#my flesh is running thin and my hair is falling out

[tonycries]

To Tame A Monster - G.S.

Synopsis. Gojo Satoru, the most dangerous underground fighter in all of Japan - and the…hottest, too. You, the cute nurse that takes care of him, and totally not his favorite prize, right? Right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! nurse! reader, underground fighter! Gojo, scarred Gojo, he wears a muzzIe, slight vioIence, he’s a little (very) ínsane, muscular Gojo, manhandIing, full neIsons, semi-public, thigh grínding, edging, Gojo goes FÉRAL, tummy buIges, creampíes, face-sítting (fem rec.), cúmplay, BIIIG stretches, running from it, making it fit, HEADLOCKS, chokíng, fighting talk, squírting, dúmbifícation, víbrators, marks (on him), L bómbs, Sukuna cameos, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 8.0k

A/N. Happy 100 chapters on AO3!! Here’s a lil’ something for my hubby <3

They say that Gojo Satoru could take down the strongest of fighters with only six moves.

Audiences adored him, opponents insisted that the man wasn’t even human. And it was well known around these parts that one had to be brave enough that it inched into stupidity to ever even think about challenging him. 

Hell, they’ve had to muzzle him in thick leather just to give his opponents even the briefest advantage. 

Some trembled in fear at the very mention of his name - peering ‘round, making sure they wouldn’t catch a glimpse of those haunting sapphire eyes, or those scarred fists that left no evidence. No witnesses. Others scoffed at the exaggerations of what were obviously little more than sketchy underground scraps. A publicity stunt, surely.

That is, until they saw him.

And you have, too.

With the nature of your job, you had to constantly be present after rounds to tend to bruises, scratches and - if Gojo was involved -  broken bones, after all. 

Only…you were here for him.

“OH! King of Curses down- Six Eyes knees him in the ribs so hard that I’m sure you could hear it, ladies and gentleman! Is he the one who’ll take the Shinjuku Showdown grand prize tonight?!” 

You’re grimacing at both the booming volume of the eager commentator, and the cracking slam of flesh-on-flesh. Having your special nurse’s position smack-dab on the first row meant that you could see n’ hear everything. 

Everything. 

From the roaring cheers of the bustling crowd on their feet, to the way that Gojo was gritting through his dark Stygian muzzle and grinning. Wild. Gorgeous.

Your thighs squeeze together involuntarily - despite the way the entire underworld had his name in their mouths, the one thing nobody ever disagreed on was how…hot Gojo Satoru was. 

A devil masquerading like an angel. All curtains of silky, sweat-slicked white hair, and muscles for daaaays. His skin-tight t-shirt was hanging off of him in nothing but rings of tatters, showing off a snowy happy trail that makes you gulp. Milky skin glistening in the beating stadium lighting, all decorated in as much battle-won scars as sultry, sultry veins. 

Gojo’s towering shadow falls right in front of where you were gawking up at him, and fuck- he makes a big show of letting the rest of his shirt riiiip—! with only a mere tug. 

Well, there was a reason he was your favorite patient.

And you swear he was so close that you could practically taste the scorching iron dripping between his lips, lacquering his pearly whites with a thin film. All red and raw when he turns to you and winks–

“HOLY SHIT! The King makes a comeback- he’s still on his feet! And he’s swinging wide at our monster Six Eyes.”

The thundering, thick stadium air simmers a few degrees tenser as Ryomen Sukuna crashes his meaty, closed fist right into the other’s right cheekbone. Shocked inhales ring out all around you - because if Gojo was the monster of underground fighting, then Sukuna was the curse.

The only fighter in history to ever get a solid few knocks on the other. Both massive.

And if this was anyone else, the sheer force would have made them pass out right then and there. If this was anyone else, then they wouldn’t be snickering-

“Cute.” Gojo’s deep sing-song voice is cold. Seething. Just barely audible enough that your buzzing eardrums can make out. He throws one arm over the stretchy fighting ring ropes, “But I gotta lady ta impress.”

Crimson eyes flicker to you for nothing but a split-second, but it was long enough for the other man to grow rigid. On edge for the first time.

Smugly, Sukuna spits right into Gojo’s face. “Heh- Hell yeah, that chick’ll be impressed in the locker rooms by a real winner later. Me.”

Just a word about you is all it takes.

A breathless gasp departs from your lips as something in Gojo grows…different.

Without another word, he’s drifting over a hand to one of the bulky bands wrapped firmly around his wrists. Unlatching them. So often mistaken for somewhat of a fashion statement, but after so long spent in fighting company, you knew what they really were.

They were weights. Yet another disadvantage. 

And they crack the ground as they fall.

“Weights? Weights?! OH- Gojo headbutts! The King of Curse’s is down-” He’s bleeding and accomplished, every trace of humor wiped. Every degree of a smirk clenched into a steely scowl, and suddenly you’re feeling that perhaps those rumors about him being superhuman are true. Perhaps. “SHIT! He snaps back with an elbow strike-”

Gojo’s big, beefy biceps tense and flex as he curls it menacingly around Sukuna’s throat into a fucking headlock - and your thighs clench.

“You- fucking-” He chokes out past the sculptured harness, cushioned palms coming to slam down on Gojo’s forearm. “For- for some girl-”

Tightening, “What was that~?”

“The King misses- oh, he’s in some real trouble now! Place your bets, you greedy watchers, there’s a reason they call Six Eyes ‘The Strongest’.”

And you knew that underground fights had no rules other than attempt not to die - or, at the very least, try not to make a mess when you do. It’s hard to get stains out of the felt. But Sukuna’s vein-popped face was going purple now, and Gojo was blank-featured through it all. 

Barely even flinching as his opponent grapples a hand into his ridged obliques, lunging and lunging. And yet, the strongest doesn’t even flinch. 

Doesn’t even notice, it seems.

His ghostly cerulean eyes drift to you, seated on the edge of your chair, and he slams a knee into Sukuna’s rugged face. Letting the man drop onto the frictional ground with a resounding thud! - before his fists continue. 

Once. Twice. Clawing at his throat-

“FUCK- CALL THE MEDICS. SIX EYES IS MAKING A SLAUGHTER-SCENE–!”

And no one needed to draw the count, for fear of getting near. Why would they risk death incarnate?

Continuing and continuing until Yaga barks at four- five other referees to even get Gojo to budge. They only just manage to throw a few arms ‘round his powerful ones, and pull him far back enough to giggle down at the carnage he’s created.

Voice octaves higher. Crazed. “Don’t you talk about my lady, ya hear?”

Yaga, as Gojo’s burly coach and former champion, is the one that dares break his harrowing eye-contact to shake him into a stand. Ordering the organizers to get the awards ceremony done as swiftly as possible lest they wanted one of their top-earning fighters down for the count permanently. 

“S-Six Eyes is the champion of Shinjuku Showdown! And in LESS than his signature six moves- oh what a fight it was! One for the books, folks!”

Of course, Six Eyes is declared the winner.

And as Gojo is handed a glinting winner’s banner - dominant arm being thrust in the air - you watch as Sukuna’s barely half-conscious firm slurs out a ferocious, “Rematch. T-tomorrow.”

Cash. A shoddy belt. Champagne.

Tens upon hundreds of reporters and photographers scramble and keen to get the most-selling shots of him. The glare of the flashing lights illuminating him into some sort of other-worldly figure. 

A fighter so dangerous that they claim he hides six eyes. And yet, they only remain on you.

Though, it’s not as if you’re any better - you can’t look away. 

He stands tall, proud. Button nose overspilling with a wisp of cherry-red, perspiration-dampened shorts clinging onto thick thighs and showing you a pretty tuft of white in a way that was unintentionally sexy. Gojo’s leathery mask now dangles haphazardly to show off such a wicked grin.

And Gojo points. Right at you. In front of everyone. 

“Later,” he’s mouthing, whilst interviewers scream for a quote. 

Oh…

.

.

.

“Fuh-fuuuck, Toru–!” Your mouth floods with sheer bucketloads of drool through each wailing whine n’ whimper, back arched like such a slut into Gojo’s bumpy, Herculean front- though, what else could you have expected when the great Gojo Satoru himself accompanied you to your dingy clinic above the fighting ring?

Ready for his real prize of the night.

And lo and behold, bandages and rubbing alcohol forgotten, you’re finding yourself draped right over his lap so prettily; struggling to close your jittery legs ‘round his huge, meaty thighs. 

The fringes of your teeth nip right along Gojo’s plush, scarred deltoids once he tugs on your nurse’s outfit and clings onto a good handful of your ass, draaaagging you to grind all over his quadriceps. Dribbling out a fresh line of candied slick that smears on top of every dip and curve of his bulging muscles.

Your drenched panties catch onto his velvety boxing shorts and you have to hold back a tiny sob. With a deep inhale of his musky cologne, you murmur, “T-Toru, I wan’ you ngh- so bad, y’know?”

“Awww, how cute~” He’s crooning from above,muzzle still on. The pointed curve of his nose tickling your throbbing pulse. Dangerous. Gojo breathes in your sweet scent until it’s all he can smell, “But yer gonna get us caught, mama.”

And he’s so mean.

He fought mean, and he teases you even meaner.

You’re frowning, kiss-swollen lips down-turning into a pout once the sensory pads of his stern digits rover up to your cheeks and smush them together. Crashing your jutted mouth into his frosty mask–

“C’mon now, gotta- gotta be quiet.” Gojo groans at the way you’re getting ever-more soaked when he’s toying with you like this. Lazily, he drops his muzzle to let his plump, bubblegum-pink lips tickle down your own, “Suck on my tongue, there- you can do better.”

So filthy.

Huffing out, your further unfastened jaw basically floods with the damp rivulets of saliva that just kept on watering out of you. When it rained, it poured - and Gojo finds himself smirking at the slop. “Yeah- yeahyeah, you got it. Theeere’s a good girl.”

Weepy pussy positively throbbing at the scratchy texture of his tongue like candy, you couldn’t help but let your fuzzy mind wonder how it would feel inside-

“Oi, nasty girl.” Your pitchy yelp fills the paper-thin walls as Gojo gifts the right of your ass with a rude spank, and then one more just to hear you make that cute noise again. Gruffing out, “Can feel ya getting wetter on top of me. S’like a damn waterpark.”

Before you have the time to even catch your breath, he slouches back sensually to watch you - letting your thin patient bed ring out with an ancient creak! 

And Gojo stares at you lecherously- oh, he was devouring you with his heavily half-lidded gaze. 

The way you’re pouring out syrupy sap with every urgent back n’ forth of your hips, the way all he has to do is hook a thumb past your gluey stuck panties to watch you pulse and quiver. 

Hazy, summer blue peripherals roaming all over your needy expression for a split-second before he’s tap-tap-tapping the doughy mound of his heel on the tile floor. Bouncing you with every motioned lurch, your puffed-up clit catches on one of his zig-zagging veins and you squeal.

Oh? Speeding up, you’re struggling desperately at his whims. One hand grappling onto Gojo’s dimpled back, and the other clawing at the starchy bedspread, no matter how much you were trying to regulate the tempo - he would just speed up more. 

And more. And more. 

Over and over he’s lurching just a few carnal inches off of your bedsprings to chase your sensitive nub. Reeling you down - hard - with a hand stuck to you like adhesive, to pap! against his thigh, letting white-hot bliss spark all that way from your pressurized clit and up your clammy spine.

“F-fuck!” You’re babbling away, fingers interlocking with the soft creamy curls at his nape. Clawing. “Toru– k-keep that up and I won’t…”

Gojo perks his calloused thumb to swivel over your sloshing mess and promptly plugs up your unfastened lips, muffling you. “Shhh shh sh- Wouldn’t wan’ any of those fucks to hear those pretty noises, my girl.”

