft, languid motion. “You’ll catch a cold in just your nightgown, kitten. Or did you wear it for me?”

“Maybe I just wanted to change into something a little more comfortable.” You respond with a coy smile and playful shrug of your shoulder which causes the thin strap to fall from just a whisper of movement. He enjoys your little display and act of innocence if this is your way of telling him that you want to deepen the relationship through shared intimacy like normal marital couples do during this time of night. And truthfully, he’s been waiting far too long for this moment to come but he didn’t expect you to offer yourself on a silver platter. What a sweet and precious wife you are.

“I’m sure you could find something more suitable than a flimsy nightgown.” His knuckles brush up along your arm and hooks the fallen strap around his finger to slide it back into its proper place. “But then, perhaps you wanted to tease me, too?”

You click your tongue in disappointment. No matter what you do he was always two steps ahead of you—it’s thoughtful yet infuriating especially when you want him to act more surprised. “Nothing ever gets passed by you, it seems.”

His large hand slips under the lace trimmings of your nightgown and moves closest to your backside for a firm squeeze. “You should know by now how badly I want you, sweetheart. And with you sitting in my lap, looking breathtaking like that. I’m tempted to just rip this little thing off of you.”

You purse your lips into a small pout that’s adorable to him and grunt in disapproval. “What if this night dress is one of my favorites? Don’t I get a say in what you can and can’t tear?”

He arches a brow as though to challenge you by putting the theory into practice. You keep forgetting that he could read you like an open book, and he loves nothing more than proving you wrong at every chance. “Are you saying you wouldn’t enjoy it if I did? I’ll buy you new ones. Better ones.”

You mull over at the thought. “Sounds troublesome. I’ll have to keep making these frequent shopping trips.”

“I just mean the nightgown is in the way of me seeing all of you. You’re more than welcome to wear it any other time, but right now… I want it off.”

“Well, it’s only fair you make the next move.” He groans lowly when you shift your weight in his lap and rest your head against him. You drag your manicured finger down his chest and gently flick at the silver chain looped between his collar. “I did come all this way just for you.”

He understood your meaning and leans down close enough so his warm breath fans over your lips when he tilts your chin to look at him. “If you want me to take off my clothes, you’ll have to undress me yourself.” The soft spoken words in his deep voice send a tingle to the back of your brain, and the lingering kiss he places on the corner of your mouth adds a fluttering sensation in your stomach.

“Still making me work for it? And here I thought I would be cherished and wouldn’t even need to lift a finger.” You bring yourself upright and shove him down onto the bed to climb over him and straddle him. He gives you a knowing smirk at the sound of your cute gasp when you feel just how hard he is for you against your clothed cunt. You make quick work of undoing the underlay of buttons tucked beneath the thick fabric of his tailored dress shirt and remove it entirely to reveal every bit of lean muscle. His build akin to that of a spectacularly sculpted marble statue down to the details of his veins on his strong arms.

“Making you work for it is half the fun, kitten. But just remember who will be putting in the most work tonight.” His hand wanders up your thigh again and moves along the curve of your waist, the expensive silk bunches under his touch and he gropes the fullness of your breast. You feel the strap loosen around your shoulder once more. “Are you liking what you’re seeing? You’re allowed to mark what’s yours, you know. But I’d like to be able to mark you as mine too, wife.” His hungry eyes slowly roam over your matching panties and midriff before he returns your gaze.

Your smaller hand covers his knuckles meanwhile his thumb brushes across your nipple and he revels in the feeling of the bud hardening over the material. “You’re just always so straightforward, aren’t you?” You sensually wrap your finger around the other strap that’s perfectly intact and at your cue Sylus glides his hand down to the small of your back and watches as the dress cascades down to your midsection.

“And you’re so beautiful.” You’re a heavenly sight to behold with the way his amorous stare commits your very existence to his memory, particularly the swell of your lovely breasts that’s heavy with lust and begging for more of his attention. He gently reaches for your wrist and his fingers smooth under your palm to bring your hand up to his face. His thumb runs over the wedding band that binds you to him laying a light kiss against your knuckles, then places your hand over his shoulder waiting for your next move.

