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gojorgeous · 1 year ago

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"sure thing"

pairing: target!gojo x assassin!fem!reader summary: you've been hired to kill the satoru gojo. how will you pull it off... and what will you do when he figures it out? content: MDNI (18+ only), nsfw, darkish content (all is well in the end), no established relationship, assassins/organized crime, blackmail, mention of a “suicide mission”, attempted murder (uhhhh), hidden identity, intended use of sex as a means to an end, mating press, unprotected sex, p->v, creampie, oral (fem!receiving), praise, pet names (gorgeous/sweetheart/baby), slight aftercare. a/n: me 🤝 describing gojo as having dimples welcome to my second 1k followers event fic! At this rate tho i’m going to hit 2k before i finish the 1k event LMAO. not that i'm complaining hehe. thank you for being patient and for all the support on my recent works! i really appreciate every ask, comment, follow, reblog, everything. they mean the world to me. check out the rest of my 1k event here. enjoy and remember that ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! creds: twitter template by @cafekitsune wc: 7.8k

“Who?!”

No fucking way. There’s no way he just said what you think he said.

“You heard me,” he scowls. He glares at you from across the desk. His seat is one of those cushy little office chairs, of course. Yours is plastic– cold and hard.

“Are you fucking insane?” you hiss. There’s no other explanation for what he’s asking you to do. He’s lost his fucking mind.

“We have a client willing to pay big money for this. Big money for just an attempt,” he answers.

You laugh, but there’s absolutely nothing funny about this conversation. “Oh, I’m sure you do. Probably because he’s practically invincible. I’ll never even lay a hand on him.”

Your “boss”, for lack of a better term, only scowls harder, the wrinkles forming near his eyes etching deeper in his skin. “Well, you’d best find a way to make it work. You’re taking this job. That’s final.” You scoff. Maybe you should recommend he see someone… “No. There’s no way. I’m not doing this.” You stand, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “Get someone else to go on your suicide mission.” You take a couple strides toward the door before two very large men move to block your path.

“Not so fast,” your boss calls. You pause, eyeing up your competition. You could definitely take them if you needed to. You sense only a very faint amount of cursed energy coming from each of them– not even enough to make you blink– but something in your boss’s tone makes you turn back.

“Yes?” You cross your arms over your chest, fingering a blade hidden in your breast pocket.

He fiddles around in his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up right there in his office. You don’t try to hide the way your nose scrunches up. “You want to do this job.”

Your eyes narrow. Something tells you you’re not going to like what comes next. “And why’s that?”

He takes a long puff, letting the smoke flowing out of his lungs with a slow exhale. “Because otherwise that little brother of yours is gonna be…” he pauses to give you a smile that makes your stomach churn. “Hmm… a lot smaller, shall we say? Maybe in several limb sized pieces?”

You think your heart stops. Time halts as ice runs through your veins. Nobody knows about your brother. At least, they didn’t.

Your boss’s smile grows even wider. In all your time as an assassin, you’ve never wanted to kill someone more. But you know you can’t. Just an attempt on his life will end your brother’s.

“Don’t worry. He’s all tucked away and safe at home where you left him.” Just a tiny piece of your heart thaws with relief. “But try to run with him, or run yourself, and he won’t be safe much longer.” Your pulse pounds so viciously you’re sure everyone can hear. A bead of sweat rolls down your neck. “Now, will you accept the assignment?”

Your jaw clenches. He got you. In all these years of working for him you’ve been careful, meticulous about hiding every piece of your personal life to avoid situations just like this. But he still got you. He got you.

“Yes,” you breathe. You have no choice. You will either kill Satoru Gojo or you will die trying.

“Good,” is all he says, and then you’re being escorted out of the office wondering where the hell you went wrong.

It’s been three weeks since that fateful meeting with your boss. True to his word, your brother has remained unharmed, but you see his lackeys lurking around every corner. Neither you nor your brother are truly safe and you never will be again unless you can pull this off and then put together some plan to escape your boss’s clutches.

You’ll fail. You know you will. The thought eats you up inside with every waking moment.

You’ve done your best to learn every possible piece of information about Satoru Gojo in the past two weeks. You know you can’t tail him closely– he’d pick up on your cursed energy and notice your incessant presence, so you’ve had to study from a distance with only minimal moments of proximity. You know where he works, who he works with, what restaurants, bars, and clubs he frequents and what days of the week he tends to visit. You know what his order is at his favorite ramen restaurant, where he lives, what time he wakes up. Hell, you know what fucking brand of dish soap he uses. He lives a surprisingly… predictable lifestyle. He makes no attempt to switch up his schedule or cover his tracks. In any other situation he’d be every assassin’s dream, but this is Satoru Gojo and Satoru Gojo doesn’t need to worry about assassins– assassins need to worry about him.

It took you the first week to come up with a plan. You had no clue how you were going to get close to him, much less kill him, and his infinity technique was going to prove particularly problematic. How were you supposed to kill him when you couldn’t even touch him? You had to get him in a situation in which he would willingly let his guard down for you.

You’d been on the subway when it hit you. Sex. You’d get him to have sex with you. If you could get him to take you home, he’d have to turn infinity off for at least a short time. That would be your time to strike.

You’d spent the next two weeks primping yourself. You’d bought the most expensive dress you’d ever owned, got a mani-pedi, whitened your teeth, and spent a small fortune on makeup. Considering your circumstances, you thought your plan was quite a good one. You knew when he’d go out to the bar with his friends, which bar he’d go to, how long he’d stay, how he’d get a taxi home. You also knew when you’d arrive, how long you’d stay, and how you’d get a taxi with him– everything planned perfectly to best catch his attention. But for all your planning, there was still one thing you didn’t know. What kind of woman did Satoru Gojo go for? Someone submissive? Teasing? Aggressive? Playful? In all your time tracking him you’d never seen him take somebody home. It struck you as… odd. He was Satoru Gojo, renowned for his power, wealth, and good looks– surely he had women falling at his feet. Maybe he was just a little more… selective. If that was the case you’d have to be even quicker on your feet when you finally met him. And that time is now.

You’re in your bathroom, checking your makeup one last time before heading out the door. Your brother sleeps soundly in the room down the hall, safe for the time being. You’ve contacted a friend, one who is at least willing to try to get him out if– when– you fail. You doubt it will be enough.

You make your way to his room. A quick peek inside reveals he’s snuggled up with a plushie elephant that he carries around like they’re attached at the hip. You creep inside, a sad smile on your lips. This may very well be the last time you see him. You brush a stray lock of hair from his eyes and press a kiss to the crown of his head. With one last whispered ‘I love you’, you’re out the door. If you linger, you won’t be able to go– and you have to. For him.

The streets of Tokyo are cold tonight, like the weather knows what you’re about to attempt, like it’s preparing for death, for failure. For your failure.

The club you arrive at is upscale, and one where you’ve already tipped off the bouncer to let you bypass the line. You hear a few groans from the people behind you as you saunter straight inside.

You’re conscious of every little move from the second you step inside. At any moment, he could see you and it could make or break your entire plan.

You press your shoulders back. You have a plan– stick to it.

You make your way over to the bar, weaving your way between groups of people who are somewhere between giggling a little too loudly and tripping over their own feet.

You find a free space at the bar and lean up onto your elbows, your eyes screening the bartenders. You smile when you see a familiar face.

“Hey, Dean,” you call.

He turns and the sight of his friendly green eyes sets you a little more at ease.

“Oh, shit. Hey!” He slings a towel over his shoulder and comes to stand across from you. “You’re back,” he says. You nod and smile softly. Ever since you’d determined this would be the place you’d been coming periodically, chatting up the bartenders. The last thing you needed was to stand around in a corner alone with seemingly no friends. That wouldn’t attract anyone, much less Satoru Gojo.

Out of all the bartenders, Dean was your favorite– and you’d been oh so happy to learn that his schedule put him on every Friday night.

“Yeah. Long day at work.”

A smile pulls at his lips, but there’s a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “The usual, then?”

You nod solemnly. “That’d be great. Thanks.”

You watch him prepare the drink for you, feeling a little bad that it’s all a lie. There’s no bad day at work, you didn’t just happen to come in here one day and strike up a conversation with him. All of this is premeditated, planned, and it feels… lonely. It feels lonely to know that on what is probably your last night on earth you are surrounded by people who only think they know you.

“So, anything new happening?” Dean drops your drink in front of you and you have a feeling it’s filled with a little more vodka than he’s supposed to put in there.

Your eyes shift around the bar as subtly as you can manage. As much as you want to seem like you fit in, you also need to find Gojo. It’s a fine balance.

You shrug. “Yeah, I guess I just feel like a lot of things are going to be changing for me pretty soon.”

His brows pull together and the look he gives you is one of genuine interest and concern. It makes your heart wrench. “How so?”

You swallow. “Dunno. Just… everything.”

There’s a moment of silence and then the tapping of a finger on your glass. “Damn, girl. Drink up. You need it.”

You can’t help but smile. You have a feeling that Dean would have been a good friend of yours in another life.

You take his advice, though, and bring your drink to your lips and force a smile. You can’t be moping– not tonight.

The next twenty minutes are spent with Dean. Even when he’s making other drinks he’s still chatting with you, still being a good… friend. You dread leaving your little haven at the bar. The time is coming when you’ll have to seek out your target.

You’re shocked when it’s the other way around.

“Hey, gorgeous.” There’s a light brush on your shoulder and you turn. It takes all you have to keep your features schooled and calm. Satoru fucking Gojo just tapped your shoulder.

Nothing prepared you for how handsome he is up close. All those days of research, of tracking and tailing– none of it does the real thing justice. Even with those stupid sunglasses inside… he’s fucking beautiful. “I’ll pay for all of your drinks tonight if you let me skip this hideous line,” he whines.

You give yourself no more than a second to recover. You school your features into a smirk. You glance at Dean with an ‘is this okay?’ look. He just smiles and shrugs.

You turn back to Gojo, bracing yourself this time for the beauty you’re about to face. You meet his gaze and know you could get lost in it. “Be my guest.”

His smile nearly blinds you and his dimples nearly make you pass out. Still, you keep your cool.

“Yesssss!” He looks like a puppy just offered a bone.

He spills his drink order to Dean and it’s far more than could possibly be just for him. He’s here with his friends, then. Probably the blonde man who always looks too tired to be here and the girl with the brown hair who always seems like she’s just along for the ride.

You bite your lip to hide a laugh when he orders himself two strawberry daiquiris. Somehow you still catch his attention.

“What?” he pouts. You can’t help but feel a small stirring of surprise in your gut. He’s far more… relaxed than you’d expected him to be. He’s almost… childish?

You press your lips together and shake your head. You’ve reached the point where your research can’t take you any further. From this point on, it’s up to you to discover what Satoru Gojo likes in a woman.

You debate how to answer. Play coy? Tease him? Stay silent? Any option could be as correct as the next. You didn’t know where to start… so maybe you’d just start by being yourself.

“Just, um… not the order I was expecting,” you laugh. It’s halfway genuine. With the way he’s acting, it’s hard to remember that he’s the most powerful man alive.

His pout only intensifies. “Well, what’s your order?”

His question is answered when Dean sets another cosmopolitan in front of you. You laugh. “Never said I was judging, just that it wasn’t what I expected.”

Another smile tugs at his lips and something stirs in your gut that you try your very hardest to ignore. This was a job. There was no room for actually enjoying it. This man was probably going to kill you later, in a matter of hours.

There’s a beat of silence, and then a slight shift in his demeanor. He leans closer and you see a twitch of his lips. Your heart jumps.

“You’re a sorcerer,” he says.

You hold back an exhale of relief. You thought he might be onto you. If he is, he’s choosing not to reveal it yet.

You nod and take what you hope is a casual sip of your drink. “And you’re Satoru Gojo.”

A brow arches high enough for you to see it over his sunglasses. “You know who I am?”

You force a chuckle, smirking despite the pounding of your heart. “Who doesn’t?”

You’d decided long ago to tell him that you knew exactly who he was. It would seem more suspicious for a fellow sorcerer to have no idea what the Satoru Gojo looked like.

He flashes you a smile full of white and stupidly fucking perfect teeth. “That’s true, heh.” You press your lips together to avoid a smile. Not too humble, then…

“So, what’s your technique”

You shoot him a glance that questions his sanity. Asking a sorcerer what their technique is… is personal. It’s not information you give out to a rando at the bar– even if it is Satoru Gojo.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You take another sip of your drink, trying your hardest to remain somewhere on the border or interested and casual.

“Bet I could find out.”

That makes you turn fully, angling your body toward his. “Oh yeah? You challenging me to a fight?” You smirk and shake your head. “I’ll pass.”

He pouts again, but you see a hint of a smile peeking through. “Aw, come on. That’s no fun…”

You chuckle and take another sip of your drink. You’re not sure you’re sipping just for appearances anymore. You think you probably just need a little liquid courage to see this thing through. “Sorry. I value my life.”

You watch as he slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, just enough for you to get a glimpse of what’s behind. You nearly choke again and this time you don’t manage to hide your nervous swallow when he smirks.

“You’re so sure you’d lose?” His voice is teasing now and you hate that it’s actually having an effect on you. Job, job, job, just a job…

You clear your throat. “I like to think I’m not stupid enough to think that I could win.”

His eyes are blue– so fucking blue– and you feel like he’s seeing straight into your soul. Can he see? Can he see your filthy intentions? Your plotting? The rottenness of what you’re going to do? “What if I promise to take it real easy on you?”

Your drink is forgotten now. You’re lost in what he’s saying– in him. “No thanks.” Your voice is growing lower and you feel like there’s some magnet forcing you to lean into him, to seek his warmth.

“So you like it rough, then.” The trance is broken and your blood runs hot. Holy shit. This man is flirting with you and you hardly even had to try. He's trying to take you home. Little does he know, you’re a sure thing.

You watch as he throws back the rest of his strawberry daiquiri with a pleased “ahhh” at the end. When he turns back to you his eyes have a certain spark in them that makes your thighs press together. “You wanna dance with me?”

Fuck. This is going too well to be real. But you’re not about to pass up a good deal.

“What about your friends?” you ask and eye the several untouched drinks still left on the bar. It’s risky– giving him an out, but you can’t seem too eager.

He follows your gaze only to bounce his eyes straight back to you. “I’m sure they’ll get a look at ya and understand.”

The smirk he’s giving you is making electricity shoot straight between your legs. Damn. You really wish you didn’t have to kill him– or at least try to.

When he extends his hand you only hesitate for a second. Your heart leaps when you feel his skin on yours, knowing he’s let infinity down. He pulls you onto the dancefloor and it’s not long before he’s running his hands all over you– groping your ass, pinching your thighs, nipping at your neck. Pretty soon the dancefloor evolves to a dark corner of the club with his lips on yours and goddamn he’s a good kisser. You’ve got your fingers in his hair and his hand way too close to your boobs when he whispers those fateful words– “let’s get out of here.”

You can only hide your swallow and nod before he’s pulling you through the crowd, leaving the club behind. He hauls you both into the backseat of a taxi and the door’s barely closed before he’s all over you again. You think you hear the taxi driver mutter something about ‘staining the seats’ but you’re too far gone to give a shit.

Fuck, he feels good. He’s kisses you like he’s starved and your lips are the fountain of fucking life, like he’s never felt something so good and now he can’t get enough. And, god, he’s handsy. You’re forever grateful to your past self for discreetly hiding your blade in your bra– he would have felt a holster on your thigh at least ten times over by now.

He groans when you arrive at what you know is his apartment building, though you don’t let on that you recognize the place in the slightest. The look on his face makes you think he’s feeling actual physical pain at the prospect of having to peel away from you for even a second. Nonetheless, he tosses a wad of cash at the taxi driver and pulls you straight inside.

He can’t even wait for the elevator to come, groping your waist right there in the lobby and then when the elevator finally does come, shoving you up against the metal wall a licking stripe across your collarbone.

You can’t deny how nice it feels to be so desperately… wanted. Never once has a man made you feel this way– so consumed by him, him, him. Once again you curse the universe that you’re here with a mission other than getting laid.

You find yourself giggling when he pulls you out of the elevator and presses his palm to a fucking scanner to get into his apartment. You try to pull yourself together, but when he laughs with you, you can’t help but melt into him a little more.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, he’s got you up against another wall with your legs wrapped around his waist and his face buried in your neck. His sunglasses are long gone and you pull at his shirt, popping the buttons straight off the fabric until you slide the shirt down his shoulders and onto the floor.

“That was Versace,” he whines.

You plaster your lips to his. “I don’t care.” All he does is chuckle.

“So gorgeous…” he breathes and your head slumps back against the wall, giving him better access to the soft skin of your neck. Any minute now. Any minute he’s going to start stripping your clothes off and you’re going to have to let this charade crumble. You don’t want to. He’s practically worshiping you. It’s perfect, it’s amazing, and you don’t want it to end.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass and suddenly you’re moving again– moving, moving, moving until your back is bouncing against the softness of a mattress and you’re fucking giggling again like a lovesick idiot. Maybe you’d had a few too many sips of those cosmopolitans.

He’s smiling as he crawls over you and the sight makes your heart flutter with both lust and terror. Lust because he’s so fucking beautiful and terror because you know that any moment now you’re going to attempt to end that beauty forever.

A lump forms in your throat and you try unsuccessfully to swallow it. You have to do this, have to try. There’s no other way, no other option. Not for you.

Your thoughts must not have been as perfectly concealed as you’d thought because he quirks a brow. “Something goin’ on up here?” His lips slide across your temple in a touch that feels far too tender for a hookup. “Don’t worry, baby. It’ll fit.” He snickers at his own joke before burying himself in your neck. His hand slides down your side, pressing you up into him until you can feel every curve and cut of his muscles.

You bite your lip. You’ve already slipped enough for him to notice your nerves– you can’t let it happen again. You have to do it soon. Now. As soon as you see an opportunity you have to strike. You have to.

You arch up into him, scratching your fingers down his back, trying to seem as invested in the moment as you can. He gets greedier, leaving open-mouthed kiss down your neck, across your collarbone. You nearly freeze up when he kisses low into the valley of your breasts– as low as your dress allows. Then he moves over your clothes, kissing down your stomach as his hands rub your thighs.

Now. Now, while he’s not looking.

You slide a hand into his hair and another up to your chest, trying to play it off like you’re touching yourself. You sneak your fingers into your bra, feeling the cool metal of your blade glide across your thumb. Now.

You fist your fingers in his hair, holding his head down as best you can while you arc the blade toward his neck. Just one good hit, please…

You think you’re going to strike true– you’re so close– and then a firm hand wraps around your wrist, stalling your attack just as it was about to land.

Fuck.

He doesn’t look up right away, but you hear him sigh, feel his hot breath fanning over your thighs and stomach. When he finally does look up it’s with the eyes of a teacher who’s disappointed his student didn’t do their homework.

“Come on now, baby. I was really hoping you’d forget about all this and we could just have a good night together…” He’s pouting, whining, like a child who’s been told he can’t have dessert before dinner. Your shock stills you long enough that he easily maneuvers the blade from your hand, throwing it with a thwack into the wall to his right. It lands perfectly.

This is it. You’re going to die now. But not without a fight.

You spring up from the bed, kicking him a couple times in the process. You’ve missed your only chance. Now, if there’s even the slightest chance of escape, you have to take it.

You bare feet hit the carpet. No time to find your shoes. You dart for the door and hear him groan behind you. For a second you think you might actually make it, but you should know better.

He appears in front of you, straight out of fucking thin air, and his pout has transformed into something a little more sinister. “Come on, gorgeous. Let’s talk it out, yeah?”

You take a shaky step back, but you know it’s no use. He’s got you. It’s over.

You swallow and lift your chin– you at least want to die with a little dignity. “Just make it quick. Please.”

He sighs again and slides his hands in his fucking pockets, like this is just a stroll down the street. He stalks toward you, forcing you back until you’re pressed up against another wall. This motherfucker really likes walls.

His pout shifts to a smirk that borders far too closely on a grin. “Oh, no. I’ve always had a thing for taking it slow.”

You nearly snort. He certainly hadn’t had a thing for taking it slow just a minute ago. His arms cage you and your world grows infinitely smaller until it’s just him and those blue-ass eyes staring you down. Some distant part of you thinks you might not mind if it’s the last thing you ever see.

“Damn, I really thought you might give it up and just let me fuck you,” his pout returns. “So disappointing…” he sighs.

Your lips part. “You knew?”

That lights his face up like a Christmas tree. “Sensed you tailing me these past few weeks. Started on theeeee– 21st, no?”

Fuck. You’d been so careful. You’d only tailed him in public spaces, where your energy would be more diluted by the crowds. You’d stayed far enough away that he should only have caught mere glimpses of you, even suppressed your energy. He should not have been able to sense you. But he was Satoru Gojo– things people were not supposed to be able to do came easily to him.

But you have one thing on him.

“The 18th,” you whisper. “Started on the 18th.”

There’s a beat of silence and then his smile is growing wider, wider, wider, until it’s practically blinding you. “Well, shit,” he laughs. “You’re pretty good.”