He was brutal.

Your lower tummy was tumbling and spinning and doing gymnastics you didn’t even think existed. And it was times like this that the strongest from all those headlines peaked his head through. 

Swirling your tongue around his plummy fingerpad, he tasted so much like caramel salt that made your legs grow weaker. Cadence springing to jerky. To oversensitive. “P-please- ngh!”

“Now, what was that pretty lil- hey now, c’mere.” Your lungs cave with a soft ‘please’ as soon as an engulfing, bruised hand crowns your sweat-oiled scalp and holds you still. Gojo doesn’t even have to try, and yet he’s showing off a few sexy flexes of his biceps just for you to ogle at. 

Rutting his jerky leg up into you until your head throws back, he can’t help but leave a sweet, innocent peck right there on the tender spot of your throat. “Don’t run. Don’t run from me.”

Another wet kiss near your slobbery maw, and yet another swat of his thickly tipped fingers right over the slivery slope of your pussy. The sharp sting was just enough to get your glassy eyes to focus on him, “Yeah? Look at me- gimme a lil’ kiss, mama.”

Oh, he always was such a ruthless opponent. 

Because as soon as your spit-glossed lips are crawling towards his, Gojo’s prying them open and spitting inside with a soft coo. Watching as the treacly wad of splashing syrup slides allll the way to puddle the back of your throat. 

“T-tease.”

“I think you mean…champion.” He hunches you over until you’re slipping n’ sliding all down the ridged rollercoaster of his abs. The fragile points of your hardened nipples massaging into his sensual scars and driving you mad. Sweaty and needy. Boring dead-on into your half-shuttered heart eyes, “Now, tell me what you want.” He hums, still tugging on your bloated outer cunt, watching you gasp. “Tell me what’s got this lady here so fuckin’ wet.”

Your words choke with every viscid tear - tears of bliss. Close. “Want t-to-”

“Mhmm–?”

“To-” You’re just so far gone, your gushing orifice only getting soppier and soppier by the second. And before Gojo’s fourth and final spank comes slamming down on your clit- you’re crying. “Cum- fuck fuck fuck- m’so close. So- m’gonna cum–”

And as soon as it was about to happen - it’s gone.

Immediately, your lungs depart with a disappointed whine. “Nooo–!” Scratching at the pronounced back of his throat, you’re struggling to maneuver your body within his merciless hold. And the entire time Gojo only watches in amusement at his sheer display of strength, “I was so close- fuck! Was about to cum, Toru…”

“Nuh uh.” Gojo’s grinning - grinning. And oh, despite the way that makes his cheek indent with a cute, cratering dimple you already know this won’t bode well for you. “M’starvin’ after that match.”

Before you can dredge up enough brainpower to ask what that meant - he’s already showing you. 

Falling back onto the stark white bed until his head hit the pillows with a dull whoosh! and for the moment you’re simply admiring just how pretty he is. 

This wasn’t the Six Eyes that everyone knew and feared. 

With his ethereal locks splaying out on the cushion like a halo, looking oh-so-pale in comparison to the pretty pink that he was flushing all the way from forehead to neck. Irises half-lidded, crazed. Gojo’s broad, scarred chest heaves with every murked out pant he was whistling out. 

Twiddling over the shoulder strap of that tight lil’ number you called your nurse’s outfit. “Take this off f’me- show me my hah- show me my lady.” 

Oh, it would never get old when you do that.

The way that Gojo’s toes curl, the apples of his cheeks staining with a scorching whirlwind of blushing red. Fuck- his heavy tongue droops even heavier with a slick covering of watery spittle, just watching you in your matching set of bra n’ panties. 

All in light blue.

“Knew I’d win, huh?” He’s quirking a snowy brow smugly as he does away with your bra, too. “C’mere.” Gojo’s long lashes flutter up at you delicately, his crowning smirk plastered permanently across his handsome features. And as you’re tentatively making your way on top of him, he cups a roaming grope of your left ass-cheek. 

Squeezing for a second - two - before the strongest simply lifts you up to straddle his face. He doesn’t even waste a second. Doesn’t even hesitate. 

Setting you down gently - you think he of all people would even need to try to manhandle your pretty self this way?

No introductions, no welcome mats necessary - your throbbing pussy was already pouring out in torrentials of translucent sap right through your underwear. Copious, dolloping droplets that hit his readily awaiting pinkish tastebuds in claggy splats!

“Mmm—” He’s swirling his soaked muscle all ‘round the insides of his mouth to just savor your sugary taste. Through a sharp, three-second spank to your ass once more, Gojo grunts, “No need to be shy. Sit on my face, mama.”

And Gojo was always such a messy eater - not even the slightest bit afraid to get his hands dirty. 

No wonder all his opponents complained that he had the filthiest mouth. His tongue was lengthy, dexterous enough to slither past your panties with a sapping squelch! the very nanosecond your drooling core hits the tip of his tongue.

Oh- Gojo’s eyes agonize shut simply to memorize the pattern in which your strands of dangling slick slipped into his mouth. Lathering his chin all glossy, “Yeah like that-” His rugged palms stick to that perfect curvature of your spine. “-sit properly. Sit.”

You’re mumbling out something barely audible, cut off when he curls a firm hand around your throat and pulls you down onto his ravenous face. “Said- fucking sit-”

Sweltering hot breath strikes your geysering hole and makes you keen, your cracked eyelids open just barely enough to spot the way Gojo lands a shimmering glob of saliva right inside. And more when it only adds to the steadily-growing pool you were formulating on his pointed chin, his neck. 

Whimpering when your weight settles on a purple-ish spot on his cheek where Sukuna had caught him off-guard. 

“Watch this.” He’s moaning throatily, making such a show of letting your slippery slit streak out utter cascades all down his tongue. “Told ya- s’a fuckin’ heh- waterpark. Come ride my mouth, my girl- come- come.”

Your head tumbles back with a loud ‘fuck’ when his parched muscle bullies right past the rubbery ring of your entrance. And he takes the time curling his mazing tip into your slicked hole and streeeetching out a cute lil’ heart that makes you whine your poor heart out. 

With a scoff at the way whoever walked by your clinic definitely knew what was happening, Gojo’s slapping the tender skin of your ass raw. “Yeah yeah, louder n’ maybe that ngh- bastard Sukuna will hear.”

Slowly yet sensually probing his tastebuds into every mushy ridge and corner embedded inside of you, he was roaming so deep. Raking a thorough grip on your right ass cheek to gyrate your sodden cunt rougher.

Fucking you wiiildly with his tongue - so wide. Fast. 

He was impatient. 

“Y’know with you sittin’ and- nghh-” You’re mewling once he tapes off that sentence with a pinch of your perked clit between his plush lips. Hollowing out those attractive cheeks to tug n’ tug until you’re sobbing. “-and- and squirming in the seats tonight- this was alllll I could think about?”

He spits back a loaded wad of drool that slides away back down to your flooded hole, pushing the webbed mess right back with the fat crown of his thumb. “Couldn’t wait-”

“Ngh- Toru—” You’re recanting like your own personal mantra, the crackles in your voice following every flop of his textured tongue in and out in and out in and out. “Keep going- hah! Feels so gooood–”

“Mhm, I know.” Gojo bites back cockily, chewing on the squishy inside of his cheek to stop himself from fucking moaning outloud at how your pussylips were just throbbing. The very same pulse you felt in your tight throat. “Had to stop myself from- ngh- making out with this lady right ‘ere all in front- in front of those cameras.”

“Y-you would-”

THWACK!

Oh, he’s snapping at the stretchy elastic of your panties to let the slimy fabric spank your precise pussymound.

Taking the filthy, filthy opportunity while you’re thrown into a dumbstruck daze to skim a few strong fingers underneath your stringy panties, Gojo pulls-pulls-pulls until it’s torn cleanly off of your hips. Freeing you completely bare, and gifting him with the perfect scented fabric for him to draw up to his nose and sniff–

Your jaw dangles widely agape, the same greedy oh! that your dewy hole makes when setting it aside to dip a finger sloppily inside your cunt.

Stocky and long. And yet you take Gojo’s length middle finger with great gulping clamps of your dripping pussy, so much so that you’re hearing a growling “Fuuuck, mama- m-made for me.” from underneath you.

You just made the strongest…stutter?

And you’re just pouring wet from the idea, but before you can stupidly open your mouth to taunt the big, bad fighter below you - Gojo squeezes his hold on your neck and draaaags you further down. Until you’re so pushed against his hot maw that you don’t know where you end and he begins.

He’s spitting, there’s another pop! as he adds another girthy finger to scissor apart your treacly slit. Rovering and rovering. Your voice shatters into numerous pieces so cutely, and he can feel the way your core pulsates frantically once he’s smudging the doughy tops of his digits nearer to your g-spot. 

Hmmm, he’s snickering internally. Gojo’s swirlin’ his manicured fingernail right over your bulging magical spots with such ease. It was so cute how obvious you were. 

“Got such a pretty cunt.” You’re arching desperately on and off his vibrato of words, the very same vibrations curdling that tightness in your stomach. “Such a pretty- pretty…”

“Sh-shiiit, Toru–” You hiccup, warbling shrills filling up Gojo’s ears like his favorite song. And it was. Almost as much as the plap! of a fresh wave of sap spraying a sheen across his face as he slithers in a third finger.

Sliding his pearly whites over your neglected clit, “Tha’s my name.” Gojo’s mouth hangs open with every slop, slapping alllll over the hood of your nub before trying to squish the very mound of his tongue in past your overstuffed entrance. Stimulating you. Driving you insane.

He’s swatting your ass a few more times until the mere touch of skin-on-skin sends your eyes sliiiding all the way to the back of your head. Gurgling – wet. “Say it a lil’ louder f’me now.”

“Toru–” you’re raking your hands down his pecs, nudging your plump clit right into the very tip of his button nose. And oh, you’re feeling the frigid whoosh! of air once Gojo leans his head in and takes a deeeep breath. Tugging gingerly on his unruly hair and he groans-

“Louder.”

“T-To-”

“No stutterin’.”

And you don’t know if you could comply with all his mean rules even if you could, the locked vice of his warm palm jostling your watery eyes until they were dead staring at him. 

He was peering up at you through angelic, white lashes with such loving. Cerise lips swirling all over your beating clit, he could practically taste the rapid ba-dump–! of it coating his heated mouth. 

Starting to crawl straightly up but you don’t even mean to. All he has to do is grasp your throat until all the air drains from your lungs and you’re held there. Solely by his monstrous strength. 

Swallowing back the leaden lump that’s permanently branded on your throat, with a flex of broad arms you’re being lazily shoved sloppier and sloppier by each passing second. And as you’re resting your dribbling slit back on his sensual chin, a steamy cloud of Gojo’s giggles hit where you’re stretched the most tautly tight. 

Blinking eyes flickering with primal need, your bleary vision is just filled with the heavenly sight of him him him. Urging your rickety knees to knobble faster, he murmurs into your folds. “Say it.”

“P-please.” The outdated bed sings as you’re shivering. Shaking. And no amount of cute gasps that you intake is enough to stop your heart from racing. “Toru. Please l-let me ngh- cum.”

“Hmmmm. Good enough.” He’s leering mean-spiritedly up at you, that very same wicked curve of his lips glued to your pretty clit. Gojo lets off a strained growl that almost makes you shy – desperate. “Now…you’re gonna squirt f’me, mama.” 

Another hit thud! of hits at your g-spot, and another few steps closer to your inevitable high. So close, in fact, that you’re not even realizing what Gojo’d uttered until he lolls out his fat tongue like he was drunken, silvery slabs of spit hitting your inner thighs. “Spit.”