You don’t waste another second closing the distance between you two and crash your lips against his for a needy and desperate kiss. Your fingers tangle into his silver locks and your heat grinds against him hoping for some semblance of relief from the ache that’s building inside you. You feel him envelop your breasts fully with each caress and tender squeeze and a little bit of nipple play.

Sylus tastes faintly of sweet, tannic notes from the lingering aftertaste of red wine as your tongue meets his through parted lips. His arms and hands alternate between hugging your body and grip tightening on your hips, bucking himself up into your heat. You feel yourself needing more, wanting more and being closer to him so you hurriedly unbuckle his belt and suddenly the sound of fabric tearing reaches your ears.

You muffle in surprise against his lips and push him back just enough to see him wearing a smug expression. “I should’ve known you’d go against my wishes.” You scoff in disbelief and yet there’s a grin playing across your features that betrays your earlier words. You hate to admit he was right from the start—that you’d find the ripping more attractive instead of being carefully unwrapped like you both have all the patience in the world.

Sylus discards the now ruined piece of clothing aside. He lifts you with ease and your back embraces the cool sheets when he drops you down on the mattress and returns to his full height. “I was never one to follow rules. Besides, you look perfect like this.” You support yourself up on your elbows to follow his movements, and any smart comeback you have dies in your throat when he picks up where you left off by unfastening his belt and stripping out of his trousers. His boxer briefs follow suit and he thinks it’s adorable how you look mesmerized from this performance alone.

Your eyes settle on his huge cock. Almost gawking at it and you unconsciously clench your thighs together. It’s perfectly proportioned to the rest of him—long and notably thicker with an upward center curve and a few prominent veins here and there. He flushes a pretty shade of red that’s gradient from the head down and his pubes are neatly trimmed.

“You don’t have to look so scared, kitten.” He rasps an amused chuckle, and he feels you tense slightly when his hand scales up along your knee to your inner thigh and he dips his fingers between your legs. “I’ll take my time with you so you can handle me.”

Your breath hitches when he feels how drenched you are through your panties. He offers a gratified hum, his handsome face and broad shoulders become your main focus as he closes in on you. “Spread your legs wider.” He murmurs into your ear, and as soon as you give him more access he delves into your mouth for a bruising kiss and chases you down onto the bed. His ministrations on your clit feel absolutely sinful yet so wonderful and your arm wrap around his back meanwhile your hand explores the muscled panels of his upper body and the areas that are within your reach.

A string of saliva connects you both then disappears as your lips come apart. But he doesn’t stray far when the exquisite look on your face is a breath away and he pulls your panties aside to collect your arousal with two digits sliding through your puffy folds. Your lustful sounds escape in a warm exhale as soon as he slowly inserts his thick fingers into your tight pussy, and you’re quite the vision arching your back so tastefully.

“Mmh, that f-feels so good, Sylus.” Your eyes glaze over when he steadily pumps in and out of you, curling so deliciously at your sweet spot and he marvels at the way your cunt is greedily sucking in his fingers. There’s nothing else like him, the way he stretches you and reaches the deeper parts and hits the bits you can’t yourself. He adores the breathless sighs and mewls of his name when he pushes you to the edge even more while kissing you senselessly.

“You sound beautiful. I love the way my name tastes on your lips.” You can feel him smirk against you, but you’re too immersed in your pleasure to respond in words that aren’t broken syllables. He trails open-mouth kisses down to your jawline and along the column of your neck, grazing his teeth and softly sucking on your skin until hues of velvet purple form. Your head burrows into the soft cushion of the mattress, hips squirming as your hand clutches onto his forearm from tension coiling inside you.

“M’gonna come soon, Sy—!” Your pretty moans and pants grow heavier each second, and he loves feeling your body quiver when you’re pressed under him. He’s still knuckles deep inside you with every intention of bringing you up to heaven and back down to him. After all, he doesn’t believe in doing things halfway but can’t pass an opportunity to tease his darling wife.

“You’re getting so close already? I barely got started with you, sweetie.” He chuckles lowly yet his cock twitches as precum oozes and leaks down from the slit of his tip. “Don’t hold it in now. Let go and come for me.”

He’s met with your gorgeous o-face when the euphoric bliss courses through your entire body as your walls tighten around his fingers. Your moans turn into squeals and you try to shove his hand away to soften your orgasm but he doesn’t budge from being much stronger than you. The feeling is more than you can handle when your thighs clamp together to stop his movements. But you don’t want the addictive sensation to leave just yet when he borderline overstimulates you, turning you into a trembling and writhing mess.

You barely have a moment to catch your breath when a chortle escapes you from watching him bring his fingers coated in your cum to his mouth for a curious taste. “Mm. Sweet, just as I thought. You did great, kitten.” He leans down to plant a chaste kiss on your forehead, and the first wave of your drawn-out release slowly ebbs away. “Don’t you think you deserve one more?” Sylus pulls your soaked panties down your legs and casts them aside, leaving you completely bare under his gaze.

“I should hope so. Been wanting for you to stuff me with your fat cock tonight.” You’re still a little breathless when your finger glides down his toned chest in a sensual and playful manner. He makes a content hum at the sound of that with an upward quirk of his lips.

“What a bold and resilient wife I have on my hands. As long as I have you, I’ll never be bored again.” He gladly hoists your leg to wrap around his waist and spits down, giving himself a few strokes making it slick before aligning himself to your dripping cunt. His precum mixes with the remnants of your previous climax with the heavy drag of his tip from your opening up along your clit. He revels in the way your body responds with a little spasm. “I won’t have you going back on your words now.”

The flutter of your lashes steers away from his deep and enigmatic eyes, a nervous gnaw of your lower lips as you anticipate the painful stretch from taking him. “Go slow, okay? Because you know…” He knew you were implying about his sheer size, and you feel him grab hold of your hand and press your interlaced hand against the bed beside your head.

He captures your swollen lips that feel entirely too sweet and intimate, replacing your worries with a gentle tangle of his encompassing love and adoration that seeps into your soul. “I wouldn’t dream about hurting you. That’s a promise. But you have to let me in first.” Your breath hitches when his aching tip probes your entrance, yet the tension doesn’t leave your body until he tells you to focus on him with the exchange of kisses laced with a growing insistence. “You’ll let me know if it hurts, kitten? I want to make you feel good.”

With that said, your sharp nails dig into his shoulder blade and draw red lines at the burning stretch that feels too much yet so good at the same time. Your soft sighs and whimpers fill the hazy room and he’s fucking you slowly with just the tip to help ease the initial discomfort. He searches your face every now and again making sure you’re okay before he continues, letting out a guttural moan when he slips in a little more with each thrust until he carves his way into you completely.

“You’re in too deep—hah. Feel so full and good.” You shudder when he stills his movements, throbbing cock nestled inside you to the hilt and kissing your cervix. There’s a carnal desire brewing in his stomach seeing you pinned under his weight keeping him nice and warm. He wouldn’t mind spending the entire night with you, any plans and commitments he had prior be damned the moment you swayed in through the double doors. “Want you to m-move, please.”

The sound of your polite begging makes him twitch involuntarily, and he could only imagine what desperate pleas you have in store for him tonight and he’s looking forward to it. When your pretty lips implore him to fuck you faster and harder he won’t be able to hold back. After all, he has always been ready and waiting to give himself to you that aligns with your willingness to accept him. There is no love purer than his, this craving he has reserved only for you. “You know you only have to ask, and I’ll give you everything you want. Just be careful what you wish for, sweetie.”

Sylus chuckles at your cute whine shortly after—such a needy little thing you are. He falls into a sweet and slow rhythm that makes you feel each thrust, the head of his dick down to its shape and following the shaft that caresses the underside of your pleasure endings so incredibly good. Your legs wrap around his back and you pull him in deeper because close just isn’t close enough for you. You need to feel the heat of his body sear against your skin as you hold him, and in turn you feel him squeeze your interlaced hand. “Tonight, you’re all mine. Forget anyone else in the world but me.”

#ᨳ ₊˚ 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐩.𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus smut #l&ds x reader #love and deepspace x reader #sylus love and deepspace #lnds sylus #sylus lnd #sylus l&ds #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #love and deepspace

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gghostwriter · 4 months ago

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Three's a Sideshow

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 || Part 3 Summary: Spencer misses an important date and ends up paying the consequences Trope:Angst w.c: 4.2k a/n: this is one of the many many requests of @lavonee (her exact request was: maybe spencer misses an important date/anniversary because of jj and reader is finally fed up being second place to her) trying my best to address all of them. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The hazy dim light of each candle on the white linen covered table gave the restaurant an orange hue. Various aromas of meat, wine, and complimentary cheese wafted through the enclosed space. Sensual tones of the saxophone lightly played on the speakers perfectly weave through each muted conversations between loved ones—couples and families. The high-end restaurant basked in good food and great company.

Everything was perfect.

Every costumer joyous and warm from the delicious wine.

All except for one, alone by the corner booth, phone pressed to your ear and eyes scanning for the tall, lithe form of the date for the night.

Beep. Beep. Be—

You grimaced at the busy line tone that answered you, again. Hands gripping the draped linen, trying your best not to tap your newly manicured fingers on the table—trying to blend into the background, unsuccessfully.

You stuck out like a sore thumb. All dressed up with no partner or food on the table, just a glass of once chilled wine—condensation all around it like tears of abandonment and longing.

The same waitress who escorted you to the table—15 minutes ago, approached with a perfectly rehearsed smile.

“Ma’am, are we ready to order?”

You sighed. “Actually, my boyfriend isn’t here yet—”

She bit her lip, nodding, before quickly averting her eyes to the queued up line outside the premise.

Right. It was a Friday night and every adult in the vicinity wanted a night out to unwind and start their weekend on the right foot.

You tightly smiled, the embarrassment of tonight painting your cheeks a deep maroon, unnoticed through the flickering of the orange candlelight. “—you know what, I think I’d just have a slice of your chocolate cake to go. Yeah, I’m sorry about holding up the table.”

The waitress nodded, understanding washing on her face. “That’s alright. I’ll have your order packed and ready to go.”

“Thanks,” you murmured as you watched her leave.

Tonight was suppose to be special.

You dressed up in the same white with purple printed flower midi length dress, styled your hair effortlessly, and spritzed on your favorite perfume that smelled like a luscious garden after a rainy night.

Everything was just like how it was two weeks ago—including your boyfriend of three years, Spencer Reid, not showing up for the date.

You didn’t even know why you bothered. Why his promise of being here tonight made you feel giddy and trusting. Why his commitment on having do-over for the actual anniversary dinner that he missed two weeks ago made you think it was going to end differently and why you gave him another chance—

Another chance to let you down.

Another crack in your belief that you were important.

Another heartache to soothe.

Another let down.

When you first entered the relationship, you understood the gravity of his work. How his career will always come first and how unpredictable it all may be.

That part—accepting those facts, were easy. You were always one to be tolerant and understanding ever since childhood, labeled as the easy kid—the independent, the self-sufficient. Mixed in with your highly demanding career as a doctor, you got it—the patience and consideration of a saint.

A martyr, your good friend once bluntly said.

But what good was being a martyr when the person you’re killing yourself for didn’t notice?

It didn’t matter at first. Missed messages, missed calls, missed dates were just a work of rotten timing from both ends. Sometimes it was you having to run to the hospital for an emergency surgery and sometimes it was him having to catch a plane to a latest serial killer case.

The tandem of both independent and busy people in the relationship worked, love blossomed regardless.

What made it different was, there was three of you in the relationship.

The third party being an intense platonic, as he once defended, connection with Her.

You felt it for the first time during a get together with his found family. Your set of eyes trained to read in between the lines for the truth patients unwittingly hide from their doctor. It was a skill that you honed and never hated, up until that moment.

The stolen glances when the other wasn’t looking.

The emotion veiled between the eyes.

The unsaid words that seemed to spill from the silence.

Never mind that there were two presences in the vicinity that could have their life altered in any minute from the secrets long hidden in vaults. It was as if you and her husband were considered ornaments, pieces of a possible aftermath not worth saving.

You knew of their past—Spencer admitting to having a crush on her during his early days with the team and asking her out on a baseball game date.

Everything was water under the bridge, your boyfriend assured you. But the thing was, water had a way of overflowing from confinement, turning deadly, and ravaging what once was an idyllic garden that bloomed from your affection.

Now as you pay for the tab and collect your things, you felt the tides that destroyed the solace inside of you well up to your eyes—wanting the release you’re fighting to keep at bay.

A fight you’re bound to lose.

You whispered a thank you to the waitress, soft and quiet that you were unsure if she even heard it but that was the best you could do, the sobs closing your vocal chords and threatening to escape, making you a spectacle—leaving the restaurant alone, with a boxed cake on hand.

What a sad sight.

You fumbled with the phone again, hands shaking as you insert the key on the ignition.

Beep. Beep. Be—

Nothing.

What even was the point of all of this, you wondered. All this emotion, love, that was once sweet and heavenly now all felt rotten, puss oozing from its pores and flies exalting for a feast.

Slowly backing your black 4-door sedan out of the parking lot, you pondered if this was the end—did you have any more left to give? Or was this just a bump on the road for the your future selves to learn and heartily laugh about?

———

The rattling of your keys as you dropped it on the ceramic plate across the main door disrupted the silent, empty apartment.

A small smile graced your face as you remembered spontaneously booking a ceramic wheel class with Spencer in tow. His initial worries about getting under the nails dirty and the bacteria that could be collected from any stranger that used the items before the both of you swept away with your giggles and assurances to double up on vitamins.

There was a wide grin on his face then, accepting defeat from the sight of your enthusiasm and glee.

It was one of your greatest memory with Spencer and when the glazed pottery came from the mail—yours, a wonky blue green plate and his, an uneven moss green bowl, you had him promise to take you again.

A promise that never came to fruition.

You sighed, eyes tracking the rented space you never quite moved in to. The walls painted this dark green color, reflecting the somber mood you frequently found yourself in and the shelves filled to the brim with books you never dream of reading.

in hindsight, maybe your subconscious was telling you something. Why you never agreed to Spencer’s casual asking of you to live with him. Why you were adamant of keeping your own apartment regardless of the nights you spent outside of it.

This place became your pseudo-home, comfortable but never quite permanent.

The distant murmur of a car being parked on the street had you clambering up from your defeated, slouched position on the leather couch. In your gut, you knew who it was.

You spotted them exiting the SUV.

The two figures that make the relationship three—a sideshow for everyone to see.

Spencer and JJ.

They talked for a bit, probably saying pleasantries of goodbyes, before she leaned in for a hug. One that he reciprocated, patting her back as he went.

They looked like a couple and if you were in your right state of mind, you’d chalk the exchange up to nothing but you weren’t—you were wounded and unsure of your standing ever since you exited the restaurant.

Were you his first still?

Or were you just second place?

They were questions you never wanted no, needed, to be addressed but it seemed like tonight was the night of reckoning.

As you watched Spencer enter the apartment, the smile on his face from spotting you slowly become a furrow between his brows, you fidgeted—pulling the coat tighter to your body, the one you never hung on the back of the door—ready to bolt.

“Love, I’m so sorry I missed our reservation—”

He went in for a kiss on your glossy lips.

A simple act that you didn’t have the energy to accept, you turned your head to the side. His lips catching your cheek instead.

“It’s fine,” you sardonically replied. “It wasn’t like I was waiting for you for half an hour to show up. It’s fine, Spencer.”

His brow twitched.

“It sounds like it’s not fine. Why don’t you tell me what you really feel? We promised to openly communicate, didn’t we?”

You huffed, throwing your hands up in the air. “I said it’s fine, Spencer. Why don’t you give it a rest?”

“You look beautiful,” his calloused fingers gently caressing your hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t show. It’s just that JJ and the tea—”

Your last thread of reason snapped clean from hearing her name.

“It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? Me coming after her?”

“Love.”

“Don’t touch me—don’t call me that,” you pushed his hands away, tucking the escaped tendrils behind your ears.

His own, raking the wavy brown hair you loved, in frustration. You could tell, with how his hands opened and closed, that he was itching to touch you, comfort you.

“Her? You mean, JJ? She’s a friend. Just a friend.”

“And if this friend wasn’t married with kids, would you still be here with me now?”

Silence.

There, you said it.

“What—yes, yes of course. Why would you ask that? Why would you doubt it? Doubt me?”

Your gut twisted inside of you. It was inconceivable for someone like Spencer to lie, wasn’t it? He was a good guy, one of the best. But all the hidden resentment in your heart—a pile you weren’t even aware of, no longer wanted to be silenced. It no longer wanted to be pushed to the side for optimism and denial.

“I don’t know, Spencer. Maybe it’s the way you look at her—” voice raising up an octave. You’ve lost control, verbally dumping out everything. “Do you think I don’t see it? You look at her with this, this nostalgia and—and this emotion that I can’t compare to—never seen it when you look at me! Or maybe, maybe it’s because you drop everything for her? Including me?”

“Are you talking about when Henry got sick?” his hands finding a home on his hips. “I thought you understood—you of all, should have.”

Your laughter turned into a sob. “I do—I did, until you dropped me of unceremoniously back here, in this apartment, just so you could rush out to her home. Like I was some kind of secret, you didn’t want to bring around her. Like I was some sort of disease, you didn’t want her catching. Didn’t you think I would be of great help? A licensed medical doctor?”

“I wasn’t thinking straight—I thought you, you shouldn’t be exposed to the type of flu Henry contracted. You could have gotten sick too and could have passed it on to your other patients.”

“It’s my job to take care of the sick, don’t you think I take measures for my own health? Spencer, please, for once just be honest with me.”

He tilted his head. “Honest about what?”

“If it’s her you really want and if I’m just a passable substitute to settle down with.”

You could see his eyes blazing with such—disgust? Anger? You didn’t know what emotion it was before it was snuffed out, leaving his expression blank and almost sad. It was a look you were familiar with, his profiler look.

“I don’t need you profiling me and my insecurities, Spencer. I just want the truth. The God-honest truth.”

“I love you. I can’t imagine a life without you—I won’t imagine it. Isn’t that enough?”

Your hands drop to your side.

“I don’t know. Is it?”

The distance created by the silence between you and Spencer was vast. You’ve never felt quite alone and isolated in the relationship until this moment. Was this it, then? The end to your once dreamed of happy ever after?

“I’m sorry I missed the dinner. Why don’t you let me make it up to you? We can book the same restaurant for next week and—”

“You can’t just make up for a make up anniversary dinner, that’s not how it works in real life, Spencer. And besides, I don’t want to see the same pitying looks the workers there give me when they realize my date is again, and again, a no-show.”

He sighed, slowly invading your space. The arms that once felt like home to you, circling your waist, now felt foreign. You never imagined you’d get here but then again, who did?

Your hands clasped his button down before loosening its grip. Taking in one more whiff of his cedar-wood and mint perfume, you pushed him away. Stepping backwards from his presence and all he had to offer.

“It’s late. We’re both tired—”

He nervously smiled. Intertwining his fingers with yours and started to walk backwards to the direction of the bedroom. “Yeah, we can talk about it in the morning once you feel better.”

You wiggled your hand free.

“Actually, I think I have to go.”

Spencer paused, panic coloring his face. “That’s—that’s not what I meant, love. Anything but that. Please, please I love you and I’m sorry.”

“Me too, Spence. Me too.”

You slowly gathered your things, sans the chocolate cake left opened and untouched on the coffee table.

“Happy anniversary, I need space to think this all through—to think us through.”

He stood still, blocking your way, trying to wrap his head around the direction this was going to. The inevitable downfall of him and you. It was a car crash no one could no longer escape from.

“Please, let me fix this. I can do it, just—tell me how. Do you want me to limit my time spent with JJ? I-I can try, just please, don’t leave me.”

It wasn’t a promise, you noted. With how many broken promises there were between the span of your relationship, you wondered if that was a conscious choice of wording from him. It sounded hopeful, gleaming with oath even. But they were just words at the end of the day, packaged pretty for you to swallow.

“I need time, Spencer. I’m not breaking up with you, I just need space,” you placed a kiss on his cheek, wet from tears. “Can you give me that, love?”

He choked a sob.

“Promise me you’ll be back. Promise me.”

You tightly smiled, making your way back to the door. The unanswered plea hanging in the air like a blade, waiting to slash down between you—waiting to sever the connection that was once shiny and new.

Shakily removing the spare key of the apartment from your chain, you chanced one last look at his hunched form—sobs emitting from his sweet lips and acid rain spilling down his cherub cheeks, regretting that this might be your last memory of Spencer Reid.

You didn’t know if you’d be back.

If the thought of being second place will ever go away.

But the sinking feeling in your gut tells you the truth—that this is it.

This is final.

This is the end.

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

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