You let a tiny smile slip through your terror. “I try.”

His eyes travel up and down your body, his pout slipping away to a frown. “What to do with you… hmm…” You lift your chin, taking shallow little breaths through your nose. You’re looking death in the face, but you’d never thought it would be so beautiful. He sighs. “I guess I could let you go.”

You freeze. He notices.

He quirks a brow, another smirk sliding across his lips. “What? Didn’t think that was an option?” You stay silent. No way he’ll let you go. It’s a bluff. A cruel trick. “It’s not like you could try again, gorgeous. I know your energy now and what you look like. Sorry, but your chance is gone.” That was fine by you. Your breaths come a little heavier, hope pulsing in your veins. “But–” shit. “Letting you go is so… boring. Especially after where we left off, yeah?”

Your jaw drops. “You cannot seriously be suggesting that we–”

He cuts you off with a kiss, one that makes your toes curl in the carpet and your stomach clench in anticipation.

“Oh, yes I am,” he chuckles. You feel his hand sliding down your hip, cool and calculating. “I know you weren’t faking the whole thing, gorgeous. Nobody makes out like that when they’re faking it.” You feel your cheeks heat. “And nobody gets this wet-” his fingers snake beneath your skirt, pressing to the wet patch on your panties. “When they’re faking it.” You gasp and reach out, hands clasping onto his shoulders for support. He only chuckles. “No worries, gorgeous. No need for any more faking tonight. I’ll make sure it’s all real.”

Somehow you’ve got your legs wrapped around his waist again and you’re headed to the bedroom– again. It’s like a replay– a redo.

“Let’s keep it less killy this time, yeah?”

Your back hits the mattress, your body bouncing lightly on its softness before he’s crawling after you. It’s simultaneously the best and worst deja vu you’ve ever experienced.

His hands slide down your body again, fingertips hooking beneath the hem of your skirt and shimmying it up your thighs until your panties are on full display.

“Shit,” you breathe. He’s moving so fast, like he’s desperate to go further, to get his greedy hands all over your bare skin.

You can’t say you blame him. You feel the same.

His thumbs hook under the fabric of your panties and you know it’s over for you. You can feel his warm breath skating across your thighs, feel the calluses on his hands scraping against your skin. You reach a hand down, tangling it in his hair, and you nearly faint when he smirks and looks up at you with those blue fucking eyes.

“I think I’ve seen this film before, sweetheart.” He tilts his head, resting his cheek on the plush of your thigh. “No more knives hiding anywhere, yeah?”

You clench your jaw, trying to control your pounding heart. You can’t believe you’re doing this. Why are you doing this? You wish you had a better answer than he’s beautiful and sexy and just a glance at him makes you want to rip his clothes off and climb him like a tree.

“Silent, hm? Guess I’ll just have to check myself…”

He’s pressing up the hem up your skirt, more, more, more, until he’s pulling your dress straight up over your arms and running his hands down your bare sides.

“None there…” His fingers cup your breast and you gasp, unable to contain your shock and the jolt that just rushed through you. He traces the outline of your bra. “You had the last one in here, no?” Your chest heaves under his touch, pressing the flesh of your breast up into his fingers. He smirks. “Best check again.” You feel an arm slide beneath you back and then your bra loosens before it’s completely gone.

There’s a beat of silence, of admiration. He gazes down on you and you see his snark falter for just a moment, replaced by a sparkle in his eyes. It makes your skin heat. His fingers brush the swell of your breasts, thumb trailing down over a nipple. You arch and gasp again.

“Fuck. Quit teasing so much.”

He chuckles and the sound washes over you until it settles in your bones. “Sush. I’m not done checking for weapons yet.”

You scowl but before you can even move to open your mouth he’s sliding your panties down your legs, hooking them around your ankles and tossing them somewhere on the floor.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you watch him settle himself down between your thighs, eyes never once leaving your center. “Don’t see any knives here, either, but maybe I should double-check…” he breathes.

He hooks your legs over his shoulders and you shudder, your breaths shaky. Fuck. You were supposed to kill him tonight but if he keeps going like this you’ll be the one deceased.

He meets your eyes when he takes the first long lick along your folds. You swear he’s smirking.

Your head rolls back and a pathetic sounding groan slips past your lips. You hadn’t realized how much he’d worked you up. Just the slightest touch feels like heaven.

His tongue nudges at your clits and your legs clench, tightening around his head. He laughs into your cunt and his warm breath skates up and over your tummy. Your fingernails scrape his scalp.

“I think you like this, gorgeous.”

Each word sends little puffs of air against your folds. It’s driving you crazy. You stare down at him, letting a smirk pull at your lips. Your eyes dart over his mouth, wet with your slick, and you don’t fail to notice the way he’s struggling to hold your gaze, eyes flickering back down to your cunt every second. Your smirk grows. “I think you’re liking this, too.”

He licks another stripe, from you pulsing hole to your throbbing clit, and this time he’s the one groaning. “Damn right I am.”

He eats you out like he kisses you– like a starved man, like he’ll die if he stops for just one second, like he can’t live without your juices on his tongue.

You whine and bury both hands in his hair, tugging desperately when his lips wrap around you clit and suck. It’s so much, too much, and yet it’s just right.

Your hips buck and squirm, but he’s got his fingers pressed deep into your flesh, holding you down to take whatever he gives. You think you see heaven when he slides two fingers into your walls, curling them into that gummy spot that has an unbearable heat building deep inside you.

“S-Satoru-” you stutter and you hear him moan and mutter into your cunt like he’s unwilling to leave it for even a second.

“Fuck, yes. Say my name, sweetheart.” Who are you to deny him? You whisper, whine, and whimper his name with every thrust of his fingers, every lick of his tongue. It’s delicious. Every so often he swaps his mouth and hand, thrusting his tongue as deep inside you as he can while his fingers rub dangerous little circles on your clit. Whenever things get a little too filthy he laps his tongue across your entire cunt and along your inner thighs, cleaning up every stray drop. You don’t know how much longer you can last under such a complete and total assault.

“S-Satoru, ‘m gonna-” He licks a thick stripe through your folds that makes your sentence end in a whine, his lips settling to suckle on your clit again.

God, it’s messy. It’s fucking disgusting. His whole chin is covered in spit and slick– and you love it. “Cum for me, baby,” he breathes.

You don’t need to hear much more. You let the heat inside you release with a whine, thighs trembling on his shoulders. Your walls pulse and throb around his fingers, sucking him in and never wanting him to leave. His tongue continues to rub lazy circles around your clit, working you through your high and making it last so long you think you might pass out.

Warmth spreads from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and your muscles tense and clench with each pulsing throb. You swear to god you see fucking stars.

It seems to go on forever, leaving you limp and shaking when the last waves finally slip away.

He presses a final kiss to your clit, one that makes your hips jolt from the overstimulation before he’s lifting himself up. “Wow. That looked like a big one,” he chuckles. He runs a soothing hand along your thigh and you don’t even have the energy to give him some sort of snarky reply. There’s hardly even a pause before something shifts in his eyes. “Let’s see if we can get one that’s even bigger, yeah?”

Before you can even process what he’s said you feel strong hands slide under your thighs, pressing them tightly to your chest as he settles himself close to you

You grasp at the sheets, hearing the clinking of a belt buckle and then the familiar pitch of a zipper being undone.

“Fuck,” you mutter. He’s big. Long and pretty and with a perfectly flushed tip. Your eyes are rolling back just thinking about having him inside you.

A strong hand smooths along your thighs, folding you in a way that feels more vulnerable and exposing than anything you’ve ever done before. He pauses for a beat, just staring down at you silently.

“Gorgeous,” he finally mutters, and something in your heart squeezes. His hand grips your hip firmly, holding you in place and you gasp when you feel him prodding at your entrance. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Big bad assassin turned simpering little bitch over some good Gojo dick.

“Just relaxxxxx, baby.” His hand rubs soothing little circles into your side and it’s so divinely distracting that it catches you by surprise when he starts pushing into you. You gasp and he only chuckles. Asshole.

He’s big– really big – and the stretch is somehow both painful and perfect. You groan into the air, struggling to take him. Every inch feels like it must be the last, but then there’s more. Your walls clench around him on instinct, trying to force him out.

“Fuck, baby. What did I say about relaxing?” You hiss when his hand skates down your tummy to rub messy circles on your clit. The relief is instant and you moan when you feel him slide in a little further. “There we go. Good girl.”

He continues feeding his dick into you, inch by inch, until his hips finally press to yours and you think you can feel him in your fucking throat. You hear him exhale, like it’s a relief to finally be fully inside you, like he’s been waiting for ages.

You expect him to not hold back, to let himself go and pound into you relentlessly, but he doesn’t. He only leans down closer to you, settling in when he starts a pace of slow, sensual thrusts. His brows pinch, his eyes hardened in concentration.

“Ah, fuck. You’re so tight.”

You want to shoot something back at him, but you’re hardly remembering to breathe with how deep he’s sliding into you. Instead, you just end up holding him tighter, your eyes fluttering shut.

Lips dust across your cheeks, just below your lashes. “Keep your eyes open, gorgeous. Wanna see you.”

You blink, thinking that it’s a notion that feels a little too intimate for a hookup. Regardless, you do as he wants, opening your eyes and holding his gaze.

A smile splits his lips and he presses his forehead to yours, picking up the pace of his thrusts. It’s not long before the sound of skin on skin fills the room and you’re both panting. His breath skates across your skin, hot and heavy, hitching with the groans and whines that spill from his chest. You can’t help but pull him closer, raking your nails down his back hard enough to leave marks. The action makes him emit a noise you can only describe as a desperate whimper. “Fuck, baby. Yes.”

His lips press to yours in a kiss that’s all desperation and teeth and tongue. You kiss him back with equal intensity, your body rocking with each heavy thrust. He’s pounding into you now, frantic for more, more, more of you. You want him to take it, take all of you.

A familiar heat pinches in your stomach and you know it won’t be long before he’s pushing you to another release. His dick drags in and out of you, prodding at the gummy spot inside you with every thrust and brushing so deliciously against your cervix that you can’t stop the moans spilling from your lips. It has you seeing stars again, has you clawing at him and panting into his mouth.

“Satoru… harder,” you breathe. You need more– more of everything, of him.

He groans. “You got it, gorgeous.”

His hips slam into you and it’s so perfect that you can’t help but whimper beneath him. It only gets worse when you feel his fingers on your clit again, hand pressed between your bodies. “Cum on my dick, baby.” Your eyes roll back, that coil inside you rolling tighter. You feel his muscles tensing and shaking above you and you know he’s close, too. “Where do you want it?” he asks, and from the pinched look on his face you can tell exactly where he wants it. You know you’re an idiot for feeling the same.

“Inside,” you breathe. He groans so loudly it rattles in your ears.

“That’s my girl,” he says, but it’s nearly a whisper with how strained it is. His hand continues at your clit, rubbing perfect little circles that make your legs tremble where they’re pressed against your chest. Your jaw hangs open, but you don’t dare close your eyes. Satoru is still holding your gaze intently, desperately, like he needs to see you. The thought throws you over the edge.

You cry his name, clawing at his shoulder and shaking like a leaf as you feel yourself gush and pulse all over his dick. For the second time that evening you feel the heat inside you swell and burst, washing through you in waves that nearly consume you whole. It’s a struggle to hold his eyes, to not let them roll back into your skull and give into the pure ecstasy of your high– especially when he’s cumming, too. You can hear him moaning in your ear, feel him twitching inside you, feel his hot cum coating your walls and there’s just so fucking much of it. You swear he cums for a minute straight before he slumps down onto you, burying his face in your neck as you pant.

You’re shaking and so is he, breaths heaving in and out. Reality slowly starts to seep back in, even with his dick still softening inside you and his cum leaking down your thighs.

You tried to kill him. You failed. You had sex. Now what? Would he really let you go like he’d said he would? You wanted to believe it, but life hadn’t taught you to be that trusting. You should move, untangle yourself from him and escape before he has time to change his mind.

“You assassins are always thinking so hard,” He mumbles into the curve of your neck. “Maybe you should try to relax for once.”

You swallow when you feel him pressing his lips to your throat, trailing up to your jaw. It’s… tender, gentle, and it feels so nice. You can’t help the way you melt into the touch a bit. You feel him smile into your skin. “There we go.”

His hand settles on your waist, rubbing soothing little circles that send a jolt of urgency up your spine. No. You’re enjoying this– being close to him, laying here with him, breathing him in. That’s not what this is supposed to be.

You tense again, shifting to get away from him, but he only sighs and presses his weight onto you.

“Come on, gorgeous. No need to leave so soon. Just stay for a bit, yeah?” He nibbles at your jaw, but it doesn’t work this time. You have to go. You’ve failed your mission. You don’t know what that means for your brother. You’d never thought this would have an ending besides your death.

“I have to go,” you mutter, pushing at his chest.

He chuckles, but you don’t miss the strain and… hurt? “Got something more important than trying to kill me?”

You clench your teeth, trying once again to shove him away. “Yes, actually.”

He finally pulls back to meet your gaze, brows slightly pinched. “Like what?”

You push in earnest now, anger and panic rising in your gut. You have to go, have to check on your brother, have to figure out what you’re going to do. “That’s really none of your business,” you seethe.

You go for another shove, but strong hands clasp around your wrists, pinning them to the bed. His expression has gone flat now, serious. “Actually, I think it’s completely my business. You going to report your failure? Should I expect another assassin soon?”

You scowl, tugging at his grasp and trying to free yourself. “Yeah, probably. He’s an insufferable idiot. I told him it wouldn’t work and it didn’t, but I don’t doubt he’ll send another.”

His face cracks, his brows pulling together again. “If you knew it wouldn’t work then why’d you take the job?”

You struggle again, less angry and more desperate now. “Because he’s got my fucking brother at gunpoint and I’ve got to figure out how the fuck I’m going to save him!” you shout.

There’s silence for a long moment– a long, uncomfortable beat of it– and then his expression softens into something… tender. It sends a chill up your spine. Satoru Gojo was never supposed to be tender with you, and that’s all he’s been.

“I’ll save him,” he says. Your heart jumps and his grip on your wrists loosens, allowing you to slip free.

“What?” you breathe. He sits back, allowing you to prop yourself up into a slightly less vulnerable position.

He exhales slowly, but you don’t miss the way his hand settles on your bare thigh, a comforting weight. “I’ll save your brother and then I’ll take care of your boss.” A smirk creeps across his lips. “What? Don’t think I can do it?”

You stare blankly, lips parted. There’s no doubt he can do it, but that’s not the question swirling in your mind.

“Why would you help me?” You’d tried to kill the man. You couldn’t make heads or tails of a reason why he’d go out of his way to help you.

He chuckles. “Well, in case you didn’t know, I’m a hero of sorts.” You have to fight not to roll your eyes. “And… there’s something I want from you.”

There it is– the catch. He wants something. You have no idea what you could possibly have to give him, but you’re willing for it to be just about anything. You narrow your eyes. “What?”

He grins, but you can see the glint of mischief in his gaze. His hand slides further up your thigh, up your side, over your shoulder, until it rests at the nape of your neck and his face is only inches from your own. “What’s your number, gorgeous?”

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risustravelogue · 3 months ago

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While You Sleep

◐ summary ◑

Wriothesley likes watching you sleep. Maybe he likes it too much.

◐ featuring ◑

Husband!Wriothesley, fem!reader

◐ tags & warnings ◑

minors dni, somnophilia (lol bet y'all saw that coming from miles away)

◐ a/n ◑

I just woke up from a nap when this idea popped into my mind. Might not be my best work, but eh. I needed to get this out there. Damn. My brain is Horny™️.

🔗 AO3 | masterlist 🔗

Wriothesley likes watching you sleep.

It started as an innocent thing. He’d kiss your face while you’re napping, and hold you tighter in bed after an all-nighter with his piles of paperwork.

But it grew darker after you got married.

His eyes would roam around your naked body, skin sweaty and marked by his fingers and mouth—fixating on your lips, then on your still-wet pussy. His mind would wander, fingers wrapped around his shaft, cock already hard from the fantasies he would have.

You should be thrown into a cell for having such a delicious-looking body, he thought.

And so he would play with himself night after night, accompanied only by the sound of your breathing beside him. This is enough, he thought to himself, no need to wake her up to satisfy my desires.

Until tonight.

You wake up from a wet dream to find your husband panting while holding you tight, his cock balls deep inside you. You moan when he bites your shoulder, startling him.

He stops and pulls back.

“Y-you’re awake,” he stutters. His icy blue eyes droop, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You should’ve done just that,” you croak.

“Sorry.”

You flash him a sleepy smile.

“It’s okay, I guess,” you decide. “I’m fine with this.”

His eyes perk up.

“You’re not mad?”

“Not really,” you shake your head. “I’ve known for a while. Actually liked listening to you moan to yourself at night,” you confess with a smirk.

He blushes. You chuckle and pull him down into a long, sweet kiss.

“Time for round two, don’t you think?”

the gorgeous mdni banner template by @/cafekitsune 💙

#minors dni #wriothesley #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #kurisu writes #lmao here ya go

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avis-writeshq · 11 months ago

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pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader genre: established relationship, SMUT warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT + BLOCK ‘#nightingale ..’ !! face fucking, drool/saliva, mean-ish dom!aaron, sub!reader, degradation, praise, ‘good girl’, dacryphilia anon: okay okay hear me out. aaron hotchner being stressed out from a case and you giving him the sloppiest head ever. completely unable to think or speak he just groans and fucks ur face :3 i need him so bad bye -🗽 a/n: now i don’t usually write smut but i couldn’t resist i’m afraid :( mdni banner + template by @/cafekitsune wc: 560

Aaron isn’t usually like this. He has always been respectful towards you, especially in bed, and he abhors the sheer idea of hurting you in any way. But today is different. He can’t help himself; Strauss has been on his back about paperwork and politics, the case that they were on ended with a suicide by cop and their usually smooth flight was interrupted by an unexpected bout of turbulence. His head spins as he enters his apartment, rubbing tiredly at his eyes as an aura of frustration follows him in waves.

He insists that it isn’t his fault. It’s not his fault that you sauntered up to him whilst wearing only his shirt– only his shirt– and asked him so sweetly if you could do anything to help him. It’s not his fault that you’re in this position with your head between his thighs as he grips your hair to guide you up and down his shaft.

You’re gagging and whimpering as saliva pools around your lips and the base of his cock, drooling all over his thighs and getting the waistband of his pants wet. The grip he has on your hair tightens as he pushes you down further.

“Look at you, drooling all over me,” he sneers, watching with satisfaction as your nose brushes against his pubic hair. “Are you that fucking needy?”

Even if you tried to respond there is no way for him to get a proper answer; not with the way he drags you up and down his thick shaft. Your tongue flattens against the underside of his dick while your fingers dig into the flesh of his thighs. He thinks you’re so pretty like this as you press sloppy kisses to his tip before taking it into your mouth again.

A heavy groan leaves his lips as your tongue swirls around the head of his cock and he forces you down once more, his hot seed spilling down your throat and out of the sides of your lips. He’s merciless as he fucks it further into your throat while you gag and tears run down your cheeks and off your chin.

“So good for me,” he praises as he thrusts against the back of your mouth through his orgasm. “Just like that, there you go, sweetheart, you’re my good girl.”

You manage to pull away after a while, leaning your head against his thigh while he runs his fingers through your hair. He hums softly, his eyes fixed on the way yours are glazed over while beads of white are splattered around the corners of your pretty lips. His dick is still half-hard and he brings one of your hands to wrap around it, fisting up and down slowly until it’s stiff all over again.

He’s holding you by the hair again, bringing your face down and having his tip prod against your cum-stained lips.

“You can keep going, can’t you, baby?” Aaron asks, letting his grip on your hair go to stroke your cheek with his thumb, just below your ear.

You manage a nod, nuzzling into his palm as the rest of his fingers hold you by the chin.

“Good girl,” he coos as you open your mouth to suckle on his tip one more. His head leans back against the couch as he groans at the sensation. “Just one more.”

reblogs are always appreciated !!

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x reader smut #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch x reader smut #nightingale ..#thomas gibson x reader #thomas gibson x reader smut #thomas gibson smut #thomas gibson #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader smut

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creepling · 1 year ago

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NSFW ALPHABET - DIGGER HARKNESS/CAPTAIN BOOMERANG

requested by @sweetnsaltyclussy. template cred @the-coldest-goodbye. mdni banner cred @cafekitsune.

tags. smut - MINORS DNI. digger harkness x gn!reader. switchy digger at times but mostly dom. deals with a lot of things but inolves themes of scentplay, exhibitionism, and rough sex.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Either gets sleepy or can go another round, there is no in-between. On the times he doesn’t pass out (and makes you cum multiple times), he takes a piss, runs you a bath and carries you around the house. When he passes out, he invites you to sleep in his arms. His head anchors your chest, snuggled into you like you’re a pillow, and you're trapped in that position until the morning.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Tits or ass man? Why not both? This man fucks like his life depends on it. He worships your body and has perfect access to every inch of you when you’re sitting on his lap. His hands grabbing your ass, his mouth kissing, biting, licking your chest and neck. The most taboo body part he likes is the armpits. Inhaling your scent and kissing down your sides, tasting your sweat, the nasty fucker can’t get enough of it.

The most obvious answer for his favourite body part of himself may be obvious, but I don’t think it’s his dick. I say this because he didn’t act smug when Deadshot commented on it. He wasn’t aware it was above average until later in life when he began having sexual partners. He thinks people are overreacting. His favourite part of himself is his chest and arms, mostly due to his tattoos. He’s proud of them and the story they tell. The way to win his heart is by stroking his arms and palming his chest.

But may I suggest your favourite body part on Digger? His nose – riding on it. That’s all I’ll say.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He can shoot a load. It’s thick and white and comes in large quantities. He likes tasting his cum too, especially when kissing you or eating you out after finishing in/on you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Pantie sniffer!!! It’s an addiction at this point, and his ‘dirty secret’ was outed very early in your relationship. He is not so discreet about it, sometimes asking you directly for your underwear after sex or when you undress for a shower. Bonus points if he can make you cum in them and keep them afterwards.

Another one is that he fantasises about being a swinger. Fucking multiple people at the one time, not knowing who he’s fucking or who is pleasuring him. He was close to doing it during his bachelor days but chickened out at the last minute. He is too afraid to bring it up to you in case you think it’s him saying he’s not interested in you anymore.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Digger has had his fair share of sexual encounters, most of the body count accumulating in his twenties. During his time in Arkham, his sex life fizzled out, but his drive was unrelenting. Being with you is his way of unleashing the desires pent up in him, and he can get a little carried away. He fucks you fast with long, hard strokes, hands taking fistfuls of your hair or imprinting your skin. His endurance is unwithering. Do you think he’s out of breath or needs to slow down? You thought wrong. You have to remind him not to get carried away at the moment, and just one look at you brings him back to humanity. Sorry, love, ‘couldn’t help myself.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Digger is into anything that involves you sprawled out on a surface. That being a kitchen counter, desk, etc. He also likes fucking you against a wall with one of your legs hooked around his arm. Mostly positions that have you facing towards him and beneath him, so your body can take him fully and cling onto him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

He is not deliberately humorous, but sometimes his Aussie slang gives you the ick, especially when he refers to his balls as ‘goolies’ or calls his dick a ‘donger’ or ‘old fella’. He tries to avoid them while having sex, but he slips up now and then.

If you think goolies is bad, we also call ‘em jazz crackers.

Please, just shut up.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is in the in-between when it comes to hairiness. Like this chest hair, the rest of his body hair is light and sparse, giving the illusion he has none at all. His pubic and ass hair is where it’s the most coarse, fading up into a snail trail and light flicks on his ass cheeks. He doesn’t pay much attention to grooming. Since his hair is light, he prefers keeping what is there.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

He’s no Mr Romantic, but with the right person, he can go slow and steady, take a break from the ‘fucking’ for ‘lovemaking’, and remind himself he is capable of love if he allows himself to. That is only if he can muster it. Growing up in an unloving family, he struggles with displaying affection. When you are intimate with him, it’s as if he forgets how to move or talk. The feeling of his heart growing heavy is alien, and he recoils at first until he feels the warmth of your body, the light kisses on his face. No longer is he driven by a primal sex drive, this time the feeling is everlasting. He slowly eased himself into your nurture, soothed by your words. All you do is repeat, I love you, I love you, but it’s enough to move him to tears. So simple, it’s the bare minimum, but it means the world to him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

It is second nature to Digger, and it was his only form of pleasure in the Arkham years. One day his hand was not doing it for him, growing so used to it that it became useless. He looked around his cell, thinking about humping the pillow, until he spotted Pinky perched next to him. He lifts his beloved plushie and takes a while to debate his idea. Then eventually said, Fuck it. He only did it one time, and he couldn’t sleep with his beloved unicorn for a week after out of guilt.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He probably has plenty of kinks, but here are the main contenders. Digger gets off at the thought of getting caught. Touching you in public areas where someone can spot you at any time is his dream scenario. If you do get caught, he performs to the peeping tom, teasing you with his words. Looks like someone else thinks you’re hot stuff.

Digger is a bordering alcoholic and has been known to take drugs. Intoxicated sex isn’t somewhat of a voluntary kink but it comes with being with him. He knows what certain things to take to make sex feel good, and what to avoid that kills his libido.

Dare I say he is probably into roleplaying as well? He loves seeing you in costume, something skimpy and showing your best physical qualities. He doesn’t always commit to the scenario but will always relish how good you look in certain types of clothing. He particularly likes maid dresses, watching you bend over and clean as a form of foreplay.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

He loves car sex. The clumsiness, the restricted space, and having the car parked on a busy street. The steamy windows hide you from the public, but Digger will tease about wiping the condensation for everyone to see you (and do it if you consent). He also likes alleyways. If you go out for a drink and he’s dying to get in your pants, he will pull you into the dark, dingy lane because he can’t help himself. Bonus points if it’s raining, seeing you wet and bothered while he licks the raindrops dripping from your jawline. Getting you on your knees to suck his dick, your body concealed by a trashcan so you’re not seen by passers-by. The dirtier, the better.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Digger knows he is really into someone he likes their smell. He appreciates perfumes and colognes, but it is natural scents that turn him on. An artificial scent mixed with your musk, sweetening it for his pleasure. It urges him to taste you, bury his face into the crook of your neck and suffocate his senses.

He will also be turned on at the mere fact that someone is into him. If he can sense you getting flustered around him he will hound you like a dog. Face it, you want to see what old Digger’s all about. If you are submissive, he will be persistent, doing anything to push you over the edge and admit your feelings for him. He will take enjoyment out of how shy you get, showering you with compliments and become aroused as you unwind beneath him. He is also partial to being a power bottom, toying with your sexual confidence, and doing anything to get your attention. No matter his stance, if he’s turned on, he will always have that shit-eating grin on his face.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Digger outright refuses to hurt you, even if he has his loopholes. He likes spanking, biting, and roughhousing, but he will not slap, punch or tie you up. This is deep-rooted into his childhood, and some of the abuse has embedded into his kinks, but there are still actions that cause flashes of bad memories. He also doesn’t like to see you cry. If you don’t give him the safe word, he will continue but go slow and soothe you, kissing the tears and stroking your face. It’s alright, love, I’ve got ya. Cheer up for me, lemmie see that pretty smile.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He finds enjoyment on both sides. Giving is when he can have you at his mercy, liking the way you flush and squirm in his mouth and hands. He gets a kick out of making you orgasm and holds it against you, being all smug about it. Receiving is when all the attention is on him and he gives you all the praise, letting you know how well you take his cock, and how good you make him feel. He loves training your mouth for his massive size, encouraging you to take as much as you can, holding your face in place as he drools at the cock-hungry look in your fluttering eyes. That alone is enough to have him finish in your mouth, letting his hot cum stream down your throat and swallow every last drop.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast and rough, for sure. His roughness bleeds through depending on the day. If he’s had a rough time, or a robbery goes wrong, or he hasn’t seen you in months, he fucks you like it’s his last day on earth.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He pretends it’s not his thing, but it is definitely his thing. He is sex-driven, especially when you are in range. It is very common for both of you to disappear from a mission or a social setting just to release tension. Stroking his bulge or flashing a part of your body is enough for him to pull you aside and fuck his cum into you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Consider Digger a ‘Yes Man’ when it comes to experimenting. This man will try anything that doesn’t exceed his limits. He is the one to suggest more than you are. Some of his suggestions you’re convinced he has invented himself, and some are so bizarre you don’t know if he is joking or not. Better to try everything at least once, is his motto.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

If you make it certain you are one hundred per cent into him, Digger can last a whole night. There have been times were he exceeds you in rounds and (depending on your mood) you let him fuck you on the brink of sleep. He has Superman levels of sexual stamina and it can be difficult to match his energy, but he is more than satisfied to have another orgasm at the mere sight of you.

T = Toys (do they own toys? Do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Digger is partial to a cock ring, more for convenience. It comes in handy for days when he wants to edge himself and make the orgasm more pleasurable. If you have toys, he is more than happy to use them. He would be very invested in which ones you own, and give you new ones to try out.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Digger is the teasing master when it comes to words, taunting you with anything dirty that comes to his mind. In action, he gets too excited and wants to make you cum when you’re ready to, and fuck another one out of you. When you are teasing him, he acts like it's torture, but he is so into it. If you pull your hand away from his dick just as he is about to finish, he is almost screaming but gets too turned on. He loves the feeling of the build-up and will treat you like a brat or plead with you to keep touching him.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Certified grunter. He sounds like an animal. His voice grows hoarse matched with heavy breathing. In downtime moments like oral, his sounds are more like groans with sly chuckles.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

On more than one occasion Digger has suggested a gangbang or cucking with the other members of the suicide squad. He has a plan in his head of the routine and how it would go down. If it was you and Harley, he wants to cuck and watch you fuck. If it’s with Deadshot or King Shark, he would want a threesome/gangbang. When Digger brings this up he passes it off as a joke, but you can tell it’s something he wants to do.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

The canon speaks for itself. In my opinion, however, Digger is just above average, around 6-7 inches. He makes up the rest in girth. Also, the canon suggests he is not a ‘grower, not show-er’ type. What you see is what you get.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Inhumanly high. The man needs to be sterilised.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Considering he has come multiple times like he usually does, he is falling asleep right away. He is not the post-nut clarity type because he manages to pass out before that stage. He saves the pillow talk for the morning.

#digger harkness x reader #captain boomerang x reader #ssktjl #kill the justice league #dc universe #nsft alphabet #smut #fanfic

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burntmarshmallowchishiya · 1 year ago

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Chishiya x Fem Y/N Smut Visuals Pt.2

thank u sm for the likes on part 1 i didn't expect this much like wow 🙊. i will be making a masterlist soon. hope u like pt 2 ♡

(you may need to have a twitter acc to watch it)

contains: slight spanking, costume lingerie, worship, p*ssy eating, and fingering.

you're chishiya's favorite kitty

he wouldn't show his soft side but his kisses show that he loves every inch of your body

he will claim what's his if he sees other men touching you

how you greet him when he returns home from work

Part 3 is HERE💫

return to the masterlist

border template and mdni border by @cafekitsune 🤍

#chishiya shuntaro #chishiya smut #chishiya x reader #chishiya x yn #aib chishiya #alice in borderland #chishiya x you #chishiya alice in borderland #smut visuals #twt links #twitter links #chishiya imagine #nijiro murakami #aib #x yn #fem reader #twitterlinks

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always-andromeda · 1 year ago

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·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐋, 𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐃

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Father Paul Hill x Fem!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ✯ 2925

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ taboo au + "Everything I've done...every atrocity, it's been for you."

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ✯ okay, I haven't exactly finished a piece in a good while. so this one is sort of serving as a warm-up and if it's terrible (which I have a good feeling it is lmao), I'm gonna have to ask y'all to be gentle on me. I've loved this man for a while now and this is sort of experimental. tl;dr: I am a sensitive little baby right now so treat me as such.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ smut (minors, do not interact), obviously a pretty massive gap in both age and power, depictions of blood and death, could be read as dub con at first (if you squint really hard) but firmly lands on the side of full con, a lot of religious mumbo jumbo (lmao let's ignore the fact that I know almost nothing about Catholicism <3), so much blasphemy, oral (female receiving), a twinge of sub!Paul, and that's all I can think of!! let me know if more is needed!!

(mdni banner template credit goes to @cafekitsune!!)

Behind closed eyelids, all you saw was darkness. And through that darkness came white hot agony. It was practically blinding as it shot up your spine before detonating in your brain. Those little fragments of pain speckled across the inside of your skull.

You wanted to scream, hurl, cry, something. Anything to physically release the intense pain assaulted your nerves. But you wouldn't be granted that mercy. No.

For now, your suffering was confined to this unending darkness. For now, you waited in the void of your own being for the tragedy to subside.

For weeks you anxiously waited for the return of Monsignor Pruitt from his mission trip. Though spending your afternoons looking after the dementia ridden clergyman wasn't exactly your idea of a good time, it was far better than slumming it with Beverly Keane. After all, you were 99% sure that whatever Bev heard managed to make its way all around the island.

Crockett Island was a melting pot of rumors. By now you'd heard the stories; the mythology of the island's residents had woven together to form a complex tapestry. And the longer you stayed, the more you realized how little you desired to be a part of it all.

But you didn't have a choice. Whether you liked it or not, Crockett's citizens had already spun your narrative.

Everyone knew how your mother had taken you away from the island at the ripe age of five years old; saving you the heartache of being raised by an alcoholic father. Part of you had always been grateful for it despite how tough it had been being raised by a single mother who hardly had anything to her name. Yet you couldn't help the guilt that poured into your lungs like cement whenever someone mentioned how much your father had suffered before he died.

Because that was the only way you would've gone back to the island that lived in the shadows of your memory: death. And upon meeting Monsignor Pruitt, it became clear that death would also be the only way you'd want to leave.

The relationship that had bloomed between you and him was a humble one. He'd offered to talk you through your grief which you'd promptly denied. Though you attended services, you weren't much for religion and you weren't about to embrace it fresh off of the death of a father who was practically a stranger. It felt disingenuous.

Finding God is reserved for real tragedies, right?

You'd asked the question like it was a joke.

Monsignor Pruitt had merely tilted his head before replying in that lilting, raspy voice of his: Depends on what you think qualifies as a tragedy.

With a quick eye roll, you'd written the answer off as one of those unbalanced moments of his. Over the course of a few months, you'd become well acquainted with them. Going to services and keeping him company was something to do. Something other than rifling through decades of your father's clutter and further entangling yourself with the community. Something other than being reminded of your own wasted potential.

Strangely, the monsignor felt less like an all seeing eye and more like...a friend. And now, faced with his "temporary" replacement, you were finally certain of what qualified as a tragedy to you.

From the moment Father Paul had addressed the church, you were unsettled. He may have been perfectly kind and personable enough, but his mannerisms edged on the uncanny valley. It was the way he spoke during sermons and how that tone rarely changed during one-on-one conversations. Though he couldn't have been older than thirty, he often held himself as if he'd been around the block more times than anyone could fathom. It was easy to chalk it up to his nature. Of course the man of God had an eerie way of making you feel like a puny mortal.

But Monsignor Pruitt had never made you feel like that. You couldn't brush the thought of the old man out of your mind.

Every time Father Paul attempted to placate your worries, it only pushed you deeper into the depths of distrust. Somehow you just knew he was lying.

And for all of Father Paul's wisdom and mystique, he wasn't a good liar. His tone would shift as he glossed over your concerns with a quick reassurance that Monsignor Pruitt was recovering just fine on the mainland. When you felt brave enough to press him for more, he'd wring his hands or squeeze them into fists. Almost as if he had to physically stop himself from reprimanding you. After all, who were you to question him?

When your eyes finally opened, your vision was overwhelmed by the light. Softly, slowly, the light haloed around the head of a figure that carefully came into view. As your sight sharpened, you quickly realized who stood over you.

The man you held the most wariness for was kneeling over you. His long face wrought with concern, the alarm bells were already blaring in your muddled mind. But as much as you tried to force the air from your lungs to scream, you could only let out a pathetic, strangled squeak.

That was when he spoke. His voice shook with what sounded like uncertainty, "You mustn't overexert yourself. You're still coming back. But don't worry, you'll be yourself again soon. All in due time."

No matter how much you tried to speak, to move, neither of the actions came to you. All you could do is watch as Father Paul pulled your paralyzed body into his arms and cradled you. And as the potency of your helplessness settled in, you vaguely felt tears prick at your waterline.

Normally, you would've rather died than allowing yourself to cry in front of someone, especially in front of the father. This time you couldn't control the few tears that slid freely down your cheeks, landing on the father's hand where he gripped your still aching shoulder.

He noticed them immediately and let you out of his grasp long enough to stare into your glossy eyes.

You couldn't quite decipher the intent behind the softness of his gaze. But somehow it was enough to allow the nausea that had slowly been rising in your chest to subside.

Father Paul raised a hand to cup your face. His thumb carefully stroked your cheek, sweeping away the wet trails left by your despair. And whether it was from your sensitivity or the intimacy of the act, you didn't know. But your skin shivered.

As you gradually regained the feeling in your body, you realized that the first thing you felt after the pain was him. The inherent warmth of his embrace. And in some fucked up way, it was comforting. Feeling like prey, you blinked back the rest of your tears and allowed yourself to soak up as much of him as you could; anything to get rid of the dull pain that plagued your nerves.

You noticed there were tears brimming his own eyes as he smiled softly. "There, you mustn't cry. You've been so brave and in return you've been blessed."

It was then that you began to regain enough cognizance to question what was happening.

Flashes of memory played each time you blinked.

That damned question had been on the tip of your tongue again.

So you found him in the recreational center. There he’d been, on his knees, praying fervently.

Hopefully you're praying for the monsignor's return.

You regretted the words almost as soon as you'd said them. Because as soon as Paul turned, he gave you that dark look that rarely graced his features. This time he hadn't even tried to hide it with his usual discretion.

He merely stared right past you with his eyes wide and pleading.

You hadn't had the chance to see the thing that attacked you fully. But you felt its teeth at your neck. You felt your own blood dripping from your neck in such a thick stream that the dizziness came almost as soon as you hit the ground. You felt the rough, pale skin of the creature as it smothered you, greedily devouring every ounce of your life.

Of course you were surprised to find yourself lying on the sheets of Paul's bed in his modest home, but that shock was the least of your worries. How were you still alive?

He told his tale as your body mended itself. You didn't know how much time passed. All you knew is that you were enraptured with the sticky sense of dread that was growing in your stomach as he spoke.

You were acutely aware of just how much it sounded like a sermon. How, whether he was aware of it or not, he was pulling out every stop in the preacher's handbook to try and convince you. And if he didn’t sound so convinced himself, you would swear this was deliberate manipulation. But nothing else could possibly explain his youthful appearance and all that he knew. He could recite your history right back to you despite the fact that you’d never once trusted him nearly enough to give it. Only the monsignor knew your deepest fears and your darkest secrets. But this wasn’t your monsignor.

Father Paul was some new beast; an amalgamation of the sweet old man you’d once known, the deceptive preacher who took his place, and some other supernatural force that you couldn’t quite name.

Though you’d only caught half a glimpse of the creature, you attempted to express your terror. That only spurred him on further as he contended that when an angel of the Lord appeared to the shepherds upon the birth of Jesus, it deliberately told them to not be afraid.

But none of that explained himself. None of it allowed you to comprehend how Monsignor Pruitt could've shed decades of life; how the old man could now stand there, blood drying on the bottom half of his face, and look at you as if you were something he could have.

You didn't have to ask. You knew by then that when the creature had had its fill of your blood, Father Paul had pulled the scraps of you away for himself. The thought hit you dangerously and made something deep inside you rumble. Like a natural disaster, this had unearthed a litany of complications that you never could’ve anticipated.

“We are at a crossroads," Father Paul said gently before letting his conviction surge again, “Now, you once said that finding God was reserved for those experiencing tragedy, correct?”

You nodded sagely.

Father Paul grasped your trembling hands in his own, “Have you not experienced one of life’s greatest tragedies? The ending of it? You fell right over the edge of life and before the waters of death could claim you, He brought you back. Hebrought us together.”

You shook your head in defiance.

“This was meant to happen. This was part of His plan, for our faiths — our lives — to be renewed.”

With your throat still stiff and dry, you croaked angrily, “There was nothing wrong with my life! There was nothing that needed to supposedly be renewed!”

He raised his voice suddenly, “Why did you come to this island?”

“Because my father died.”

“A father who was no better than a stranger to you,” he recalled your own words quickly. If the monsignor had been wise, Father Paul was as sharp as a knife, taking his jabs at you with complete accuracy. “You didn’t have to come here. You didn't have to make friends with a crazy old man. By the grace of God, you were led here. You were led here so you could be shown this truth; this gift. And you are denying this gift."

You had to admit that your draw to Crockett had been strange. At first you'd attested it to some childhood curiosity. But you'd deliberately put off taking care of your father's run down property, instead opting to spend time walking in the light of Pruitt. In truth, his companionship had been a breath of fresh air.

Though the people of Crockett adored him, it was always tinged with pity. You'd never pitied him; only admired him for his wisdom and his resilience.

Paul's expression softened as he held your face in his hands. "Everything I've done...every atrocity, it's been for you." That was when you saw the edges of his wisdom begin to lift and fall away like a second skin he'd crafted over his own vulnerability.

Underneath it...he was simply a man. A man who wanted to save you.

“Let me give you more. Let me show you how you can trust me," he whispered.

The first kiss inspired an odd mix of emotions in your chest. There was the coppery tang of dried blood on your tongue, strong enough that it took everything in you not to flinch away from his hold on you. But you remembered his reference to the angel and the shepherds.

Do not be afraid.

So you continued, deepening the kiss with a turn of your head. And for all of the worldly experiences Paul had, you became acutely aware that this sort of connection was not among them.

Whether there'd been any true romantic feelings for the aging monsignor, you couldn't quite say. But your fondness of him had transferred to the man before you. Granted, the transfer wasn't smooth, but it was there nonetheless. Somehow it was stronger than ever as he took your hand and brought it to his lips. The kiss he pressed against your palm was slightly tacky with your own half dried blood still lingering.

You brushed a lock of his wavy, dark hair back so you could properly meet his gaze. With the shroud of time having fallen away from his features you could see just how handsome the man was. It was a hesitant sort of attractiveness; as if the banner of God had prevented him from seeing his full potential.

He'd fed on your life and made himself new. And the thought of your monsignor living on in that small way...all because of you? The electric twinges that sparked in your chest were almost too much to bear.

Without fear you devoured him in another kiss. Quickly the mood turned from reverent to ravenous as Paul attempted to keep up with your fervency.

He couldn't remember the last time sin had overpowered his sense of morality. Because he knew in the traditional sense, this was pure sin. No matter how wrong he believed it might have been to let his hands roam your figure, in his bones it was a temptation that finally felt correct. There was none of that hesitance or shame or fear that he'd felt before. The pendulum had shifted on morality and he knew exactly what he needed to do.

Hardly a moment was spared as he tore into the long skirt and the underwear that had kept you modest for far too long. Perfect beauty like this had to be cherished.

So that is what he did. Planted firmly between your legs, he stared up at you with eyes that gently pleaded for permission; for salvation. With your own half lidded eyes, you nodded before spreading yourself open for him.

Like a flower, you bloomed beautifully and Paul groaned at the sight. He could practically feel the thrumming pulse before him as it waited to indulge him. His hot breath teased you and made sparks dance right beneath the surface of your skin. Still you stayed in place, patiently allowing him time to drink in the sight of your folds already puffing and glistening with slick.

Quietly, you heard him mumble something that you only caught the tail end of.

“–forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

It wasn't too long after that when his tongue found a home in that tight, warm crevice. Your hand knitted itself into his dark hair as you searched for something to ground yourself from the overpowering sensation. Something about this new condition of yours heightened every aspect of pleasure.

If you were in your right mind, it would make sense logically considering you'd felt the unbearable pain of your spine shattering and being put back together again. But this was overwhelming in the entirely opposite direction.

You experienced the pleasure on a cellular level as your climax rushed through your limbs. You seemed to feel the vibrancy of every emotion and atom that comprised your being. Nothing was spared from the glory of this blessing. Not your spasming cunt as it contracted around Paul's blessed tongue. Not your heart that was firmly on the track of restoration. And not your mind as it all at once fell apart in time with your quivering thighs. Blood pulsing, every single one of your pores felt more alive than ever as you finally embraced the higher power that had been waiting for you in the shadows all along.

At that moment, you believed it all. From the Angel to Father Paul's divine transformation to the euphoric paradise that enveloped your entire being...it was all real. And most of all, it was all yours. Thanks to the father's grace and generosity, you would create paradise with him. And that seemed possible. After all, with his head between your thighs, you’d both already created one.

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚#hauntedhoedown #midnight mass #father paul hill #monsignor pruitt #father paul x reader #father paul x you #father paul x y/n #father paul hill x reader #father paul hill x you #father paul hill x y/n

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the-xolotl · 10 months ago

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˚₊‧꒰১𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓໒꒱‧₊˚

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐮, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲?

⟢ Thundering Rain - Rafayel x Reader ; Love and Deepspace | sfw, domestic

⟢ Dusk Meets Dawn at Twilight - Lucifer x moth!OC Vésper ; Hazbin Hotel | sfw, angst

⟢ Songbird, Sing Me a Song - Alastor x Reader ; Hazbin Hotel | sfw, singing for him

⟢ What a Bloody Mess ! - Alastor x Reader ; Hazbin Hotel | nsfw, mdni

⟢ A Taste of Darkness Itself - Alastor x Reader x Shadow ; Hazbin Hotel | nsfw, mdni

⟢ Worshiping At His Feet - Alastor x Reader ; Hazbin Hotel | nsfw, mdni

✧ What I Think Your Hazbin Fav Says about You - Mini analysis ; Hazbin Hotel | sfw

✩ Bring You to Heaven - David Shaw x Reader ; Redacted Audio | nsfw, mdni

✩ Darling Can I Be Your Favorite? - Alastor x Reader ; Hazbin Hotel | sfw, one-sided affection

✩ It Hurts Being Nothing, It’s Worse Being Something With You - Alastor x Reader ; Hazbin Hotel | sfw, unrequited love

✩ Morning Kisses - Alastor x Reader ; Hazbin Hotel | sfw, fluff

✩ Sweet, Soft Shadow Man - Alastor x Reader ; Hazbin Hotel | sfw, fluff

✩ Take It Right - Alastor x Reader ; Hazbin Hotel | nsfw, mdni

✩ Rising With the Sun - Alastor x Reader ; Hazbin Hotel | nsfw, mdni

ᯓ Peeping-Drone - Alastor x Reader ; Hazbin Hotel | nsfw, mdni

ᯓ Three’s Not Always a Crowd - Alastor x OC x OC ; Hazbin Hotel | nsfw, mdni

♪ By the Sea: Rafayel - Rafayel ; Love and Deepspace

♪ Being in love with Xiao - Xiao ; Genshin Impact

♪ Angel & Davey's shared playlist - David Shaw ; Redacted Audio

♪ LIGHTBRINGER // HELLRAISER - Lucifer ; Hazbin Hotel

♪ HELL'S NOON RADIO SHOW - Alastor ; Hazbin Hotel

{LUCIFER FICS HAVE BEEN PUT ON HOLD}

Fuzzy Duck, Ducky Fuzz. - Lucifer x moth!OC Vésper | nsfw, oral sex ; 54% Progress

Taking a Bite Off the Forbidden Fruit. - Lucifer x fem!Reader | nsfw, morning sex ; 2% Progress

Look at You, Doing Such a Good Job. - Lucifer x fem!Reader | nsfw, punishment w/ happy ending ; 53% Progress

Kinky Lucifer Headcanons. - Lucifer | nsfw, headcanons ; 43% Progress

❦ Please check out my blog intro to get to know me and my content ! Hope you see you around often pookie <33 ❦

—

⤷ Word dividers made by ME using cafekitsune’s template ~ღ Please give proper credit if you take or use these dividers.

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cosmicoatlatte · 3 months ago

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────── ౨ৎ cosmicoatlatte's cozy kinkmas 2024

'tis the season to be horny or however that song goes

౨ৎ DECEMBER 3RD — Ken Lemmons + praise

౨ৎ DECEMBER 16TH — James Douglass (& Everett Blakely) + exhibitionism/voyeurism, car sex

౨ৎ I'M SORRY, KINKMAS WAS A FAIL — even though i didn't manage to wrap everything up all nicely as i had hoped i'm not abandoning the wips, the finished works will still be posted under the kinkmas 2024 banner in the future

౨ৎ JANUARY 19TH — preferences + oral (fem! receiving)

౨ৎ FEBRUARY 3RD — Howard 'Hambone' Hamilton + mirror

credit: mdni banner made with a template by @cafekitsune

#kinkmas 2024

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dwellinginsilence · 11 months ago

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divider by @cafekitsune

✨Navigation✨ This is basically all Sebastian Sallow, if you're not into that, you may want to look somewhere else. ☔-angst 🥰-fluff 🔞-NSFW, MDNI

Templates (filled out, but also has empties to copy and paste or use to fill) Multiple Chapter Fanfictions

Short Stories

Headcanons

Art

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy fanart #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow fanfic #wizarding world #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x oc #ai artwork #ai generated #hufflepuff #Dwelling In Silence AI #nightcafe ai

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schrodingers-romy · 11 months ago

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Traces [Mitsuya Takashi x Reader]

Pairing: Mitsuya Takashi x GN!Reader Word Count: ~1300 [Ao3 Link]

Summary: You give Takashi your favorite shirt to repair, and he realizes it smells of you...

Warnings: Male masturbation, fantasizing, scent kink (smelling clothing), it is mentioned that reader wears perfume, no gendered pronouns or anatomy used for reader

Notes: *rolls up four months late with an iced tea* yeah so I've had trouble finishing any of my wips. Somehow completely forgot I wrote this and found it in my drafts so. Have it ig. Mdni banner template from @/cafekitsune

Your favorite shirt had a tear in it.

You had come to Takashi nearly in tears about it; so of course, he immediately offered to repair it for you. The bright, grateful smile you gave him made him blush even now, hours later.

The sun had set long ago, and he had to wake for work in a few hours, but he wanted to fix your shirt as soon as possible. Just because you were his friend, nothing more. He would do this for any of his friends. You didn’t receive any special treatment from him. No matter how much Draken teased him about how he hovered over you like a doting boyfriend, there was nothing deeper than friendship between the two of you.

He strokes his fingers over the neat stitches of his patch. It is nearly invisible to the naked eye, but there was a slight change in texture over that area that was nearly unavoidable. Takashi hopes you don’t notice. He knows that one of your favorite things about this shirt is its softness, and he’d feel bad if his work impacted that.

He continues to run his hands over the fabric. It is soft, a softness that spoke of repeated wash and wear. He can’t help but let his mind wander to how such fabric would feel against your body…how such material would rub against your silken skin…

In a purely practical view, you see. Takashi was thinking of making you another shirt (just in case his patch job wasn’t good enough on this one), so it makes sense that he is so focused on your clothing, and how it feels. There’s nothing more to it than that.

Well, he finished the repair, so there was nothing left except to set the shirt aside to be returned to you in the morning. That should have been the cue for him to stand up from his desk and head to bed, but he instead lingers in his chair. Should he maybe wash it before he gives it back? It might be a good idea to at least see if his sewing will hold up in the washer, even though he’s confident it will. He wonders if you washed the shirt before you gave it to him; he doubts it. Would it be strange to hand back a dirty piece of clothing, even if it was given to him that way?

Before Takashi even thinks about what he’s doing, he brings the shirt up to his nose and takes a light sniff. He realizes as soon as he does it how utterly bizarre of an action it is, even under the guise of checking its cleanliness. But by then it’s too late.

The shirt smells like detergent, and perfume, and the faintest undertone of sweat; but most importantly, it smells like you. And with that thought comes a wave of heat low in his abdomen.

It’s the same scent he would smell if he ever leaned in close to you… close enough for you to feel his breath brushing against your skin. Close to you in the way he desperately wanted to be. Because beneath his insistence that the two of you were just friends, he longed for you. Draken was right, he was a doting boyfriend, just in his dreams. Because he was too much of a fucking coward to confess his feelings to you.

Takashi is painfully aware of how pathetic he is; instead of confessing his love (and his lust) for you, like a sane person would, he instead sat here in his room, alone, getting hard from sniffing your clothing like a fucking pervert.

And he is getting hard; his cock is swiftly turning from a half-chub into a full-blown stiffy. Just the barest lingering traces of your scent got him going faster than any porn could.

The shame he feels is muted by his arousal. God, this is such a violation, he thinks, as the hand not gripping onto your shirt drifts down to pop the button on his pants.

He has his nose fully buried in your collar now, right where the smell was most concentrated. His eyes flutter shut as he slips a hand into his pants to grip his bulge over his underwear.

As he slowly rubs himself, he lets his mind conjure up a dream scenario. He imagines you sitting in his lap. Your back is pressed against his chest, his hand around your waist clutching you tight to him and his face buried in your neck. He can smell your favorite perfume, and the barest edges of sweat beginning to glisten on your skin. He pictures himself licking it off of your throat. Takashi’s mouth opens, letting his tongue loll out slightly as if he truly could taste you.

He imagines that the two of you have your pants hiked down, just far enough for his rock-hard erection to slip between your legs. He wraps his hand around his already dripping length, letting out a soft hiss at the stimulation. Takashi begins to stroke faster, humping up into his own hand, envisioning that he was fucking up in between your thighs instead of into his own palm. God, he just knows your legs would be so soft, and perfect to fuck. He can picture it in his mind so vividly, almost to the point of feeling it; how your thighs would squeeze around him. How they would flex as he rubs his cock against your own arousal. How you would whine and moan, and how he would need to keep one arm secured over your waist before you buck off of his lap in your eagerness for more stimulation. Your sounds would echo around the room; he would muffle his own moans by biting the crook of your neck and leaving his marks there.

Takashi is nearly smothering himself in your shirt now; he feels as if he is bathing in your scent. He isn’t sure if it is a lack of oxygen from how he presses your clothes over his face or whether he is just that aroused, but either way, he’s nearly delirious with pleasure. His cock drips so much pre-come it makes every thrust into his hand it let out a wet, sloppy noise.

It only takes imagining you moaning his name and coming over your own stomach from his grinding dick for him to explode. He feels his orgasm flash across his entire body like electricity. His cock twitches in his hand, letting loose stream after stream of hot, thick cum. He continues to stroke himself, milking every last drop from his aching balls as he pictures painting your skin white with his release.

He is left empty-headed and gasping after his orgasm; it takes several minutes for him to regain basic human function, and it takes him even longer than that to notice that your shirt is now coated with his drool and come.

Well, now he definitely has to wash it before returning it to you.

Takashi’s guilt over what he had done hit him in full force in the morning. He honestly was tempted to just burn your shirt just so he wouldn’t have to think about what he had done with it. But he knew how much that shirt meant to you, and in the end, he didn’t have the heart to do anything except wash it. (Twice. Just in case.)

He couldn’t look you in the eye when he gave it back to you. He nearly combusted when you pulled him into a surprise hug. (And you smelled just like the shirt had, except more intense. It took all his willpower not to pop a boner right there in your arms).

You wore the shirt the next day. Any innocent enjoyment he could have experienced over your joy was tarnished by the memories of coming on the same fabric you wore so happily. (He was glad he was wearing baggy pants.)

God, he really needed to confess to you, because he couldn’t keep this up. He just hoped you returned his feelings…and he also hoped you would like to fulfill some of his fantasies…

#Romy can write #mitsuya takashi x reader #mitsuya x reader #mitsuya smut #mitsuya takashi #tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokrev x reader #tokrev smut #gender neutral reader

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kwanisms · 2 years ago

Text

Under Your Skin 02 — s.changbin

taglist | playlist

summary: Everything seemed to fall into place for Y/N. She had a loving boyfriend, her dream job, and the bestest friend in the universe. She never thought her life was missing something until she was introduced to Changbin, the town's newest tattoo artist who happens to be harboring an unimaginable secret.

pairing: tattoo artist!Changbin × fem!Reader

genres/themes/au: angst, fluff, smut, slow burn; “forbidden” love, strangers to lovers, supernatural themes; tattoo artist!au, werewolf!au; tattoo artist!Changbin, werewolf!Changbin, established boyfriend!Joshua

warnings: adult dialogue, tobacco use, female reader, mild religious themes as part of the story takes place in a church, sexual content (18+ mdni), smut warnings under the cut!

taglist: @yoonguurt @wonderfulshinee @x-woozi @candidupped @snow-pegasus @brownieracha @hobi-is-golden @avyskai @i-say-choco-you-say-ice-cream @biribarabiribbaem @mchslut @spicxbnny @hgema @likeaboss-duh @oiminho @slut-for-dabi @ughyeka @honey-lemon-goose @skidsflowers @fixation-dump @meadowyin @sleeplessdawn @bristidutta @changbinnss @racha-enthusiast @phobia0922 @sanjoongie @chillllllli @nattisbored @kimseungminsprincess @chrollosforehead @typicalcuriosities @tai-loves-skz @labyrinthonmymind @spookyauthorspopmusictrash @mariesakamari @mamieishere @buttergumz @nxiim9 @emithecharmer @binnies-donuts @v3n0mszn @kazzilla @alexvessey @jihanlovic @thezombiepandaleague @moonl1ghtmuse @blue3ss5

Red strikethrough means I cannot tag you. Check your visibility settings.

And if you change your url, YOU are responsible for telling me.

a/n: finally, here's part 2 of Under Your Skin! We are still going strong with the long chapters lol I know the pairing for this series overall is Changbin and he is end game I promise but Y/N is in a serious and committed relationship with Joshua so there will be some action there lol

A huge thank you to my wife, Sky ☁️, for this entire story idea. Without her late night thoughts, as well as her constant hype and support this series wouldn’t even exist.

Also a massive thank you to @icybluehosh for her professional input on all things tattoos. You are a saint, my love and I thank you so much!

To everyone else, thank you so much for reading this story and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! As always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only. Header and line breaks made by me. Content and support banners made by me with a template made by @cafekitsune. I do not allow reposts, translations, or continuations of my works. All my writings are ��️ kwanisms.

smut warnings: dom!Joshua, brat!Reader, rough sex, use of pet names (baby, sweetheart, and brat. Don’t question it. He calls her brat as a term of endearment when she’s being a brat), slight dirty talk, counter top sex , suggestive and implied sexual encounter in a church!!! and I think that's all. Of course, pls let me know if I missed anything!

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𝗰𝗵 𝟬𝟮 - 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝘁𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗶

wc: 15k

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It had been a few days since the incident at the club and you hadn’t heard from Joshua since that night. He’d texted you once to make sure you had indeed made it home safely. After that it was radio silence.

You weren’t as upset about it as you thought you’d be. You chalked it up to needing some space from one another after that fight.

Instead, you focused your time on work.

A new shipment of antiques had been brought in from your boss’ most recent trip abroad to collect items to resell. The shop was your home away from home. You spent most of your time here as it was your job.

You remembered seeing the shop when you were younger and coming in with your mother. You spent the short time you were in the shop wandering the shelves and looking at all the neat tea sets and other antiques that had been cleaned and restored with care.

When you turned 19, you expressed a desire to work and your parents supported it, saying it would help build character. Your father offered to give you a secretarial position at his company but you had something else in mind.

Your parents were confused about your desire to work at Serizawa’s but when they visited the shop again on the day you went in to apply, they couldn’t imagine you working anywhere else.

Your boss, a man named Isei Serizawa, was a kind elderly man in his late 60’s. His wife, Shinju, was a small woman, also in her 60’s, and spent her life as a stay at home mom, taking care of their two children.

The couple started the shop back when they first got married.

Back then it was in a small storefront in Shingu, near Fukuoka, Japan. They spent their life running the shop and living in the small town near the ocean. They had two children who went off to become extremely successful in both Tokyo and Osaka.

After their children started their own families, the couple moved to Korea and settled in Sejong, bringing their shop with them.

When you first started working at the shop, you mainly worked setting up the items to be sold and sweeping, manning the front of the shop. Eventually, you started to learn about the work Shinju did and asked her to teach you.

She found it nice to have someone interested in her work, restoring old tea sets and mending broken ones. She taught you everything she knew and as her arthritis started to get worse, she left the restoration work to you.

Mr. Serizawa restored furniture and old electronics, leaving the ceramics to you now that Shinju stayed at home, keeping her arthritis at bay with cross stitch and knitting.

Some time after you started working at the shop, the Serizawas’ grandson, Daniel, came to live with them, moving into their spare bedroom.

You didn’t know the particulars of why he left Tokyo but your boss did tell you he wasn’t doing well. He was acting out and mixed in with the wrong crowd.

When you first met Daniel, he seemed troubled and at first he was cold and initially it seemed like he didn’t like you being at the shop or the way the Serizawas treated you like family. Eventually he warmed up to you and came to see you almost like an older cousin.

He also began opening up to you once he started working in the shop when he wasn’t in school.

His grades, which had apparently been dismal at his school in Tokyo, were thriving out here in Sejong. He loved the small town atmosphere and the feeling of community that came with it.

He started doing so well, in both school and his personal life that the Serizawas let him move into the apartment above the shop so long as he kept his grades up and stayed out of trouble.

Since it was summer time and he’d kept his promises to keep his grades up and stay out of trouble, the Serizawas let him go on a school summer trip to Busan to visit the ocean and the island of Jeju. Daniel kept his grandparents in the loop, sending them pictures and letters as well as postcards of his trip.

The Serizawas and even you were happy to see him thriving and having the time of his life with his friends and classmates. He was due to return soon as summer was ending and school would be starting back up.

The ring of the bell brought you out of your hyperfocus and you quickly set the cup you were holding down, wiping your hands on your apron as you called out. “Be right there!

“This is a lot of stuff,” Jeongguk murmured as he followed Changbin into the shop.

They’d driven past what felt like a dozen furniture shops in town until Changbin mentioned seeing this place and Jeongguk begrudgingly drove along the main street until they found the correct side street.

The shop wasn’t huge nor was it loud or ostentatious. It was a small brick building, nestled between a café and an ice cream parlor with a small alleyway leading between the coffee shop and the antique shop.

The sign was made from black wood, coated in a lacquer that made it shine with gold lettering that read the name ‘Serizawa’s.’ The windows on the front of the shop were large and rectangular, stopping about waist level with a row of planters full of neatly trimmed hedges and pruned flowering bushes.

The front door was the same black lacquered wood with a golden knob.

Inside the shop was what Changbin could only describe as organized chaos.

Jeongguk was right, there were a lot of items but they were organized neatly. There were five shelving units, each labeled clearly with all manner of antique items ranging from old typewriters and phones to toys of all kinds.

A series of floating shelves near the door were loaded with various tea sets from different backgrounds and each with distinct patterns.

Jeongguk was immediately drawn to the porcelain, inspecting them as Changbin looked further around. On the back wall were various pieces of furniture, some on special wall mounted hangers to allow more space to peruse the shop.

A small tile section of flooring was between the entry way and the shelves where some pieces of furniture were displayed, almost like one would stage in a home or apartment.

Next to the door was a long counter, behind which had lots of small porcelain trinkets and other knick knacks.

Across from the main door was a doorway with a thick and no doubt heavy green curtain.

Changbin heard a voice call out to them when they first entered and a moment later, footsteps started shuffling from behind the curtain before the material was pulled back and Changbin’s eyes widened as a woman stepped out.

He’d only managed to get a good look at her a few times the other night but he was certain it was indeed Lilah’s friend, the same he’d intervened for when her boyfriend tried to forcibly remove her from the club.

Changbin watched as she stepped forward and recognition passed over her, well your, face.

“Hey,” you said with a smile as you walked forward to meet them. “Hey,” Changbin said with a small smile. He wasn’t sure if you’d remember him.

“Nice to see you again,” you added as Jeongguk returned to Changbin’s side. ‘Well, she definitely remembers,’ he thought, a little bemused.

“Yeah, I had no idea you worked here,” Changbin added as Jeongguk looked between the two of you.

A silence fell over the three of you before you finally spoke.

“So, how can I help you guys?” You asked, looking between them. Changbin was so focused on your face as you spoke that he’d completely missed your question.

Jeongguk discreetly elbowed him, making him sputter before answering.

“Oh, right. I’m, uh, actually looking for some furniture,” he said softly. Jeongguk rolled his eyes and turned away to inspect the shelves some more. ‘Him and those damn tea sets.’

“What kind of furniture?” You asked, tilting your head to the side, reminding Changbin of one of Jeongguk’s puppies. It was cute. You were cute. 'This is neither the time nor the place,' Changbin mentally scolded himself to stop letting his mind wander.

‘Focus, you idiot!’

“Oh, just some accent pieces. Something vintage. Preferably black or red,” he answered, trying to sound casual.

You nodded a couple times, taking in his words before turning to the rest of the shop. “Actually, I think I've got a few pieces like that,” you replied.

“I could show you if you’d like?”

Changbin nodded and you smiled, beckoning him to follow as you moved towards the back of the shop.

He followed while Jeongguk stayed behind to continue to look at the tea sets.

“How many pieces are you wanting?” You asked as you led him to the back wall. “Just a couple. Maybe three at most. I’m really trying to find some chairs for the lobby of my shop,” Changbin answered as you both walked towards the back.

“What kind of shop?” You asked, sounding interested.

“It’s a tattoo shop,” Changbin answered, expecting you to lose interest immediately.

“Oh, the one that just popped up on Market Street?”

Changbin was taken aback that not only were you interested in the shop but that you knew where it even was. He nodded wordlessly, wondering what other kinds of surprises you had.

“Lilah has been talking nonstop about it ever since the last shop closed. I’d never been to that one,” you added as the two of you neared the back of the shop. “The last shop seemed to be a favorite among the locals, what was it called?”

Changbin watched as you stopped, amused as you wracked your brain.

“Ink Moon Studios!” You said suddenly, as if having an ‘aha’ moment. Changbin’s smile widened as you turned to him. “I really liked the name of that shop. What’s yours called? I didn’t see any signs when I last went by.”

Changbin suddenly felt very self conscious. “Uh, White Lotus Studio,” he answered softly. “I like that,” you said, smiling warmly.

“Maybe I’ll have to come by with Lilah some time.”

Changbin bit back the urge to smile. If you wanted to come by his shop, he wasn’t going to complain. Not one bit.

“So,” you said, stopping to point out a couple different pieces.

“We have these,” you continued, showing him a couple of red velvet chairs. The wood was a dark reddish brown. “But I also have these,” you added, pointing out a chair and ottoman set.

Both pieces were black upholstery with white painted wood. “This is probably a long shot,” Changbin started. “But do you have anything with black and gold?”

A smile spread across your face and you waved at him to follow you, leading him back towards the front of the shop.

Back at the staged area, you showed him two of the chairs.

They were high wingback arm chairs with black velvet upholstery and gold painted wood with carved details. They were exactly what he was looking for and he mentally kicked himself for not noticing them as soon as he came in.

You were excited, showing them off as you explained the work that went into restoring them.

“My boss just finished these last week. I was really excited when he showed me his plans for them.”

You pointed out the wood trim. “These details are all hand carved. They’re Rococo inspired pieces but obviously they aren’t that old,” you explained. “The gold paint is coated in a layer of epoxy which gives it the shine. The epoxy won’t wear down so obviously the paint won’t chip. The velvet is real and will have to be cleaned by hand with some velvet cleaner and a microfiber cloth.”

Changbin nodded as you spoke, kneeling down to look at the pieces and looking over them, inspecting the wood and looking at the supports under the cushion. “No offense to your boss, but how often do customers complain or return items?”

You smiled warmly again. “No offense taken. I think the only time we’ve had something returned it was a mirror. The frame got damaged when they were carrying it out to their car and Mr. Serizawa offered to fix it right away,” you explained.

“He’s been doing this his entire life and for him, it’s not about the money. It’s about bringing new life into these old pieces and making sure people love them as much as he does.”

Changbin glanced up at you from where he was kneeling in front of the chair. “Impressive customer service,” Changbin noted with a smile.

You smiled again.

“My boss strips all pieces down to the base before reinforcing any cracks or weaknesses in wood. He uses high quality foam and upholstery when refurbishing each piece,” you added.

Changbin stood up and walked around one of the chairs, continuing to inspect it.

“And he does all of this in the shop?” Changbin asked as he stopped to look up at you. Nodding in response you continued to speak. “He has a workshop in the back where he does all his restoration work,” you answered.

“Like I said, he’s been doing this his whole life. He’s had this shop in Sejong since I was a little girl. Before that he lived near Fukuoka and had a shop there.”

Changbin looked up at you again as you spoke. His eyes trailed over your face, taking in your features before looking back down at the chair. He didn’t want to get caught essentially checking you out, though he really wanted to.

He needed to be professional. The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable in any way.

Changbin nodded a couple times before clicking his tongue and looking back up at you with a smirk.

“I’ll take them.”

Changbin was immediately entranced by the smile that spread across your face. It was different from the warm and polite smiles you’d given him before. This was a genuine smile. The first he’d seen from you since meeting you the other night.

He’d thought you were pretty before, seeing you at the club under all the neon lights and then again today in the natural lighting that filtered into the shop but the moment this smile graced your face, it nearly took his breath away.

He was convinced he’d never seen someone so stunning.

“Perfect, I’ll go grab the paperwork,” you replied, drawing him out of his thoughts before excusing yourself to disappear behind the curtain.

Changbin watched as you disappeared behind the green material before Jeongguk hissed at him from across the shop. He turned to look at his friend who had been looking at the tea sets the whole time.

“These are so fucking expensive,” he hissed. “Who the fuck would buy something so outrageously priced!?” Changbin’s smile fell and he glared at his friend from across the store. “Knock it off!” Changbin hissed.

Jeongguk looked back at the tea set. “Who would spend almost a million won on this?” Changbin sighed, glaring at his friend. “Stop it! She might hear you!”

Jeongguk shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not my fault they’re priced so high.”

Changbin was staring daggers at Jeongguk when the curtain opened and you returned, carrying some papers, a polite smile on your face. Changbin wondered if you’d heard them bickering. If you had, your face didn’t let it show.

“These are a formality,” you explained as you handed over the small stack of papers. “Basically just going over what was done to refurbish the items and how we recommend you take care of them.”

You smiled at him as Changbin flipped through the pages quickly. He glanced up as you were looking at the price tag of the chairs and writing on a small pad of paper, filling in the boxes and adding the sales tax.

You finished and gestured for Changbin to follow you to the counter near the door so you could properly ring him up.

Jeongguk was still looking at the tea sets as Changbin pulled out his wallet and waited for you to do your thing, tapping away at the register screen.

“Okay, the total comes to five-hundred and fifty thousand won,” you said with a smile. “How much?” Jeongguk asked, whipping his head around. “That’s for both chairs and I gave you a discount since you’re buying both of them,” you explained.

Ignoring Jeongguk’s glare, Changbin opened his wallet, pulled out his card and waited for you to input his total before turning the screen around for him to pay.

The transaction only took a few moments but it was long enough for Jeongguk to interrupt the silence, yet again.

“Can I ask you something?”

‘Oh god, here we go.’

You glanced up as Changbin signed his name. “Yes?”

Jeongguk gestured at the shelf. “How do you choose the prices for these things?”

Your cheeks burned at his inquiry and there was no doubt in Changbin’s mind that you had heard them bickering earlier. He desperately wanted to apologize for Jeongguk’s rudeness but was unable to do so as you started speaking.

“Well, it’s really hard to put an exact price on art,” you started as you printed Changbin’s receipt and stapled it to his paperwork. Changbin thanked you as you handed him his papers.

“Some of those sets are almost a hundred years old,” you continued, leaning on the counter as Changbin put his wallet away, both he and Jeongguk engrossed in your words.

“That specific set, the one that’s almost a million won, is a rare bone China tea set from England and is about 150 years old.”

Jeongguk’s eyes widened and he looked back at the set.

“The prices are determined by the age, condition, and rarity of each item. We also factor in how much work went into restoring each piece. That set came to us in multiple pieces.”

Jeongguk turned back to face you. “So it was restored in the store?”

You nodded as Changbin watched you.

“Yes. Everything is restored and cleaned in the shop before we sell it.”

Jeongguk chuckled, looking back at the sets. “I'm picturing a cute little elderly lady in the back, cleaning the tea sets,” he murmured but loud enough for both you and Changbin to hear.

Changbin chuckled as well, shaking his head at the image Jeongguk put in his head. A small giggle came from you, causing both to look in your direction.

“Actually, there’s no little old lady,” you said, giggles subsiding.

“I do all the tea sets.”

Changbin’s eyes widened as did Jeongguk’s.

“Wait, you restore the tea sets?” Jeongguk asked. You nodded with a slight redness to your cheeks. “I do,” you answered.

“That’s so… impressive,” Changbin said, making you blush deeper. “What made you get into this line of work?” Jeongguk asked.

“Well, I spent a good portion of my youth and teens attending fancy parties and soirees and I’ve been to more tea parties than I care to count,” you explained as both men continued to listen.

“I’ve never really liked tea that much if I’m being honest, but I’ve always loved the sets.” A small smile spread across your face as you reminisced.

“And the sets were always so pretty. All the intricate patterns and details have this way of drawing you in.” You were so engrossed in your explanation you didn’t notice the way Changbin was looking at you.

“Both the art and even the soft clink of porcelain brings me a great sense of nostalgia,” you continued softly as both men watched you, especially Changbin, with a deep fascination.

"The Japanese have a word for it. Natsukashii."

Changbin had never heard someone speak so passionately about tea sets. Normally he wouldn’t be interested but the fact that you were in it for the art was something he appreciated greatly.

“I’m sorry,” you said suddenly, waving your hand. “I went off on a tangent there.”

You cleared your throat and turned to look at Changbin.

“We’ll be open until 8 today, so you’re welcome to swing by any time to pick up your chairs. I’ll go ahead and put the sold signs and grab the plastic from the back to wrap them up.”

Changbin smiled and nodded. “I’ll be back before then with a truck,” he replied, standing up straight before tapping the counter softly with his knuckles. “See you then,” you replied with a warm smile.

Jeongguk finally turned away from the tea sets but not before looking at the set below the one he’d called out for being expensive. “What about this one?”

Changbin could have strangled his friend.

He knew you were probably up to your elbows in work and he really didn’t want to keep you any longer than was necessary.

You must have been some sort of saint, smiling kindly and moving around the counter to get a better look at the set Jeongguk was pointing at.

Changbin allowed himself to look at it and understood why Jeongguk was so intrigued.

It was a black traditional tea set. The black was broken up but lines of gold. It was extremely striking. The inside of the cups was white with speckled blue.

“That’s a traditional Japanese tea set,” you answered. “It’s about fifty years old. It’s made from ceramic as most Japanese sets are,” you answered. “It’s from Kyoto and comes from a very popular geisha house. The story is that it fell while being transported and it cracked, several of the chawan broke into multiple pieces.”

Changbin glanced back at the set. “What’s the gold?” He asked suddenly.

“It’s powdered gold,” you replied, looking at him, meeting his gaze when he turned to look at you. “Have you ever heard of kintsugi?”

Both Changbin and Jeongguk shook their heads. “It’s something I learned from my boss’ wife. She used to restore tea sets before her arthritis set in,” you explained, squeezing between the two to grab the tea pot.

You turned it and showed them the various lines of gold. “This teapot was originally broken into 6 separate pieces when it came to the store. Using resin and gold powder I attached the pieces together. This is called hibi which means crack,” you said as you set the teapot back on the shelf.

“There are other methods but usually I only do this one,” you continued.

“If a piece is missing, sometimes we’ll substitute with a piece from another set but I have yet to have to do that.”

“So why the gold?” Jeongguk asked, asking the question on the tip of Changbin’s tongue.

“Kintsugi is about displaying the imperfections rather than covering them up. It’s the belief that the imperfections are what make it beautiful. As a philosophy, kintsugi treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object. The imperfections become part of the item,” you explained.

Changbin glanced up at his friend who was deep in thought as he looked at the black and gold set. Before Jeongguk could ask anymore questions, Changbin grabbed his friend by the elbow. “I think we’ve taken up enough of Y/N’s time,” he said gently tugging his friend towards the door.

Changbin turned to you as he guided Jeongguk out the door. “Thank you so much,” he said, smiling at you. You returned the gesture, giving him a small bow. “Thank you for coming in,” you replied, giving him a small wave as he exited.

Once the door shut behind them Changbin rounded on Jeongguk. “First you insult the items and then you won’t shut up and stop asking questions?” He asked as they walked down the sidewalk where Jeongguk’s car was parked.

Jeongguk rolled his eyes, lowering his mask. “Okay, I admit, the whole price thing, that was out of line. But I was genuinely curious about the sets! It was actually kind of fascinating. I’ve never seen or heard someone talk about tea sets like that,” he replied as he unlocked the car.

Both men opened their doors and slid into their seats. “She’s passionate about it,” Jeongguk continued as he buckled his seatbelt and started the car, the engine roaring to life. “She’s in it for the art,” Changbin added.

“I think that's something we both can appreciate.”

You watched as Changbin and Jeongguk walked down the sidewalk and out of sight. Once they’d disappeared beyond your scope of vision, you turned and headed back into the backroom to file the store’s copy of the paperwork away and return to your workspace.

The backroom was where you spent a good majority of your time, taking Shinju’s old station. It was a sturdy desk made of white oak wood in the shape of an L. One of the sides was pushed up against the back wall of the workshop and had an attached cabinet.

Inside the cabinet were various tools you used to restore sets including a vast array of paints and paintbrushes. Not only did you clean and seal cracks in the ceramics but you also touched up any painting that needed it.

It was a lot of fine details and tended to be very tedious but you’d always had a particularly steady hand and a deep love for art to begin with. Normally you painted on canvas in your youth. Now the ceramic was your canvas.

You took a seat on your cushioned chair, grabbing the heavy knitted blanket Shinju had gifted you last year to keep your legs warm. For some reason, the back of the shop always got extremely cold, even in the heat of the summer.

Picking up the cup you were currently working on, you started back up, dipping your brush into the small mug of water before dipping it into the gold paint.

The swirls came naturally as the brush tip glided across the ceramic. It was easy work and it took up a decent amount of time. You listened to the music over the shop speakers, simple classical tunes that were pleasant to the ear.

As you continued painting along the rim of the cup, time ticked by on the clock to your right. You hardly paid the face any attention as you worked. Only glancing at it when you felt necessary to gauge how much time before you needed to start cleaning up.

What felt like only minutes but was probably closer to an hour went by before the familiar tinkling of the bell caught your attention. You set the cup down on the cloth that stretched over the workspace before cleaning the brush and quickly patting it dry.

“Hello?” A familiar voice called from the showroom.

You got up, brushing off your apron before heading to the curtain only for it to be pulled back and the face of your boyfriend appeared.

Upon seeing you, Joshua gave you a smile, one you almost returned before remembering that he hadn’t spoken to you since the night at the club.

Joshua noticed the change in your demeanor, the chill in your stare.

“I come with a peace offering,” he said, holding up a brown paper sack without a logo. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously before beckoning him to join you in the back room.

Once he’d passed the doorway, you moved out to the showroom, crossed to the door and turned the lock before flipping the small sign that read ‘be back soon.’

You returned to the backroom, letting the curtain fall behind you before crossing your arms over your chest and fixing your boyfriend with a blank expression. You were waiting for an apology.

Joshua understood your body language immediately and set the bag on the small table just inside the back room where you usually sat to eat lunch. “I know,” you heard him say softly.

“I messed up,” he continued, moving to place his hands gently on your shoulders.

“I messed up big time and I am so sorry for the way I acted at the club the other night.”

Looking into his face, you could see the sincerity etched upon his features. He really did mean it. But you weren’t satisfied. That wasn’t all he had to answer for in your opinion.

“And?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“And I'm sorry for not talking to you since that night,” Joshua added immediately.

You pursed your lips. "And?"

Joshua gave you a confused look until you sighed and shrugged off your cardigan, showing him the now bruised spot on your arm. The same spot he'd grabbed roughly the night at the club.

His eyes fell on the mark and the confusion melted away as he immediately took your arm gently. "Oh my god, baby," he murmured as he inspected the bruise. "I'm so sorry."

"You're lucky Lilah hasn't seen this. Or my parents," you replied pulling your cardigan back on, fixing Joshua with a blank stare. He immediately reached up, cupping your cheek. "I am so, so sorry, Y/N. I really did not mean to grab you like that."

You nodded wordlessly. "I know," you replied. "But it doesn't change the fact that you did. You need to be more mindful of your actions, Joshua." He nodded in agreement.

"Of course," he answered. "Hold me accountable. What I did was wrong and inexcusable." He took your hands in his, looking into your eyes. "I promise I'll be more mindful and to pay more attention." He gave your hands a gentle squeeze.

Once you nodded, showing that you both understood and forgave him, Joshua pulled you into a hug, swaying you both lightly until you broke the silence. "So, what's in the bag?"

Joshua had stopped by one of your favorite delis, getting you a lunch special with a sandwich and a cup of soup. The two of you sat at the small break table, eating lunch and chatting.

Joshua explained what he had been up to the last few days and answered your questions about work while you finished your food.

He had just finished explaining something one of the project leads had done when the shrill ringing of the phone cut him off. "Oh shoot," you murmured, getting up and crossing the backroom to answer the landline at Mr. Serizawa's work desk.

"Serizawa’s, this is Y/N speaking," you answered politely.

"Hello, Y/N. It's Isei," a voice on the other side said.

"Oh, hello Mr. Serizawa!"

Joshua had gotten up from the table and crossed the room as you listened to your boss speak. You felt Joshua's presence looming behind you and just as suddenly, you could feel his hands on your hips as he reached you.

"I'm not going to be able to come in later to close the shop," Mr. Serizawa started. "Shinju isn't feeling too great so I'm going to have to take her to the clinic." You furrowed your brow.

"Is she going to be okay?" you asked quickly, ignoring Joshua whispering the word "what" into your ear.

"I'm not sure. Hopefully it's nothing too serious but I'd like you to close up early. And please take the deposit to the bank for me. I don't think I'll be able to get it done by noon tomorrow."

You nodded even though he couldn't see you.

"Of course, Mr. Serizawa. I made a sale today so I'll call them and let them know to come sooner to pick up their items," you replied. "I hope Mrs. Serizawa is okay and tell her I'm thinking of her."

"Thank you Y/N. I will keep you updated. Goodbye"

The line clicked, indicating he had hung up.

You immediately set the phone back down.

"Everything okay?" Joshua asked as you sighed, his chin resting on your shoulder. "Shinju isn't feeling great so Mr. Serizawa is going to take her to the clinic," you said as you turned in his arms.

"He wants me to close the shop early," you added. "Which reminds me." You gently pushed Joshua back and moved over to the filing cabinet to pull out the file with Changbin's receipt.

"I need to call him back so he can come get his items," you murmured as you moved back to the work desk and picked up the phone. Joshua leaned against the counter top, watching you dial the number on the receipt.

The line rang a couple times before it picked up. "Hello?"

"Hi, may I speak with Changbin?"

"Speaking, who is this?"

"It's Y/N. I just got a call from the owner and he's asked me to close the shop early. If you want to still pick up your chairs today, you might want to head over here as soon as possible. I'll be closing the shop within the hour," you explained, playfully swatting Joshua's hand as it started to wander.

"Oh, hang on a sec," Changbin said before speaking indistinctly to someone else. You waited a couple moments before he returned. "I'll be by in ten minutes. Twenty at most," Changbin finally said.

You smiled in relief. "Okay, I'll see you soon," you replied. "Bye bye." You hung up and turned to Joshua who grabbed your waist and pulled you toward him. "Who was that?"

"Just a customer. He came in earlier to buy some chairs," you answered, looking at Joshua. "How long did he say he'd be?" Your boyfriend gave you a mischievous grin. You shook your head.

"He'll be here soon," you answered, trying to pull away but Joshua held you firmly in place. "So like twenty minutes?" he asked with a smirk, leaning in to kiss you. You pulled back much too quickly for his liking. "My lunch break is almost over, Mr. Hong," you said sternly. Joshua snorted but leaned in for another kiss.

His lips parted yours, tongue slipping past and just as quickly, he turned both of you, pressing against you and pinning you against the work desk. "Joshua," you warned as his lips started to wander, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck.

"Come on," he murmured. "There's a lot I can do in twenty minutes," he continued, one hand sliding down your hip to the hem of your dress. Why you chose to wear such a short one today, you'd never understand.

Your hand quickly grabbed his wrist as his hand dipped between your thighs. "Joshua Hong!" you chastised, eyes widening at the devilish smirk on his face. "Come on, baby," he urged. "I promise I'll be quick." You shook your head, pulling his hand away.

"No way, mister," you answered. "I'd like to keep my job."

Joshua sighed, leaning his forehead against yours. "You're no fun," he grumbled. You smiled cheerfully, giving him a quick peck on the lips before moving to clean up the break table and wash your hands.

Joshua sulked, watching you clean up and start putting away your painting supplies before setting the tea set you were working on in one of the empty cabinets and shutting the door.

Just as you were finishing up, there was a knock at the front door. You wiped your hands on your apron and ignored your boyfriend's pout to go answer the door.

Once past the curtain, you saw Changbin with Chris standing at the door, chatting amongst themselves. You approached the door, unlocked it and opened it to greet them.

"Hey," you said cheerfully as you let them into the shop as Joshua appeared from behind the curtain. You caught a glimpse of his expression and you could tell he was now upset.

You narrowed your eyes, silently telling him to knock it off.

"They shouldn't be too heavy, Changbin noted as he and Chris moved over to the two chairs. You waited by the door for them to pick up the chairs which they each did with relative ease.

Holding the door open, you let them pass by you as they carried the chairs out to the waiting truck. Chris set the chair he carried down before opening the tailgate of his truck. Each one of them carefully loaded the covered chairs into the bed.

You watched as Chris climbed in, starting to carefully secure the chairs with rope. Once tied down, Chris hopped down while Changbin walked over to where you stood on the stoop.

"Thanks again for giving me the heads up," he said with a smile, one you returned. "Of course," you answered. "I don't know when your shop is opening and I'm sure you'd want to have these chairs now rather than later." Changbin nodded before glancing past you into the shop where Joshua stood, arms crossed and looking unimpressed. Changbin quickly looked back at you.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly. Your heart pounded in your chest at his soft expression. He barely knew you and yet here he was, being so sweet and making sure you were okay. You nodded.

"Yeah. We're fine," you answered. Changbin nodded and turned to look back at Chris. "All set?" he asked. The other man nodded, giving him double thumbs up. "All set!"

Changbin turned back to face you. "Thank you again," he said with that same soft smile. "I'll see you around, Y/N!"

With a wave, he jogged around to the passenger side of the truck as Chris got into the driver's seat. Once they were settled, Chris started the truck which roared to life, and the two took off, pulling out carefully onto the main street and heading out of view.

You stepped back into the shop, letting the door shut before you turned the lock and turned, just now remembering Joshua was in the shop, arms still crossed, and an unmistakable scowl on his face.

"What was that?" he demanded as you walked towards him. " What was what?" you asked as you reached the curtain and pushed it aside, letting it catch in the curtain hook. Joshua followed you into the backroom as you moved towards the supply closet for the broom and dustpan. "You know what," he argued.

"He was a customer, Joshua," you said, no longer amused by his behavior. "All the smiles and waves? What the hell was that?" he asked again as you grabbed the broom and started sweeping.

"He was a customer," you reiterated. "I'm nice to all my customers," you continued as you swept the backroom. It took less than five minutes to sweep as it wasn't a busy day and Mr. Serizawa hadn't been in the shop to work on furniture. You dumped the dustbin and moved to the front of the store, Joshua hot on your heels. "I don't like him," he said as he watched you.

"You don't even know him," you retorted.

"Neither do you."

"Chris does."

"You don't know Chris so you couldn't possibly trust his judgment."

"Lilah knows them."

You savored your victory when Joshua fell silent. He couldn't argue with that. "In any case, I think you should stay away from him," Joshua finally said. You paused your sweeping to turn and look at him. "Are we really having the whole control conversation again?"

Confusion was replaced by realization as Joshua's posture relaxed. "I'm only thinking about your safety," he answered. You sighed, turning away and rolling your eyes. "I'll be just fine," you replied.

Joshua said nothing, instead checked his watch and huffed.

"I'd better get back to the office," he announced, disappearing into the backroom to grab his jacket before returning. "Are you going to be okay walking home by yourself?" he asked. You nodded as he approached, leaning in to give you a quick kiss.

"Text me when you get home," he added before heading to the door and unlocking it. "And lock this door as soon as I leave," he added with a faux stern expression. You rolled your eyes playfully and walked over as he exited, closing the door behind him and waited for you to turn the deadbolt.

After checking the door, he waved and headed to his waiting car. You watched as he got in and drove off before flipping the closed sign and pulling the shade on the door window down.

You resumed sweeping until you were certain every nook and cranny was swept. Returning the broom and dustpan to the supply closet, you bagged up all trash and took the bag out to the dumpster in the alley behind the shop.

Once back inside, you locked the backdoor and headed up front to pull the shades down on all the windows and then went behind the counter to count the register for all the cash transactions.

After counting and adding it to the ledger, you headed into Mr. Serizawa's office to access the safe and collect the deposit for the bank. Putting the money in the locking cash bag, you put the bag inside your purse and tripled checked all doors were locked.

You grabbed your jacket, purse, and keys and headed out the door, making sure to lock both locks before heading down the sidewalk towards the bank. This wasn't the first time you'd deposited money for Mr. Serizawa and you were glad he trusted you with such a task.

The walk to the bank took only about ten minutes and once you deposited the money and got the receipt, you were about half way to your apartment when you realized you forgot your phone and your apartment key.

Cursing yourself, you begrudgingly turned back and headed to the shop. It added an additional 20 minutes but soon you had your phone and house key in hand and you were back outside the shop, locking the knob and deadbolt.

You were fiddling with the deadbolt when you heard someone call your name.

Looking over your shoulder, you were met by the smiling face of--

"Jeonghan!" you said as you finally got the deadbolt to slide into place and turned to properly greet the man. He gave you a warm smile. “How have you been?” He asked as you returned the shop keys to your purse.

“I’ve been good!”

An awkward silence filled the air before Jeonghan spoke.

“You closing up the shop?”

You shook your head before nodding. “Well, sort of,” you answered.

“I closed earlier but forgot my phone and house keys like an idiot.”

Jeonghan’s expression shifted from warm to confused. “You aren’t an idiot,” he replied. “We all forget things from time to time.” You nodded wordlessly.

“Well, I’d better get home.”

“Would you mind if I walked you home?”

You both stared at one another before laughing. “Go ahead,” Jeonghan continued. “What were you going to say?”

“Just that I should probably head home,” you replied. Jeonghan nodded. “I was going to offer to walk you, but I’m sure you’ll manage on your own,” he stated.

“Yes,” you answered. “But thank you anyway.”

The two of you parted ways after an awkward goodbye and you made the short walk back to your apartment, stopping just inside the door to grab your mail and head up to your floor.

As you reached the top of the stairs, the front door of the apartment next door opened, your neighbor poking his head out.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, catching your attention. You looked over to see his normally tidy black hair was tousled, glasses slightly askew. “Are you okay?” You asked, mildly concerned. “You don’t look so good, Wonwoo.”

Your neighbor shook his head. “I’m alright. I just realized, halfway into my shower, that I don’t have any body wash. Could I borrow some? I’ve got a date tonight and you’d really be doing me a favor.”

You tried to hold back your laughter. “I would except I think my body wash might not go over too well with your date. She might think you have a girlfriend,” you answered. Wonwoo stared blankly at you until your words sank in.

“Oh shit, you’re right,” he finally said, eyes widening. “What do I do?”

You finally let out a laugh before shrugging. “If you’re really in a pinch, dish soap would probably work,” you answered. Wonwoo’s face lit up. “Brilliant! Why didn’t I think of that?” You shook your head. “No idea.”

“Thanks Y/N,” Wonwoo said before disappearing into his apartment and shutting the door, leaving you to unlock your own door and enter your apartment, letting the door shut behind you before locking it and looking over your mail as you entered your apartment.

After sorting your mail and going through the important papers, you started your usual nighttime ritual of dinner, a movie, and your evening bedtime routine. Once in bed, you made sure your phone was plugged in and your alarm was set for the next morning.

The next morning was Sunday which meant it was time for church. It wasn’t your favorite activity but you didn’t have much of a choice when it came to attendance. Your mother and father always made you attend in your youth and while you didn’t necessarily believe, your attendance was expected.

The vibration of your phone caught your attention as you sat at your vanity having just finished your makeup.

You sighed, turning to grab your phone as you checked the screen. It was your mother. You swiped the screen, bringing the device up to your ear as you looked over your outfit choices. “Hello?”

Your mother’s dulcet voice greeted you.

“Good morning, dear,” she said soothingly. “Did I wake you?”

You rolled your eyes. “No mother,” you answered as you picked up a hanger, inspecting the outfit. It was a white tweed jacket and skirt set with a gold pattern and a short sleeve white turtleneck.

“I’ve been up for about an hour now.”

“Are you getting ready?” You nodded, resisting the urge to sigh annoyed at her tone. “I am,” you answered. “Picking out an outfit now.”

“I’m sure you’ll select something appropriate,” your mother responded. “Mhm,” you replied, not really paying attention to what she was saying. “How are you planning to get to the church?” Your mother suddenly asked.

You hesitated. “Uh… I had planned to walk,” you answered. You heard your mother tut. “We’ll just send a car to come get you.” You sighed heavily.

Your parents lived in a gated community on the west side of Sejong, a much nicer area of the city, though most of the city was nice. Your family came from money, as did most of your friends. Your friend group attended the best private schools in Sejong, continuing onto university and never having to worry about how to pay for tuition or books. You knew how fortunate you were and how privileged your upbringing was.

“I’m perfectly fine walking,” you retorted as you set the suit down and picked up another outfit, a short sleeve ribbed white turtleneck with a black skirt and a split cropped short sleeve blazer. One side was entirely black while the other side and the collar was a black with white plaid pattern.

“Don’t be silly, dear. It would take such a long time for you to walk there. Our driver will come get you. We’ll send Martin.” You knew there was no point in arguing and relented. “Fine,” you answered. “I’ll see you at the church, mother.”

Before she had the opportunity to redirect the conversation, you said goodbye and hung up. “This one,” you said, turning to your closet and grabbing a belt and a pair of shoes to match.

Once dressed and looking up to your own standards of “church ready” you grabbed a small clutch purse and put a few items inside; lip gloss, phone, compact, and wallet. You weren’t sure if you were going to go out to eat after services or if you were going to come straight home but you wanted to be prepared either way.

As you headed out of your apartment, your phone vibrated in your purse. Locking your door before you forgot, you puled the device from your bag and checked the notifications. A slew of texts from Lilah filled the screen.

Lilah🌕: are you going today? Lilah🌕: i don’t know why you pretend to believe Lilah🌕: we could be doing more productive things Rolling your eyes with a slight smirk, you typed a response. You: you know how my parents would freak if I stopped coming You: besides, it’s not that bad

Lilah’s response was instantaneous and you pictured here lounging on her bed, waiting for you to text her back.

Lilah🌕: speak for yourself. You don’t get weird stares when you’re just sitting there existing. All those people follow teaching that tell them not to judge yet that’s all those hypocrites do Lilah🌕: skip services and come see me instead Lilah🌕: I miss you ):

You sighed as you took a break from her messages to head down the stairs. After the last time you tried to text while traversing the stairs ended up with a trip to the hospital and a twisted ankle followed by bed rest and a bulky brace, you learned your lesson.

Once you were on flat ground again, you stopped by your building’s front door and peered out the glass, looking for the car your mother insisted on sending. You saw nothing and instead went back to your messages.

Lilah🌕: where you go? ):< You: i was walking down the stairs lol calm down Lilah🌕: oh yeah. We don’t want a repeat of last time You: i remember thanks lol anyway i can’t skip You: my mother is sending a car to pick me up Lilah🌕: BOOOO. BOO KAREN You: my mother’s name isn’t Karen Lilah🌕: no but your mother IS a Karen You: 🧍🏻‍♀️ Lilah🌕: just tell Jeeves that you don’t feel well and come see me instead :> Lilah🌕: we can order pizza and watch Gilmore Girls! You: ugh i wish but i can’t back out now Lilah🌕: why not? ):< You: because the car just got here

You sighed and locked your screen as a familiar silver car pulled up.

It was definitely one of your father’s, a silver Lexus. Your father loved his Lexuses.

The driver’s door opened and a tall man, who you presumed to be Martin, in a black suit with black sunglasses stepped out, moving to open the back passenger door like some sort of secret service.

Holding in a chuckle, you descended the steps, smiling as he greeted you with a formal “morning miss.” You thanked him as you climbed into the back, settling in the seat as Martin shut the door and walked back to the driver’s side.

The interior was an off-white leather and rather spacious. Leave it to your parents to send such a nice car to pick you up for church.

Once Martin put the car in gear and pulled onto the street, you returned to your texts with your best friend.

Lilah🌕: boo. Throw up on him You: lilah! 💀 Lilah🌕: what?? He’ll leave you there to go home and change and then tell Karen that he refuses to pick you up ever again. It’s a win-win! You: absolutely not lol Lilah🌕: sometimes you’re no fun Lilah🌕: you already on your way there? You: yeah. It’s so quiet in the car. No music, no conversation, nothing Lilah🌕: not even Nocturne in E-flat major, Op. 9, No. 2? Lilah🌕: what has happened to society? How could they not play Nocturne in E-flat major, Op. 9, No. 2 You: oh stop it lol 😂 You: i just meant it’s really awkward right now.

The car jostled as it hit a small bump and Martin apologized quietly, glancing at you in the rearview. “It’s not a problem, Martin,” you replied kindly. “Just another sign that Sejong needs to focus on repairing some of these roads instead of the other ventures they seem to be spend on,” you added as you looked back down.

Lilah🌕: you mean Jeeves isn’t the most fabulous conversationalist you’ve ever met? Lilah🌕: absolutely unacceptable. How did he even land that job? You: your sarcasm is leaking through my screen, Li Lilah🌕: good 🥰 Lilah🌕: i’m gonna watch a movie. Text me when the cult meeting is over You: Lilah! Lilah🌕: love you!! ❤️😘

You chuckled as you put your phone away, looking up as Martin pulled up outside the cathedral. You took a deep breath as Martin got out to open the door and you stepped out as members of the congregation started filing into the open doors, some stopping to greet others.

You thanked Martin as you brushed your skirt and looked back up. You didn’t see your parents anywhere outside and figured they must be inside already. Taking another deep breath, you followed the throngs of people entering the building and climbed the stone steps up to the doors.

Inside the foyer were small crowds of people, all speaking to one another. The doors that led into the main room were still closed as no doubt the staff were preparing for the services. You finally caught sight of your parents who were standing off to one side talking with Joshua’s parents, your boyfriend standing nearby and looking like he was part of the conversation.

You squeezed through the crowded foyer, saying excuse me until you reached them. Joshua was the first to spot you as you approached. He greeted you with a smile, breaking from the group to pull you into a light hug, pressing a kiss to your temple before your parents and his noticed your presence.

“Oh good,” you heard your mother say as Joshua guided you over to both sets of parents. You noticed another couple of your parents’ friends were standing in the circle and you could feel their eyes scrutinizing not only you but Joshua as well.

You saw the way the woman, whose name you forgot, looked over you, scanning your outfit and how you had presented yourself. It made you feel like a child all over again and you were showing your parent what you had picked to wear on the first day of school.

“You’ve made it,” your mother said, drawing your attention from the woman silently judging your choice of attire. You weren’t sure why she was judging you so hard, especially when she was wearing what you assumed was a dress. It looked like something she’d probably been wearing since the 1980’s and probably should have stayed there.

“What are you wearing?” Your mother asked softly, eyes looking at your jacket.

You glanced down and then back up. “What?” You asked. “What’s wrong with it?”

You saw the way your mother glanced to the side, probably to see if anyone was looking at you. Glancing back, you saw that no one was. “It just doesn’t seem appropriate for church,” your mother responded before turning as her name was called and she greeted another member of the congregation with your father in tow. You tried not to let her words get to you.

After all, you were used to this. You’d expected the scrutiny but for some reason, it still hurt. You were an adult now and she still treated you like a child.

You felt an arm around your shoulders before Joshua whispered in your ear. “You look nice,” he said softly. The sour feeling that had started to prickle at the back of your throat started to subside, as did the heat of embarrassment.

He always managed to calm you down when it came to your mother.

“Thanks,” you replied just as softly. “I think you look amazing in everything you wear,” Joshua added, kissing your cheek. Your cheeks burned and you mumbled at him to stop though that was the last thing you wanted.

You giggled as Joshua nuzzled your cheek until you heard his mother’s sharp voice calling his name. Joshua looked over his shoulder at her. “We are in public,” she said sternly, fixing you with a steely glare. Like it was your fault for Joshua’s behavior. “You’re right,” Joshua said turning back to look at you, taking your chin in his hand and tilting your head to place a kiss on your lips right as the doors opened.

“Joshua!” You heard his mother hiss. Joshua rolled his eyes with a smile on his lips. “I’ll see you later,” he murmured, giving you one last peck before you were dragged away by your mother who reprimanded you for public displays of affection as she led you and your stoic father to a row of benches about half way into the room.

You were thankful to be sitting at the furthest end of the row closest to the outside wall as more people filed into the church, filling the rows. Your mother was sat on the other side of your father who merely checked his watch before looking around the room, almost as if he was bored and you were left wondering if he even wanted to be here.

As the rows behind and in front of you filled up, your parents greeted the other members of the congregation, speaking about everything ranging from business to their plans for the week. Your mother talked about upcoming charity events and soirees while your father spoke strictly business and golf.

You checked your phone quickly, seeing Lilah had sent you a couple texts about the movie she was watching and reminding you to text her when you got out of church. You were about to put your phone away when you got another text. One from your boyfriend.

Joshy: put your phone away ma’am

A smile spread across your face as you typed a response.

You: you first Joshy: i can see you 👁 You: well, it’s not like i’m trying to hide from you Joshy: turn around

You looked behind you and saw him a couple rows behind with his parents, staring directly at you with a smirk.

You turned back to look at your phone.

Joshy: hi You: you’re such a dork Joshy: you still love me You: do i? 🤔 Joshy: i’m wounded ): 💔 You: poor baby Joshy: hey. I’m not a baby 😠 You: awww is the widdle baby mad? Joshy: i’m NOT a baby Joshy: you’re the baby Joshy: you’re my baby You: i know 😌🥰 You: okay princess 🙄 Joshy: you really should put your phone away though You: i’m a rebel Joshy: is that so? You: yes 😈 Joshy: I'm not sure you should be using that emoji in a house of worship 🤨 You: just goes to show I'm a rebel 😎💅🏻 Joshy: okay Rebel Girl, meet me in the basement ten minutes after the services start You: we can’t leave! 😶 Joshy: i thought you were a rebel 🤨 You: i am ):< Joshy: prove it to me You: i dont know Josh… Joshy: either you’re your parents’ good girl or your mine Joshy: you decide You: but Josh ): Joshy: ten minutes. I’ll see you downstairs ♥️

You glanced up as the sermon started, slipping your phone into your purse and placing your hands over it. The pastor’s words seemed to just go into one ear and out the other as you tried to think of a way to sneak away.

Checking your watch you saw you only had a couple minutes left. ‘How the hell am I going to get away?’ You glanced around, eyes scanning the congregation. Most eyes were on the pastor as he spoke, his droning voice no doubt boring into their brains much like it did to yours.

You noticed several kids were either dozing off, playing on their phones, or just flat out asleep. Even some adults were dozing off. You heard whispered voices behind you and glanced back in time to see Joshua whispering to his mother and getting up.

Turning back forward, you stared at the back of the bench before you, wracking your brain until Lilah’s words to you earlier hit you.

‘Throw up on him.’

‘That’s it!’ You leaned forward slightly, dropping your head. Your father merely glanced at you but your mother leaned across him to ask you what the matter was. You lifted your head briefly. “I think I’m going to be sick,” you whispered. Your mother studied your body and so you threw in a fake retch for good measure.

“Go to the bathroom. Do not throw up here.”

You nodded and got up slowly, making sure to move as quickly as possible but not too quickly. Once you were out in the foyer, you turned to the right and headed for the steps that lead into the basement of the church where a few rooms for classes and a secondary set of bathrooms were.

You walked down the hallway, keeping your head on a swivel to keep an eye out for not only your boyfriend but staff as well. You were passing an empty room when you felt a hand grab your arm and tug you into the room, another hand clamping over your mouth to prevent you from screaming.

Your heart hammered as Joshua pushed you against a wall, shutting the door behind him.

You let out a deep exhale as he removed his hand. “Sorry,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I didn’t want you to scream.” You hit him lightly with your purse. “You scared the crap out of me!” You hissed as he cackled softly. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said as he leaned in, pressing his lips to your cheek.

“Let me make it up to you?”

You felt one of his hands slid up between your legs. “We are in a church,” you hissed as his hand continued under your skirt. “That hasn’t stopped us before,” he murmured, lips ghosting over yours. “I thought we agreed to never talk about that again,” you whispered as his lips moved to your neck, leaving light, feathery kisses that verged on tickling.

“I guess I forgot that memo.”

You rolled your eyes, let out a soft gasp as his fingers made contact with your cloth covered sex. “Joshua!” You warned, though it couldn’t have been much of a warning when your voice was so shaky. Joshua clearly heard the tremble in your voice.

“You sure you want me to stop?” He asked, his hand stopping. You shook your head quickly. “No,” you gasped. Joshua smiled against your skin. “Good girl.”

"Have you seen my charger?"

Changbin glanced up, making eye contact with Minho who was peering into the room, holding up his wall plug but the cord was missing. Changbin shook his head and returned to his tablet.

Minho narrowed his eyes as his boss. "Did you take it?" he asked the younger man. Changbin glanced back up before fishing his phone out of his pocket and holding it up for Minho to see.

"Why would I take an Apple charger for an Apple device when I use exclusively Samsung products?" he asked, lips threatening to twitch into a smirk as he returned the same scrutinizing stare.

Minho only held his gaze for a few moments more before conceding. "What about Jeongguk?" he asked as Changbin pocket his phone and went back to ordering supplies on his tablet.

"Also Samsung," a voice said, causing Minho to turn and look up at the man in question as Jeongguk held up his phone. "Ask your roommate," Jeongguk added as he returned his phone to his pocket. Minho glared in the direction of Chris' station before slinking out of the room like a cat.

Jeongguk snorted as Minho could be heard in the background.

"Give me back my charger you thieving, two-faced Australian bitch!"

Changbin shook his head, holding in his laughter as he finished adding items to his cart. He glanced up as Jeongguk sat on the custom red bench Changbin specially ordered for his last shop.

"Do you need any new needles or bands?" Changbin asked, not looking up as he continued to tap away on his tablet. Jeongguk shook his head. I still have bands from that last order," he admitted and my station is overstocked on needles."

Changbin nodded silently as he proceeded to check out.

Minho and Chris could be heard bickering in the background as Changbin finished filling out the forms and placed his order, saving his confirmation number before setting the tablet on the desk behind him. He turned back to face his friend.

"Did you need something?" Changbin asked, just now noticing Jeongguk held a stack of colored papers in his hands. Jeongguk nodded at the stack, tilting it to show Changbin the front.

"They flyers came in," he answered. Four colors like you ordered," he added. Changbin crossed the distance and held out his hand to take the stack and look over the paper.

It was exactly as he ordered. "Perfect," he murmured. "You still wanna post them around town?" Jeongguk asked as Changbin flipped to the other colored pages. He nodded. "Yeah, where are the other two?" he asked, absent-mindedly scanning the paper.

Jeongguk leaned back and whistled, drawing the attention of the two bickering in the other room. Moments later, Chris and Minho appeared at the doorway, looking equal parts shocked and curious. "You got plans tonight?" Jeongguk asked, glancing over his shoulder at them.

"I was going to see Ari," Minho admitted while Chris shook his head. "We just got the flyers in," Changbin said, holding up the stack to show them. "We wanted to put them up around town," Jeongguk added. "You guys in?"

"Or you gonna make us do all the work?" Changbin asked teasingly. Chris smiled widely. "I'm in," he replied cheerfully before turning to look at Minho who rolled his eyes before a smirk formed on his face. "I guess I can see Ari afterwards," he said, pulling his phone out to no doubt shoot her a text.

"Great," Changbin said, splitting up the flyers and handing one color to each person. "Well split into pairs. Minho and Jeongguk, you take east of main, Chris and I will cover the west side. Check in with the small shops. Ask if they have a business bulletin board. If they refuse, just move on," Changbin explained. "I don't wanna make enemies or cause a scene."

Minho, Chris and Jeongguk nodded. "Wait, how are we attaching these?" Minho asked as Jeongguk glanced at Changbin. "Oh, right," the eldest said as he got up, handing his stack of papers to Changbin and sauntered out of the room.

He returned a couple moments later with a plain white paperboard box and opened the lid, setting it on the bench. He pulled out four staple guns, handing one to each guy before passing out smaller little boxes of staples. "My brother sent these with the flyers," he explained as he opened his own staple gun and loaded the staples into it.

"Your brother?" Chris asked, tilting his head curiously. Jeongguk nodded as he pulled the trigger, making sure his staple gun was loaded properly. "Yeah, he made the flyers." Minho glanced down at the papers. "He's a talented artist," he noted.

"He's a comic book artist," Jeongguk explained. "So we commissioned him to design the flyers and then print them for us," Changbin continued. "Come on," he added. "The sun's going down and I'd like to get this up with the light."

The four headed out of the shop, Changbin locking up after Minho finally exited. "If you run out of flyers, awesome," Changbin said looking at Jeongguk. "If not, no big deal. Just go around until the sun sets."

The brunet nodded and motioned for Minho to follow him. Changbin and Chris turned and headed in the opposite direction. It was a mundane and repetitive task, stapling the flyers on the wooden telephone poles, stopping by small businesses and asking them to display the flyers on any bulletin boards they might have.

A few businesses turned them away, albeit very rudely upon hearing the word tattoo. Some business owners were only too happy to help support other local businesses.

Half their stacks were gone as they continued down one of the many side streets off main street, stapling sheets as they went.

While taking a short break, Changbin noticed Chris smiling at his phone as he typed away. Changbin didn't want to pry but he wanted to make an effort to get to know his employees as he would most likely end up being close friends with these guys.

"Lilah?" Changbin asked, drawing Chris' attention. The older man smiled as he locked his screen. "Yeah," he answered. "She's really funny," he added. Changbin nodded. "She's pretty tol," he added, causing Chris to smile wider.

A comfortable silence fell over them before Chris spoke up.

"Her friend, Y/N, is really pretty, too."

Changbin’s heart thumped in his chest at the mention of Y/N's name. He nodded silently. "Yeah," he answered nonchalantly. "She has a boyfriend though, right?" Changbin added, looking at Chris who nodded. "Yeah," he said, sounding slightly bitter.

"Joshua Hong."

Changbin’s mind wandered back to that night at the club. The night he met you and was willing to put himself between you and your boyfriend. It was clear to him then that Joshua wasn't the nicest guy and he got that same impression again when he went to pick up his furniture from Serizawa's antique store.

"You don't like him?" Changbin asked, watching Chris as he contemplated telling him something. Whatever it was Chris was keeping from him, Changbin could tell he was hiding something bigger and he would be lying if he said his curiosity wasn't piqued.

"No," Chris answered, voice devoid of emotion. "From what Lilah tells me, Y/N could do so much better than Joshua," he continued. "Chris stopped in his tracks before turning to look at Changbin who had also stopped. "Why are you so interested all of a sudden?"

Changbin tried to play it off by shrugging. I met her through you and Lilah, she works at that furniture and antique shop. I keep running into her and I've been wondering if she's always so nice."

Chris nodded with a smile. "She's always been such a sweetheart. Ever since I first met her hardly anything gets her down." Changbin and Chris started walking again.

"You seem to know her pretty well," Changbin noted, to which Chris snorted. "I know what Lilah tells me," he corrected. He turned to fox Changbin with a curious look. "You seem awfully interested in a girl who has a boyfriend," he said, watching as Changbin shook his head once more. "Nah," Changbin answered.

"Just curious as to what her story is. That's all."

Across town, Minho and Jeongguk were just as busy stapling posters to every wooden post they came across.

"Ah my arms are so tired!" Minho whined, shaking his arm. Jeongguk snorted at him. "Are you always this whiny?" Jeongguk asked as he checked his phone. Minho gave him a cheeky smile. "No," he answered. "It's just for you."

Jeongguk playfully swiped at the younger man who dodged him easily. "Just hang up your damn flyers," Jeongguk said as he slipped his phone into his pocket again. "Stop bothering me."

Minho rolled his eyes as he moved to staple another flier to the phone pole. "Yes, dear."

It was Jeongguk's turn to roll his eyes as he pulled out his pack of cigarettes. Minho turned and shot a staple at him. Jeongguk glanced at the tiny metal projectile hanging onto his sweatshirt and looked up at Minho. "Aren't you supposed to be quitting?" Minho asked, narrowing his eyes as Jeongguk pulled out his lighter.

"'Supposed to' being the operative word," Jeongguk answered as he lit the end of the cigarette, taking a deep inhale. "To my credit," he continued as he put the pack and his lighter away. "I haven't bought any more. This is my last pack."

Minho rolled his eyes and continued down the street, stapling another flier to a wooden board covering a vacant building window.

"If you were a good friend, you'd help me finish the pack," Jeongguk jokingly accused as he took another drag. Minho laughed and turned to look at Jeongguk. "I'm not your friend," he retorted. "You're my employer," he added.

Jeongguk chuckled. "Seriously, do you want one?"

Minho shook his head. "I quit," he replied. "I noticed it only made me more anxious instead of taking the edge off."

Jeongguk shrugged his shoulders and took another puff. "Suit yourself."

The two of them continued down the street as the sun started to set behind the hills and trees that surrounded the town.

"Can I ask you something?" Minho asked suddenly. Jeongguk took another drag of his cigarette before exhaling. "Sure," he answered, looking at the younger man as they stopped on the sidewalk.

"How did you and Changbin meet? How do you know each other?"

Jeongguk hesitated, reaching up to scratch his head. "The long story is complicated but the short version is we met at a tattoo convention when Changbin was first looking to open his own shop. I was working a booth as a traveling artist, renting spaces at shops all over. I guess I was trying to find something more stable, " he explained before taking another long inhale of smoke.

"Changbin stopped by my booth and was impressed with my work and we started talking and when he asked which shop I worked at, I told him the truth," Jeongguk explained while Minho listened.

"He told me he was about to open his own shop and asked if I would come work at his place. Initially, I said no but the more I thought about it, I decided to give it a try," he continued.

Minho nodded, watching Jeongguk take another drag. "And that's it?" He asked. Jeongguk studied him for a moment before nodding.

"Yeah, pretty much. Four years later, and we're business partners," Jeongguk concluded. "He's my best friend," he added.

"As cheesy as it sounds, I couldn't imagine where I'd be in life without him," Jeongguk said as he took one last draw from his cigarette before putting it out. Minho nodded in understanding.

"I get it," he replied. "It's kind of like that for me with Chris." Jeongguk nodded in return before glancing up at the darkening sky. "Come on," he said suddenly. "We should head back, put more of these up on the way," he added, waving the lighter stack of flyers in his hand before leading the way down the sidewalk, Minho in tow.

Back at the shop, Changbin was scrolling on his phone while Chris played a music game when the door opened, the bell ringing and drawing their attention. Minho and Jeongguk entered with smug smiles on their faces. Minho held up his staple gun and aimed at Chris before launching a single tiny projectile at his friend.

"We put up all our flyers," Jeongguk said as Chris and Minho got into a staple war. Changbin looked impressed as Jeongguk strolled over and set his staple gun on the reception counter. "You smell like smoke," Changbin accused. Jeongguk shrugged his shoulders.

"My last pack is almost empty," he answered. "Then I'm done."

Changbin narrowed his eyes. "You better be," he said, playfully shoving his friend as Chris put Minho in a headlock which he quickly tapped out of.

Chris laughed loudly before looking over at Changbin and Jeongguk.

"Hey, we're gonna order some pizza and play video games tonight," he announced, drawing the attention of both men. "Maybe watch a movie. You guys wanna come?" Chris looked hopeful as Minho glanced to Jeongguk and Changbin who exchanged looks.

"Sure," Jeongguk answered, turning to look back at the two men.

Minho and Chris' eyes shifted to Changbin who glanced at Jeongguk before answering.

"Yeah, count me in.

You joined the crowd as the congregation exited the church, easily finding your mother and father as Joshua snuck off to find his parents. The sky had started to darken, gray clouds looming overhead.

Your mother turned to look at you and upon seeing you, she looked exasperated.

“You missed the whole service!” She reprimanded. You grimaced at her. “Sorry,” you replied. “I think I emptied the entire contents of my stomach in the bathroom.”

Your mother looked you over. “I was going to see if you wanted to join us for lunch with the Hong’s but perhaps you should go home,” she said as Joshua and his parents joined your little group. “I think we should postpone the lunch,” your mother said, sounding apologetic. “Y/N isn’t feeling well.

“Is that so?” Joshua’s mother asked, eyeing you suspiciously. You nodded silently as your mother felt your forehead. “Yes, she’s sweating and warm. She mentioned getting sick in the bathroom. I think we should wait until she feels better.”

Joshua’s mother nodded, lips pursed as she continued to look at you with that same scrutinizing stare. “Will you call Martin, dear,” your mother asked your father who reluctantly reached into his pocket for his phone.

Joshua interjected. “Y/N’s place is on the way to my apartment. I could drop her off,” he offered. “Maybe make her some soup and make sure she feels better before I head home?” The contrasting looks your mother and his gave you could have been comical.

Your mother was looking at your boyfriend like he was a saint, an angel even, to suggest doing something so sweet. The perfect boyfriend who would one day make the perfect husband. ‘In sickness and in health.’

His mother on the other hand was looking at you as if you were some harlot, trying to entice her son to sin. Like you would lead him directly into the gates of hell or something. She never did like you for some reason.

“If she’s sick, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said softly. You didn’t miss the intonation in her voice as she said the word sick. It held an underlying layer of contempt she held for you. Joshua waved her concern off. “I’m sure it’s fine, mother. Y/N probably ate something that didn’t agree with her,” he said.

“She’s always had issues with her stomach. I’m sure you remember that.”

Joshua’s mother pursed her lips again, glaring at you from behind her son.

“Thank you so much, Joshua,” your mother said sweetly as your boyfriend moved to wrap an arm securely around your shoulders. “It’s no trouble, Mrs. Y/L/N. After all, Y/N is my girlfriend and I would be a terrible boyfriend if I didn’t take care of her.” You could have sworn you saw your mother swoon as Joshua said goodbye to both sets of parents and gently steered you towards the door.

“You really don’t have to drive me home,” you said as you descended the steps outside and followed the sidewalk towards the parking lot. Joshua chuckled as he led the way. “Actually, I do now,” he answered. “If either of our parents saw you walking home, they would ask a lot more questions than they are now.”

You cursed mentally, knowing he was right.

“I guess you’ve got a point,” you said with a shrug. Joshua tsked and rolled his eyes. “Just can’t admit it when I’m right, can you?” You shook your head with a wide grin. “Never.”

Joshua scoffed as he led you to the passenger side of his car. “Brat,” he murmured as he unlocked and opened your door for you. “Thank you,” you said, laying heavy on the word so he wouldn’t know what you were thanking him for.

The ride back to your place took a shorter amount of time than the ride to the church. Joshua parked on the street, as he usually did. He had every intention of coming inside to “take care of you” as he put it. As soon as the apartment door shut, he was on you in seconds, one hand on your cheek and the other on the small of your back as he carefully backed you against your kitchen counter.

“Up,” he simply said, moving both hands to your thighs to help you up onto the counter before his lips were back on yours. “I need to go to the store,” you interrupted, pulling away but he shook his head. “I’ll order you groceries,” he answered, lips moving down your neck and stopping to remove your blazer and untuck your shirt.

“Joshua!” You whined as he pulled your top off over your head and threw it aside. “Keep saying my name like that,” he said breathlessly. Your head tilted to the side as his lips continued to kiss down your neck. “Seeing you come undone earlier really drove me crazy,” he groaned, fingers digging into the skin of your exposed thighs.

Before you had a chance to reply, he pulled you down from the counter, turning you to face away before he pressed against you, grinding into your ass. “I had to deal with this the whole ride over here,” he growled. You pushed back against him.

“Must have been so hard for you,” you said, enjoying the way he grew more and more frustrated. “If you don’t stop it, I’ll take you right here.” You hummed in response. “Oh, i’m so scared,” you replied, pushing against him again, letting out a moan at the feeling of his erection grinding against you.

“Fine,” Joshua said, one hand moving to the back of your neck. “Have it your way, brat.” Without another word, he pushed your chest down against the counter, keeping you pinned while the other hand reached to undo his belt and pants.

“You gonna keep me waiting?” You asked teasingly as Joshua pushed his pants and boxers down enough to pull his cock free. “What have I told you about that attitude, sweetheart?” He asked as his hand pushed your skirt up, grabbing the back of your panties and roughly pulling them down your thighs.

“That you’ll fuck it out of me?” You asked coyly.

Joshua wasted no time, ramming his cock into your pussy, making you cry out. He quickly placed his hand over your mouth to muffle your moans. “Precisely,” he answered before his hips started to thrust sharply, hitting your ass with each movement.

Each thrust had you practically screaming into his hand, your own hands trying to find something to grab onto to ground yourself from the force of your boyfriend’s hips. Another loud scream, muffled by his hand, escaped your lips.

“You alright, baby?” You heard him in your ear, his hips slowing to shallow thrusts. You nodded, breathing heavily against his hand. "Good," he replied, resuming the same merciless pace as before, pounding into you from behind, hand still muffling your cries as he took his pent up sexual tension on your body.

It never failed to astonish you just how rough Joshua got in bed. Of course, he wasn't like that the first couple times. It wasn't until you asked him to go a little harder that it came out. When you were both frustrated and needed release, he usually bent you over the closest surface and fucked you so hard you couldn't walk.

That wasn't to say he was always rough with you. For every rough session, he made up for the abuse to your core by showering you in affection. For every scream he'd pulled from you, there were twice as many whispered I love you's as he reverently made love to you.

"Fuck, I'm not gonna last," you heard him grunt in your shoulder. "I'm gonna cum." You whimpered against his hand as he chased his high, taking you over the edge with him as you both came together, you with a squeal as he thrust deeply into your abused hole, spilling his seed inside you, coating your walls.

With one final thrust, Joshua’s grip on you loosened and he had to brace himself against the counter to keep from collapsing on top of you. You panted heavily, cheek pressed against the cool granite of your kitchen counter. You felt his fingers comb through your hair, brushing some of the strands away from your face.

"You okay, baby?" he asked breathlessly. You nodded slowly and wordlessly as you tried to catch your own breath. Joshua leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked, lips brushing against your cheek.

You shook your head, exhaling against the granite. "No," you finally whispered. "Do you want me to help you up?"

Joshua always made sure to ask if you wanted or needed assistance and you appreciated that about him. You nodded and whined as he pulled back, his cock slipping from your pussy.

He quickly redressed himself and then carefully helped you stand before guiding you to your bathroom. He helped you sit on the toilet before moving to start the shower. "I could stay and join you," he offered as he tested the temperature of the water.

You smiled and shook your head. "I'll be okay, Joshua," you answered. He closed the curtain and turned to cross the short distance between you, kneeling down and taking your chin gently in his hand. "You sure you don't want me to stay, angel?" he asked, eyes meeting yours in a loving gaze.

You nodded in response. "Yeah," you said with a sigh. "I'll be okay."

Joshua stood up, leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead.

"Okay, sweetheart," he replied softly. "I'll check on you later."

You thanked him as he stood upright, looking up at him from your seated position. His hand moved to cup your cheek, thumb stroking your skin tenderly. "I love you, Y/N," he said as you reached up to place your hand over his and leaned into his touch.

"I love you too, Joshua."

After stealing a few more kisses, Joshua finally left your apartment and allowed you to undress and step into the scalding shower stream. You sighed loudly as the steaming hot water hit your skin. It helped to work out your sore muscles from being bent over the kitchen counter for a while.

After cleaning yourself off, you stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around yourself and headed into your kitchen, grabbing your purse and sifting through it until you found your phone. Turning the device on, you saw you had a couple missed texts from Lilah and Joshua.

You answered both before heading into your bedroom area to get changed into some clean clothes. Once dressed you headed back into the living room, about to sit down when there was a knock at your door. You sighed heavily and walked over to check the peephole.

Your neighbor stood on the other side.

You unlocked and opened the door, smirking up at Wonwoo. "Yes, neighbor?" you asked. Wonwoo peered past you into your apartment before looking back at you nervously.

"You alright?" he asked sheepishly. You stared at him blankly, blinking a few times. "Uh, yeah?" you answered. Wonwoo nodded slowly. "I heard you scream earlier and wanted to make sure you were okay," he replied.

Your cheeks burned. "Oh, um," you answered. "Joshua was here earlier," you added softly. Wonwoo's eyes widened and his cheeks turned pink as he realized what he'd overheard.

"Understandable. Okay. Have a good day," he sputtered. "Glad you're okay."

He quickly shuffled back to his apartment, clearly just as embarrassed as you as he shut his door, leaving you to shut your own door and retreat back into your apartment, completely mortified that your neighbor and friend had overheard you and Joshua.

You grabbed your phone and shot a quick text, informing your boyfriend that he wasn't allowed to make you scream at your place anymore. Joshua's reply came minutes later, finding it highly amusing.

Joshy: guess next time I won't cover your mouth 😌 You: 🥲 I'm glad you find this amusing Joshy: I'm just teasing you baby Joshy: but you're feeling okay? You: yes. I'm making some ramen now You: gonna watch a movie Joshy: do you still want me to send you some groceries? You: it's okay. I'll order them later 🥰 thank you though Joshy: of course. Anything for you, my love 💕 You: 💕🥰

You set your phone aside to focus on making your food before settling down on your couch and starting the movie Lilah had recommended to you last week.

It was a decent movie, not the best, but you could see the appeal as you finished your noodles and started working on making a grocery list. You were scribbling a few items down when your phone started buzzing on the coffee table.

You reached forward and grabbed it, recognizing your boss' number and answered it immediately.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Y/N?" Mr. Serizawa's voice came over the speaker. "This is Isei." You sat upright. "Hello, Mr. Serizawa, how are you?"

"Oh, I'm alright. And more importantly, Shinju is doing well," he answered. You sighed in relief. "I'm so glad to hear that," you replied, tucking the device between your ear and shoulder.

"It's been a huge relief," Mr. Seirzawa stated. "But that's not exactly why I called," he continued. "Our grandson is coming back into town next week and we won't be able to pick him up."

You smiled, knowing there this was going. "Any chance you could head to pick him up from the ferry station in the next town over?"

You nodded, mostly to yourself. "Of course," you answered. "I'll pick him up," you answered to his immense relief. "If you want to borrow our car, I can leave the keys at the shop for you."

"That's okay, Mr. Serizawa," you replied. "I'll just borrow one of my parents' cars." You heard him sigh on the other side of the line. "Thank you so much Y/N, you're really helping us out here. I'll call Daniel and let him know you'll be picking him up."

You wrote down the details, making sure to double check the time. "Okay, Mr. Serizawa. I'll call my dad right after this and get one of his cars to use," you said before finally saying goodbye and hanging up the line. You quickly put the details in your phone before pulling up your father’s contact info and took a deep breath.

"Here we go."

#stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids angst #stray kids x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #joshua hong smut #joshua hong x reader #series: under your skin #series: uys

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risustravelogue · 1 year ago

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cw. fem!reader

Partly inspired by this post. Damn you Rin /aff

Thinking about Wriothesley telling you to relax on your first night together, because you’re so tense at the thought of his thick cock entering you—no, it’s not gonna fit, it’s too big—even though he has prepared you so much.

You try to let go of the tension, relaxing your hip muscles and spreading your thighs apart for him (it takes everything for him to not go down on you again), and he grips your waist gently, slowly lifting your lower body up. He bends down to kiss you, his hot tip pressing against your entrance.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips, and slightly pushes his hips forward. You moan, your breathing quickens at the sensation of his cock bullying its way inside you, slowly but surely spreading your walls apart.

“I can’t… please, I can’t—” you cry, tears rolling down your temple.

“You’re so wet… it’s okay, you can take me,” he shushes, kissing the tears away.

Your back arches as his hips finally snap against yours, your trembling moans and his satisfied groans filling the room.

“There you go… that’s my girl… so good for me,” he coos.

He makes love to you until you’re both spent, bodies tired but satisfied from indulgence—the first of endless nights spent together to come.

the gorgeous mdni banner template by @/cafekitsune 💙

#minors dni #wriothesley #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #kurisu's thots #kurisu writes #soft wrio supremacy!#the way I wrote this during my lunch break #I'm unwell

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killuasghost · 1 year ago

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𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 @ 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐚𝐬𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 ⤵︎

↳︎ ( ⛈️ ) storm. 20 something (v much of age), multifandom writer ( mainly anime ). just a black woman writing literature about fake men on occasion. she/her. nanami worshipper.

↳︎ ( ⚡️ ) @/apollostears is my old blog. 18+ MDNI !!

no requests. asks is open for ideas, shitposts, thirsts, and rambles. no homophobic, racist, sexist, offensive, religious, political, or trauma dumping comments please! <3

this blog is not spoiler-free. will contain sfw & nsfw posts, engage responsibly.

tags: #storms.bottlemessages for asks, shitposts, thirsts, etc. | #storms.treasures for fics, hcs, etc. | #stormy.nights for nsfw content | #shipwrecks for fic recs

header/banner/dividers/mdni/cw designs by @cafekitsune / @mykento <3333

theme html template by @xuethms <3333

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐢𝐬...watching bleach s12 | playing sims 4 | watching yellowstone s4 yeehaw!

FREE PALESTINE, CONGO, SUDAN, AND ALL OPPRESSED STATES/COUNTRIES/PEOPLE!!!

#storms.treasures #storms.bottlemessages

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always-andromeda · 1 year ago

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·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐓

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Professor!Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ✯ 3268

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ taboo au + dark academia + “I can see how badly you want this, so I'm going to make sure you get it.”

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ✯ I’ve loved this man literally since I was thirteen…so it’s inevitable that I’d be writing something absolutely fucking filthy for him in my twenties…

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ smut (minors, do not interact), gaps in age and power, mutual masturbation, little bit of panty sniffing, a singular use of Y/N (I'm sorry, I hate it too but it was necessary), usage of pet names (sweetheart), general manipulation, slight praise kink, obvious disclaimer: the dynamic in this fic is just that, fictional, and should not be practiced in real life!! let me know if any other warnings are needed!!

(mdni banner template credit goes to @cafekitsune!!)

You’d rarely had luck receiving any sort of grace from your professors. Sure, there were a select few that only wanted to see you succeed. However, more often than not you seemed to encounter sadists who decided to take their kinks out on exhausted college students. But you were convinced that Professor Winchester wouldn’t be like that.

For starters, he’d always been challenging but never malicious. Despite the fact that you’d registered for his Norse Mythology course with the assumption that it would be easy college credits, you quickly learned that his assignments were difficult. Every week there seemed to be about a hundred pages worth of reading, frequent essays, and an emphasis on class discussion.

Oh, did he love those class discussions. While most were less than enthusiastic to contribute to lengthy examinations of Eddic poetry at eight in the morning, Professor Winchester seemed to be none the wiser of this.

He was always squinting over his thin wire framed glasses, surveying the class. He’d stand at his desk, brushing his long hair behind his ear while looking over papers. When he’d listen he’d purse his lips and tilt his head, expression rife with genuine interest. In all of these moments, he was the most gorgeous. But more than that, you were fascinated with his mind.

Professor Winchester knew this material like the back of his hand; was able to pull references and quotes from various pieces of literature at the drop of a hat. He was the only professor who could ever give notes that were actually helpful on essays and he’d always been generous with handing out extra credit assignments. Which is what you aimed to obtain on this visit to his office.

You looked through the glass of his office door and saw him inside, working diligently at a dark oak wood desk. Taking a deep breath, you turned the doorknob and entered.

The hinges squeezed but Winchester seemed so fixated on whatever was before him that he only raised a finger, indicating for you to wait. So you did. Awkwardly. You rocked slightly on your heels, your stomach starting to twist in time with the movement. God, he looked like a dream lit by the stained glass banker's lamp as he graded papers.

In another world you could see him coming home from a long day, his body warm behind you as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Smelling like black coffee and pencil shavings, you'd adoringly close your eyes, taking in his scent and ask him how his day went. He'd hum in contentment when resting his chin on your head; you're his rock, his soulmate, the reason he stays sane despite dealing with probably hundreds of students and the frustrating dance of academic bureaucracy.

It's a fantasy that broke the second Winchester glanced up and said with a hint of surprise, "Miss L/N! Come in, have a seat," he nodded towards the chair on the other side of his desk.

Relieved that he can pick you out among the sea of students from his classroom, you move forward until you reach the chair. You set your bag down on the floor and settle into the worn leather of the seat as Winchester eyes you expectantly.

"What can I do for you this afternoon?"

You chew on the inside of your cheek. "Actually, I was hoping that you could help me out with something."

"Oh, what might that be?" he furrowed his brow.

"Um..." you started. "I'm sure you noticed that I didn't do too hot on the last exam."

"Ah, I did," he said simply.

"You did?"

"Yeah, I was surprised, actually." Winchester opened up one of his desk drawers and sorted through some files before pulling out a packet you recognized as the exam you'd taken the week before. "You seem so engaged in class discussion and you've been doing well on everything else. This...this felt rushed. What happened?"

The soft expression of concern on his face only increased your shame. In all honesty, you'd wasted half the exam time away staring at him. He'd worn a red sweater over a cream colored button up that day. Then he'd rolled up the sleeves before handing out the exam papers. It felt stupid to admit that you'd been distracted by his goddamn forearms.

But you had been. You couldn't resist watching him as he'd circled the room, keeping an eye out for cheating. With his arms folded behind his back, you got the best look at the back of him. His long legs clad in khaki. Strong, tanned forearms corded with prominent veins. Shoulder blades pushed back confidently as he walked. Everything about his solid stature had your mind far, far away.

You'd been good at making sure your daydreams wouldn't get the better of you. But this time, before you knew it, Winchester was glancing down at his watch and announcing that you had fifteen minutes left for exam time. You had no choice but to rush through the rest of it, writing down answers that hardly even made sense just to fill in blanks.

Now those answers laid before you, condemning you to a low D– that dragged down your entire grade.

"I honestly couldn't tell you, Professor. I thought I studied enough but I guess not."

Though you'd attempted to laugh off his concern, Winchester obviously wasn't budging. "But these are rookie mistakes. Number fifteen for example. Where do the gods live?"

"Easy. Asgard."

"Right, but here you marked down the answer for Valhalla," he slid the paper around so you could look at the question.

Sure enough, there it was, your frantic pencil marks filling in the bubble for the incorrect answer. Damn.

"And that's just on the multiple choice questions," Winchester continued, flipping through the pages. "You barely followed any of the directions for the long answer questions. Your response to the short essay portion was a paragraph too short. And it was too unfocused."

Unfocused is right, Professor Winchester.

"I hate to say it...but I was a little disappointed."

The sting of tears threatened to spill down your cheeks. So you cleared your throat and blinked them back quickly. Voice trembling, you answered quickly, "I'm sorry, Professor. I wasn't on my game and I thought I'd pay you a visit so I could plead my case. I'm willing to do any kind of extra credit assignment. I don't care how much work it is. I'll do anything to fix my grade because I really want to do well in your class and–"

Winchester raised a hand, urging you to stop. Then he spoke, "Listen, I can see how badly you want this. So I'm going to make sure you get it. Just...let me think."

With that, Winchester rose from his seat and began to gather the papers that littered the surface of his desk. He stacked them neatly before opening a different drawer and laying them inside. After he closed the drawer, he made his way around the desk. You tried not to look at him as he made his way around the room, especially not when you felt his hand brush against the back of your chair. But you couldn't not notice when he drew the shade on his door's window and closed the blinds to his window, leaving the room dim save for the yellow light of his desk lamp.

Once he'd made his round, he returned to his chair and rolled back, leaving a massive gap between himself and the edge of his desk.

Then he did something else you didn't expect.

He patted the wood and said, "Come. Sit on my desk. Let me look at you."

You almost wavered on the direction when he cleared his throat expectantly. That brought you to your feet and compelled you to settle waveringly before him.

With his lips in a tight line, Winchester studied you. He tilted his head every few seconds, letting his eye flicker from your uncertain expression to your body. You sat up a little straighter in an attempt to satisfy his observation of you.

You weren't quite sure what he was doing, but it made you nervous; made you vulnerable in a way you weren't used to.

"I may have one extra credit opportunity that I can offer. Special. Just for you."

"Yeah? What do you want me to do?"

"Well, you can start by spreading your legs."

Your eyes went wide. "Professor Winchester, you're not–"

He cut you off quickly, "First, after office hours, you may call me Sam. Second, I'm not going to touch you. I'm simply asking you to give me a– a presentation," he decided.

"What kind of presentation?" you asked.

Your feigned innocence made the man chuckle softly. "The kind of presentation I'm sure you give in your dormitory bedroom every night."

There wasn't an ounce of jesting on his face, but still you played dumb. "I have no idea what you're referring to, Sam." His name felt foreign yet familiar on your tongue. Probably because you'd whispered it many times before in the exact scenario he'd described.

"I'd hoped you'd tell me the truth about why you were so distracted during your exam. But since you haven't been forthcoming, I guess I have to spell it out for you, haven't I?"

You swallowed hard and blinked nervously.

"You thought I wouldn't notice, did you?" he chuckles again. "It's hard not to notice when one of your students, especially one so beautiful, is practically drooling all over their table."

The scraps of flattery were evidently working on you as Sam smiled when you fiddled with your fingers in your lap as your skin got all warm and tingly. So he kept going.

"Besides, you're too intelligent to do this terribly on something you should've aced. Maybe you wanted to fail it. You wanted to get my attention, didn't you?"

"Oh, no, I wasn't trying to waste your time, I was just–"

"You weren't wasting my time. Wasting your time is continuing this pointless back and forth when you could instead be proving yourself."

"Proving myself?"

"Yes. Spread those legs...and earn your grade," he ordered.

Breathing in and out slowly, you did what you were asked. The knots in your stomach told you this was wrong. But the smile of approval that slowly grew on Sam's lips said that this was exactly what you both needed.

You'd never been more embarrassed to be wearing a skirt. One the fabric pooled around your hips, it only framed the damp patch on your underwear. Perhaps part of you had wanted something like this to happen. Because your pussy was already pulsing after simply being observed behind the cotton curtain that soaked up her anticipation.

"Very good," Sam breathed out.

"What do I do now?" you asked.

"Just...play with her. Show me what you like to do to make her happy."

You nodded, then pursed your lips as you thought. If you were going to present to him...you might as well go all out. So you shifted each of your thighs around, pulling down your underwear until your bare ass was planted on the desk and the garment was caught on one of your ankles. You lifted your left and held it out gently, the panty hanging in the air a little below Sam's face.

"Take them," you said. "Visual aid."

He smirked lazily at the offering before pulling them over your shoe, being careful not to actually touch you. Sam balled them up before bringing them to his nose and slowly breathing in the scent. You could tell he enjoyed it thoroughly as he let out a deep sigh from within his chest.

"With how wet these are...it's good to know you were prepared even for a surprise presentation. I knew there was a reason you're my favorite."

His words went straight to your cunt as a few drops of slick leaked from your hole and landed on the dark wood beneath you.

"Go on," Sam urged, gaze flickering to the drops of you on his desk. "She's waiting. And so am I."

You began to treat yourself with the same level of care as you did when you were alone. One of your hands reached up your shirt and you cupped one of your tits. You kneaded the flesh for a few seconds before focusing on the nipple, pinching it until it pebbled and poked through your shirt. The action made your breathing turn ragged.

You finally let your other hand travel south, bringing warmth to the soft skin of your thighs. Wanting better access to yourself, you pulled your leg up, resting a foot on the desk itself. Then you reclined back and let your fingers roam where they wanted.

Using two fingers, you spread your outer lips, only exposing yourself to Sam’s scrutiny even further. The cool air hitting your most vulnerable part, you shivered as goosebumps erupted across your skin. You looked up at him, gauging his approval of your performance.

“You’re doing so well already, keep going,” he encouraged, hardly concealing the arousal that clung thickly to his tone.

You took the praise with pride. It emboldened you enough to slip your two fingers between your folds to gather up some of the slick. You couldn’t help but feel mortified as you involuntarily gasped when your digits brushed slightly against your clit.

Sam let a quick puff of air out his nose. “Sensitive?”

“Mhmmm,” you whined.

“Bet you can’t even touch that pretty clit directly without crying, huh?”

You nodded.

“Then be gentle. I want you to last for me.”

You took that to mean that he didn’t want you touching yourself there yet. So instead you switched to focusing on your entrance. It wasn’t often that you went straight for penetration. Rarely did it bring the kind of relief you craved.

But you had the feeling that Sam would want to see it; to see your fingers filling yourself up and stretching you out.

With your fingers practically pruning already, you pushed one in ever so slowly. It took a second to adjust to the slight pressure, but still you began to carefully pump. The slick squelch only intensified when you slipped another one in and sped up your movements.

Though the pressure increased and built up tension in your belly, you could already tell it wasn’t going to go anywhere. You bucked your hips pathetically against your own hand, trying to get deep enough to hit your g-spot. But no matter how far you tried to probe, it was useless. Your fingers simply weren’t long enough.

Your eyes went wind, catching sight of something that most likely could reach that spot inside you. While you’d been fucking yourself, your professor had undone the button and the zipper on his pants and slipped himself out. There he sat, your panties in his hand and wrapped around the thick length of his cock. The angry red tip poked up and out of the fabric with each slow thrust. And you could already tell based on how long his strokes were that you’d most likely be able to feel him poking against your belly from inside you. The idea made you moan and throw your head back.

Sam swiftly reprimanded you, “Ah, remember your eye contact. I want you to look at me.”

Shame spread over your body. What the fuck was going on? Were you really fingering yourself on his desk right next to papers that he was surely going to return to students? Was Sam really fisting his own cock with your underwear? And were you actually enjoying this?

“Sweetheart,” Sam’s self control faltered slightly with the name. But it grabbed your attention nonetheless. “I need you to look at me. Let me look into your eyes when you make yourself come on my desk, alright?”

This was about more than fixing your grade. This was about pleasing him…by pleasing yourself. And as you returned his look, you were all in.

Under his watchful, half lidded, hazel eye you allowed yourself to focus on your aching clit which laid in wait like a pearl beneath the hood of skin covering it. Carefully, you pulled that hood back before lightly spreading some of your slick with a finger. You let the skin settle back in place over the sensitive nub before going straight to work.

You began to rub slow circles on the hood and finally properly moaned. It took only a few seconds for the muscle memory of your nightly ritual to kick in as the pleasure started to mount. Finally, all of that pressure in your core had some actual weight to it; a weight that was already beginning to roll in shallow waves over your whole being.

"There you go, sweetheart. Let me hear you loud and clear. Don't wanna miss a single sound from you," Sam groaned and you caught how the grip he had on himself tightened, how his pace quickened.

While rolling your hips against your hand, you pulled up a side of your shirt, exposing even more of yourself to him. Now he could easily see one of your tits rise and fall with your staggered breaths. He could see how the ball of fat dimpled under your fingertips as you squeezed and pulled at your hardened nipple.

Both sources of simulation had you whimpering breathlessly, "Sam, I-I'm so close– Let me come, please?"

Sam glared and asked through gritted teeth, "That's not my name. What do you call me in class?"

"Professor?"

Sam nodded darkly.

You took the cue quickly and begged helplessly, "Please, professor, please let me come–" you were cut off by the sound of your pleasure starting to push you over the edge.

Sam left you teetering, staring right over the border of this boundary. That boundary being an ethical nightmare that you had no clue how you'd navigate. But you wanted to be good for him; you craved his approval.

And thankfully, Sam gave it as he groaned, "There you go, good girl. You can come, you've got permission."

With that, you arched off the desk and burst with glorious clarity. A thin stream of your arousal drooled from your entrance as you rubbed yourself through the enormous implosions and the small aftershocks that followed. Your head was heavy with the fog of pleasure and you wanted to hang it back, give it a break.

But still, you were determined to keep your eyes on him, even as you pulled your fingers away from your trembling cunt and stuck them in your mouth. Your tongue swirled around the wrinkled digits, soaking up every bit of yourself that you could.

Any sort of professionalism Sam had been trying to maintain up until that point shattered completely when he rolled his chair forwards. Closer to you now, you looked down into his soft eyes and watched how his normally objective stare went personal; emotional. He looked at you with the kind of admiration that made your heart flutter with pride.

He took his hand, placed it on your knee, and spread your legs further. His touch was so light, so soft that you could help feeling electricity dance along your spine.

"I thought you said you wouldn't touch me?" you whispered, only a hint of a smug smile tugging at your lips.

Choosing his words as carefully as ever, he explained, "That was before I decided that you needed some of my...guidance."

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