Fuck- the very same moment your glittery cobweb of saliva is hitting his sizzling tastebuds, you’re hitting your high. Well, more like crashing headfirst into it. 

And Gojo was right, the way you squirted your brain-shattered release was in the most vapid spurts of juices. Spraying out of you like a fountain, sploshing all over the top of his face n’ gravitating down to his chin. “Squirt on my face- yeahyeah fuck, squirt on my face.”

One that he loooooves. Oh, how he loves it. Loves you. 

“So sweet- fuck…fuck, always the fuckin’ sweetest, my girl.” His guttural syllables ring out and make your eyes immediately flap helplessly shut. Toes curling, “Thank you- was so fuckin’ thirsty after that fight. Thank you.”

Lets his swollen lips slip open to drink up the honeyed squirts in big, deep sluuuuurps–! Scraping near your g-spot to draw out more and more of those pooling splotches all over his face. Gojo knots his fingers ‘round your throat and shoves your pussy to cling to his mouth ruthlessly. You’re watching through the white-hot stars behind your lids at how obviously his prominent Adam’s apple bumps and propels. 

Fuck. 

Glossy layers of slick stick to your folds like a candied apple, and every lil’ suck Gojo leaves drives you craaazy. Soon enough, your thighs are twitching right on top of him, “Please, Toru–”

“Mmmm–?” He’s panting, positively blistered in sweat at this point. And even when he’s catching his eyes with yours, his own look…cloudy. Feral. Murmuring something like ‘round one’ into your outer pussy.

“Want you in me–” You’re babbling out the only few sets of words you know will work to draw him away from the sweet, sweet dessert he’s found between your legs. And you’re watching with bated breath as Gojo takes a sloppy second to consider, still nibbling his canines on your sensitive clit. 

Huffing n’ puffing cutely, you’re reeling your sweet cunt back– only for Gojo to squeeze his hold around your neck and pull-

“Just one more-” He’s contaminating the heady clinic air with repeated saccharine, saturated squelches after every peck upon peck. Like it hurt to part with your pussy - it always did, n’ Gojo made sure to leave her more than enough goodbye kisses.

“One more-” Stringy oodles of slick washing over his face, “One- one more.” Again. Just another French kiss. “One…” And again.

And again and again until you’re dipping your hands through his mussed-up bangs of cloudy white and tugging, all that it takes for Gojo’s achingly hard cock to twitch.

“O-oh.” His voice breaks so many multiple octaves higher as he pulls away with a final - final - slimy graze of his stinging lips. Head lazing in an angle downwards, as if he’d just noticed the painful, rock-hard bulge tenting his too-tight boxing shorts. 

And Gojo’s cerulean eyes widen, flitting from the slushy wet spot soaked through his dark pants, to the way your glistening hole was winking down at him. Needily - as if to beg.

The middle of your bowed spine tingles with the remnants of your orgasm as soon as Gojo opens his mouth to growl. Low. Rasping. 

Depraved. 

“On- on my cock now, mama.” He’s tracing his hands admiringly over your tummy, the edge of his thick thumb drawing a long line right across the middle and your teary slit - measuring you. Where he’d already memorized the sweet lil’ targets he’d be fucking deeeep inside. Could never forget. Gojo nudges his straight nosebridge between your dewy folds once more, “Gotta really celebrate w’my heh- lady here tonight.”

And as you’re scrambling on your still-tottering knees to slide yourself down his Adonis-like body, he scoffs. 

With a blunt roll of his eyes, Gojo’s cupping the curve of your slam-driven ass and manhandling you easily. Trawling your weepy pussy down, down, down over every one of the calloused scars on his front, every one of his bumpy abs - you counted eight - to sit all prettily beneath the snug waistline of his shorts. 

Gojo spies up at you through his chalky bangs, plastered to his forehead with perspiration until you’re barely making his greedy stare out. Eyes half-hooded, pupils darkly dilated until you couldn’t even see those irises. 

It’s then - only then - that you realize just how ruined he looked. 

With that blossoming injury from tonight’s match across his cheek, burnished and purple - though, not even half as bright as the flush that coated his pretty features. 

All red and raw. You were practically basking in the scalding heat that radiated off of him, melting the glassy sheen of slick that dripped off of him in globules, so fucking wet. 

And yet, Gojo only ever wanted more. Kissing you with his cutely pink lips, he heaves in great panting gusts. “Take- heh-” Massive, twitchy hands fall on your own and guide them to his thick hem, a viscous gumdrop of your sap trickles from the point of his nose. “Take ‘em off f’me, mama. Take a goood long look f’me~”

“So bossy.”

“Mmm— I’ll be fuckin’ that rude mouth shut soon.”

Gojo sits obediently manspread as you fumble your eager fingertips underneath his shorts and pull–

The first thing you see is a curly tuft of his white happy trail, glimmering and drenched through with his own buttery precum. 

And the second thing you see…fuck. He’s never been harder.

Swollen n’ aching. Gojo’s furiously reddened mushroom tip dribbles out a constant stream of syrupy pre, hitting your hands with a loud splash! And not just that– he was spilling out a murked milky few dewdrops as if eating you out had him on the very verge of cumming. 

He’s sprawling his swole, veined arms behind his head, letting you gawk and ogle as you please.

And how could you not?

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to just how pretty Gojo and his erect cock was. Damn past ten inches, it’s as if he grows every time you see him for a post-match ritual. 

And so does his rosy cockhead, the exact same shade of pink as his burning cheeks. So wide that your slippery hole clenches ‘round nothing at the sight. All bloated and over-decorated with so many lightning bolted veins, you’re feeling your mouth water at the mere notion of tasting him–

“Ah ah-” He tuts, pulling you away as he once more cradles your throat softly in one hand. 

You pout, “B-but…”

Nodding sloooowly so you understand, “Wanna fuck this pretty pussy. Ride me like a hah- good girl now, m’kay?”

Oh, he was so evil. He knew exactly how that lil’ nickname would have your mind pitching into a state of carnal frenzy.

The desire purely evident on your gorgeous face as you’re toppling your capped knees on either side of his firm, toned waist. 

One masculine hand wrapping around his bulky hilt - aligning it all ready to smooch your pretty pussy - he sliiiides his heavy head to sandwich between your bloated folds. Rocking upwards into a teasing little back n’ forth that leaves his rigid head swatting on your clit. Pap! Pap! Pap! 

“Ready–?” Gojo drawls out in husked syllables, licking his lips to lap up any remnant of you. Wordless, the only thing you can manage out right now is a shaken nod.

Before it feels like you’re being split apart.

You’re whining when your hole stretches out with a rowdy sluuuurp–! just the thickened tip of his length popping in past your entrance. And he’s so fat, you could feel every solid ba-dump–! of his prominent veins tugging your cunt apart. 

“Oh, f-fuck, jus’ look at you.” He’s spitting through gleaming clenched teeth, words hitting you straight into your saccharine sweet pussy. Biting down on his pouty bottom lip, “Just ngh- look at you takin’ me- taking that biiig stretch, fuck.”

Your glassy eyes roll all the way back at the way he wasn’t even halfway inside yet already made you feel so dizzy. Stumbling flailingly into his arms, “Wanna kiss, Toru–”

“S’so cute when you’re all cockdrunk” Gojo whispers as he leaves a stinging spank on your ass, the shock of the force makin’ you swerve your hips deeper down his thick shaft. 

But he doesn’t kiss you - not yet. Instead, he’s chuckling deeply at your adorable irritation, sharp hips bucking off the mattress just so that he could fit himself inside. Up. Up. Up. Probing and probing his pulsing crowned tip over and over to ease inside a few more solid inches. 

“T-Tooooruuuu–”

“Mhm–” He places a warm palm faced open on your tummy, searching for that familiar bump where he’d be ruining you all inside. Where his rounded head would be prying apart your gum-like walls in urgent impales. “I’ll kiss you if ya say ‘biiig stretch’ f’me, my girl.”

You’re squirming your hips impatiently, only to be locked down with only one of Gojo’s hands. Honestly, what did you think going against a fighting champion? “B-big-”

“Nuh uh.” Bearing you with a wild, animalistic smile that makes you shudder. All wide and toothy. He’s rudely slapping you once more - this time on your dripping cunt. Quivering. “Say it. Biiig stretch, mama.”

“B-big-” You wail out whimpers just as soon as your little mistake leaves Gojo’s swollen shaft inching out of your hole, a warning. Already making you feel so empty inside- “Fuck! Big- biiig- stretch mmpf-”

Before you can register it, a hand clawed into your throat pulls you to crash your lips onto Gojo’s soft ones - muffling the absolute trill you’re letting off when he finally bottoms out with one big push. Finally. 

“Now m’kissing you here, too–” he has the audacity to flush. 

His sensual mushroom tip scrapes a swiveling line allll down your gooey walls, swirling ‘round and ‘round until he’s following the map directly to your g-spot. Giving her a good long snog, you’re curling your toes at the swashing waves of pre that dribble out of him and straight onto that tender orifice. 

You’re so full that your mouth overspills with generous helpings of drool, slobbering right onto the valley between his pecs where you found yourself laid. 

The slick velvety walls of your cunt scoop him up gladly, and Gojo finds himself wearing such a dopey smile at the instinctual way your gummy walls clench. “Hmm– have I ever told ya how much I ngh- love you?”

And maybe it was the way his thick cock was reaching you everywhere, maybe it was the way Gojo stared at you with heart eyes. It could’ve been anything and everything - you simply found yourself cumming. 

Right then and there, with only a few vulgar bludgeons of his merciless cock. 

And Gojo?

Gojo looks like he’s in heaven. 

Startling out a slight puff of laughter while he careens his hips back to fuck you through your sudden high, and you can feel the way he pinpricks your insides with every thrust. Feel the way he strikes right at your most favorite spots - precisely. 

“Already? I really am winnin’ tonight- heh. Already won Round 2, too.” 

Round 2? What is he…oh. 

Oh, shit.

He’s talking about how many times he’s made you cum.

The sounds of his raspy praises make your ears buzz, head throwing backwards when you start to arch your back and rut yourself, attempting to meet his vicious pace. To run.

“Fuh-fuuuuck” You’re biting your tongue to try and fight back those pathetic pitches and mewls seeping from your lips. And all it takes is a slamming whack into your cervix to render that useless. “Fuck me- fuckmefuckme, Toooru–!”

“Now now,” he’s tutting, and oh you can feel your tummy lurch with anticipation at that dark tonality of his. Or maybe that was just the feral twitch of his battering tip. 

Through eyes saturated with a film of fat droplets of tears, you’re glancing down at the way your hips are suddenly pinned to his toned pelvis. Unmoving. With just his steady grip of your throat. “Runnin’s against the rules, mama.”

And suddenly, you’re moved so fast your cottony brain begins to wonder if maybe you’ve teleported. 

You’re whimpering as your fatigued back ends up laid over the crescent curves of his pectorals, his front digging into your mounds of flesh as Gojo pulls your clammy knees back back back back. Into a full nelson so mean that you don’t even realize he’s positioned his cock until he sinks allll the way back in–

“Atttta girl. Look at youuu–” His hoarse pants sizzle the tender lobes of your ear after every unapologetic pound you’re being graced with. You gawp at the full-length mirror that was right adjacent to the patient bed, shit- you forgot that was even there.  

And now that you’d taken a glimpse at the lecherous scene, you couldn’t look away.

Gojo was so staggering. Swole muscles bending you pliably, the only thing holding you upright enough so that your cross-eyed stare could lock with your fucked-out reflection in the mirror. 

Your dizzy pupils circling all over comically the more n’ more he jackhammered away. Vehemently. 

The girth of his shaft was so big that your head lolls stupidly back into the planes of his collarbones, “Takin’ care of ya favorite fighter.”

Five exact circumferences of his fingertips sway over to that large, cylindrical outline being oh-so-thoroughly fucked into you. A tummy bulge that he thumbs over, that mushroomy globular end.

“Takin’ c-care of me alllll ngh-” He massages down on that cute lil’ bump going back and forth back and forth back and forth. Driving himself just as crazy as he was with you. Groaning, “-here.”

And Gojo’s body was still aching from the aftereffects of his fight, he was still sore in places with soon-to-be bruises. Yet, he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t even slow down.

Hard and fast.

His crownhead an angry red that prodded your deepest, most tender insides. Pushing and pushing and pushing. So wide that both you and the rickety bed were singing with whimpers after every delving drag of his vein-covered length.

Strokes vulgar. Alllll the way from the very strawberry divot in the middle of his globular tip, to the massive circumference of his hefty base. And even though every pricking whack into your cervix was hard, Gojo took his lazy time pulling back out to make sure you felt every bump and bolt of his swollen veins scraping down your insides. 

“Watch this.”

“Wh-what- oh.”

You’re peering through the smoggy mirror at the way the strongest himself rovers up his big, beefy right arm to wrap neatly ‘round your neck. His hard-earned biceps bulging against your throat and blocking off your airway sexily.

Watching yourself, you swear you could count every vein thumping down his forearm, every flex of his rippling muscles caging against your neck. Oh…you only got wetter. 

“Saw you lookin’ at me. Could tell how much ya- haaah- liked this, mama.” Gojo titters, words sloppy and his strokes even sloppier. “Almost drenched the heh- seat didn’tya? Watching me? Ohhh you like this don’tcha? W’my big arms puttin’ you in a ngh- big headlock?”

Babbling. Gojo himself was drooling, a thin trickle of spittle that befell with every passing second he watched your sloppy slit swallow his inches. 

Yearning for more.

Begging for more.

You half-couldn’t believe that was you with your face tear-streaked and oh-so-ruined in the reflection. And once you feel that familiar fluttering from your pussy, you’re slithering down a hand between your legs–

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” He was breathless. 

It was so easy for Gojo to trap both your unsteady wrists within only one of his, gruffly bringing you back into your cute headlock whilst pinning them so you could struggle allll you want. But he wasn’t letting up.

Clinging onto your swiveling with one hand, and keeping you manhandled with the other. He bucks his hips so your curved spine is rubbed all down with his sweat-glossed abs, he knew how weak you were for it. 

Smearing the stocky end of his thumb over your needy clit, “Not when ya have me, mama.” He breathes next to your ear, so close. Drawing circles. Hearts. His name. Mindlessly lapping away the pearls of tears running down your face, “Not when your d-dear ngh- ‘Toru’s’ here.”

And when you’re cumming, it’s with those exact words scratching a carnal desire set inside of you. 

“Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming- ngh!” Your previous orgasms had already taken so much out of you that it was all you could to will yourself not to pass out right now and here. 

“Yeah? Yeah? Go on- I- ngh- win- round three- heh.”

Sharp stings of pleasure buzzing all the way from your throbbing pussy to your empty head, you draaag your nails all over his sturdy forearms. Your body slicks over with sweltering perspiration, glissading you smoothly up n’ down Gojo’s sculptured body. 

Gojo jostles you in his headlock to stare deeply into your eyes while he drags out your high, counting every filthy spank he was honing out. It’s not too far into your overstimulated high before his creamy tip showers your drenched insides with sprays of buttery cum.

You could hear yourself mumbling out faint nonsense with every ropey smack you felt pumped inside you, and it was as if Gojo was orgasming harder than he had his entire life. 

Cumming and cumming so hard it was like he couldn’t stop - didn’t even know if he could.

And it was so weighty, too.

You could feel the soppy splosh of his sap being bubbled all up inside you, every swab of Gojo’s leaking cockhead frothing it even deeper inside. You’re swearing the bumpy outline of your tummy bulge was only being cumflated, feeling like he was glueing your very walls together.

Naturally, a few slicked gumdrops of cum ooze their way out between your teary slit. His hips jolt at the primal sight, thick seed dribbling out of you like frosting, formulating so many rings upon rings that Gojo just can’t help but admire and muse as his most favorite ones. 

Shit, with a humid pop! he’s inching out just to watch the butter-covered sheen that stuck to his red shaft. 

Hooded, his sapphire gaze rips away from your reflection to narrow down at you. At the way your ancient patient bed was now completely destroyed; headboard split, standing on only three feeble legs. 

“Broke the bed, heh- tha’s a KO, my girl.” Gojo lets go of his headlock on you, nuzzling your cheek with his sweat-lacquered forehead whilst you still attempt to catch your breath. “Mmmm– really do love you, y’know- the fuckin’ b-best prize I could ever have.”

“I love you too–” You find your cartoonishly dazed smile directed up at him. “-Six Eyes.”

With a soft groan, he twiddles his thumb over to toy with the sticky seconds of his seed pouring out of you. Lazily.

Letting it scoop onto his fingerpads, shoving it back between your slippy lips. Repeatedly even painting a languid heart with it over your tummy bulge- before skidding the salted cream between your lips. 

With a fat few fingers stuffed into your dampening maw, overflowing with glutinous saliva, you’re letting your eyes stray back to the reflection in the mirror. Blinking back your vision-

“Holy shit.” You’re gaping - at everything from the way that Gojo Satoru had seemed to gain more red, red scratches and bruises all over his arms, back, and pecs from you than in an actual fight, to the way he seemed utterly content about it. “T-Toru, I gave you more marks than Sukuna did during the Shinjuku Showdown…”

“I know.”

.

.

.

“Aaaand welcome back, folks! To the Shinjuku Showdown 2.0!” 

You wince, Haibara’s commentating voice would never grow any less booming no matter how many times you sat here. Front row for yet another one of Gojo’s famed fights. 

Though, you squirm in your seat, you wished he could get here sooner. 

“Requested by our very own King of Curses- he’s quite a sore loser you see- oh, my mistake, Mr. Sukuna, sir. You are the underground’s most honorable fighter, of course of course.”

Ryomen Sukuna scowls even as the crows roar and yell rambunctiously around him, eyes falling on you - for the briefest, tensest second - before he tears away. Pacing around the barren ring like a tiger prowling for his prey.

Only, said prey wasn’t going down without making sure that Sukuna knew the true hierarchy here. 

“FINALLY! Hereee we have our monster of Japan, Six Eyes, making his long-awaited entrance tonight! Ohhh place your bets, ladies and gentlemen, tonight is going to be goooood!”

When Gojo Satoru entered the ring, everyone knew. Everyone held their breath.

It never got old seeing his generously over six-foot figure loom menacingly towards the ring, draped in a dark blue robe of crushed velvet. Which just-so-happened to be the exact color of your matching lingerie tonight…

Usual gloves on hand, a tiny, plastic remote in hand.

You’re shivering as he twiddles it over deftly, pulling down the hiked-up hem of your nurse’s outfit. Just praying that nobody could hear the bzzz–! of that hot-pink bullet vibrator lodged inside your sloppy pussy.

Meant to be there for the entire fight. 

The cutting stadium air was so tautly-pulled that you could hear every resounding thud! of his powerful footsteps as Haibara rattles off Sukuna’s introduction. Jumping swiftly and athletically over the ropes of the ring. 

“And in THIS corner, we have Six Eyes, The Strongest. Some fear to speak his name. Some think he isn’t human. With a winning streak ever since he arrived here, with so many knockouts that it’s said they created a new medical term for it. Challenge him and you challenge death. The man. The myth. The nightmare-” 

Then Gojo straightens- 

“-a monster that can never be tamed!”

-and he lets his robe fall.

All red, angry patterns of scratches on full display for the countless rabid photographers and watchers to gawk at. Down his back, down his arms, down his pecs.

Everywhere and anywhere for the eye to see, and to see Gojo- Six Eyes of all people to be so thoroughly claimed. As if he was thrown to the wolves - someone put a hand on him?

Oh, you could hear the reporters stumbling over their questions as they screamed for answers and relationship reveals. 

Though, all of them were answered once he turns straight to you. Miniscule remote calibrated to the very maximum before Gojo fucking throws it somewhere into the ringside. Even through his muzzle, you could tell he was grinning as you gasped at the lecherous vibrations pulsating to your g-spot. 

Over and over whilst media personnel - realizing your connection to the most dangerous underground fighter in all of Japan - jostled you for more juicy details. Fuck- everyone was going to know about this. Everyone. 

Gojo turns back to a fuming Sukuna with a quirk of his ivory brow. 

“The monster has- has been tamed! Let the fight begin!”

A/N. FAWK I NEED HIM. Was this slightly inspired by all the boxing talk going on in my blog? Mayhaps. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[madaqueue]

gn!reader - 18+ MDNI (uhh jjk manga spoilers, scars and some blood/death mentioned but i swear this is meant to be sweet)

your fingers trace over satoru’s skin, mapping every line and curve. studying it, almost, to reconstruct him from touch alone. to have a version of him in your mind, always, one whose shape you’d never lose. ribs and hips and muscles and freckles, every cell in his body, until your fingerprint was left in each one, until you could draw it blind.

the breath catches in your throat when you dip into one of the deeper scars, its path dug around his stomach. it’s rougher here, flesh brought together imprecisely. it turns red in your vision, and you choke.

“hey,” satoru whispers, resting his hand on yours. he’s warm. “it’s okay. i’m here now, remember?”

he is. he’s here. he’s alive, he’s okay.

but the mantra doesn’t stop the tears from stinging. it hurts like the burning air the day you lost him, frigid and sharp. you wanted to gouge your eyes out when you saw him, your satoru in a pool of blood, cut open and cold.

but now he’s here. he’s alive, he’s okay.

“i’m just…” your voice trembles, thin like the wind that howled outside on the nights spent in an empty bed, “i’m just glad you came back.”

that soft smile satoru only shows to you spreads across his lips.

“i never left, you know that, right?”

your fingertips trail up, over healed skin and bones. his heart beats below your palm, counting each thrum.

“what do you mean?”

his thumb brushes along your cheek. “every snowflake that fell on your skin, that was me.”

fingers run through your hair. “every gust of wind that blew through you, that was me.”

lips ghost down your neck, resting behind your ear. “every beat of your heart, every breath in your lungs, was me.” he inhales, slow and real. alive. “you’re my everything. i could never leave you.”

the scars along his chest rise and fall. you trace them, and you remember him from touch alone.

“i’ll never, ever leave you.”

a/n: idk. been sad lately so uhhh. here's me and my very alive husband

[koralcove]

since it's established that caleb cooks for you (us/mc), imagine after reuniting with one another that he's noticed how thin you've gotten compared to when he last saw you. with the ongoing investigation about the aether core and grieving for your (supposedly) dead family, you haven't had time to take care of yourself well enough. you're mostly driven on energy via takeouts, eating out, and snacking for when you remember to take a break. when he runs his thumb softly on your cheek, he can feel the loss of the chub on your face that he used to affectionately (and annoyingly, on your part) squeeze and pinch on. but it's nothing that he can't fix with spoiling you with his cooking. so every day, he makes it a mission to make time to cook your favourite meals and dishes that he knows you've missed since he'd been gone, and within a week, he can already see the plumpness of your cheeks taking shape to what he used to know. when you start to complain that your shorts seem a bit tight on you and you opt to borrow his shirts instead of wearing your usual ones, his chest is filled with pride at his work of seeing those cute little pudges on your body.

tonight, you're probably on your third round of wolfing down another one of your favourites that he made. you'd told yourself yesterday that you'd hold back from eating too much ever since your eye caught on the slight fullness of your belly. your face has gotten a tad rounder, and you're aghast at just how much you've been consuming for only a week. you would've objected as caleb keeps asking if you want another round, but you've missed the taste of his cooking. the taste of home. and there's a part of you that's clutching onto the flavours as if it's the last meal you'll ever get from him. a part of you still finds it unbelievable that he's really here with you, right in the flesh, laughing and mussing on your hair. the familiar touch seems like a slap on your face that you find a prickling sensation at the back of your nose whenever the reality sets that... he's here. and he's home. you're home. you are both home.

noticing the faraway look on your eyes and the distracted movement, caleb pipes up. "you look like you're thinking too hard. had second thoughts about my cooking?"

you blink, snapping out of your glum musings and shaking your head. "no. just... thinking of your ulterior motive of fattening me up. don't think i haven't noticed. every day feels like a feast with how much you're cooking. i might have to buy new clothes, y'know."

caleb only smiles at your words, jabbing your forehead lightly with his finger. "well, it looks like you forgot to take care of yourself while i was gone. can't do anything without me, huh?"

you huff at the light teasing, taking a bite out of your food and looking down on your plate. your eyes might betray you. and you don't think you can handle the soft look he's giving you.

"but don't worry. your caleb is back, and i'm here to take care of my pip-squeak. and what better way to start than to get some meat back on you." he grins.

you groan. "stooop. you're taking me out of shape, and i'm blaming you if i fall behind with everyone when i suddenly become out of breath."

caleb only chuckles at you. "i think i'm just giving you more shape, if you ask me. and that wouldn't be so bad. that means i get to have more of you!" he squeezes your side affectionately, and you shy away from how ticklish you are, along with a small sense of insecurity bleeding through you. caleb doesn't miss your small scrunch of discomfort.

"you know i like you no matter what shape or form, right?" he pulls his chair closer to yours, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "and... there is a law about that, y'know?"

your brow furrows in confusion. "there is?"

he nods, a cheeky smile quirking on his lips. "yeah. "the greater the mass, the greater the force of attraction". soooo, in other words, the more i plump you up, my attraction to you will keep increasing."

your mouth hangs at his words, and you playfully jab his side. "gē! you..."

he merely laughs, pinching on your cheek for extra measure. his glee is infectious that you can't help but break into a smile as well.

ah, caleb thinks, there's my girl.

can't get over that caleb is just basically packed into the law of gravitation. smartass would probably use that line to his advantage.

[itsminjify]

★ ENHYPEN WHEN YOU WEAR A SHORT MINIDRESS ───𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇’ ‘𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇

﹙𝑜𝑓﹚: when enhypen get a bit obsessed when you wear your pretty outfit && 12OOwc. ˖ smut ⠀⎯⎯ ⠀fem!centered ﹙ ⌕. ﹚ ARCHiVE ?

( minji says ) : my new years eve gift for you guys! i love writing and i love you guys~hehe, i wrote this at like 10 pm... i really need to go to sleep ㅋㅋ

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

your phone vibrated, the picture you’d just sent practically radiating heat through the screen. that dress. barely there, clinging to every curve, showcasing miles of leg that started just below your ass. you could almost feel the cool air on your skin where the fabric ended, a stark contrast to the burning anticipation building inside you. you smirked, imagining heeseung’s reaction.

the penthouse door crashed open, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent space. heeseung stood there, tie loosened, shirt unbuttoned, his hair a mess as if he’d been running his hands through it in frustration."baby," he breathed, his voice a low growl that vibrated through the air.

"heeseungie," you purred, tilting your head, letting your eyes roam over his body, lingering on the obvious bulge straining against his expensive suit pants. you saw his jaw clench, his hands fisting at his sides.

he moved then, with a speed and purpose that erased any trace of the polished businessman. he crossed the room in three long strides, his hands already reaching for the hem of your dress. “you’re driving me fucking insane,” he growled, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he pushed the fabric higher, revealing the delicate lace of your thong. he cupped your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples through the thin material, making them harden instantly. “god, you’re so fucking hot. so fucking mine.”

“mmm, heeseung,” you moaned, arching into his touch, your head falling back as he leaned down, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. his hot breath ghosted over your skin before he latched onto your nipple, sucking hard, nipping and biting until you were whimpering, your hands clutching at his hair.

“mine,” he repeated, his voice thick with possessiveness, his fingers kneading into your ass, squeezing and teasing. he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist, your core pressing against his hard cock. he carried you to the bedroom, the urgency of his movements sending waves of anticipation through you. he dropped you onto the bed, his eyes never leaving yours, burning with an intensity that made you tremble. he followed you down, his body pressing against yours, his hard cock throbbing against your core through the thin fabric of your thong. “you’re such a little tease, baby,” he whispered, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip, then dipping lower, parting your folds and teasing your clit, making you gasp.

“only for you,” you whispered back, your breath catching as he fumbled with his belt, his hard, thick cock springing free, pulsing with anticipation.

he thrust into you, hard and deep, making you gasp, your head snapping back against the pillows. “say my name, baby,” he grunted, his breath hot against your ear, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements.

“heeseung! fuck, heeseung! oh, fuck!” you cried out, your nails digging into his back, your hips bucking against his as you met each thrust with equal force. you felt his fingers teasing your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge, until you shattered, your orgasm ripping through you in waves of pure pleasure.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

you tug the hem of the short black minidress down, smoothing it over your thighs. it barely covers anything, riding high on your hips. you take a deep breath and walk into the living room, where jay’s sprawled on the couch, flipping through channels. he glances up, his eyes widening as they travel down your body. his jaw tightens, and he abruptly sits up, the remote falling to the cushions.

“where do you think you’re going dressed like that?” he asks, his voice low and rough. he tries to sound stern, but the heat in his eyes gives him away.

you shrug, feigning nonchalance. “movie night? remember?” you twirl slightly, making the dress flare out. you see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard. a visible bulge strains against his sweatpants. he definitely didn’t wear boxers.

“yeah, but… that?” he gestures vaguely at your dress.

you saunter over to the couch and plop down, deliberately sitting on his lap. you feel the immediate pressure of his erection against your lower back. you smirk, knowing he can feel you shifting slightly against him.

“what? it’s comfortable,” you murmur, batting your eyelashes.

he runs a hand through his hair, his breathing heavy. “comfortable for who? because i’m about to lose my fucking mind.” he whispers, his voice thick with lust. he looks down at you, his eyes dark. "you're killing me right now."

you look up at him, a playful glint in your eyes. “is that so?” you reach up and trace a finger along his jawline.

he groans and grabs your hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing your fingertips. “you know exactly what you’re doing,” he murmurs against your skin. “and i’m not sure how much longer i can pretend i’m not about to fuck you right here, right now.” he shifts slightly, pressing harder against you through his sweatpants. the friction is intense, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “fuck,” he breathes, his hips subtly rocking against yours. “right through my pants… you feel that?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

the closet door creaks open, you emerge, a nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin. jake’s sprawled across the bed, bathed in the soft glow of his phone screen, but the second he catches sight of you, his head snaps up. the phone clatters onto the nightstand, forgotten. his eyes widen.

“fuck,” he breathes, his voice a low, husky rumble that sends shivers down your spine. “is that… is that even a dress?”

you blush, biting your lip and twisting a strand of hair around your finger. “i i bought it today. do you like it?”

jake’s eyes darken further, his breath catching in his throat. he throws his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up abruptly, his gaze never leaving you. “like it? baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with lust, “you’re killing me.” he reaches out. he tugs you gently forward, pulling you into the space between his spread legs. “come here, you little tease.”

you stumble slightly, your heart pounding in your chest, and land softly between his thighs. he immediately wraps his arms around your waist, his hands splaying across the small of your back, pulling you firmly onto his lap. a gasp escapes your lips as you feel the hard, insistent ridge of his cock pressing against your thigh through the thin material of your dress. he shifts slightly, and you feel the denim of his jeans straining against him. with a quick, practiced motion, he unbuttons his pants and slides them down his legs, kicking them off to the side of the bed. then, with a flick of his wrist, his boxers follow, revealing his fully erect cock. it’s thick and heavy, the head a dark, purplish red, pulsing with anticipation. a thick vein runs down its length, and you can see a drop of precum glistening at the tip.

“god,” he murmurs against your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. he nuzzles the sensitive spot behind your ear, his lips leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “you’re driving me fucking crazy.” his hands slide down your back, cupping your ass, his fingers digging into your flesh, kneading and squeezing. “you’re so fucking hot.” you gasp again, your head falling back to give him better access to your neck.

“jake…” you whisper, your voice trembling with a mixture of excitement and anticipation.

he groans, his grip tightening on your ass. “ride me, baby,” he commands, his voice low and demanding. “ride my fucking cock.”

you don’t hesitate. gripping his shoulders, your fingers digging into the firm muscle beneath his shirt, you begin to move. you shift on his lap, aligning yourself perfectly with the hard length of his erection. a gentle rocking of your hips that allows you to adjust to the feeling of him inside you. you press down, feeling him fill you completely, a delicious ache spreading through your core. “fuck,” you whisper as he slides in deep.

you arch your back slightly, lifting yourself up and then sinking back down onto him. the thin fabric of the dress does little to protect you from the heat of his skin against yours. you grind against him, feeling the head of his cock rub against your most sensitive spot. “oh, fuck, yes,” you moan, your voice thick with pleasure. you can feel jake’s hands tightening on your ass, his thumbs tracing circles on your skin as he urges you on. “that’s it, baby, fucking ride me,” he growls. he’s groaning beneath you, his head thrown back, his eyes closed.

as you ride him harder and faster, the friction intensifies. you can feel the slickness of your own juices mixing with his precum. “you’re so fucking wet,” he gasps, his voice thick with lust, “fucking perfect.”

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡

his breath hitches when you walk in. the fabric of the minidress, barely skims your thighs, clinging to every curve. he’s sprawled on the couch, one leg dangling off the edge, but he straightens instantly, his eyes widening. the magazine he was pretending to read slips from his fingers, landing with a soft thud on the rug.

you move with a deliberate sway, a subtle tilt of your hips as you walk past him. you can feel the heat of his stare burning into your skin, making you flush. he shifts on the couch, a low groan rumbling in his throat. his jaw clenches, a muscle ticking nervously in his cheek.

“fuck,” he breathes, the word barely audible. he clears his throat, the sound rough and uneven. “that… that’s…” he stumbles over his words, his eyes still fixed on you. “quite a dress.”

you offer a slow, deliberate smile, tilting your head slightly. “do you like it, sunghoon?” you ask softly, your voice a low purr.

he pushes himself off the couch. he closes the distance between you in long strides, his eyes never leaving yours. his hands settle on your hips, his thumbs brushing against the bare skin just above the hem of the dress.

“like it?” he whispers, his voice low and husky, his breath warm against your ear. “i’m about to lose my mind.”

before you can even register what’s happening, his hand slips beneath the hem of your dress, his fingers finding the soft folds of your flesh. a gasp escapes your lips, and you arch into his touch involuntarily. he moves his fingers slowly, rhythmically, teasing you with gentle strokes, building the pressure until you’re trembling. he withdraws his hand, bringing his fingers to his lips. he licks them clean, slowly, deliberately, his eyes locked on yours, a predatory gleam in their depths.

“you’re going to be the death of me,” he murmurs,

[starconstruction]

The Sweetest Peach

yeah this isnt exactly original

Minjeong x Male Reader (Smut)

tags: oral (f-receiving), kitchen sex, table sex, creampie.

Word Count: 1216

You and Minjeong had somewhat of a running gag with peaches. It all started in a market where there was some discounted ones, a strange beginning.

You two bought way too many, ate way too much, shared the food together in an act of love.

You couldn't explain how that lead into Minjeong and you going around to try everything peach related in town.

You couldn't explain how you two now had a dedicated peach drawer.

Just one of those things.

The joke escalated a bit, when she was given creative control of what hair color she wanted it was obvious, choosing to dye it instead of wearing a wig. Transforming into a light orange, draping over her back, she looked beautiful and sweet.

But despite every peach you've tried, none could compare to Minjeong's, easily the thickest, juiciest, sweetest and tastiest you have ever sampled.

It was one you had sampled many a time, in many a location. From the comfort of your own bed to the forest, wherever you were hungry she was inviting.

Today was one of those former days, kind of. Instead choosing to pick a more thematically appropriate location to enjoy her "peach". In the kitchen, bent over the black top counter. A bottle of peach flavored water knocked over by her arm. It wasn't her fault, you were needy and accidentally pushed her into it.

"Damn Minjeong you have such a nice 'peach'." You stated, kissing her ass cheeks with while also licking the skin, to properly enjoy her you needed to take it slow. Her underwear was dropped on the floor, laying next to the washing machine, with how wet she already was it was just being practical.

"Yeah? How about you have a taste?" She gloated, but you had better ideas, going for her pussy first, tongue dragging itself from the top to the bottom. Enjoying her sweetness, a gift to be cherished. Going up and down, the feeling of warm silk against your lips. Giving eager licks to her juicy flesh, "Mmh, eat my pussy that's a good tongue."

Minjeong moans were soft whimpers, full of desperation, breathy and so sexy. "God, I can't get enough of this taste." You gasped, rubbing your face against her folds, slurping every inch of your girlfriend. "Just need more and more." You stopped acting polite, running your tongue between her slit, her musky scent driving you insane.

"Have more, take as much as you want!" She was obedient to your touch, pushing herself against your mouth, "Fuck yes!" You gave her more, sticking your tongue inside her sweet pussy, tongue fucking her with pure hunger. "Oh! FUCK!" Minjeong's composure was being replaced by complete and unbridled lust. But you would take it further, make her fall apart.

And you wanted to watch it unfold, pulling away from a whining Minjeong as you turned her around. She got the memo, jumping up on the counter, legs dangling until you put them on your shoulders, pulling her closer to the edge, reuniting her puffy lips with your mouth, eyes looking up at Minjeong's face, her lip swollen from her intently she bit down, eyes begging for more through the thin veil her orange hair had made. "You want more? Want to cum on my tongue?" You asked, breathing hot air against her desperate clit. Feeling her body spasm in surprise.

"Yeah! Eat me out, I need your tongue!" She wasn't shy to vocalize her wishes, nor were you shy to give in. Sloppily lapping her juices up once more, eyes occasionally looking up at her, she looked down at you, blushing.

"Rub your clit for me." You murmured, Minjeong was quick to comply. Fingers reaching down and rubbing circles, you two worked in tandem to bring Minjeong to orgasm. Getting messy with it, she moaned louder and louder, grinding herself against your face, she was so close to cumming, body shaking as the coil inside her snapped.

"Oh fuck!" She gasped, her thighs closing around your face, you let her ride it out. Tongue licking up and down while she came back to earth. Minjeong sat there, the counter was absolutely going to need a wash, but that's laters problem. You didn't have your fill of her yet, needing a taste of her peach.

"I'm not finished with you, on the table." You said, watching her limp over onto the dining table, the place you eat many meals on, sharing with her, this was no different. Watching her lay down over the big wooden surface, her ass laid just in reach as you sat down on a chair giving a preliminary spank to it. Grabbing thick handfuls of her flesh, licking her inner cheeks as they had started to collect sweat, saltiness forming on your tongue.

"Hmm, you tease." She said, feeling the way you caressed her body, thick where it counted. Tongue dipping against her pit, licking the puckered hole, she gasped in glee when you licked up and down, giving another healthy slap and another. The sound rattling against the walls, "Ooh." She whimpered.

You circled her asshole, rimming it for all it's worth, fingers reaching around to her pussy. Moving in sync with your tongue, feeling the way she squeezed around you. Getting her warmed up for your cock, your tongue flicked against her backdoor, enjoying the next few minutes of vigorous ass eating.

Eventually you couldn't handle it anymore, needing to get inside her, dropping your clothes, perhaps you had too much trust in your furniture. Climbing on the table, pushing her legs open as your cock rubbed against her wet lips, pushing inside her tightening cunt. Words couldn't describe every sensation you felt, soft, wet, warm. She felt perfect.

"God Minjeong, your pussy..." You moaned, she would have chuckled at your inability to form words, but she wasn't holding up any better. Being ravaged by your cock, her hair completely sprawled over the table as she took everything from the back.

"Ugh! Keep fucking pounding! Faster!" She demanded in between half moans, you complied, the excitement only amplifying by the shaking ground beneath you. Every table leg rattling under the pressure, the noise of skin slapping rang out, her moans rapid and desperate. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" She moaned out, "Fuck!"

"God! You feel so tight!" You praised, hand swatting her cheeks, listening to her yells. "Cum for me!" You said, losing your rhythm, using her body for your own pleasure.

"Shittt! I'm gonna cum, keep fucking going!" She begged, head falling into the shaking table, being fucked stupid, her orgasm catching up with her. A freight train, you two chanted "fucks" like a sailor, feeling her tighten around you, you couldn't go any longer, lightning ripping through your body. Bottoming out inside Minjeong's inviting pussy, shooting rope after rope of your seed into her while she came undone, creaming around you.

When you pulled out, your semen dripped onto the table, making a mess everywhere. Gingerly getting down as you two laid on the cool kitchen floor, catching your breath. "God, Minjeong that was incredible." You gasped, breathing in her sweaty neck.

"Yeah, I'm gonna be sore, fuck." She replied, looking up to the roof. "Wanna go shower?" You nodded.

Minjeong truly was the sweetest peach of them all.

[sugarfairyteez]

Wooyoung: Veins

Pairing: Wooyoung x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 725

Warning: Involves mature content containing vulgar activities and language. Minors do NOT interact.

Includes:

Dom! Woo, Multiple Orgasms, Clit Play, Dirty Talk, Swearing, Oral (Fem! Receiving, Face Riding Mentions, Squirting, Slight Hand Kink, Slight Hair Tugging

————————————————————————

The veins.

Flowing freely, running long strips underneath the thin layer of his skin. Intensified, flexing as the tightening of his grip.

Your plush thighs splayed over his face, held and squeezed firmly by his hands. Yanking you closer, he’d pulled you closer to his face to dwell himself in your wetness. “F-Fuck W-Woo—”

Lips pursed, you heavily breathed out a curse. The arch in your back perfectly curved, peaked high and off the mattress that laid beneath. Staggering pain jolted your elbows, the strength leaving your body gradually. His tongue explored your vulnerability— mouth suckling harshly on your sensitive and puffy cunt.

The breaths that escaped left rushed and fast. Eyes half-lidded, they’d threaten to flutter close whilst you stared. Body writhing against his face, the whisky tresses free on his forehead shifting as he shook his head.

“Stop moving—”

Wooyoung’s soft voice pierced in a muffle, a soft tap landing on your thigh. “You need to stay still”

Seduction raveled in his tone, kissing your ears in teasing way. You whined, squirming more against his face whilst he engulfed himself back into your pussy. “Jung Wooyoung…”

You breathed, panting frantically. “D-Don’t start… Y-You know I-I can’t—”

Ripples of your high pulsated through— the waves of pleasure crashing on your body similarly to a shore. Mewling, you’d trembled, gaze locked and immersed on the man between your legs. Sweet juices flown, gliding over the surface of his relentless tongue.

Your thighs shook, fleshing close together in an attempt to flutter shut. Pried opened, Wooyoung eased them apart— saturated in the blissful pleasure, your whines followed one after another. Echoes retaliated within the walls as he’d pulled, tongue flicking over your sensitive nub. Skin glistening, your slick glazed mercilessly across his chin.

“I know…You could barely keep your legs open…”

Voice falling, the smoothness disappeared into midair. His digits danced teasingly, skimming along your slippery slit. Shudders provoked before a moan toppled over— sudden pressure applied firmly on your clit. “How else am I gonna taste you huh?”

Eyes closing, you ravished the goodness that flooded in. Vivid imagery splayed in your mind of his hands, imagining the beauty. “Do I need your pretty pussy over my face?”

A moan wheezed, reflecting on those times:

Your cunt hovered over, gasping for a single breath. Body slouched, you would tremble before him, head dizzy and filled with euphoria. His arms encapsulated your figure, encaging you with the slightest movement of your hips withdrawing from his face.

Heavenly times, you must admit.

“That’s the only way I can properly taste you. Isn’t it?”

Shivers collided upon your skin. Tingles running throughout body as the tip of his finger swirled, nuzzling your sensitive nub in a steady-paced circular motion. Arousal pooled, gushing out of your hole; your second high was approaching. “W-Wooyoung…”

Teeth clenched, the ecstasy came crashing. Your eyes opened, piercing into the man himself. The smirk grazed him was playfully teasing. “Go ahead. Do it for me. Cum.”

The entangled rasps in his voice was enough to drive you over the edge. Welded tears streamed down as you blinked— the moans bouncing off one another, your second high pulsated within you. Your nectar splashed out messily, gushing on his fingertips.

“O-Oh M-My—”

Voice trembled, the sensitivity overloaded. Wooyoung’s lips latched, diving in the depths of your cunt. His streaky veins tensed, pushing and folding you open. The curve in your back peaked higher— your head thrown to give you whiplash. Your life was devoured, slurped away. “F-Feels t-too g-good W-Woo—”

Symphonies of your cries sung, creating a sweet tune. Unsteady, your hands rustled in his neatly combed locks, grasping for dear life. The third high brewed quickly.

Exasperated, your breathing became unhinged. “I-I think I-I’m g-gonna…”

Lips parted, widely gaped like a fish. Silent moans tumbled, the euphoria immersed in your core. Tensed, the orgasm shattered, hitting harder than a train at full speed. White stars splattered your blank vision, lighting the darkness. Wetness crashed, the harsh splashes emphasized on your thighs burning flesh.

You were dazed, confused.

Opened eyes displayed the scene in front of you: You were smothered in your own pussy juices. Glistening, shining in your essence. Wooyoung’s face was semi-clean, in tact from the mess that exploded. Gruffed, his voice danced in your ears.

“Again, but this time on my face”

[farfromstrange]

Fictober Day 13: Lingerie

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Lingerie (✨)

Summary: You buy red lingerie just for Matt, and he enjoys it to the fullest.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), oral fem!receiving, mentions of p in v, lingerie, face-sitting

Word Count: 951

A/n: Matt would go feral if you surprised him with lingerie, and that's a fact.

Read Me On AO3!

You bought this piece just for him—this red, silken piece of sin you paid a fortune for. The fabric is incredibly soft to the touch, running through fingers like water. 

Matt rests his hand on your chest, over your heart. His fingers dig into the silk that covers the body he worships, and he has to bite into the flesh of his cheek to stop himself from moaning. You did this for him. 

He likes you naked. He likes you spread out for him. He likes the feel of your skin against his, but God, you’re wearing lingerie made of the softest fabric the earth has ever seen, and his cock is already so fucking hard against his stomach. 

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hands roaming over you so he can paint a picture of you in his head. A picture of you wearing this. 

You gently take his other hand and place it on your upper thigh. “Here,” you say.

His heart pounds against his ribcage like a chainsaw. “Fuck,” he grunts. 

You’re wearing a fucking garter belt, too. 

He’s sure he must have died sometime tonight and gone to heaven. You can’t possibly be real. So beautiful, so hot, and you are all his. His to touch, command, and take until you are begging for mercy.

You did this for him.

“I love you,” he says, bringing his lips to where the fabric has ridden up above your belly button. “I love you so much.”  

His breath is warm against your skin—warm and wet, and desperate. 

“I want you to ride my face.”

Your heart stutters. “What?”

Matt lifts his unfocused gaze toward the sound of your voice. “I want you to ride my face. Right here,” he pulls you into his lap, “wearing this.”

Oh.

He has had you in all sorts of compromising positions, but this… this is something else. The thought of him lapping at your pussy as you’re kneeling above him is both incredibly arousing and absolutely terrifying, but if there is anyone you would trust with your life, it’s him.

He falls back against the mattress, taking you down with him. His lips taste like home, the kiss he presses to your lips so full of love that you forget for a moment what this is even about.

Greedy hands roam the silky lingerie, and your pussy starts to ache for him. For his fingers, for his cock, and his lips on you. You need him to touch you, to drive you to the brink of death just to pull you back with nothing but his magical tongue. You need him. 

Matt pulls you higher, your legs now resting on either side of his head. You must look divine like this. He can smell you through the thin fabric of those sheer panties, soaked through and ready for him. He wants to dig his finger into you, to drink from you like a spring carved by God himself. 

The panties are the easiest to get out of the way; they barely cover you as is, and it makes him wonder if you would let him keep them for the nights you’re not there and he needs something of yours to keep him company—to jerk off to.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m okay.”

And ready, though the words die on your tongue before you can utter them.

His hands soothe your shaky muscles, tangling in the garter belt around the plump flesh of your thigh, and without a warning, he pulls you down. 

You cry out into the quiet of the room. His mouth covers your pussy as he feasts, tongue darting between your folds and to your clit. The moan he breathes into your core is utterly guttural. 

“Ride me,” he begs, the silk now bundled in his fist. “C’mon.” 

Hesitantly, you bury your fingers in his hair, and you start to rock your hips in sync with the desperate drag of his tongue. You chase that high, the pleasure that is curling in the pit of your stomach and spreading through your pussy like a wildfire.

Matt pulls at the lingerie, knuckles white with his flailing self-restraint. He’s telling you to move faster, to lock your legs around his head and ride his face until he suffocates. He wants your orgasm. He wants to drink your essence like a fine glass of wine. If he could, he would even drown in you.

He cups your breast, feeling your heart race underneath. It’s silk, silk all over. You feel like a cloud—a fucking cloud. 

“Matthew,” you breathe. 

He’s still fisting the garter belt, teeth dragging over your flesh and soothing it with the tip of his tongue. The pleasure tightens its noose around you. 

He tugs, and tugs, and tugs. Your orgasm keeps building, reaching the crescendo of the symphony you’re playing. You’re so close. 

You don’t know where to put your hands anymore, and he’s so immersed in eating you out, the sight alone is enough to set fire to the rain; the fabric snaps, suddenly and without warning, and with it, the wave finally crashes into you.  

You couldn’t have seen this coming, couldn’t have anticipated what only a piece of fabric could do to him. He rocked your world. He always does, but tonight, it felt different; it felt different and you loved it.

You slowly come back to yourself, lying there completely boneless as he pries himself away from you. 

Matt props himself up on his elbow beside you. You look over at him, the content expression on his face, and it makes you smile. “Lingerie, huh?” you say.

He hums in agreement, “Lingerie.”

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @steve-chandler @lucienofthelakes @xnatyx @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @zomtart @ethereal-blaze

[vaamins]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 satoru gojo for as long as you had known him. you had been enamoured by his very presence from when you first met him back in your teen years at jujutsu tech.

had you known you would fall such head over heels for him, you would’ve transferred to the sister school in kyoto but you were already in far too deep for your own good so you stayed.

stayed and watched as the days went by and the seasons changed and yet still, your feelings remained unchanged, unmoved. not even having eroded with the passage of time. you deemed yourself love sick for a man who did not, could not, love you.

satoru gojo had eyes on none but his best friend. be it platonically you r romantically, you didn’t know, but everyone knew they were inseparable. like yin and yang. one could not exist without eachother.

when the first petals fell from your mouth after a coughing fit, you shrugged it off as an after effect of fighting a peculiar curse. it was impossible to ignore them there on.

you were coughing wherever, whenever. petals of all colours escaping the crevices of your throat. after the fourth coughing attack, you’d went to the doctors and they’d diagnosed you with hanahaki.

there regrettable looks and pity glances has been too much and that night you’d went and searched it up. oh, how you regretted that now.

coughing over the toilet seat, you could feel something sharp scrape along the inside flesh of your throat sending a stabbing pain down and into your chest. you gagged on something you did not know, a few bloodied petals escaped your mouth throughout the long minutes you lay clutching the toilet.

after what felt like eternity, whatever had been clogging your throat passed through—

a flower.

not just petals. but stem and all.

it was covered in thorns that were covered in blood.

later that night, you coughed some more and the next day, you refused to get out of bed. refused to see any of your friends faces, nonetheless, satoru’s, for fear they would read everything on your face.

days, you stayed in your room. coughing up petals and flowers alike. you started to think you’d grown an entire garden in your stomach. you laughed at the thought as you lay on the cold ground of your room. a thin trail of blood trickled down your mouth and ironically all you could to think about was satoru.

of his white hair and his blue eyes. you twirled the freshest flower you coughed up. it’s bud was still unopened, but you could see through the blood that stained it that the petals were white as snow.

how funny. the one who would kill you was the one you loved the most. a tear fell down your cheek. you didn’t want to die. no, you couldn’t die. you still had so much to do, so much to live for, so much to achieve, to see, to meet. to love.

but you couldn’t stop your eyes from slowly falling closed or even the darkness that crept in through your peripherals but you swore you could hear the sounds of multiple feet running down the hallway. you would be gone before they ever got there.

© VAAMINS 24 do not copy, repost or plagiarise my work.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hiya!! I’m obsessed with your writing. You’re my favorite writer on here, I dream of your stories!

Would it be possible to request (either with Ghost or Price, I love them both equally) something like they were young love but he breaks up with reader cos he wants to keep her safe and thinks he knows what’s best for her. Then during a mission gone wrong, they need a safe house but somehow the enemy found out all the locations of their approved safe houses. He remembered her place is close by and tries his luck. Maybe she gets mad at him for making decisions for her or maybe he learns about her difficult past that happened without with. But with a happy ending? ☺️

Only if this inspires you! Thank you again for sharing your beautiful writings!

If You Bite My Hand Again

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: How dare he show his face to you after all of these years. How dare you still find it in yourself to love him.

WORDCOUNT: 6.6k

WARNINGS: Heavy angst, abandonment, arguments, mentions of death, blood, insinuations of torture & mental illness troubles, Simon's comic backstory, hurt/comfort, sort of suggestive?, anxiety attack, somewhat happy ending, etc.

A/N: This was really fun to write, lol, enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You never should have met him. In fact, it seemed like the universe had been adamant to make you not run into each other on that chilly October morning almost…well…it has to be more than thirteen years ago, now. So long. 

As you head to your kitchen and glance at the clock, the hands point to a perfect three-fifteen—an hour of pitch-blackness and whispering winds that dash past the musty glass of the windows. The thump of your footsteps blocks out the heaving sigh that falls from your mouth; rubbing at your eyes like a cat as great bags sag from tired flesh. 

The dreams weren’t uncommon. 

Simon still reigned supreme in the conjuring of them, ingrained into the sinews and pulled thin by a hand constantly working them—knitting a sweater of memories addled with age. Moth-eaten. 

As you snap on the light of your tiny and run-down kitchen, the bulb fizzing and the dishwasher still emitting that squeal as it always does, you think about him before grabbing a glass. Water hits and fills the thing up as your eyes blankly stare, fatigued but yet never more awake. 

The tremors in your hands persist.

You never should have met him.

—

Your feet take you to Primary, laces a mess atop your little shoes caked in mud and grass—you’d chased after a butterfly through the front yards, getting caught in your neighbor's bushes and having to slip your way out before she could rampage outside with her broom. 

It was no surprise that your face was lit with a bright smile, eyes shining like fire that your teachers had given you a special name for—“Ember.”

The very thing that could start a blaze over and over again as long as it still was alight.

Laughing and peeing out leaves from your hair; flattening out your uniform, you stride with pride ingrained into your body. Well, you did before you heard the soft sniffling coming from down the alley. 

Halting, your ears perk at the sounds, smile freezing as you blink quickly. Looking to your left, you lock onto the hunched figure of a boy. 

Perhaps only a year or two older than you, you stare in curiosity as he consciously paws at his cheeks, walking out of the alley in broken and odd strides. His uniform is ruffled, wrinkled, but not in the way yours was.

He must have fallen and hurt himself, you reason with a child-like frown pulling on your lips. Blinking at his blond hair, you get a glimpse of red-rimmed brown eyes.

The boy halts, looking at you widely, fear and pain emanating from his expression. You’re the first to speak, brightness still in your eyes but a deep innocence that comes with youth. All you saw was a boy your age in pain—that was strange to you. You knew what getting hurt was like; you fell and scraped your knees often, or hit your elbows on corners. Sometimes you would cry from that…did the same happen to this boy?

“You’re crying, aren’t you?” Brown-Eyes stares, hurriedly pushing at his face to wipe tears but only succeeds in making his face red from the material of his uniform. “Did you fall down? I do that pretty often—it’s okay, my Mum says you’ll be better after a hug and a kiss!”

You smile and stand straighter. 

“I,” the boy begins, sniffling. “I didn’t fall. I’m not clumsy.”

You tilt your head, confused. “Well…then why are you crying?” 

“That’s none of your business!” He snaps, brows pulled in as he comes forward on the sidewalk. Your face twists as you huff in annoyance. 

“My Mum says to treat everyone nicely. That wasn’t very nice.” 

“I don’t bloody care, do I,” you’re sent a scathing glance as he passes. “I didn’t ask for you to speak to me. Leave me alone.” 

Naturally, you follow after, cheeks gaining heat.

“You’re being mean! Apologize!” 

“Would you run off already?!” The boy shouts, and perhaps something fires in that small brain of yours—a thought and a semblance of self-realization at the shame that emits from his tone. A tight squeeze of vocal cords. 

He was ashamed. Ashamed you’d caught him. Seen him. 

Your feet slow back to a stop, watching him hurriedly continue on and hearing the quiet gasps of breath. After a moment, you grit your teeth and run the distance; seizing him around the middle in a hug of stubby fingers and tightly closed eyes.

The boy startles, body hardening and a cry escaping his lungs. “Get off of me!” He shouts, hands snapping down to yours and digging under your hold. 

“No!” You call, stubbornly. “My Mum says that hugs make everything better—”

“Stop talking about your Mum!” The boy stomps his foot to the ground, chubby cheeks turning crimson as he tilts his head back to look at you, tears still dripping off his chin. 

A stiff silence falls but like a green branch on a tree, Brown-Eyes’ form twitchingly loosens, his prying hands softening as you hold tight—digging your nose into his spine. He minutely flinches, but you only hug him more. 

You’re both late to the building, and your teachers are going to give you scoldings. But right now, on a chilled October morning, you hug this strange, crying boy and blink your fiery eyes up at him. 

After he relaxes fully and the sniffling stops, you let go and smile brightly again, looking up into his open expression of innocent confusion. Whatever had happened, he must have fallen pretty hard, you thought, pulling out another leaf from your hair. You giggle and hand it over as a gift. 

The boy hesitantly picks it up and looks at it before turning back to you. 

“Call me Ember.” 

A pause. A hesitation. But your eyes shimmer and he relents with the memory of the hug in the front of his mind. Such a strange encounter. 

He speaks, looking away from you with flushed cheeks, muttering out as his tear streaks dry.

“...Simon.”

You walk together the rest of the way.

The reality was, if you had gotten caught by your neighbor, had snatched that butterfly—had even stayed in those bushes for three more seconds, you would have missed him. And if Simon hadn’t run out of his home crying, he never would have locked onto the burning reality that was with you. 

—

You put the glass to your chapped lips and take a long sip, throat bobbing as you take down the liquid with tears burning your eyes. Blinking rapidly, you swipe at the water at the sides of your mouth and shake your head, sighing. 

“Why can’t you leave me alone?” Your voice bounces off the walls, peeling paint and moving the dust stuck atop the fridge. “Damnit, Simon.” 

Today was worse than the others—everything building and stacking like some castle of misery and pain; windows too narrow to let in any light and your form stuck in shadows longer than an endless rope. There were just so many things that suffocated you now. 

And in the endless nights, the brain desperately looks for comfort. 

You hate that it only comes from the memories of him. 

“I have to go to work tomorrow.” Your subconscious reminds you as you blankly stare out the window above the sink, seeing the streetlights and the cone of warm light—it flickers every so often, a blinking taking place like the eye of a large, brutish, wolf. 

Work, then the grocery store, then back home to eat a tasteless dinner and fall back to sleep. An empty house with empty walls and empty memories. 

Your hands put the glass in the sink, coming back up to rub and dig into your eyes until the itch behind your flesh stops. A thump of a low pulse is felt in the thin skin, orbs of your optics moving before you pinch into the bridge of your nose and drop them with a slap of a hand to the counter. A harsh breath exits your mouth, but it’s quickly strangled away into a sound of ragged shock. 

Outside, under the light, the silhouette of a man leans heavily on the pole, feet shaking under him and face pressed into the shadows as his shoulders heave. You stare, wide-eyed, as your heart jumps to a rapid pace. 

“What the fuck?” Your mouth utters, watching the man push off the light and stagger with a heavy limp and a jerking body of immense stature. Whoever this guy was, he was out of his mind—and coming right for your front door. You startle to go and secure it, feet slapping the ground and face twisted. 

“What the fuck?!” Gasping, you re-check your locks and frantically look for something else—the stool where you place your keys meets your eyes. You grab it and place it as a barrier to the handle, tilting it on two legs and blinking quickly as whatever sleep-sheen that had been in your gaze leaves in one swoop of adrenaline.

Grunting wafts in from under the door, haggard inhales and a sudden slam of a body hitting the door. You stifle a scream and back up quick steps, slapping your hands to your mouth.

Sure, you might live in a shitty neighborhood, but no one had ever tried to just straight-up break in high or drunk off something. Your mind slashes to the knives in the kitchen drawer as the wall shakes again—something sliding down to the ground and a grunted whine. 

Just before you run off, you hear it. An utterance; a disruption of airwaves. A whisper, a plea. Your brain ceases to function with one foot back the way you came, hand on the frame with the knuckles tight. 

In one instance it all comes to a screeching halt. 

“Ember…” 

Who called you that anymore? The rare instance where you’d meet your classmates in the world they would mutter it; also be asked a few questions before they went on with their lives. You pause in your panic, slowly gazing back at the barrier and the stool like you’d just discovered you’re under the sights of a sniper. 

There’s a sliver of something that inserts itself into your brain. Fear or hope, you can’t tell. But that can’t be right. 

He left. 

“Ember!” You flinch, the deep Manchester accent grating your heart into shreds. No. “It’s me!” He says, followed by a horribly gritty cough. 

There’s a weak thump against the door, mumbled curses, and growls as if a wild animal mimicking human speech. You almost wished for that, considering you now knew the exact person behind the door down to his atoms. The brown of his eyes and the way his cheeks looked as they were stained with tears. 

His laugh. Simon’s voice. Everything.

Simon.

You’re rushing to rip the stool away with a clatter and a jerk as it hits the far wall, undoing the locks with shaking hands as you grasp the handle and wrench it sideways. 

His form slams to your feet with a loud grunt as the door hits the wall. 

“Fuckin’ hell! Mind your bloody—!” Whatever he said was lost to you as you stare at the bloodied form of the man you had thought you’d seen the last of. Tactical gear, terrifying skull mask, black on black with weapons galore. But that voice told you all you needed to know.

Simon Riley is alive and very much breathing. 

The same boy you still loved. 

The same boy who’d broken your heart.

—

After October the years with Simon seemed to strengthen. You always walked together in the mornings—or, at least, you always waited for him. The dawn of your friendship strengthened and hardened to an unbreakable amount of mid-day rays; vast and sunny. 

When he was sixteen he asked you to be his girlfriend, hand in his pockets and ache on his chin as he grunted out broken sentences. Stuttering and awkward. You’d smiled with your bright eyes and giggled before kissing his cheek—feeling his sigh and him melting into you with a grin of his own, unable to meet your eyes for a moment. 

Later, when he said he’d wanted to leave his apprenticeship at the grocery’s butcher shop and join the Special Air Service, you’d been along for the ride—anything to get him away from his father and brother. You knew what was going on, even if he was still so hesitant to allow you any glimpse of his home life.

When he’d shy away at the Halloween decorations of skeletons as if the skull would jump off the page and tense at loud cheering, you knew. You did what you could, but there was only so much for you to suggest or say without him shutting down. 

When you’d offered your flat as a safe space after graduation, desperate to help your Lover, he’d stared and blinked in shock; tilting his head at you before smiling softly and taking you into a hug. Wherever he went, he knew he’d always have a place by your side.

So, throughout his leaves of absence from the military, he’d come home to you—bruised and tired, but still the same Simon you fell in love with. You’d cook for him, tease at his shaved hair as he gave you those puppy-dog eyes, and talked him through your classes at University.

You would fall asleep on his chest, feeling the hard strength he was gaining and the way he held you tighter than he ever had; conscious of himself but not wanting to part with you. 

The love the both of you had was akin to a blaze of fire, and you often found Simon simply staring into your eyes in times like those—watching silently and rubbing his thumb along your spine until your face burned. 

He was always so gentle despite everything; you loved his perseverance, his drive to be good despite nearly every factor telling him he couldn’t be. Slowly but surely, he was forging his own life. 

In 2003 he managed to take a break from the military to get his family straightened out. His brother, Tommy, went to rehab—Simon stayed with his mother and a year later he kicked his father to the curb and out of his and his family's life entirely. Finally free. 

You managed to meet his lovely mum, still so bright, and even interacted with Tommy once he got out; went to the younger brother’s wedding in ‘06 and met Beth, his wife. When you saw Simon’s mother and the way she carried herself, you knew where your Love got his pride from. The two were so alike it was a sight to see. 

While it may not have been conventional by any standard, Simon proposed to you in the back garden of Tommy’s cheap wedding venue. Alone, so as not to cause a scene. Willow trees and a small stream of water. Fireflies. The words ring in your soul with every waking moment, and they will stay there until it all goes silent with the grip of death.

He didn’t want to use his mum’s ring—the one that holds so many bad memories for both parties. He’d used the gold from it though. Went to a man who bled him dry for money to have it re-cast. 

It was simple. A small, glinting, ruby pressed in the middle. 

“It was always goin’ to be you, Ember, yeah?” he’d muttered in his deeper voice, formal attire holding you both tight. “So…don’t make me beg too much, Sweetheart. You know the old lady’ll kill me if I get stains on my suit.” 

“Beg?” You responded, tears in your eyes but such a wide grin on your lips. The stars above you twinkle like the pupils of your eyes—the same burn still trapped. “Oh, Simon, come on, now.” He connects his forehead to yours, hand still in the middle of you and presenting the accumulation of all of his love. The other wraps your waist. 

He was shaking slightly. 

“I would never make you beg for my love, Brown-Eyes.”

You both share a breathless chuckle and lock lips, smiling like fools as he sighs into you. 

In a happy world, that would have been the beginning of a perfect life. A happy house. A happy wedding. Happy deaths. 

But something went wrong on one of his deployments. 

Missing for months, he came back…wrong. With a fiery temper and sharp snapping words—wounds on the outside as well as inside. His eyes were feral, like a dog held back by a broken chain carting around its feet. 

Simon never spoke about it—the missing days. The weeks. The months. 

You broke yourself over it, trying to help but not knowing what would make it better. Some days there were flickers of soft expressions, but it was as if he were dragging himself up from a pool so deep it was bottomless to show them to you. Simon rarely smiled. He rarely sent an affectionate glance. 

He didn’t let you touch him. 

And then he called the entire engagement off with a letter on your counter only holding four words. 

‘Don’t look for me.’ 

And then Simon’s mum, Tommy, Beth, and his nephew had all died. Been killed. And you were just supposed to move on? Live with that? There were times when you had breakdowns so bad you couldn't leave the house for days—the house that Simon and you had bought together. 

All of those years. 

All those vows and shared nights.

And he disappeared on you.

—

You have him sitting on the couch, watching silently from the chair across the room as he finishes wrapping his leg with the bandages from the first-aid kit you’d provided. 

More like chucked at his gut.

No one had said a word, and the air was as tense as a noose—choking any oxygen that traveled into your throat. Simon was getting blood all over your flat cushions, the crimson saturating the fabric as you sit rail-rod straight, hand clenched on your thighs. 

Simon’s avoiding your eyes.

“Take off the mask,” you hiss, pupils slits. If he wasn’t going to address it, then you were. Simon freezes, not breathing as his hands fall stationary around the bandages. 

“I’ll be fine in a while—”

“Take off your fucking mask, Simon.” You can’t help the way you snap, face burning with shame and hate. How dare he show up now, after all of these years of mourning him and the relationship you’d built as kids. Simon wasn’t just your boyfriend—your fiancé—he was your best friend. 

And all he’d done was left you a four-fucking-letter note before leaving you behind.

The geared man sighs silently, and you see his shoulders sag. His grip travels up as he straightens his spine in a fluid motion, pain medication working through him in waves of numbness. 

His brown eyes bore through you as if he were a ghost. Under the fabric, his mouth thins. “Ma’am.” 

Even his voice is older. More dead. How could this be your Simon?

Your heart bruises your ribcage as he grasps the top of his skeletal mask, gloved fingers peeling back the sown layers until you get the full image of a man more damaged than before. You have to stop yourself from sobbing right then and there; your throat going dry.

So many scars. Milky white and spread vastly—they weren’t pretty. Up his cheeks, down his brow line; even at the corner of his mouth and seeping down his neck. A crooked nose with damaged cartilage. Strangling a gasp, it comes out as a great expelling of horror, eyes going wide with shock. 

You hate how you want to rush to him, take his face in your hands, and try to brush them away as if marks on paper. But you don’t make any such movements beyond a hunch of your shoulders. 

“Not pretty, eh? Guess I should’ve warned you.” Simon rubs at his forehead, blond locks, hanging around his temple, and the black of face-paint stuck in his sockets. “Didn’t mean to fuckin’ drop in like this, Ember. Bloody bastard thing for me to do.” 

You flinch at the name, looking away as you’d been peeling back his skin with your eyes. “What are you doing here, Simon?” Anyone with a brain could hear the cracking hardness in your words. