#mild worship

[radiofullofstatic]

HONEY AND SATIN

Hands dip

Below your hips

Fingers gripping skin

Rubbing circles into

Soft flesh

My hands go down

Caressing your

Thighs and legs

I drop to

My knees

Worshipping you

Grovelling like

A dog

You crouch down

And I taste freedom

Within your lips

I swallow honey

Dripping from your tongue

My hands grip

Tighter

You pull

Closer

Shared breaths and

Satin kisses

©radiofullofstatic. do not translate, copy, edit, plagiarise or post any of my works on other platforms under any circumstance.

Taglist: @hoonfever

[lesbian-munkustrap]

It is nearly Michael Gruber’s birthday (Nov 1) and I’m handling it well

[ykaarus]

I've written my first yakuza fanfic :3 I summon you minedai enjoyers

[trashshouldnt]

give me a niche kink and/or interesting fetish to write about in my book. pretty please :]

[starsambrosia]

I THOUGHT THIS WAS ALCIBAIDES FOR A SEC

HeLp

achilles to distract myself from life's miseries

[radiofullofstatic]

MELLILLA*

I want to draw lines connecting every spot on your skin

To frame the marks I inked in

Honouring the constellations caged in your flesh

The galaxies in your eyes, the way my thoughts mesh

The Sun's rays cascade in curls down your back

When the Gods look upon you - creature of beauty - it's their jaws that go slack

You could walk into the Heavens, and you'd be right home

My touch would just ruin you, leave you like the crumbled temples in Rome

Your words leave dents in my skin

Your touch is a warrior that tames the beast within

I wish to kneel before you; the Goddess that you are

Yet I'm content being allowed to yearn from afar

I swoon as you attract bees while whispering sweet nothings into my ear

My entire body quietens to hear

Goes stiff and tense and sways with your words

Piercing me like a million swords

*Footnote: "Mellilla" is a Latin word and petname that translates to "Little Honey".

©radiofullofstatic. do not translate, copy, edit, plagiarise or post any of my works on other platforms under any circumstance.

Taglist: @hoonfever

[mrsparkjimin18]

Part 2: Embers of Midnight

Early in the morning, you sit across the table from Hoseok, your fingers curling loosely around your coffee mug. Over the last few weeks, this ritual has become almost second nature. The steam rises in lazy spirals, a fleeting illusion of normalcy, but you know better.

This day is anything but normal.

Hoseok studies you from across the table, his dark eyes steady and searching. You feel the weight of his gaze, as if he’s probing for any hint of doubt, though you’re determined not to give him any this time.

“You’re sure?” he asks, his voice quieter and deeper than usual, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile peace surrounding you. “Once we start, there’s no going back.”

You meet his gaze without flinching. “I’m sure.” Your voice is firmer than you expected, but it feels right. After everything – him, you, the angel – it’s the only certainty you have left.

A flicker of something crosses his face, a brief softening of the lines around his mouth. It’s not quite a smile but close enough, an expression that makes him look startlingly human. He tips his head back, finishing his coffee in a single swallow before setting the mug down with a decisive clink.

“Then let’s go.”

The library looks nothing like you remember.

As a child, it was a wonderland of towering shelves, sunlit corners, and the comforting smell of old books. But now, it’s as if time itself has turned against the place. The bricks crumble like brittle parchment, vines snake through shattered windows, and the faded sign above the door hangs crookedly, its painted letters barely legible.

The air feels unnaturally still, swallowing every sound. You hesitate, glancing at Hoseok standing beside you.

“This…I know this place,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

His gaze flickers toward you, unreadable. “It’s where you’re starting.”

“Starting?” 

Hoseok doesn’t reply, pushing the door open instead. It groans in protest, and you brace yourself for the sight of a ruined interior – rubble, dust, collapsed ceilings – but what greets you instead is something alive.

The walls ripple faintly, as though they’re breathing, the rhythm syncing with something deep in your chest. Shelves stretch into impossible spirals and arches, glowing softly with a golden light. Some hover in midair, defying gravity, while others twist upward into a darkness that shouldn’t exist. The air smells like parchment, leather, and something faintly metallic.

“It’s alive,” you whisper, almost afraid to disturb the surreal stillness.

“It’s the other side,” Hoseok answers, stepping forward with the ease of someone who belongs here. “You’ll get used to it.”

“You call this ‘starting simple’?” You try for sarcasm, but your awe betrays you.

Hoseok finally turns to face you, his expression serious. “Compared to what comes next? It is.”

You move closer to him, avoiding the edge of a floating staircase that definitely wasn’t there seconds ago. “Why can I see this? Be here? I’ve never-”

“You’re with me.” Hoseok says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m your guide on this journey to find the relic.”

“But I’ve never-”

“You’re not ordinary anymore.” The weight of his words settles over you. “Whatever you were before, you’re not just that now. The more time you spend with me, the thinner the veil gets. You’re seeing what’s been here all along.”

You stare at him, trying to process the impossible. “This…has always been here?”

“Yes. To humans, it’s just a ruin. A forgotten building.” Hoseok gestures toward the golden light that streams down like sunlight. “To us, it’s a place of knowledge and power.”

You glance around again, taking it all in, and the beauty of it terrifies you.

“And my parents…they used to bring me here.”

Hoseok doesn’t say anything, but his silence feels heavy, suggesting he knows more than he’s letting on.

You follow him through a labyrinth of spiraling shelves, the golden light dimming with every step. What was once wondrous now feels ominous, as though the air itself has shifted – waiting for something.

“What are we looking for?” you ask, your voice hushed.

“A book.” Hoseok’s answer is clipped, his focus razor-sharp.

“A book?” You glance at the endless shelves. “In here? That’s like finding a needle in—”

“It’s not endless,” he interrupts, his tone calm but firm. “It’s…selective.”

That doesn’t make you feel any better.

He stops in front of an unremarkable shelf – dusty, untouched, and bathed in shadow. As you step closer, you realize the shelf doesn’t quite belong here. It’s carved from a darker wood, and the titles on the spines seem to shift the longer you stare at them.

“There,” he says softly, pointing to a crimson book nestled in the shadows. Its gold lettering writhes like it’s alive.

Instinctively, you reach for it, but Hoseok catches your wrist. His touch is firm but gentle.

“It’s not that simple,” he warns.

You glance at him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Hoseok looks at the shelf like it can hear you, sense you, even reach out and grab you. “This part of the library doesn’t just hand over what you’re looking for. It demands something in return.”

“Like what?”

He shrugs one shoulder, unnervingly casual. “Proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“That you’re worthy of it.”

Before you can protest, the air changes. It feels thicker, pressing against your skin like unseen hands. The shadows around the shelf darken, and the book begins to glow faintly, almost beckoning you. Your heart begins to hammer in your chest.

“Don’t overthink it,” Hoseok says softly. “Just…walk forward.”

Your heart hammers in your chest as you take a step closer. “And if I’m not?”

He hesitates. “It’ll know.”

“That’s not ominous at all,” you mutter, but you take a deep breath and step forward anyway.

The shadows shift as you approach, pooling at your feet like liquid ink. The shelf seems to stretch taller, the book retreating farther out of reach.

You hear whispers – soft, insidious, like a thousand voices speaking at once. They know you. They know your fears, your doubts, the memories you try to bury.

You’re not strong enough.

You’ll fail.

Why do you think he chose you?

Your steps falter and the voices coil around you like smoke, tugging at every insecurity you’ve ever had. Behind you, Hoseok is silent, watching, waiting. You want to turn back, but something stops you.

If you stop now, you’ll never know.

You take another step.

The whispers grow louder, sharper, until one voice cuts through the chaos.

“Why do you keep going?”

You stop, chest heaving, fists clenched at your sides. “Because I have to.”

“Why?”

You swallow hard. “Because…I’m tired of feeling lost.”

The words hang in the air, raw and honest. The shadows pause, almost as if considering your answer.

The darkness begins to recede, pulling away like a tide. The shelf shrinks back to its normal size, and the crimson book falls from its place, landing softly at your feet. The whispers fade, leaving only silence.

You crouch and pick up the book, the leather cover warm under your fingers. The gold lettering solidifies into a title you can’t quite read, but it feels important – like it’s been waiting for you.

You turn back to Hoseok, holding the book up triumphantly. “That wasn’t so bad.”

His lips curl into a victorious smile, but when he reaches out to take the book, it doesn’t budge.

Hoseok frowns and tries again, still, the book doesn’t move.

“What the hell?” He glances at you, his expression unreadable. “It’s bound to you.”

“Bound to me?”

“It chose you,” he says quietly. “And only you.”

The depth of his words bites into you like teeth, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. You clutch the book tighter, suddenly aware that whatever just happened, it wasn’t normal – even for this place.

“What does that mean?” you ask finally.

Hoseok’s gaze lingers on you, dark and knowing. “It means you’re more important than you realize.”

The warmth of your fireplace wraps around you, the cryptic book resting heavily on the table before you, and it calls to you without making a sound. The room is quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the flames, and the contrast to the eerie chill of the library you’ve just left is almost jarring. Your fingers hover over the book’s cover, taking in the intricate swirls of gold and silver symbols that seem to pulse faintly in the dim light. It doesn’t feel like any book you’ve ever touched. It feels alive. Watching.

“You’re staring at it like it’s about to bite,” Hoseok says, his voice pulling your attention. He’s lounging in the chair across from you, his casual posture doing little to mask the sharpness in his eyes as he watches you.

“Maybe it will,” you mutter, glancing at him. “You’re the one who said this thing could only be taken by me. What if it’s cursed?”

His lips quirk into a half-smile. “If it were cursed, you’d already know. Besides, the library wouldn’t have let it leave unless it wanted to be with you.”

The words don’t comfort you as much as he might think. You swallow, steel yourself, and place your palm against the cover. It’s warmer than when you first held it at the library, the surface almost yielding beneath your touch. The book shudders faintly, and the symbols light up, rearranging themselves in a fluid dance of gold and silver. Slowly the cover creaks open, revealing pages that shift and shimmer like silk caught in a breeze, tantalizing your curiosity.

Hoseok leans forward, curiosity etched into his features. “What does it say?”

Your eyes scan the shifting ink on the pages, a mix of apprehension and awe tightening in your chest. At first, the symbols twist and turn, unrecognizable, and you wonder if you’ve made a mistake in opening the book. But as you focus, the chaotic shapes begin to settle, forming words that spark an eerie familiarity deep within you. 

A chill creeps down your spine, but determination takes root, outweighing the fear. This is your path now, for better or worse. But as you focus, they settle into words – words you somehow understand. You read aloud, your voice steady despite the odd familiarity of the text. “‘The path forward lies in the ruins of light. Where the heavens fell, shadows bloom. Seek the mark of the forsaken…there lies the second key.’”

You glance up at Hoseok, a frown tugging at your lips. “What does that mean?”

He tilts his head, his expression thoughtful. “Ruins of light…it’s probably referring to the celestial ruins. An old battlefield where angels fell during the war.”

The mention of a battlefield sends a chill down your spine. “Why would the next key be in a place like that?”

“Because the relic doesn’t desire convenience or comfort,” he says simply, his tone grave. “It thrives in chaos. It was created to bridge light and darkness. The places it left its marks… they’re not places of peace.”

You close the book, your hand lingering on the cover. Its warmth now feels strangely reassuring, as if it’s recognizing you in some way. “So, we’re going to a battlefield next?”

He nods, standing from his chair with fluid grace. “You’ll need to be ready. The library was only the beginning. What lies ahead will demand more of you.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, a smirk tugging at your lips despite the tension. "You really think I’m ready for this?"

Hoseok smirks, that faint glimmer of amusement returning to his eyes. “After seeing you emerge victorious from the library…absolutely.”

The room settles into a comfortable quiet after Hoseok’s teasing remark, but your thoughts remain restless. The weight of the moment, the discovery of the book, and the realization that it all hinges on you feels heavier than ever. You sink into the chair by the table, cradling your head in your hands.

“I don’t understand,” you murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “Why does it have to be me? I thought I was ready, but after the library…I almost ran away. What if I’m not as ready as I thought I was?”

Hoseok’s expression softens, his usual sharpness melting into something warmer. He steps closer, crouching so he’s at eye level with you. “Angel, look at me.” His voice is low, steady, and for a moment, the storm of doubt in your chest calms.

You lift your gaze, meeting his. “The other night, I felt ready. Something inside of me was… released. Now, I’m doubting whether I belong in this world you’ve dragged me into.”

He reaches out, gently taking your hands in his. His touch is firm yet soothing, grounding you. “You think I would’ve come to you if you weren’t meant for this? You’re stronger than you realize. And you’re not doing this alone…I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

His thumb brushes against the back of your hand, a subtle gesture that feels intimate, comforting. The tension in your shoulders eases just a fraction, but not enough. He notices, of course he does, and a faint smile touches his lips.

“Follow me,” he says softly.

The warmth of Hoseok’s hand in yours grounds you as he leads you down the hallway of your own home, each step heavy with unspoken questions. Doubt claws at the edges of your thoughts, whispering warnings about the dangers of trust and vulnerability. Yet, with every glance back he offers – a flicker of reassurance in his dark, steady gaze – you feel a fragile thread of resolve winding tighter within you. You grip his hand just a little firmer, clinging to the promise of safety his presence silently conveys. You don’t question where you’re going – the quiet intensity in his gaze as he glanced back over his shoulder left no room for doubt. But when the door to your bathroom opens, you halt mid-step.

This isn’t your bathroom.

The walls are adorned with intricate mosaic tiles that shimmer like a kaleidoscope, catching the light of dozens of candles placed artfully around the room. Pools of wax create abstract designs, as if painted by time. In the center, a sunken bath rests, steam curling from its surface. Lily pads and lotus flowers float on the water, their petals glowing faintly, dancing and swaying like artistic swimmers. The air is thick with the soothing aroma of lavender and vanilla, wrapping around you like a gentle embrace.

“Hoseok,” you start, your voice trembling with confusion. “Where…how…”

He steps closer, his hands settling gently on your shoulders. His gaze is soft, reassuring, but behind his calm exterior, there’s an intensity that sets your pulse racing.

“You’re safe,” he says simply, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “This is my realm. My home.”

The words send a shiver down your spine. Your mind reels, questions tumbling over one another, but before you can voice them, he leans closer, his forehead resting against yours. “Trust me,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. “Just this once, let me take care of you.”

For a moment, you waver. Doubt whispers in your mind, reminding you of the risks, the uncertainty of surrendering to someone you barely understand. The weight of everything you’ve seen – what you’ve learned – tightens in your chest, making it hard to breathe. But then, there’s Hoseok. His eyes hold no deceit, only a quiet resolve that pulls at something deep within you.

“What if I can’t?” you whisper, the question slipping out unbidden. "What if trusting you is a mistake?"

His expression softens, and he steps closer, his hands cupping your face with such tenderness it silences the storm in your mind. "Then let it be a mistake," he says, his voice low and steady. "But it’ll be ours to make together. You’re not alone in this, Angel. You never have to be."

The sincerity in his words disarms you, and despite the hesitation lingering at the edges of your heart, you find yourself nodding. It’s not blind trust – it’s a choice to believe in something beyond fear. To believe in him.

You hesitate, the weight of his words pressing against your uncertainty, but then you nod, the depth of his gaze anchoring you.

He guides you toward the bath and begins to undress you, his movements slow and deliberate. “You just need to relax,” he murmurs, his voice a balm to your frayed nerves. “Today was difficult, so let me help you unwind.”

You don’t respond. Whether it’s the surreal transformation of the room or the calming effect of his presence, words fail you. You let him guide you, his touch careful and respectful as he peels away the tension with every article of clothing.

Once undressed, he takes your hand and helps you step into the bath. The moment your skin touches the water, a sigh escapes you. It’s unlike any sensation you’ve ever felt – warm and soothing, yet invigorating, as though the water itself recognizes you.

Hoseok begins undressing with the same unhurried precision. When his body is revealed, your breath catches. Every inch of him is proportional, powerful, and undeniably beautiful. Your body hums at the sight, a reaction he seems to sense as his lips curve into a knowing smirk.

Hoseok kneels at the edge of the tub, his hands gliding over your shoulders and down your arms, the touch both calming and electrifying. As he leans in, his lips brush the curve of your neck, soft and teasing.

“You’re so tense,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low rumble that sends heat pooling in your core.

He slips into the water behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you against him. The feel of his bare chest against your back steals your breath, the solid warmth of him a stark contrast to the liquid softness surrounding you.

“Let me help you let go,” he whispers, his lips grazing your ear, his words both soothing and provocative, a gentle coaxing that matches the rhythm of his hands on your skin.

The teasing brushes of his lips along your neck and shoulder make your pulse race, and yet his movements remain unhurried, deliberate. His hands slide down your sides, his thumbs tracing the curve of your hips before slipping lower, his touch both exploratory and reverent.

When his fingers find you, a gasp escapes your lips. His touch is soft at first, a gentle pressure that has you arching into him, craving more. He doesn’t rush, taking his time to learn every reaction, every shiver and sigh.

“Look at you,” he breathes, his tone laced with admiration as though the sight of you undoes him. “So beautiful, so perfect.”

The words make your chest tighten, but before doubt can creep in, his fingers press more firmly, drawing a moan from your lips.

“Don’t hold back,” he says, his voice low and rough now, a plea wrapped in a command. His breath tickles your ear as he adds, “I want all of you.”

He turns you in the water, his hands guiding your thighs to straddle him. The look in his eyes causes your heart to palpitate and skip beats – a mix of hunger and tenderness, as though he’s been starving for this moment but refuses to let it slip by without savoring every second.

When he enters you, it’s slow, calculated, and so intimate that tears prick at the corners of your eyes. The stretch is almost too much, the sensation overwhelming, but his hands grip your hips, grounding you, encouraging you.

“You can take it,” he murmurs, his voice thick with restraint. “You’re mine, Angel. You were made for this.”

The words send a shiver through you, and as he begins to move, the world shifts. It’s as though the connection between you unlocks something deep within – a portal to a part of yourself you never knew existed.

Each thrust is deliberate, measured, designed to make you feel every inch of him and every emotion he pours into you. It’s not just physical - it’s transformative - as though he’s unraveling every thread of doubt and fear you’ve ever held and weaving them into something new.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders as the pressure builds, your body arching into his as his pace quickens. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, and he responds with soft groans and whispered encouragement, his hands guiding your movements as though orchestrating a masterpiece.

When the release finally comes, it’s greater than the first time with him. The pleasure is all-consuming, but beneath it is a profound sense of liberation, you truly feel your body release the doubt and free yourself.

Hoseok holds you as you tremble in his arms, his lips pressing soft kisses to your hair and forehead. His own breaths are ragged, his body taut with the effort of holding back, but his focus remains on you, his hands soothing over your back.

He presses a lingering kiss to your temple, his voice a soft murmur against your skin. “You’re safe here, Angel. Always.”

When you step out of the bath, Hoseok wraps you in a thick, plush towel, his hands lingering on your shoulders before guiding you out of the bathroom. The cool, earthy scent of the enchanting forest beyond greets you, but it takes a moment for your senses to catch up. This isn’t your home.

A wave of wonder sweeps through you as you take in the expansive open space before you. The polished stone walls and floors glow faintly with an otherworldly warmth, and the ceiling stretches high above, giving the illusion of endless space. In the center of the room stands a magnificent double-sided fireplace, its flames dancing languidly on either side of a glass partition. The crackle of the fire blends harmoniously with the soothing sound of rushing water, and as you follow the sound, your eyes are drawn to the view beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The world outside is breathtaking – a magical forest bathed in the shimmering glow of twilight. A waterfall cascades down the side of a mountain, its mist catching the soft light of an aurora borealis that stretches endlessly across the sky. The colors - vivid greens, purples, and blues - seem to pulse and shift as though alive, and you feel the pull of their beauty deep within your chest. For a moment, the sheer wonder of it all is almost too much. You reach for the grounding presence of Hoseok, your thoughts tumbling in awe and disbelief.

“Where are we?” you whisper, your voice barely audible, caught between astonishment and uncertainty.

“My home,” Hoseok replies, his voice steady and grounding, yet carrying an edge of pride. He steps behind you, his hands settling on your waist. “A realm of my own creation, outside the constraints of your world.”

The enormity of his words settles over you, and you glance at him, a thousand questions swirling in your mind. Who is he, truly, to wield such power, such beauty? Yet the calm conviction in his gaze quiets the storm within you, replacing it with awe.

His fingers trace soft circles against your hip, tethering you to the moment. “Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice soft yet firm, as though the answer holds the weight of worlds.

You nod, the depth of his question mirrored by the calm conviction in his eyes. “I do,” you say, the words carrying a resonance that surprises even you.

He guides you through the space, the warmth of the stone beneath your feet contrasting with the cool air that drifts in through the open windows. The transition from the bath to his world feels seamless, as if this moment was always meant to happen.

Finally, he leads you into his bedroom, and it feels like stepping into a dream. An enormous canopy bed, draped in layers of soft fabric, sits at the center of the room, its carved wooden posts blending seamlessly with the natural lines of the space. The walls, made of smooth stone, seem to hum with quiet energy, and the view beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows is captivating.

The magical forest stretches endlessly, the trees bathed in an ethereal glow as though kissed by moonlight. Above, the sky is a masterpiece of swirling colors, a neverending aurora borealis that casts shimmering hues across the room. In the distance, the sound of the waterfall echoes faintly, a soothing melody that seems to sync with the beat of your heart.

Hoseok steps behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he murmurs, his voice like a soft caress that mingles with the serenity of the scene.

You nod, unable to tear your gaze away. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Hoseok lifts you effortlessly into his arms, carrying you to the bed as though you weigh nothing. The world around you seems to fade as he lays you down, the mattress cradling you in comfort. He climbs in beside you, his body warm against yours, his hands steady as they explore every curve, every inch of skin.

The intimacy begins again, slow and deliberate. Each touch, each kiss, feels like a silent promise, a confession of everything he’s yet to say aloud. As he moves within you, the connection deepens, the pleasure mingling with a profound sense of belonging.

When the moment reaches its crescendo, it’s as though the universe itself holds its breath, the stars above shining brighter, the aurora pulsing with vibrant intensity.

Afterward, Hoseok pulls you close, his arms encircling you as though he never plans to let go. The sound of the waterfall outside lulls you into a tranquil haze, his quiet words grounding you in a way nothing else ever has.

“You’re everything,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

And as sleep claims you, you find yourself leaning into his presence, no longer fighting the pull.

The sun hovers low in the sky as Hoseok’s car finally arrives at the edge of the city’s old warehouse district. It is massive, stretching along the riverbank, a labyrinth of decayed buildings and rusting structures that seem to hum with an unnatural energy. The water nearby glistens unnaturally under the fading sunlight, as though it holds secrets far beyond the mundane.

Hoseok stops, scanning the surroundings with a critical eye. “This is it,” he says, his voice quieter than usual.

You hesitate. “How can you tell?”

He gestures toward the river. “The celestial realm draws its power from water, and this... this place reeks of it. Feel that hum in the air?”

You nod, suddenly hyper aware of the faint vibration beneath your feet. You swallow hard and step closer to him, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest. Each step into the district feels heavier, as though the very air is resisting your intrusion.

Hoseok suddenly comes to a halt before the largest warehouse, its rusted doors barely hanging on their hinges. A faint glow seeps through the cracks, pulsing like a heartbeat. Hoseok pushes the doors open, and the sight inside leaves you speechless.

Inside, the warehouse floor is covered by a vast pool of shimmering water, golden light rippling across its surface. Patterns of celestial geometry reflecting on the walls, creating an ever-shifting tapestry of light and shadow.

Hoseok steps forward cautiously, his movements fluid yet tense. “This is a gateway,” he says, looking back at you. “Once we cross, there’s no telling what we’ll face.”

You nod, clutching the strap of your satchel. Together, you wade into the glowing water. The moment the liquid touches your skin, the world tilts, and the warehouse dissolves in a cascade of brilliant light.

When your vision clears, you find yourself standing in a place that defies logic. Bone-white structures jutting from the ground like the skeletons of ancient giants, their surfaces glowing faintly in the ambient light. The air is thick with the scent of ozone, and beneath your feet, the ground seems to hum with restrained power. Rivers of light flow through deep channels, crisscrossing the landscape in intricate patterns.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper, though unease prickles at the back of your mind. The beauty of this place feels hollow, as if the light is concealing something darker.

In the distance, a golden orb floats above a jagged pedestal of stone, its light casting long, twisting shadows. A strange pull begins to gnaw at you, drawing you toward it despite the growing dread pooling in your stomach.

Hoseok reaches out, his fingers brushing your wrist. “Wait,” he says firmly. “This feels... wrong.”

But the orb’s allure is overpowering. As if in a trance, you step closer, the world narrowing to the golden glow before you. The moment your fingers brush the orb, the light explodes outward, swallowing everything in an instant.

When the light fades, you find yourself standing in a familiar place – a dark country road, rain pounding against the windshield of a car. Your heart clenches as you recognize the scene.

“This can’t be real,” you whisper.

Yet every detail is vivid, from the harsh glare of the headlights cutting through the downpour to the frantic voices of your parents in the front seat.

Suddenly, the car screeches to a halt, and brilliant lights surround you, blinding and pure. Figures emerge from the light – angels, their presence chilling you to the bone.

“Your parents defied their purpose,” one of them says, his voice devoid of warmth. “They chose weakness, and now they pay the price.”

You freeze, the words pierce through you like a blade.

“They’re gone because of you,” another says, their glowing eyes locking onto you.

The memory of their deaths floods back, and for a moment, despair threatens to consume you. But then, a spark of defiance ignites within you.

“No,” you declare, your voice trembling but resolute. “My parents fought for me because they loved me. Their strength lives on in me.”

As you speak, a spark ignites within you and a light bursts from your chest, growing brighter and brighter until it shatters the vision completely.

When you awake, you are back in the ruins, but the orb is gone and replaced by a glowing sigil carved into the ground. A group of angels emerge from the light, their forms cold and imposing, surrounding and taunting you.

“You are the daughter of the unworthy,” one growls. “You do not belong here.”

The ground beneath you begins to tremble violently, as if on the verge of collapsing, leaving you with the terrifying image of being swallowed whole by the earth.

"You’ve wandered too far, daughter of the unworthy,” another snarls, his voice dripping with disdain. “You will come with us.”

Hoseok surges forward, tackling one of the angels out of the way just as they move to strike, his body a shield between you and the looming threat.

The angels begin to attack, their divine weapons slicing through the air. Hoseok fights back, his shadows clashing against their light, but the odds quickly turn against him.

Just as an angel lunges toward you, a torrent of crimson flames erupt around you.

The demons burst into the celestial realm like a thunderstorm unleashed, their ferocity shaking the very ground you stand on. They tear through the angels with primal intensity, wings of shadow slicing through radiant light. The air explodes with the clash of forces, sparks of divine and infernal energy illuminating the battlefield. The angels regroup, attempting to hold their ground, but the demons’ sheer power is overwhelming, forcing them to falter. The struggle grows fiercer, a chaotic dance of light and darkness, giving you and Hoseok the precious seconds you need.

“Go!” one of the demons roars, his voice booming above the fray.

Hoseok doesn’t hesitate. His hand wraps around your wrist as he leads you away from the battle, his movements quick and deliberate. The celestial realm trembles as if it too was desperate to trap you. But with one last glance at the chaos unfolding behind you, you follow Hoseok through the thinning veil of light and shadow.

The vibrations of the celestial realm linger even after you are back in the car, the faint hum coursing through the tires as Hoseok speeds down the road. Only when the sensation fades completely does he slow, pulling into a dimly lit truck stop by the side of the highway.

He parks in the farthest corner of the lot, the neon lights of the diner casting strange reflections on the car windows. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the weight of what just happened pressing down on the silence.

Finally, Hoseok exhales, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. “That was...close.”

You nod, your voice caught in your throat before you manage to speak. “The angels... they blame me. They call me the daughter of the unworthy.” You look at him, your chest tightening. “What do they mean?”

Hoseok’s jaw clenches. “They’re trying to mess with your head. Angels aren’t as pure as you’ve been led to believe, though not all of them are bad, still the majority are treacherous beings. That’s why they try to break you, to make you question yourself.” His voice softens, a rare vulnerability creeping in. “But you don’t break.”

You stare out the window, the glow of the truck stop lights blurring in your vision. “I don’t understand any of this. The book... my parents... me? Why would the angels want me so badly?”

Hoseok hesitates, as if weighing how much he should reveal. “Because you’re more important than you realize… to both sides.”

Before you can press him further, the sound of an approaching vehicle breaks the silence. You turn to see a sleek black SUV pulling up beside you. Hoseok’s posture shifts immediately, tense but not surprised. The passenger door opens, and a familiar figure emerges – tall and commanding, with molten gold eyes that catch the light like fire.

The demon leans casually against the car door, his sharp smile returning. “You’ve been busy.”

Hoseok crosses his arms, his stance rigid. “What do you want?”

The demon’s smile doesn’t falter, but his tone turns serious. “The magic book is a trap, rigged to lure her into their hands. We follow its essence to her house,” he says, nodding toward you. “When you aren’t there, we think we’ve lost you. But then she calls us.”

You blink in confusion. “I call you?”

The demon’s gaze flickers to you, his amusement returning. “That burst of light back there? Your power. It cuts through the realms like a beacon. It leads us right to you.”

You glance at Hoseok, the unease in your chest growing. “If the book is a trap,” you ask, “how do we find the relic now?”

The demon straightens, folding his arms as he regards you both. “The oracle,” he says simply. “She’s the only one who knows its true location.”

Hoseok’s jaw tightens further, but his voice is calm. “Then we go to her next.”

The demon’s sharp smile widens, his gaze lingering on Hoseok as he steps back. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

As the demon retreats into the night, the air grows still again.

You watch Hoseok’s face, searching for any hint of what he’s feeling, but he remains a fortress of unreadable emotions – at least, that’s how it seems.

“Angel,” he finally breaks the silence, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, “there’s something I need to tell you... I-I just don’t know how.”

When his eyes meet yours, you don’t see the confident, alluring Hoseok you’ve grown used to. Instead, there’s something raw, almost vulnerable, in the way he looks at you – like his eyes are holding back a sadness too heavy to share. Yet, his aura shifts, and you can feel it – a swirling mix of hesitation, protectiveness, and something deeper that makes your chest tighten.

“I think it’s a little too late to play coy,” you tease lightly, trying to ease the weight in the air. “Hoseok, you can tell me anything.”

But your attempt at humor doesn’t break through. He breaks eye contact instead, his shoulders sinking as he stares down at his hands. A deep sigh escapes him, like he’s carrying the weight of the celestial realm itself.

“I-I…” He hesitates, his fingers curling tightly against his lap before finally continuing, “I just don’t want anything to happen to you. So, I’m thinking… maybe we should stay at my place from now on. Only I can enter my realm or allow others in, so it’s the safest option. If, and only if, that’s okay with you.”

The words come out in a rush, like he’s afraid of what your response might be.

You reach over, placing your hand on his. Your thumb traces soothing circles across his knuckles as you offer a small, reassuring smile. “Honestly? I think that’s the most practical decision we’ve made since we met.”

His lips twitch upward into a faint smile, but his eyes betray him. There’s more he isn’t saying, and deep down, you know it. Still, you decide not to push him. He’ll tell you when he’s ready. The connection between you has always been inexplicably strong, and now, you can feel something strange radiating from him – lingering traces of fear and worry mingled with anger and something similar to passion brewing within.

Hoseok remains paused in the moment before nodding. He gently pulls his hand from yours, starts the car, and turns onto the empty road. The low hum of the engine fills the silence as the truck stop disappears in the rearview mirror, and you can’t shake the feeling that Hoseok’s thoughts are elsewhere.

The journey to his realm is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels heavy rather than peaceful. When you arrive, his home seems different – still beautiful, still otherworldly, but tonight, it feels like a sanctuary desperately trying to shield you both from the outside chaos.

That night, when he wraps his arms around you, his touch feels different. There is a new intensity in the way he holds you, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. His body is warm against yours, but his breathing betrays him – steady, yet just a little too deep, as though he’s grounding himself.

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. The quiet between you speaks louder than words, the weight of everything unsaid pressing gently against your chest. You nestle closer, your head resting against him, and for a fleeting moment, you feel safe.

But the questions linger in your mind, along with the undeniable sense that tonight has changed something between you.

The morning comes too quickly, and with it, the next step of your journey. The oracle waits, and though you don’t know what answers she might hold, you can’t escape the gnawing feeling that they will change everything once again.

As the car moves through a landscape shifting from the familiar to the extraordinary, you once again feel the weight of silence between you and Hoseok. The road stretches endlessly until the terrain begins to morph. The skies shimmer in unnatural hues, and the air seems to hum with energy. By the time you arrive at the oracle’s realm, it feels like stepping into the pages of a sci-fi novel.

Towering structures pulsate with glowing light, and pathways crisscross the sky, suspended by invisible forces. Beings of every shape and size move through the streets, some humanoid, others unlike anything you’ve ever imagined. Hoseok guides you through the bustling city to a nondescript door nestled between two towering spires.

“This is it,” he says, his voice steady but his eyes betraying a flicker of apprehension.

Inside, the world is alive with music and chatter. The oracle’s domain is a club that seems to defy the laws of physics – floating platforms hover midair, and the walls shift colors and shapes in time with the music. In the center of it all stands the oracle, her presence commanding yet ethereal. Draped in shimmering fabrics that appear to move like liquid light, she greets you with a knowing smile.

“You’ve come,” she says, her voice resonating in a way that seems to speak directly to your soul.

The oracle wastes no time. Her gaze, sharp and unyielding, locks onto yours, as though she can see straight through your skin and into the very essence of your being. Her lips part, and her voice – low, melodic, yet weighted with an otherworldly power – begins to weave a story you haven’t known you were ready to hear.

“You carry their light, you know,” she says, her eyes narrowing slightly as a faint glow reflects in her irises. “Your parents. They knew this day would come, though they feared it more than anything. The whispers of your destiny haunted them, even as they tried to shield you from it.”

You blink, startled. “They…they never told me anything like that.”

“They didn’t have to,” the oracle replies, tilting her head. “They saw what you were – what you are. You are no angel, no demon, but something far more dangerous to both. You are balance itself, child. A tether. A bridge. The kind of being that can tip the scales of the universe with a single choice.”

Her words send a shiver down your spine. “What does that even mean?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“It means,” the oracle continues, “that your existence is a thread in the great tapestry of the realms. Angels, demons, mortals – all of them tug at it, desperate to shape it to their will. But you…you were born to hold the threads together. To keep the chaos and order in check.” She leans forward, her gaze softening slightly. “It’s why the relic calls to you, why you can see things others cannot.”

Her words strike like lightning, illuminating truths that feel both foreign and deeply familiar. You struggle to breathe under the weight of it all, a sense of dread gripping your chest as a flood of emotions surge – disbelief, confusion, fear. Yet beneath it all is a strange sense of resonance, as though pieces of a puzzle you didn’t know you held were clicking into place. A connection to something greater than yourself, and the idea lingers, pulling at threads deep within you, stirring something primal, something you can’t name.

The oracle watches you closely, her piercing gaze reading the turmoil in your heart. “You’ve felt it, haven’t you?” she asks, her tone neither accusing nor gentle but steeped in certainty. “The pull. The connection to something greater than yourself. It’s not a coincidence. You were born to walk this path.”

“But…what does that mean? What am I supposed to do?” you ask, your voice trembling under the weight of it all. “Who am I supposed to trust?”

The oracle tilts her head, her expression unreadable but not unkind. “Trust,” she says slowly, “is a fragile thing. You will find it where you least expect it and lose it in the places you believe it to be safe. But that is not the question you should ask.”

“Then what should I ask?” you press.

“You should ask yourself,” she replies, “who you will be if trust is betrayed. If you are strong enough to walk this path regardless of the hands that reach for yours.”

You open your mouth to respond, but she continues, her words shifting like silk over steel. “Your future is not a single thread, child. It is a web of possibilities, branching out in ways even I cannot fully see. Which thread survives will depend on the choices you make.”

She pauses, her expression darkening as she speaks of the relic. “It is a source of unimaginable power, capable of restoring balance or obliterating it entirely. In the wrong hands, it will bring devastation to all realms – angelic, demonic, and mortal alike. Even those who seek balance must beware their own temptations.”

The room seems to dim as her voice grows quieter, darker. “You were born to hold the balance. The relic calls to you because it knows this. But power…power always demands a price. Will you pay it?”

Her words linger in the air long after she finishes speaking, leaving you with a feeling of unease you can’t quite shake.

Finally, she reveals the relic’s location, speaking its name like a hidden key that unlocks a door in your mind. It feels both distant and perilously close, a destination that will mark the next step in your journey. Her warning is clear, her gaze sharper than before. “Be sure you are willing to pay the price before you claim it,” she says softly, her voice almost a whisper but carrying the weight of a scream.

The oracle steps back then, as if retreating into the shadows of her domain, her words a haunting echo in your mind as you stand on the precipice of a destiny you never sought to claim – born to walk this path.

After the intensity of the oracle’s revelations, Hoseok suggests taking a moment to explore the peaceful realm. It is a rare sanctuary, a place where violence is forbidden, and the energy of the realm soothes frayed nerves. As the two of you wander through the narrow streets, the grandeur of the city gives way to quieter corners, where the hum of activity softens into a tranquil buzz.

“Did you know about all of this?” you ask hesitantly, breaking the silence as you walk beside him. “The balance, the relic, my… role in all of it?”

Hoseok glances at you, his expression guarded. “I had my suspicions,” he admits after a pause. “But it’s not something you just… bring up in conversation.”

You frown. “Suspicions? You’ve been guiding me through this chaos, and all you had were suspicions?”

“Would you have believed me if I’d told you everything from the start?” he counters, his voice calm but laced with frustration. “You barely believe it now.”

He isn’t wrong, but his words don’t ease the unease twisting in your chest. “It feels like everyone knows more about me than I do,” you mutter. “Like my whole life has been leading to something I didn’t even know I’m a part of.”

Hoseok stops walking and turns to face you, his gaze steady. “Your life is still yours,” he says softly. “No one can take that from you – not angels, not demons, not anyone.”

His words carry a surprising sincerity, and for a moment, you feel a flicker of reassurance. Before you can respond, the two of you reach a small pub tucked away in a shadowed corner of the street. Its wooden sign sways gently in the breeze, and the soft glow of lanterns spilling from the windows makes it look almost out of place in the grand realm.

“Come on,” Hoseok says, nodding toward the door. “Let’s take a break.”

The pub’s interior is cozy, with warm lighting and a scent of spiced cider that immediately wraps around you like a comforting blanket. The two of you settle at a corner table, where Hoseok orders drinks, his choice of a deep red wine once again catching you off guard.

As you sit in the tentative quiet, you can’t help but ask, “Do you ever get tired of all this? The secrecy, the danger?”

Hoseok’s lips quiver into a small, humorless smile. “You get used to it. But tired? Yeah. Sometimes.”

“Then why do it?” you press. “Why keep helping me if it’s so exhausting?”

“Because someone has to,” he says simply. “And because… I believe in you.”

Your heart falters at his words, but before you can say anything, the moment is shattered by a voice cutting through the pub’s warmth.

“Demon Prince,” the figure says, their tone reverent yet bold as they approach your table.

You stiffen at the title, your gaze snapping to Hoseok. His jaw clenches, and a flicker of annoyance crosses his face. “I told you not to call me that,” he says sharply, his voice low but firm.

The figure hesitates, their expression faltering for a moment before they bow their head slightly. “Of course. My apologies.”

Your mind races, the stranger’s words echoing over and over. Demon Prince. The title carries a weight that can’t be ignored, and the way Hoseok reacts – defensive, irritated – only adds to your growing unease.

As the figure moves away, you lean toward him, your voice a hushed whisper. “What is that about? Why would they call you that?”

“It’s just a nickname,” Hoseok says quickly, his tone casual, though his eyes refuse to meet yours. “An old joke from another time.”

You don’t believe him for a second, but the intensity of his expression makes it clear he isn’t going to say anything more. The rest of your time in the pub passes in strained silence, the warm atmosphere doing little to thaw the tension building between you.

By the time you leave, the words Demon Prince linger in your mind, impossible to dismiss.

The drive back to Hoseok’s realm is unbearable. The silence stretched taut, every moment amplifying the questions you’re too afraid to ask but can’t keep inside any longer. Finally, you break. “Is it true?” you ask, your voice trembling. “Are you the Demon Prince?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, knuckles pale against the dark leather. For a moment, you think he might deny it – dismiss the stranger’s claim as baseless. But then he exhales, his voice low and weighted with regret. “I didn’t want you to see me that way.”

Anger and hurt surge, breaking through the thin veil of calm you’ve been clinging to. “If you can lie about this,” you say, your voice cracking, “what else are you hiding? How am I supposed to trust you now?”

Hoseok flinches at your words, the flicker of pain in his expression only amplifying your frustration. He tries to explain, but his answers feel evasive, and every word only widens the chasm growing between you. By the time you reach his house, the argument has spiraled into a storm of emotions you can’t contain.

“I need to go home,” you say firmly, your voice leaving no room for debate.

Hoseok’s eyes darken, the calm mask he’s worn earlier now completely shattered. “You can’t,” he says, his tone almost pleading. “It’s not safe for you out there – not until we finish this.”

But you shake your head, overwhelmed by the oracle’s revelations, the looming danger of the relic, and now this crushing sense of betrayal. “I can’t stay here. I just… I need space.”

Hoseok looks as though he wants to argue further, but after a long pause, he relents. “I can force you to stay here…but I won’t. At least take this with you,” he says as he hands you a glowing dagger, “if you run into any trouble, it’s been enchanted with a magic that can harm any celestial being.”

You accept the dagger, “Fine, now can I go home?” You try to sound stern, but your heart aches as you ask him.

His shoulders slump, and with a wave of his hand, the bathroom door shimmers and shifts, revealing the familiar sight of your apartment beyond it. The magic is seamless, but the ache in your chest is anything but.

As you step through the portal, you can’t bring yourself to look back. You tell yourself this is what you need – that space will bring clarity. But as the door closes behind you, severing the connection to Hoseok’s world, you feel the hollow ache of uncertainty settle deep in your chest.

The days pass in a haze of monotony, the kind you used to crave when life felt too chaotic. You go back to work, immersing yourself in tasks that once made you feel accomplished, but now, everything feels hollow. Your coworkers invite you to dinner, drinks – anything to pull you out of whatever funk they think you're in. You politely decline each time, excusing yourself with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

At night, the silence of your apartment feels heavier than before, and the city noise outside your window does little to fill the void. Sleep becomes elusive, your dreams haunted by visions of Hoseok. In them, he reaches for you, his eyes filled with desperation, but every time, just as your fingers are about to touch, he disappears into the shadows.

You startle awake one night, the image of him crumpled on the ground etched into your mind. His face pale, his body broken – it feels so real, too real to ignore. Shaking your head, you push the thought aside, blaming it on the stress of everything you’ve been through.

In an attempt to calm yourself, you shuffle to the kitchen and set a kettle on the stove for tea. The rhythmic ticking of the stove timer is interrupted by a sound that sends a chill down your spine – a heavy thud against your front door.

Your heart races as you reach for the weapon Hoseok had insisted you take with you. The handle feels foreign in your grip, but the weight of it gives you a strange sense of comfort. Slowly, you approach the door, your breaths shallow.

When you swing it open, the sight before you makes your blood run cold. Hoseok collapses into your entryway, his body battered and bloodied. “Hoseok!” you gasp, dropping the weapon and rushing to his side.

He groans, barely conscious as you hook an arm under his shoulder and struggle to drag him inside. The door slams shut behind you as you half-drag, half-carry him to the couch. His wounds look deep, blood soaking through his torn clothes, but as you clean them, you notice something strange. The gashes are closing before your eyes, knitting together with an almost supernatural speed.

With everything you’ve been through, it’s another magical occurrence that only keeps you astonished for a brief moment, before reminding you that life will never be normal again.

Hoseok’s eyes flutter open, and he gives you a weak smile. “I… couldn’t stay away,” he says, his voice strained but steady. “I tried to get the relic on my own, but…”

His words trail off as your emotions surge – relief that he is alive, anger at his recklessness, confusion over his sudden reappearance. “You shouldn’t have gone alone,” you say, your voice trembling. “What if you hadn’t made it back?”

“I had to,” he murmurs, his hand reaching up to cover yours. “I can’t do this without you.”

As you stare into his eyes, the weight of his words settles over you. “Why, Hoseok? Why do you need this relic so badly?”

He hesitates, his expression torn. Finally, he answers, “Because I want to be free. I want to live as a mortal again. To feel what it’s like to truly live – love, marry, have children, and grow old. I’ve spent centuries trapped in this endless cycle, and I can’t do it anymore.”

His voice breaks, the raw vulnerability in his tone catching you off guard. For the first time, you see him not as a guide or even a demon, but as a person – someone carrying the weight of lifetimes of pain.

Your anger softens, replaced by a mix of empathy and uncertainty. “Hoseok…” you begin, but the words catch in your throat. You don’t know what to say, and deep down, you’re not sure if anything can make this easier.

He reaches for your hand again, his grip firm but gentle. “I lied because I didn’t want you to see me as just a demon. I wanted you to trust me for who I am, not what I am. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The vulnerability in his words stirs something in you, but the ache in your chest reminds you of everything that’s happened – the oracle’s revelations, the stranger’s words, the secrets he has kept.

You sigh, leaning into him, placing your forehead against his. “I still need time,” you say softly as you look sorrowfully into his eyes, before gently pulling your hand away. “This is all just too much to process.”

That night, you watch over him as he sleeps, the rise and fall of his chest steadying your frayed nerves. His wounds are almost completely healed, but the scars they leave on your trust will take longer.

The silence of the room is broken only by the faint sound of the city outside, but inside, the air is thick with unresolved tension. As dawn begins to break, you can’t shake the feeling that this is just the beginning – that the choices you make now will ripple far beyond anything you could foresee.

And somewhere, deep in the recesses of your mind, you know the journey is far from over.

[wolfwarrior142]

So while walking into work from the parking lot today, the same short like 30 second walk I do everyday, I happened to find this sticker on the ground against the building. Just chilling, perfectly clean.

On today. Of all days. And I know it wasn't there yesterday because I walk by that spot multiple times a day throughout the day. But today, of all days, it happened to be on the ground. In a place that's really only walked by those of us who work in the clinic.

The universe knew. It just knew. How apt for today of all damn days. Would have picked it up regardless of what day I found it and dunno how it got there, but I especially needed this today.

And yes I immediately put it on my clipboard I use all day at work. It goes very well with my bruh. sticker I got months ago.

[fnvbennygecko]

>_<

[incurable-bookkl3pt0]

...no but this would ACTUALLY be both equal parts funny, and sort of insensitive. Funny, as in, Floyd getting a cosmetic surgery to better fit his aesthetic of (sad wet kitten) emo boy is equal parts funny and dramatic. But at the same time, I guess a bit insensitive in the sense where it's a bit of a slap to the face to any troll who DIDN'T get a say in that deformity i.e. trolls (Branch) that have gone grey for extensive periods of time. But honestly, it's kind of the equivalent of people surgically getting their ears pointed so IDK, maybe it's not?

It's just that Floyd gives off Sad Boi Vibes with them ears (and general attitude but I guess given the circumstances of the movie understandable) so it's not a far off guess that he might have gone grey. Maybe he did for like a year or something, but it wasn't long enough to have a deformity, and he eventually just modified his ears? Or maybe he's just a dramatic hoe?

Either way, funny. Might not be for Branch though, if he ever found out, is all I'm saying.

Okay I know people love to headcanon that Floyd went grey but the way I know it was just for character design is killing me I swear, like- look at him he looks like the kind of dude that would modify his ears in Claries.

I totally headcanon that getting your ears modified would totally be like a trend for trolls to have that emo vibe and you can’t change my mind about it

[isekyaaa]

I really try not to be one of those people that set myself up to get pissed off, but sometimes the urge is so strong.

[fushitoru]

rainy days and brownies

pairing ⸺ college/modern!au: bf!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you wake up for some soft moments with your boyfriend that involves brownies (turned freaky)

warnings ⸺ smut, tooth rotting fluff, some mild angst?, gojo unfortunately mentions skibidi toilet, I think I made gojo gen z here, boob worship, brownies and baking, established relationship, oral (f!receiving), gojo eats pussy like a champ, NOT EDITED, might be incoherent to everyone except me, product of a forceful effort to escape writer’s block, rainy mornings <3, lots of intimacy, art by 3-aem, probably in the same universe as this

general masterlist

Rainy mornings with Satoru means baking.

It’s a ritual the both of you have fallen into. On a day like this, where the air smells like rain, you blearily wake up from your nap to smell the warm distinct aroma of overly sweet brownies.

The slutty brownies were Satoru’s masterpiece. Even if he did overdo the sugar, you can’t admit that your stomach was growling as you rubbed your bleary eyes and frowned while raking a hand through your head. This bed head was going to be a bitch to untangle with the hairbrush.

“AND IIIIIIIIIIIII, WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUU—“

You jumped, caught off guard by Satoru randomly deciding to pay homage to Whitney Houston. Standing up, you headed towards the living room of you and Satoru’s apartment—-not before you adjusted your tank top so your tits weren’t out and the boy shorts you chose to sleep in properly covered your ass.

“WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUUUU—-“ You cringed at Satoru’s attempt of a high note, grumpily looking at him use his chocolate covered spatula as a makeshift mic. He was in the kitchen—-shirtless, of course—-now bending over to peek at the state of his brownies in the oven. Deciding the brownies weren’t done yet, he closed the oven door and stood up once more, reaching for his phone to undoubtedly scroll through TikTok. Continuing to hum different variations of the chorus, he swiped at his phone, ignorant to your presence behind him.

You think he’s kind of sweet like this. If it weren’t for him, the both of you would never be in this position. You would always be the cold frigid bitch he saw in freshman orientation and occasionally at parties across campus, and he would be the sweet, friendly guy that all the girls would continue to fall head over heels for.

To be honest, you don’t really see what he sees in you. You’re like a Disney villain, the witch that entraps him in her webs of insecurity and jealousy, but he remains the valiant prince, fighting to get to you. When he finally has you in his arms, he kisses you into believing that you are his princess instead.

It’s obvious in the way he fought for you—memorizing your schedule, rushing across campus just to walk you to class, pleading with you to grab dinner. And each time, you’d brush him off with sharp rejections, finding excuses to keep him at arm’s length.

But when he finally had you, finally cracked all your defenses—he was never going to let you go. You could see as much; the way he proudly walked on campus with you at his side, across the main quad so he could boast that he got you. You were his, and he was fully, undoubtedly yours. At parties, his eyes would always be on you, raking his eyes up and down your figure in your nurse outfit, conjuring up the hundred and thirty four positions he would fuck you so good in, even if there were prettier girls clinging onto his arms asking for a morsel of his attention. Pettily enough, you would just need to sigh and mumble “This party isn’t fun,” to have Satoru whipped, ushering you out of the frat house while those girls glared at the back of your Halloween costume, angry beyond measure that a nobody like you has the campus sweetheart wrapped around your finger.

Loud booms of the Vine gunshot sound effect snaps you back into the present, where Satoru is snickering at some god awful brain rot. You choose to approach him, wrapping your arms around his waist and smothering your face into his muscular back.

“Hi baby,” you mumble.

“Guess which sleepyhead is awake!” He announces to the world and turns around, and your traitorous heart jumps in its chest while looking into his eyes. It’s stupid. You’re both in your PJs on a morning where the rain thuds against the window pane, blurring both the window and all outside life, suspending you both in this moment. His eyes look affectionately down to you, and he plants a wet kiss on your forehead. “How was your nap, baby?”

“It was good.” You watch him turn around again to peek at the oven, and he hums, upper arm flexing as he grabs the heavy bag of flour, dragging it closer to him. “When’d you get up?”

“Around 7.”

You shoot him a bewildered look as you hop onto the counter, a better space to observe your boyfriend. When he realized that you had woken up, he had left his phone open to give you a kiss, reel playing noises. You peek over and almost snort at what is playing.

“Satoru, why are you watching alligators get chased away by a shovel?”

He looks up from the bowl of brownie batter he was now cleaning—-with his tongue, mind you—-and grins boyishly. “Isn't it crazy how hundreds of years of evolution get destroyed by a shovel?”

”Your feed is not normal,” you shake your head, keeping a stony face as you continue to scroll through his TikTok. In fact, it’s hilarious—-the things he got were weirder than one could dream, with toilets producing heads of men taking over whole cities. You’re not sure what that means about your boyfriend, but you accept it as you watch the nonsensical video.

“Wait,” he makes his way over to you, standing in between your legs. “Is that skibidi toilet?”

“What the hell is that.”

“Baby,” he whines. “You don’t know the lore? I don’t know if I can be with you for any longer.”

Your bite back a grin. “And subjecting me to hours of FNAF backstory wasn’t testament to how much I love you?”

Before he could whine back, you noticed he had some leftover chocolate on the side of his mouth and leaned over to lick it. Humming at the taste, you grabbed his hands and took in his brownie coated index and middle finger into your mouth.

He frowns. “Are you trying to seduce me into forgiving you and giving you more brownies?”

You laugh softly and give him a soft smooch on his shoulder. “No, silly. If I ate any more than half, I would have diabetes.”

He grabs the back of your hips and pulls you closer into him, nuzzling his nose against yours. The physical contact rubs at your nerves the right way, firing off that emotional part of you that makes you think loving him is so easy. How lucky you are that he’s chosen to give you his love.

His god-awful alarm blares—same annoying sound he keeps hitting snooze on for his 7ams—and the moment breaks as he reaches for the oven mitts to pull out the brownies. The aroma hits you instantly, making your mouth water. Satoru blows dramatically on the brownies, pouting and mock-yelling, “Hurry up and cool down! My girlfriend wants to eat you.” You can’t help but giggle. Once Satoru finally decides they’re cool enough, he grabs one and offers it to you. “Make way for the choo-choo train!” he snickers, guiding the brownie through imaginary tracks, a shit-eating grin on his face, before plopping it into your mouth.

You can’t help but let out a soft sigh as the brownie melts on your tongue, its warmth enveloping your senses. Rich, velvety tones of chocolate overwhelm your mouth, with each bite releasing a symphony of deep, indulgent flavors that linger long after the brownie is fully swallowed. “Wow, this is actually good.”

He pauses, brownie and hand held in mid air. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug innocently but stick your tongue out to him regardless.

Popping the brownie in his mouth--but not before sending you a pout---he brushes his hands together to remove the brownie crumbs as he makes his way back in between your legs. The way he settles between them makes you all too aware of the heat of his groin encompassing you. He lazily drags his eyes up your figure, but not before settling on your outfit. His eyes then flick down to watch his hands trace the hem of your tank top, and your eyes follow his hands, a little dizzy by the action.

You’re always a bit sensitive in the mornings, and before this day, you and Satoru’s interactions have been limited to a kiss before he runs for his 7am and then doing college work until 3am, where you’re both too tired for anything particularly frisky. So, yea, you are kind of pent up---and judging by the bulge that’s starting to form in Satoru’s sweats, you assume he is too.

You put your elbows on his shoulder blades to give him head scratches from behind and lean towards his jawlines giving small kisses. You can feel him close his eyes, purring silently like a cat, and underneath your hands, his back and shoulder blades tense and relax as you rake your hands over his scalp.

“This new?” He uses his index finger to snap the strap of your tank top against your shoulder, using his mouth to given open mouthed kisses to your collarbone.

“Mhm,” you hum, a little deliriously at that---he’s begun to trail down, mouth working at the swell of your breasts.

He slowly pulls the collar of your tank down, down down down until your breast pops out. His eyes trace the swing urgently and groans. “I missed these, sweet girl.”

You gasp sharply when he puts it in his mouth, tongue swirling around the nipple. Satoru’s always been a boob guy, joking about his hands being your bra to support “those mommy milkers.” Right now, he’s doing just that; groping the hell out of them and giving them kisses, as if they were God’s greatest creation.

As much as you were enjoying your boyfriend’s boob worshipping, you need more. You were throbbing in want of contact on your pussy, and you made sure to relay just that. “Toru, I need more,” you whined.

“God forbid a man appreciate nice boobs.” He rolls his like the sassy man he is and parts with your nipple like lips after a messy and wet make out session. Your breasts are gleaming with his spit, a string connecting your nipple to his lips. He trails his face down your torso, making his way down to his knees until he was facing your crotch.

You whine and clench your thighs together to draw his face closer to the space between your thighs. He looks up at you and coos, giving your inner thigh a kiss. “I can smell you from here, cutie.”

His statement reminds you that you’re not too wet in the mornings. As soon as you wake up, some of your morning sessions with Satoru require the aid of lube to ensure no pain. Irritation flares at you at the thought that you might need to leave your position to grab some l—-

Oh.

“What the hell. I thought you wet your pants,” Satoru giggles. The finger running through your folds glides messily, as you both marvel to how wet you are. You’re also on another plane; you haven’t felt his touch for weeks, and the feeling overwhelms you as the squelches your pussy makes echo throughout the kitchen.

Satoru gives you a kiss on your neck. “Baby, can I?” You deliriously remember that he’s lightly circling his finger around your entrance and when you finally give him the okay, he pushes in.

Both of you groan at how tight you are. “Satoru,” you moan and proceed to bring him in for a kiss as he pistons in and out of your pussy, curling them just the way you like and making you see colors.

“Pretty, pretty girl,” he groans. “Left my baby so pent up.”

At that, all you can do is nod and whimper in agreement. All that leaves your mouth are gasps of his names and oh my god’s because he’s making you feel so good.

And then, you almost scream as you feel him blowing hot air onto your folds, leaning down to give teasing kitten licks around your clit, but not directly on it. His tongue drags up and down until he finally stops it right next to your clit as if feeling the sensation of your pussy throbbing, echoing your fastened heartbeat skin-to-skin while drooling.

Frustrated, you try to move your hips, but Satoru grabs them to stay in place. He’s so close to the place you want him, but he’s stationed in one place, spit flowing down as his tongue is still and his dark eyes are staring at you as if enraptured by your struggling.

“Satoru, please lick my clit,” you moan wantonly, begging for him to change his position.

But Satoru Gojo wouldn’t be Satoru Gojo without some teasing. “What was that, baby? Avoid your clit? You got it.”

“No,” you sobbed, grabbing onto his hair and directing his tongue to your clit. This time, he relents, sucking the bud into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks, making you see stars.

But soon, his quick and fast lapping turn into lazy licks, and you get frustrated, grinding against air and pussy oozing out wetness as Satoru keeps his tongue outstretched in front of you but not close enough to make contact with your skin, teasing. You hate the feeling of your pussy throbbing and the inner thighs and pussy wet with your slick, lacking the sensation you needed to finally climax. “Oh my god, Satoru, please make me cum.”

“I don’t know baby, you sound pretty commanding to me.” The motherfucker shrugs as if he has nothing to do with your dilemma and starts trailing kisses up your inner thigh. His touches were close to where you needed him most, making you ache for the sensation of his wet laps against you.

“Please, baby,” you beg. “You feel so good, you’re making me feel soo good. I love you so much. Please let me cum.” You’re full on sobbing, hips writhing to get any sensation in.

Satoru, at your display, seems to give in, because he’s coming in once more, giving you a sweet little kiss on your clit. You nearly ascend.

He’s diving in, making a rhythm of dipping his tongue into your entrance and coming back to give sloppily wet laps on your clit. It’s when he groans while his tongue is inside, hot air and vibrations needily simulating your clit, that you come up with a gasp. You roll your hips, Satoru giving you little licks to help you ride out your orgasm.

For how hard you came, you’re bucking your hips frantically, body on a mind of its own as you almost fall off the counter. Satoru has to grip your thighs to prevent that potential injury and rubs soothing circles on the outside of your thigh as you pant, wetness and sweat likely painting the counter beneath you. It’s not until your breath returns back to it’s normal pace that you notice Satoru’s head against your thighs, looking up at you with lovesick eyes.

You’re probably giving him the same look back, you realize, given he made you ascend to heaven and back. He gives an affectionate kiss to your mound, moaning corny shit like “Your pussy tastes sweeter than the brownie.”

And then he stands up, knees popping on the way back up, and despite your fucked out state, you can’t help but giggle. “You old man with the popping knee caps.”

He glares at you playfully, but you know his expression too well to know there’s no real offense in it. “Hey. Rude to say that after I just made you cum your brains out.”

”And you’re about to get the same thing,” you purr, putting a hand on his hard-on. He hisses but looks at you with lust blown eyes as he grabs the back of your thighs to carry you to your shared bedroom.

Yes, rainy days do mean baking with Satoru, but not without intimacy with your even sweeter boyfriend in bed.

general masterlist

comment or reblog to let me know your thoughts! I appreciate all of them <3

a/n lol this was a bitch to write. this might be a word soup or salad or whatever for all readers and that’s ok! I’ve written this primarily at 1am so…

eugh ok im going back to writing ch5 of bridgerton!gojo and fixing the em dashes in this post when i wake up LOL

[sttoru]

your boyfriend cannot stop himself from kissing you all over. kissing you is his favorite thing to do - no matter when or where.

☀︎｜tags. older bf!gojo satoru x female reader. suggestive, mild (to somewhat) nsfw, fluff. lots of kissing. lots and lots of kissing and loving. he fondles and gropes you everywhere basically. clingy satoru. tiny bit size difference (yes ok im a slut, what about it). body worship kinda. readers gets called ‘sweet / pretty girl, baby, princess’. beta read? what’s that.

you fell for it again; satoru told you it was only going to be a quick peck on the lips. ‘i promise, baby, c'moooon’ — you recall him begging in that whiny voice of his. that's all what was needed to make you putty in his hands.

“fine, but only one kiss, okay?” you gave in and walked over to satoru, climbed onto your shared bed and leaned in for a swift kiss—only for his strong arms to cage you in and never let go. it had been ten minutes since; the apartment was silent, except for the lewd sounds of your shared kisses and heavy breaths.

satoru’s soft hands are wandering everywhere. from cupping your cheeks to rubbing your sides and gripping your ass. the clock was ticking loudly, but the sound of it was drowned out by your moans. and satoru’s low, needy whimpers.

the appointment you were getting ready for had long slipped your mind.

“mh, you’re such a good kisser, baby,” the white-haired man sighs. he absolutely loves the way you follow the movements of his glossy lips—your head tilting to the side and back—automatically accomodating to satoru’s motions. he was kissing you with an urgent need. one you had never known or witnessed before, “more, ngh, need more of you, please.”

satoru was not letting up. you couldn’t blame him; it was easy to get lost in this warm and cherished moment of peace. his sweet kisses switched intensity—going from innocent kisses to sloppy ones, resulting in your chin dripping with a mixture of saliva.

you whine and straddle satoru’s lap which earns you a happy hum from your lover. that was his plan all along: to completely distract you from the fact that you had to leave the house. that you had to leave his side. others would call it annoyingly clingy, but satoru absolutely needs your lips on his.

he is sure that he would go insane if he spent a whole day without kissing you. an hour is already too long, if he is honest.

satoru would love to kiss you until the end of time. until death comes knocking onto his door. the last thing he desires to feel is your plump lips and wet tongue wrapped around his. a peaceful, warm death. one with no regrets.

“mhmmm, fuck, you taste so sweet.” satoru's eyebrow furrow in delight. he is nearly overstimulated by the taste of you. the way your small body clings onto him, your hands holding onto his jaw and sliding down his chest, your sounds of pleasure that only he could ever have the honour of hearing.

it was perfect. all of you was perfect.

your parted lips make way for his tongue again. satoru slips his tongue inside your mouth. it was tender, yet demanding. your throat tightens up and a choked moan fills his ears. his cold fingers make contact with the warm skin of your midriff. they were aiming at one place; your chest.

the one satoru loves to fondle no matter when or where. the same one he loves to use as a pillow every night.

“nnh, ‘toru, need’to breathe,” you are running out of air. the short gasps you took between the heated kisses were not enough to fill your lungs. but, it was addicting. the shortness of breath the two of you experienced only served as more proof of your love.

neither of you want to pull away—to pause the make out session for even what could be a split second.

the older man below you is hesistant. he does not want to let go of you. it's like you’re asking him to break up—that’s how much it hurts him to stop kissing you.

however, he felt a bit light-headed from the lack of oxygen as well. satoru pulls away, but not without sweeping his tongue over your bottom lip, lapping up the drool that dripped down the corners of your mouth.

his eyes are half-lidded and glazed over with both love and lust. you stabilise yourself by holding onto his broad shoulders and satoru rubs your back to help calm you down further. a ghost of a grin tugs at his lips. he surely is enjoying your adorable, exhausted demeanour. your chest was heaving up and down—his fingers sneaking to your front and wrapping around a breast to feel its tenderness.

“pretty,” satoru sighs. he takes the chance once your lips part to take a deep breath. his tongue quickly slips in, invading your mouth and exploring every inch before separating the two of you again. he can not go a minute without kissing you. you sure are like a drug to him, “thank you, princess.”

you are surprised by the sudden tongue kiss, but brush it off with a chuckle. you know how satoru is; not able to keep away from you in heated moments like these. his large hands fondling, groping and squeezing every area of your body only proves that point.

“thank you for what?” you ask, planting a soft peck on his lips. your boyfriend responds by holding the back of your head. he leans in for another kiss like a man depraved of any affection. you shudder and hold onto him like he there is no tomorrow. he does the same back, squeezing you against his chest.

satoru slightly tilts his head back to answer your question. his breath was hot on your mouth, a faint string of saliva hanging between your bottom lips. he can not hold the urge. he can not answer. his lips are already colliding with yours once more.

over and over. until the two of you were out of breath and needed a break again.

“thank you for being with me,” satoru answers in a quiet whisper. the pad of his thumb brushes back and forth against the waistband of the shorts you are wearing. there is an urge to pull them down and reveal those pretty little panties you are wearing, but his current priority is to feel your mouth on his.

until he gets enough. which is never. never in a million years.

“thank you for everything, honestly,” satoru continues and leaves a couple wet kisses down your neck. his hands do not leave your perfect body. he’s admiring every curve - every body part that had yet to be touched, “could have never believed that i’d end up with such a pretty girl. but, here i am, with the prettiest girl in the world in my arms.”

satoru had a way with words. one that left you flustered like crazy each time. he looks at you and that’s when you know that he means every word. his eyes were shining, even when half-lidded. the admiration in them more than just visible.

he looks at your face and body like he’s witnessing the world's greatest treasure. and that you surely are.

“stop saying that.” you giggle embarrassedly. you cover your mouth to hide your smile, though satoru is quick to grab your wrist and pull your hand away. he keeps holding onto your arm to prevent you from hiding your face from his sight. and to stop you from hiding your lips from his, of course.

the older man clicks his tongue, scolding you jokingly for trying to hide that precious smile from him. he kisses the corners of your lips, touch lingering against your hot skin, “how am i supposed to admire my pretty girl if she keeps hiding herself, hm?”

you squirm due to satoru’s flirty words. his gentle tone of voice is making you feel those tingles in your lower abdomen. there has not been a single moment in your relationship where your lover made you feel unwanted. it’s been the complete opposite every day.

“someone’s getting a bit squirmy, aye?” your boyfriend teases. he knows that the combination of his words, looks and actions make you weak in the knees. you always react like it’s your first time kissing and that is both endearing and amusing to him.

you can’t control your bodily reactions either. the sight of satoru beneath you is simply too much. his fluffy hair that sits messily due to your fingers that tugged and played around with the strands, his black top riding up to reveal a glimpse of his defined abs and happy trail. . . the faint blush on satoru’s cheeks and the needy look in his eyes.

you surely can’t leave him alone while he looks like that.

“shut up and kiss me already.” you respond with a huff. and so, satoru does. wasting not a single second. kissing you is his job—his passion. the only thing he ever craves for.

the room once again fills with noises of pure contentment, enjoyment and pleasure. it’s just you two in that moment—no one else mattered.

as long as your lips stay attached to each other, no one actually does.

[raekensluver]

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟺 ˎˊ˗

hiii! since it's getting close to october- that means kinktober season! this is my first ever kinktober event, so don't be too mean to me...stay alert for updates! if you want to be apart of my taglist for this event- reply down below!

ᴏᴠᴇʀᴠɪᴇᴡ ˎˊ˗

- minors dni! for others- please read the warnings and tags before reading- don't like, don't read!

- all fics will be dom!male!character x sub!fem!reader.

- all characters i write for are 18+ and consenting adults!!!

- all posts relating to this years kinktober event will be tagged as 'mara's kinktober '24'

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ ˎˊ˗

ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ᴏɴᴇ ˎˊ˗

- ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 𝟶𝟶𝟷.

praise kink | spencer reid x fem!reader | contains: nsfw 18+, no use of y/n, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, creampie, praise kink, porn without plot.

- ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 𝟶𝟶𝟹.

exhibitionism | theodore nott x fem!reader | contains: nsfw 18+, no use of y/n, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, vaginal sex, exhibitionism, degradation, name calling (whore/slut), porn without plot.

- ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 𝟶𝟶𝟻.

period sex | rafe cameron x fem!reader | contains: nsfw 18+, no use of y/n, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, mentions of period blood, porn without plot.

ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ᴛᴡᴏ ˎˊ˗

- ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 𝟶𝟶𝟽.

thigh riding | aaron hotchner x fem!reader | contains: nsfw 18+, no use of y/n, thigh riding, praising, porn without plot.

- ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 𝟶𝟶𝟿.

piss kink | jj maybank x inexperienced!fem!reader | contains: nsfw 18+, no use of y/n, piss kink, holding/pee desperation, wetting, vaginal sex, teasing/light degradation.

- ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 𝟶𝟷𝟷.

face sitting | james potter x fem!reader | contains: nsfw 18+, no use of y/n, face sitting, oral (f recieving), porn without plot.

ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ˎˊ˗

- ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 𝟶𝟷𝟹.

squirting | patrick zwieg x fem!reader | contains: nsfw 18+, no use of y/n, female ejaculation (squirting), name calling (slut), fingering.

- ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 𝟶𝟷𝟻.

mirror sex | spencer reid x fem!reader | contains: nsfw 18+, no use of y/n, mirror sex, vaginal sex, p in v from behind, choking.

- ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 𝟶𝟷𝟽.

blindfold/sensory deprivation | theodore nott x fem!reader | contains: nsfw 18+, no use of y/n, unprotected sex, sensory depravation, blindfold use, spit play.

- ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 𝟶𝟷𝟿.

dacryphilia | patrick zwieg x fem!reader | contains: nsfw 18+, no use of y/n, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, porn without plot.

ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ғᴏᴜʀ ˎˊ˗

- ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 𝟶𝟸𝟷.

hand kink | george weasley x fem!reader | contains: nsfw 18+, no use of y/n, hand kink, mild exhibitionism, fingering, teasing, dirty talk.

- ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 𝟶𝟸𝟹.

phone sex | art donaldson x fem!reader | contains: nsfw 18+, no use of y/n, phone sex, mutual masturbation, pet names (baby, pretty, good girl), porn without plot.

- ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 𝟶𝟸𝟻.

body worship | spencer reid x fem!reader | contains: nsfw 18+, no use of y/n, body worship, oral (f recieving), porn without plot.

ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ғɪᴠᴇ ˎˊ˗

- ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 𝟶𝟸𝟽.

desperation | fred weasley x fem!reader | contains: nsfw 18+, no use of y/n, handjob, blowjob, praise kink, porn without plot.

- ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 𝟶𝟸𝟿.

[file not found]

- ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 𝟶𝟹𝟷.

innocence/corruption kink | tashi duncan x art donaldson x fem!reader | contains: nsfw 18+, no use of y/n, unprotected sex, fmf threesome, corruption/innocence kink, vaginal sex, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, porn without plot.

layout inspo/creds to: gogogodzilla and sytoran

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: betrothed to cregan stark, you seek respite in his chambers, unaccustomed to the blistering chill of the north. feelings become reality.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: cregan stark x jace’s sister reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.2K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), inexperienced reader, there was only one bed, getting warm gone sexual, heavy kissing, groping, mild hand kink, cregan calls the reader “princess” a lot, body worship, breast play/sucking, biting/light marking, thigh riding, dry humping/grinding, fingering (fem!rec), spooning.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this was a random idea I cooked up but I actually got so wound up when writing this no joke 🧍 I love cregan so much, he’s husband !! as always, I hope you all enjoy reading, thank you sm! ❤️

TALES OF THE UNRELENTING NORTH OFTEN SPILLED FROM THE LIPS OF SOUTHERN NURSEMAIDS — WHISPERS OF SNOWFALLS PILED AS HIGH AS TOWERS, HOWLING GALES THAT CARRIED THE STING OF ICE WITH IT, TEMPERATURES THAT WOULD FREEZE MEN ALIVE.

If only you knew the truth of the matter, you might’ve recalled such stories and used them to your benefit.

Dragonstone was oftentimes tepid, a rocky island surrounded by saltwater tides and the kiss of summertime, where heat was a common commodity. Coming here, to Winterfell, you had experienced a rather dramatic shift in atmosphere.

From the moonlit gloom of your bedchambers, you watched a blizzard rage on, wisps of white whipping past your window. Gooseflesh clung to your skin like that of a plague, and you felt yourself being tormented by an incessant cold.

Glacial are the wreaths of snow-furled gales that blanket Winterfell in their pale callousness — it even seeps into your bones, bones forged of fire and blood. It makes you yearn for the South, for the kiss of heat, the lapping of the waves.

Unaccustomed to the biting weather of the North, you had come ill-prepared, thin shift doing little to shield you from the gnaw of ice. It was the hour of the ghost, too late to summon servants and too late to disturb the castle with your whims.

Cregan Stark, your betrothed, was the only one that you could think of who might still be awake at this ungodly hour.

This union formed between Starks and Targaryens was an arrangement of convenience, unlikely allies on the precipice of a tumultuous civil conflict. It was your willingness that had made this all possible — a scion of Rhaenyra, sent away to the blistering North.

Much to your own bewilderment, you did not dislike your current arrangement. Cregan’s stoicism and stalwart demeanor did not chafe at you as it did with others, and his alliance in this matter was of grave importance.

He was a grizzled man, his exterior rough, but you were no stranger to such behavior.

From what you had gleaned of him thus far, he was resolute and rugged, with a penchant for justice and honor — similar to most of the Starks. In the spirit of transparency, he was aesthetically pleasing to gaze upon, and you did plenty of it when time permitted.

A shiver ran down your spine as you tightened a furred robe around your body, and even that did not serve you well. Seizing a candlestick from atop the dead hearth’s mantle, you made your way from your quarters, greeted by a swell of silence.

The ghastly howl of the wintertime squall surged outside, like the shrill cry of a spectre. It did little to ease your nerves, body rattling like a leaf from the ceaseless chill.

The candle’s lick of warmth danced across your wrist, and it made you yearn for more, breath emerging in warm wisps as you made your way to Cregan’s chambers. It was inappropriate of you to disrupt him like this, but sleep evaded you — between missing home and the cold, you doubted that rest would find you.

Standing before the imposing doors of the Lord of Winterfell, your knuckles rapped timidly against the rough wood, drawing your robe around you once more. Waiting with bated breath, your shoulders straightened at the sound of movement from the other side of the door.

As ancient wood groaned in protest, Cregan’s massive form encapsulated much of the doorway, dark brows furrowed together. “My Lady,” His rumbling timbre often filled you with pangs of excitement. “Are you well?”

Concern laced itself into his cadence, fearing that something might’ve happened to you, or you’d received some sort of news. Storm-laden hues picked you apart in observance, noticing the way your body constantly trembled.

The desire for warmth had clouded everything else; you did not register his lack of clothing upon first glance. Cregan’s musculature was openly displayed, save for the trousers that clung to his hips.

“I am,” Your grip tightened around the base of the candlestick. “Forgive me, my Lord, I — the hearth has died in my chambers and it is much too late to rouse any of the servants. I am unaccustomed to this sort of climate.”

Cregan did not protest to your presence, stepping aside to invite you into his chambers. “You are welcome to warm yourself, my Lady.” Gesturing for you to enter, you were greeted by a roaring fire, gripped by an immediate relief.

A sigh of subdued joy slipped past your lips as you moved towards the crackling flames, feeling heat lick across your flesh. Cregan noticed how poorly dressed you were for such weather — a thin shift and one layer of fur would not do.

Admittedly, it might’ve been untoward for you to be here, not yet wed, in the chambers of your intended. You did not want to besmirch Cregan’s honor, nor lead anyone to believe that you’d gone to him with malicious intent.

“I apologize if this is a disturbance, I … I did not know where else to go,” A pang of realization rippled through you, then. “I do not want you to think that I’ve come here with any foul notions.”

A brief huff spread throughout his chest as the Northern lord moved to sit atop the fur-laden footlocker at the end of his bed. “I do not believe your plight of warmth to be dishonorable,” A hint of amusement lingered within his tone. “This is not the South.”

Allowing yourself to relax, you seemed to abandon your coiled posture, placing the candlestick along the mantle above the hearth. “It is not.” Something forlorn saturated your voice, a wistful longing to return to Dragonstone, to your mother.

Cregan could discern the twinge of melancholy within your tone, enough to garner some concern. He knew that this was all unfamiliar to you — and he did not want you to feel unwelcome.

“What troubles you?” His inquiry was born of sympathy, a desire to understand you better. This betrothal was an unexpected thing, but he had no intention of making either of you miserable.

As firelight danced across your features, Cregan fought against baser instincts, crass thoughts of lesser men; and he was not above them. Your beauty was renowned, taking after the features of your Highborn mother, some remnants of your father still present.

An amalgamation of true adoration, no less.

Captivating was a mere understatement, not worthy enough of your appearance, bathed in an orange glow. As grey hues subtly admired your countenance, he realized that your gaze seemed to do the very same, a mutual exchange.

Lips parted, words turning to ash upon your tongue as you clamored for an appropriate response, not wanting to burden him with your lamenting of home. A soft stirring resonated from your throat. “I miss home — my Mother, most of all.”

The softness of your confession was not lost upon him, a sentiment that Cregan could certainly understand. “You are not a prisoner here, my Lady,” He murmured, brows gathering together. “You are permitted to return to Dragonstone and visit, if it pleases you.”

“Duty is sacrifice,” You lamented, a threadbare smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “With conflict on the horizon, it is best if I stay here — it doesn’t lessen the sting, but I know what is expected of me.”

Cregan found it admirable, your acknowledgment of your pledge here, the very root of your betrothal; even then, he would not begrudge you for returning to your family. He was half a stranger, someone that you were growing accustomed to.

“I admire you for it,” Gray hues like that of a swirling snowstorm hadn’t left you, drinking in your features as if you were some magnificent piece of artwork. He grew quiet, noticing the occasional shudder that coursed throughout your body. “Here.”

Lifting a bundle of thick bearskin, Cregan invited you to sit beside him, if you chose. Lacking your typical shrewdness, you stepped forward, joining him atop the footlocker as he shrouded you in the furry hide.

Sinking into the furs, you exhaled, feeling warmth return to your bones as you basked within the dancing firelight. Nestled beside your betrothed, you exuded plentiful restraint, tearing your gaze away from the bare muscle that brushed against you.

There was some grizzled perfection about him — rough, like uneven leather; as mountainous as the Wall itself. Yet, beneath this hardened exterior, he was endlessly soft, a notion that enticed you. He never made you feel an ounce of discomfort.

“Thank you for this,” A sigh floated from your lips, stare trained upon the hearth’s soothing glow as you warmed yourself at his side. “I have felt so alone in coming here, but you have made me feel as if I do have someone.”

Admittedly, he had his doubts about your betrothal — House Targaryen was as infamous and mystical as they claimed, the blood of dragons. Within your graciousness and tender heart, Cregan found himself wanting you, beyond all bounds of propriety, of decency.

Gray hues flickered over your visage, his appreciation of you not entirely subtle, as if he were screaming his praise through gaze alone. Firelight encapsulated your flesh, the glow surrounding you picturesque.

“I shall not waver in my duty as your husband, Princess — you can be sure of that,” Cregan uttered, able to feel the brief brush of your body against his own, a tantalizing thing. It was swift, fleeting; yet it incited the deepest of yearning. “I will remain here, by your side.”

Princess; as the simple title spilled from his lips, warped with his Northern timbre, you felt a peculiar heat wash over your insides. It was untoward of you to feel the tendrils of desire, especially before being wed. You felt like some craven, thinking this way.

It was his moral compass and staunch sense of duty that had enticed you, the way in which he carried himself with an effortless strength. For a man as young as he, one-and-twenty, his wisdom seemed to stretch on for several moons his senior.

The heaviness of sleep had not yet found you, still rather alert as you remained by his side, hues occasionally stealing glances at his musculature. Absentmindedly, your fingers kneaded into the bearskin, something idle to relieve the spark of tension.

“I should hope that I grow accustomed to this chill, with time,” A flicker of amusement danced within your tone, a shiver gripping your body as you shrank into the furs. “I fear that I am not as resilient to this insufferable snow as I thought.”

A short chuckle escaped Cregan, the sound brief; yet it warmed you more than any simmering flame. An unassuming smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, dissipating as soon as it had appeared. “You will become tolerant with time, princess. I shall see about getting you warmer hides.”

Unable to suppress your smile, a burst of ebullient laughter peeled from your lips, like the chime of bells to the Northern lord’s ears. “You have my gratitude, my Lord. Thank you.”

“Cregan,” His insistence was disarmingly gentle, brows knitting together for only a moment. “We do not have to continue to uphold such formalities.” It seemed to dissolve whatever awkward barrier had rested between you; betrothals were never easy.

“Cregan,” As you repeated his name, he savored the way it rolled from your tongue, wrapped in inklings of a growing fondness. He was practical, a man of the present, but he could imagine himself enjoying his union with you. “It is only right if you do the same.”

The bulk of his musculature softly rattled with a brief huff. “Of course, princess.” He mused, tone betraying the hint of amusement that flickered across his features. The hour had grown exceedingly late, and yet, he did not feel the sting of exhaustion.

Such an innocuous remark had effectively stoked a fire within you, tendrils of a starving flame coiling around your insides. Gooseflesh cascaded along your spine, bringing with it a dull ache. A sliver of your being wanted to stay with Cregan, but it was entirely untoward.

In the spirit of transparency, Cregan shared your unspoken sentiment. To lay with one’s betrothed was not inherently a sin; the gnaw of desire grew within, and he feared what it might twist into.

“I wish to stay here this eve, if you are agreeable,” The suddenness of your inquiry had ensnared his attention, bewildering him to no end. He hadn’t expected you to want to stay — let alone share his bed. “I understand how it might seem …”

“I would not condemn you to further suffer in the cold, my Lady.” Cregan’s reply had made your bones lurch, heart fluttering within your breast like the beating of dragon’s wings.

A gale of fire churned ceaselessly within the pit of your stomach, a sensation not often quelled. You had let it burn, as a stark reminder of the sensations he brought to you. As you mulled over his response, the wolfish lord quietly gestured toward the sprawling bed behind you.

Layered in an endless ocean of hides, from bearskin to that of stags, your feet fell atop the cold stone, feather-light as you made your way into the sanctuary of his mattress. It was fit for a man of his bulk, you’d realized, with plenty of room to spare.

Even the mere presence of a companion had brought a sense of ease to your startled nerves, basking beneath the furs and blankets. As warmth settled into your bones, Cregan joined you, keeping a comfortable distance within his own space.

Sprawled upon your back, you cast your restless gaze to the ceiling — an unremarkable labyrinth of ancient stone. To your right, his musculature lay wedged beneath the furs, an arm tucked beneath his head, a gap of silence present.

“You will be an excellent husband,” The genuine conviction within your tone was enough to cause his head to turn, storm-laden hues finding your pleasant profile. “I no longer fear this union as I once had, and I have you to thank for it.”

Cregan steeled himself, honor hanging by a mere thread; you, curled up within his bed, speaking of him in ways that he had not dreamed of. “Your words are both honorable and humbling, princess. I should hope to protect you, and keep you happy.”

Gods, his voice; a timbre akin to the rolling of thunder, harboring a thinly-veiled gentleness that you so desperately craved. No man compared to him, and it made you want him more, and such a notion was strong already.

Despite the berth of distance residing between bodies, he felt closer than ever, within arm’s reach of touching you. A smile found its way onto your face, as warm as a midsummer’s eve, gaze glittering with a peculiar tenderness.

Whatever ghastly chill had once assailed your bones had been quelled by Cregan’s warmth, a fondness displayed through stare alone. Gray hues traced the contours of your visage, toward the plane of your collarbone, slipping beneath fabric.

Huddling beneath the furs, you rolled over, curled up on your side as your gaze found Cregan’s own with a wordless gratitude. A tension began to brew, the first inklings of a pleasant storm that you had no desire to flee from.

A shiver gripped your spine, claws of a gnawing ice momentarily raking themselves across your flesh. With time, you hoped that you would become accustomed to the Northern climate — it was brutal and unforgiving enough as it stood.

“Still cold, princess?” Cregan felt a twinge of sympathy for you, this hotblooded maiden, brought to heel by the wrath of a snowstorm. He felt the desire to safeguard you, shield you from harm, a deluge included.

A fib nearly tumbled from your lips, and you silenced yourself before it could blossom to fruition. Fingers flexed into the furs, seeking relief; you longed to find your relief in him. “Terribly,” Sinking further into the mattress, you happened to smile. “You might not have a wife when this is over.”

In a futile attempt at lightheartedness, Cregan did not see it that way, growing concerned at the incessant chattering of your teeth, the rise of gooseflesh permeating your skin.

Wordlessly, the young wolf gestured to the space at his side, inviting you to take refuge against the biting chill, if you so desired. He did not seem perturbed, but the doe-like glint within your gaze screamed otherwise.

“You do not …” The shrewd cadence of your tone seemed to ooze with embarrassment, a peculiar heat clinging to your visage. Smitten, you watched as Cregan grunted, head bobbing in a brief shake as he coaxed you closer.

“I would prefer it if you did not wither away.” Such a gentle baritone had struck a match within you, turning your insides to molten liquid. With bated breath, you sluggishly crawled towards him, fingers sheepishly hovering above his abdomen.

Cregan’s thick arm encircled you, as innocuous as he could possibly be, ensuring that he did not cause you any discomfort. Nevertheless, he reveled in the sensation of your body pressing against him, kissed by winter’s chill.

Heat bled from his flesh as if he were his own flame, radiating with bodily warmth as he let you seek such respite. The cold plane of your cheek nestled atop his collarbone, the saccharine scent of you wafting from your downy crown.

Many might’ve considered such behavior scandalous, improper, considering that the two of you had not yet wed. For Cregan, he cared little for labels of impropriety or deviance, preferring to put your own wellbeing above any damning accusations.

The erratic beating of your heart nearly leapt into your throat, fingertips absentmindedly dancing across the impressive bulk of his chest. His stature was immense when placed beside you, and yet you remained captivated by it, soaking in any droplet of warmth that he provided.

It was agonizing, being so close; you wanted to curse restraint, damn dignity, beseech your future husband for a kiss. His jaw tensed when you began to stir, writhing against him in an involuntary attempt to become comfortable.

A sharp inhale punctured his lungs, restraint so threadbare that it nearly ripped into two, hand accidentally brushing across your backside. It wasn’t intentional, but your incessant squirming had made this increasingly difficult.

A familiar stirring roused within his trousers, cock twitching as the curve of your breasts happened to ghost beside his ribcage. Cregan wanted to grab you, force you to remain still, if such a thing were even possible.

“You must stop moving.” Through gritted teeth, his warning was sternly spoken, but not one of anger. As his words assailed your senses, you immediately ceased, breath hitching as his hand firmly pressed against your hips.

Before you could sputter some bewildered apology, your gaze sheepishly flickered toward him, his countenance one of thinly-veiled frustration. This frustration was of a different sort, as if he were holding some unseen weight upon his shoulders.

Realization hit with a sudden force as you swallowed the growing lump within your throat. Cregan’s stare met yours, and you seemed to reach some unspoken understanding as to why your constant moving had vexed him.

Impulsivity gripped you then, prompting you to careen forward, soft lips pressing themselves to his. A ripple of startlement consumed Cregan, who did not act until your palm had settled atop his muscled abdomen. He reciprocated your kiss, pulling away with perplexity.

“I am sorry,” Through a hasty, rushed apology, you felt shameful, cursing yourself for behaving in such an uncouth manner. However, to your surprise, Cregan did not appear offended in the slightest. “I … We are not yet wed.”

Wedlock had little to do with this brewing desire, one that he was aching to act upon. Arbitrary rules often dictated that pleasure without the bonds of marriage was some unsightly sin — it couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Cregan wanted you; he did not desire your titles, position, or your dragon — it was your heart he sought, something worth coveting, worth cherishing. Whatever pact was struck to ensure your marriage, he became grateful for it.

“I would not dare discomfort you, princess,” A shudder rolled throughout your body, able to feel his palm knead into your waist. “You have my word.” A ripple of understanding found you, then. A sliver of your being knew that it might’ve been wrong, but you found yourself dismissing the notion.

With a nod, you happened to shift closer, noticing the way in which he’d begun to angle himself towards you. “I wish for your warmth.” The lingering, lascivious implication hung heavy within your words, enough for Cregan to urge you closer.

Flush against him, he quieted, steely glower piercing through you like the tip of an arrow, hand continuing to caress along your spine. Somewhat shy, you elected to sever your tangle of nerves, lips seeking his once more.

Cregan’s mouth crawled against yours, disarmingly gentle, intended to savor you instead of rushing headfirst into the fire. He smelled of leather and the woodlands, carrying a rustic scent upon his flesh, brow creased in concentration.

Sluggishly, your body shifted against him once more, feeling the muscle of his thigh press between your thighs. The sudden intrusion made you gasp, lips torn asunder as he broke your kiss, caging you against the hot expanse of his chest.

“Is that what you wish for?” Cregan’s low utterance made your stomach erupt with butterflies, able to feel the tantalizing shift of his thigh, allowing you to rock yourself into him.

Inexperience was scrawled into your features, confidence effectively extinguished then and there. It was your brazenness that had catapulted all of this into motion, and now, you were strangled by your own lack of knowledge.

“Yes, I — I’ve never …” As you attempted to vocalize your lack of physicality, Cregan soothed you with a kiss to your brow. “I do not wish to fully consummate — not yet.” With a strong sense of understanding, your betrothed nodded, digits idly caressing along your side.

“Then we are in agreement.” A sense of comfort flooded through you then, knowing that Cregan did not wish to cross such a boundary on this night. However, he had a plethora of fantasies to supplement your shared desires.

Bridging the gap between you once more, lips sealed themselves together, his palm moving to cup your jaw. It was inherently tender, the purpose of it ensuring your comfort with such acts, thigh continuing to teasingly brush against your core.

A gnawing ache continues to eat away at you, manifesting as arousal that begins to coalesce between your legs. As if acting upon instinct, you continue to grind yourself into his thigh, a soft moan catching within your throat.

Cregan’s palm begins to drift lower, from the plush curve of your waist to your backside, gingerly kneading into the pliant flesh. He is cautious, painstakingly gentle as he lavishes kiss after kiss to your wanting lips.

There is little space between you, replaced with a heated friction that seeps into your bones. No longer tormented by the plague of the Northern chill, your betrothed is eager to take the cold away. His chest bumps into yours, peaks of your breasts snug against the plane of muscle.

Crackling firelight paints the room in a feverish glow, embers beginning to wane like that of a fading sun. It is in your kiss that he finds a semblance of peace, hunger continuing to grow until it becomes some ravenous bite.

A soft gasp inhabits your lungs, sharp like the prick of a knife as you grind against his thigh once more, feeling it brush over a particular spot. Pleasure rippled through you, a foreign sensation that leaves you raw, yearning for more.

The ruffled collar of your shift begins to slip, sagging above your bosom, soft flesh unraveled to the ogling gaze of your betrothed. Mouths ceaselessly collide, wet and fervent, prompting you to reach for his bicep in order to anchor yourself.

Entangled beneath the furs, whatever bitter chill that once grasped your bones had dissipated entirely. Wandering fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, tangling around the chestnut tresses there. Each kiss made you feel delirious, dizzy with a wanton desire.

It was then that Cregan’s large hand smoothed across your body, from the dainty curve of your jaw to your stomach, and then up once more. The sluggish drag of his caress made you shiver, hips continuing to rock against his muscled thigh.

Calloused digits find the ties of your evening shift, his grip like that of hardened steel, not daring to unravel you, not yet. With another bruising kiss, you feel him withdraw, gray hues roving across your visage, drinking you in; enamored.

Wisps of hot, labored sighs drift between the both of you, wrought with exhilaration. Slowly, Cregan’s hand wanders, gathering against your thigh, bunched into the silk. “I wish to see more of you, princess.” He rumbled, brows furrowing together.

Fingertips trace along the nape of his neck, caressing along sinewy muscle. His throat bobs momentarily, a fleeting gesture; a needy hum tears past your lips as you nod. “Please.” It is all you can manage, words turning to ash upon your tongue.

Admittedly, he cared little for himself, staunchly devoted to your own pleasure and exploration, storm-laden gaze tinged with tenderness. The hand that had so fiercely grasped at the ties of your shift gives the silk a brief pull, loosening the fabrics altogether.

Beneath his incendiary stare, your heart begins to race, slamming beneath your breast as he gingerly tugs the collar downward. There is an indiscernible devotion within his eyes, a certain protectiveness that puts you at-ease.

Warm, roughened digits gingerly pry at your garment, easing the ruffled silks along your chest, unveiling the soft peaks of your breasts to him. A low grunt of approval stirred within his throat, reveling in the sensation of your lips against his jaw.

Everything about him exuded strength, an honorable stoicism that oozed from every pore. Without pause, you continued to plant kisses against his throat, body seizing with a punctuated gasp as he cupped your breast.

Flicking the pad of his thumb over your nipple, Cregan watched as your countenance contorted into an expression of bliss, lips beginning to part. He was disarmingly tender, kneading at the soft, pliant flesh of your chest, lips pressing against your cheek.

Any sliver of distance that had existed before had been squashed, forms molded to one another, hips begging for a scrap of friction. As you urged yourself against him, you felt the growing tent within Cregan’s trousers, feeling a tendril of warmth slither across your body.

Rough lips pressed a passionate trail of kisses along your neck, nose inhaling lungfuls of your saccharine scent. A pleading moan slipped past your lips, careening into the embrace of his hand.

“Cregan,” With a breathy sigh, your back arched slightly, as if strings tethered you to him, pulling you forward. His mouth hungrily explored your throat, traveling toward the silky plane of your collarbone. “Do not stop.” You whined.

It was all the encouragement he truly needed, bolstered by the tranquil hum of your voice. Lower, and lower still; until his mouth sank between your breasts, still kneading at one, thumb circling your nipple. Your body responded with a visceral glee, continuing to grind against him.

Beyond the archaic stone of Winterfell, the blizzard raged on with its howling gales — and yet, you had never been warmer.

Continuing to palm at your breast, Cregan’s mouth began to lavish the unattended peak in a myriad of kisses, worshiping you in the way that you rightfully deserved. A string of whines left you, gown-clad core brushing over his pelvis once more.

Taking one nipple into his maw, he kissed and sucked at the sensitive bud, a low grunt reverberating throughout his chest. His hips softly collided with yours, the friction driving him to the brink of madness.

Each kiss sent dizzying waves of bliss throughout your body, wisps of air stolen from your lungs as you clung to him, legs parted by the bulk of his thigh. Your shift had hitched higher, gathered towards your knees.

Gently rolling your hardened peak betwixt his fingers, Cregan did not relent, lavishing your breasts in kisses. In the midst of his alternation, his unoccupied hand graced your haunch, caressing into your backside, toying with the hem of your nightgown.

His burly musculature nearly swallowed you whole, wafting with a warmth that you had grown addicted to, longing for his heat as you would gusts of crisp air. Delicate fingertips idly traced along his broad shoulders, hips brushing against his own.

Calloused pads began to drift beneath your shift, crawling along your leg, akin to leather ghosting against velvet. Cregan suckled at your breast, assailing your sweet flesh in a barrage of kisses. Throaty moans signaled your approval of his actions.

Caressing along your inner thigh, his thumb drew circles into the supple skin there, lingering dangerously close to your aching core. Looming above you, his mouth pressed a gentle trail toward your throat, leaving a searing fire in his wake.

Seeking the coalescing warmth between your legs, you nearly choked upon a strangled gasp as Cregan’s digits ghosted along your petals. Arousal had gathered there, akin to the sticky sweetness of honey, prompting you to shiver beneath him.

Gray hues sought yours, boring into you with a burning intensity, enough to elicit a wave of gooseflesh, one that crawled along your spine. He exuded immeasurable restraint, fixated upon your own pleasure, upon your comfort. Wordlessly, he pushed deeper still, fingers pressing into your core.

A sharp exhale pierced your lungs, ripping through your diaphragm as you gripped his bicep, nails leaving behind crimson crescents. Cregan remained unperturbed, concentrating on his new charge, digits dragging in a sluggish rhythm.

Bliss unfurled from your features, a pleasure that blossomed throughout as your hips jolted forward of their own accord. “Cregan.” A breathy whine escaped you, lips clamoring for him once more. The kiss was intimate, a flurry of devotion and desire, now entangled.

“Easy, princess,” Cregan’s husky cadence had lulled you into subservience, able to feel his hot breath fan out across your skin. “Slowly.” He uttered, mouth returning to yours with a thinly-veiled rapture.

It became difficult to stifle your movements, kiss-swollen lips delighted to find him again. Each kiss was accompanied by a swipe of his digits, exploring your nethers with an obvious gentleness.

Between fervent exchanges, his gaze never once strayed from you, steely hues drinking in the weight of pleasure that permeated your visage. Beginning to increase his pace, he stroked along your aching cunt, thumb finding your pearl.

Tracing around the sensitive bud in slow, tantalizing circles, you could do little to smother your moans, hips occasionally lurching forward. The friction that festered between you was intoxicating, something that Cregan found himself savoring.

His lips returned to the hollow of your shoulder, the velvety dip between that and your throat. A string of kisses manifested there, digits continuing to caress over your slit. This rhythm was agonizing, your body screaming with ecstasy.

Chestnut tresses brushed against your neck as he began to suck at your supple flesh, enough to create a mark that would flourish with time. “Lay with your back to me.” Cregan rumbled, watching the flicker of excitement crawl across your features.

In silent subservience, you obeyed, slowly rolling over until your back was nestled snugly against the hot expanse of his chest. He was all indomitable muscle and oozing with strength, the swell of his cock grinding into your backside.

Thick digits returned to you, burly arm looped over your front, taut with impressive muscle. They became fervent in their ministrations, a finger beginning to trace over your entrance.

Caged against him, you used his bicep as leverage, digging into his rugged flesh as he kissed across your shoulder. “Gods, you are perfect.” As the husked roll of his voice echoed within your ear, you moaned, feeling his thumb continue to play with your clit.

Cregan’s other arm had looped beneath you, caressing your collarbone as he gently eased one digit inside of you, the sensation foreign yet exhilarating. It was unexpected, and yet you craved all of it, as much as he was willing to provide.

You squirmed, cunt aching for him in every way imaginable, hips jolting into the sensation of his practiced digits. As his thumb toyed with your pearl, he eased a finger in and out of you at a rhythmic pace, allowing you to grow accustomed to it.

Kisses lavished your soft flesh, seemingly endless, and you felt your bones scream for release. He touched you with such fervent passion, mouth clamoring for yours, lips unable to tear themselves away.

Despite the awkward angle of your head, you reciprocated his kiss as best as you could, needy moans swallowed by his maw. It was then that a second finger accompanied the first, sluggishly stretching you in a way that you didn’t think possible.

He was gentle yet vigorous, digits deliberately rocking themselves in and out of your tight cunt, thumb providing a burst of stimulation against your clit. Your warm, sweet breath fanned over him, mouth agape as a series of excitable pants escaped you.

Arousal clung to your flesh, the intensity of it only magnified, body assailed by sensations on all sides. As Cregan’s fingers pumped themselves in and out of your nethers, you felt your cunt clench pathetically around him.

“Cregan, I — I’m close,” A wanton huff tumbled from your lips, emerging as a moan against his mouth. He kissed you fervently, mouth wandering in the column of your throat, lavishing you in another barrage of kisses. “There.”

A furnace raged within you, a chasm of yearning soon to be quelled, tempered. Heat lapped at your flesh, burning with a smoldering temperature as desire washed over you. His dexterous fingers continued to circle around your pearl, causing you to stifle a moan.

Between the constant assault of lips, teeth, and fingers, you are barely able to register the white-hot rush of your pinnacle, writhing into Cregan’s hand. Thick digits stretch you still, rocking in and out of your snug cunt at a rhythmic pace.

It nearly blinds you, choking upon the cry that turns to ash within your throat. The visceral response of your body is one that Cregan longs to become intimately acquainted with, feeling you pulse around him as you reach your peak.

“That’s it, princess. I have you.” Soothing utterances slip beside your ear, bridge of his nose nuzzling your cheek, heat oozing from him like that of an open hearth. Caressing your stomach with one hand, the other works you through your release.

Through the tepid haze of your release, you begin to find your composure, sinking into his grasp as his hand begins to slow. Thighs tremble in the wake of such ecstasy, and you begin to turn back into Cregan, lips seizing his own in a soft kiss.

Unable to refuse you, the wolf indulges, reciprocating your kiss with such blistering passion that it nearly elicits a moan from you.

As you withdraw, flesh still stinging with an intense heat, you move enough to adjust your shift back into place, peering at him through your lashes. Before your palm can tend to the growing tent within his trousers, he stops you.

“Another night,” Cregan rumbled, moving to lay upon his back, allowing you to curl next to him, his arm finding its purchase around your hips. The other sprawls outward, allowing you to soak everything in. “Are you well?”

“I am,” Sitting up enough to perch your chin atop his chest, your palms draw delicate circles against his abdomen. He nearly smiles, grabbing one of them with a furrowed brow — your flesh is still cold. “Thank you, Cregan.”

A brief huff escaped him, warm palm caressing your own, attempting to provide some relief. “If you are agreeable, I would prefer it if you stay.” Cregan thoroughly enjoyed your presence, more than he ever thought he would.

A tender smile spread across your visage, a soft expression that beguiled him so, roused feelings of devotion from within. Even he seemed to blush, countenance muddied with a scarlet pallor as he caressed along your spine.

“I wish to stay, but what if something is said …” The last thing that you wanted was to besmirch the honor of an already honorable man. A twinge of amusement swirled within his gray hues, and he seemed dismissive of your worries.

“Let them gossip, princess,” Cregan reassured you, one brow quirking just enough to ensnare your attention. “After all, you are here to warm yourself.” His jest made you unbelievably flustered, and yet, he only coaxed you closer, tugging the furs around your bodies.

Heat persists where the chill does not, gone entirely; he is your warmth, and you willingly chase after him.

[scap34]

No one touches what’s yours ♡

sub! sugar baby! Toji x sadistic! rich! dom! younger! male! reader

warnings: cussing, mild daddy kink, oral sex, dirty talk, degradation, implied sex, mild manipulation, mention of murder

Another shitty gala. What was this one for? A charity? Who even cared? If half the money wasted on flaunting wealth actually went to the cause, he was pretty sure there wouldn’t even be a need for charity anymore.

Instead, it was just another popularity contest. And lucky him, you happened to be the star of the show—the hot, rich jock everyone loved to worship.

What did that make him? Your cheerleader? 

Toji scowled as he downed the wine in his glass. Expensive, yet it tasted like shit. He’d already had three in the last half hour, and the buzz was barely there—a waste of both time and money.

But that wasn’t what bothered him. It was all the eyes on you. The overly flattering tone, and greedy eyes people looked at you with. His fingers itched for his blade. To paint the shiny white floor red with their blood. 

You were his. So why the hell were people so fucking close to you?

Then your cold gaze met his, and for a moment, that disinterested look melted into faint amusement. Without hesitation, you made your way toward him, leaving behind a trail of disappointed murmurs and bitter faces, none daring to voice their complaints aloud. 

Toji stayed rooted in place, arms crossed, waiting for you to come to him. When you finally did, he didn’t bother hiding his irritation. “Why the hell did you drag me to this?” he grumbled, his tone bordering on petulant—not that he’d ever admit it outright.

You had the audacity to chuckle, a soft, amused sound that only annoyed him more. “I didn’t.” You replied smoothly. “I told you, you wouldn't like it, but you insisted on coming anyway.”

Did he say that? Yes. 

Did he care? No.

“What was I supposed to do? Sit around at home like some miserable housewife?” He snapped back. 

You didn’t respond immediately, but the gleam in your eyes said everything. It was that look—the one you got right before one of your ideas. The kind that left him sore in all the right places and utterly, blissfully wrecked. 

Was it the housewife comment? Fuck, would you care about fucking him here? 

“Yeah, baby? Need your husband to make you happy?” you practically purred, your voice low and husky, dripping with amusement.

The tone alone had him shifting in place, a rush of heat racing down his body. Damn tux was too tight, but he knew better than to blame it on the suit. Knowing you, the control freak you were, you’d probably had it tailored perfectly to his measurements ages ago. Made perfectly to hug every curve of his body, all on display for your eyes.

Getting a fucking boner right now would like public exposure. 

You must have been rubbing off on him, cause the thought only served to make him more aroused.

“Y/N! What a delight to see you here!”

Your eyes shifted lazily from Toji to the man approaching, your expression unreadable. He was in his late forties, with hair that was clearly dyed to hide the gray creeping in—an attempt to cling to his youth. Everything about him screamed smug, from his tailored suit to the self-assured smirk plastered across his face.

The man practically radiated envy as he took you in. Of course he did. You were everything he wasn’t—young, rich, and devastatingly handsome. Flawless in a way that made people resent you the moment you walked into a room. And you were all his. 

“I wasn’t planning on coming,” he said, voice dripping with fake humility, “but luckily, I managed to find a spot in my schedule. I’m sure you didn’t have that problem. After all, you always attend these things, don’t you?”

He spoke loud enough for others nearby to hear, as if trying to gain some kind of upper hand in the conversation. 

You didn’t look fazed by it. The coldness in your eyes was sharp, daunting even as your lips curled into a fake, practiced smile.

“Isn’t it customary for the host to attend their own gala?” Your words were curt and polite to the point of biting cold. Throwing his words right back at him with chilling precision. 

Toji could almost hear the man’s teeth grind together in outrage at being one upped in the rich people dick measuring contest. Not that you were playing along. You didn’t need to. He could attest to how big your dick was. 

He let out a huff of laughter. The man’s eyes landed on him. The annoyance in his eyes shifted to interest as he took in Toji’s body. The tux, obviously not doing anything to hide his body. 

If this had happened anywhere else, he would’ve beaten the shit out of him. But this was your fancy gala, surrounded by those rich assholes who eyed your wealth like pesky flies. He wasn’t stupid enough to mess up your business. You’d be pissed at him, and not in a good way.

“And who is this? Your date?” The man’s slimy gazed trailed down his body. Toji had to resist the urge to shove a wine glass into his throat. 

“Yes. This is Toji.” You replied seemingly unbothered but he could see the way annoyance crept into your eyes. The way you shifted slightly closer to him. You didn’t bother introducing the man to him like you couldn’t bother with it. 

Toji bit down on his tongue, fighting the smug smile that threatened to tug at his lips. The man wasn’t important? Good, he didn’t want to play nice anyway. Toji’s eyes didn’t leave you. 

Fuck. He didn’t think you could get hotter. But you were hell bent on proving him wrong weren’t you? 

The confident, uninterested attitude of your that pissed everyone off was such a fucking turn on. Why the hell were you so hot? 

Your eyes met Toji’s heated look. Your eyes rovered down his body, sending pleasant shivers down his spine. “My sugar baby.” You added on as an afterthought. 

He hated you. You knew exactly what you were doing to him. That confident smug gleam in your eyes. You sipped your wine with a smug smile. 

Damn you. You had fucked him before coming here. So why was he getting horny again? He got less boners as a teenager during puberty. 

“Then do you mind if I have a taste? What’s a bit of sharing between business partners?” The man’s slimy voice cut between the tension. 

Your smile disappeared in a flash. Before he could react, you had an arm around his waist. A possessive hand pulling him to you. Half his body pressed against your warmth.

“He’s not a toy.” You half snarled the polite facade in your face slipping. Your arm wrapped around Toji’s waist, a possessive gesture. 

Toji’s mind short circuited at the firm possessive touch. All he could hear was his heart thumping in his chest, and feel your firm muscles against his. Your fingers felt like a brand, marking him, claiming him as yours. 

He knew he was yours. But this just cemented it. It wasn’t something that had been there but never acknowledged anymore. It was real. He was yours. And you were his. 

He barely remembered anything past the man paleing at the thunderous look on your face. Stuttering half apologies even as his face burned with embarrassment and anger. Leaving as soon as possible. 

Toji didn’t give a fuck about him anymore. 

The innocent touch of your hand on his waist, made heat pool in his stomach. Your gesture was possessive, and demanding. He loved it. 

Despite the fact that he could have easily defended himself, or even killed that scumbag, this was better. You defending him with possessive anger burning in your eyes. A scowl on your lips as you protect him. This was so much better. 

He didn’t even notice when you led him out the hall. Only when your eyes met his, did he kiss you. Pushing you up against the wall, body grinding against yours. 

His lips pressed against yours, hungry for more. You easily took back control, after your initial surprise. Kissing back ruthlessly, plundering Toji’s mouth. Fucking his mouth with your tongue. 

He pulled away panting softly, and leaned his body against yours. The hard line of his erection pressing against your thighs. He resisted the urge to grind against you. 

You recovered quickly, a sadistic smile spreading on your lips. “Hard from a kiss, baby?” You cooed, your hand moving to cup his clothed cock. Your thumb flicked the head of his cock. The movement had him moaning, expensive fabric rubbing against his sensitive head in delicious ecstasy 

“It’s your fault.” He whined, shifting his body to hump your thigh, more dog in heat than an experienced killer. Need burned in his body like a drug. He wanted you. Wanted your cock in his hole, taking what was yours. Making him yours inside and out. 

“What a needy slut.” Your eyes were dark, all consuming. He wanted you so fucking bad. He humped against your thigh, pants falling for his kiss swollen lips. “Need to be fucked that bad?”

“Yes,” he practically whined. The thought of your cock had him salivating. His hips rolling against yours. You didn’t even look bothered, the dark look in your eyes only gave it away. 

“My needy cock whore,” you cooed lowly, your tone anything but sweet. “Don’t worry, daddy will fuck you good.” The nickname and the way your fingers squeezed his ass, had him melting into your arms like putty. 

“Mhmm yes please.”

…

“Who was that guy anyway?” He asked suddenly, a few days after the gala. You looked over at him, your fingers paused typing. All your attention on him, he almost wanted to change the topic, just so your focus stayed on him.  

A live horse race played on the tv. Like a typical day, you spent your time working near him, like the possessive asshole you were.

“What guy?” 

“That asshole who tried to hit on me.” He said vaguely unsure how to describe him. All he could remember was getting fucking into the sheets. Your voice muttering praises into his ear each time you started a new round. 

“Him? Don’t worry about it. I got rid of him.” You said turning back to typing on your computer. He blinked at you incedulously. That was it?

You got rid of him? 

“What,” his throat felt dry, he licked his lips. “Did you do?” He didn’t even know what he was expecting to hear. 

You didn’t even look away from your laptop to answer. “Exposed a few scandals and destroyed his company. His reputation and business are gone now.” You retorted coldly, working on your laptop.

He blinked at you, dazed, bewildered by your words. He knew you were cruel. The words tycoon most commonly used with you. You had to be cruel to make it to the top at such a young age. He knew that too. But it felt different experiencing it firsthand. You’d destroyed someone’s business and reputation for him.

He didn’t want to bring up that he could take care of himself. That he was the sorcerer killer. A weak human was nothing to him. He’d been taunted all his life for being the black sheep of the Zen’in family. For running away. For all the money he lost gambling. 

But you were different. You were a bastard. He knew that. You’d humiliate him. Push his body to the limit. But you’d also caress his cheeks and praise him. He was yours and you found nothing wrong with him. You were an oddity he didn’t mind.

He tugged your computer away from you. You let him, looking a bit bemused. He gently placed it on the table and straddled your thighs, his knees on either side of you.

His hard cock pressed against yours. You looked up at him with a raised brow. Your hands wrapped around his waist, rubbing circles. He grinded down on your cock, making your breath hitch, eyes darkening with lust. 

“Toji? What are you doing?” You asked huskily. Your hands encouraged his hips as he grinded down. Your cock rapidly growing harder. 

“Nothing,” he replied mischievously. His hands ran up his thigh, and disappeared under his shirt. Under your hungry gaze he played with his chest. Moaning when he pinched his dusty pink nipple, the pain mixed with pleasure.

“Yeah? How about I give you something to do then baby?” you muttered huskily. Your hands held his hips as you smirked. “Why don’t you suck my cock, baby?” 

His grinding nearly stopped if it wasn’t for your hands moving his hips, in slow circles. His cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment. 

Suck your dick? He’d never done that before. But he couldn't help but want it. The idea made him harder. 

You could see his reluctance and palmed his clothed cock. “Be a good boy, Toji and suck me off.” He flushed darker, at your blunt words. His cock strained against his flimy pants, pre-cum smeared onto it. 

He nodded weakly. There wasn’t any chance he’d refuse anyway. He was weak for you.

…

“I can’t,” he sobbed, around your cock. The sound sent bolts of pleasure. Red marks on your thighs, where your baby dug his fingers in too hard. The pain barely registered to you. Not when the pleasure was so strong. 

You held back a smirk and frowned. “Already baby? I haven’t even cum yet.” Toji let out another frustrated sob. The sound reverberated through you making you bite back a groan.

“Please please ple’se can’t,” he begged, rubbing his cheek against your cock like a puppy. Like it would make you give in. You wouldn’t say it’s Toji’s fault for not making you cum. That was all you. Making him take a dildo as he sucked you off. You conveniently forget to tell it was also a vibrator. He’d came immediately when the vibrations started. And again when you increased it. 

The view didn’t help you. Fat pecs bouncing with each movement, trembling thighs parted lewdly, showing off his useless cock. His own cum staining his thighs messily. You had half a mind to turn him around so you can see the way his hole took the toy. 

But then you’d miss the dumb slutty look on his face. The fucked dumb look on your baby’s face. Cheeks flushed red, tears clinging to his lashes too stubborn to fall, lips bitten red and swollen, expression scrunched in pleasure and overstimulation. 

His pretty lips stretched obscenely around your cock. Messily sucking your dick, licking it like a pathetic kitten. The sight of his face could make you cum but you were holding out. After all, you had a goal in mind. 

“Come on Toji. You’re really going to leave me hanging?” You usually never called him by his name during sex. Your baby caught on. His hands clenched tighter and he tried to please you. Messy and sloppy. You loved it. 

“Ple’se t’rn it off,” he pleaded looking at you with desperate tear filled eyes. It just made you want to shove your cock back into his mouth and fuck his throat till his voice was hoarse. 

“Make me cum first, baby.” You replied like that other times he asked. He let out a choked sob, body trembling when you turned up the vibrations. Desperate and wreaked was the best look on your baby. 

“That needy, baby?” You can see the conflict in his eyes, all his previous confidence thrown out. Only a hazy of need and wanting to please in his eyes. He nodded lips around the head of your cock. 

“I’m going to fuck your throat then baby. Can you take it for me like a good slut?” He shivered from your words and nodded quickly. Opening his mouth obediently. 

You smirked. “Use your words baby.” He flashed a pretty red. 

“Ple’se, fuck my throat,” he pleaded weakly voice a bit hoarse. 

“As you wish, baby.” You smirked, your hands holding his hair a bit roughly. He barely winched, his cock twitching with interest. 

You had to hold back a grin as you pressed your cock into your baby’s mouth. He didn’t even gag. The perfect cock slut. You let out a groan and started to face fuck him. 

Toji barely protested, his moans sending heat pooling. Within minutes you finished onto your baby’s tongue. Toji obediently swallowed it. Hazy adoring eyes meeting yours, begging for praise. 

You chuckled and wiped your cum off his lips. “Good boy.” Your perfect baby.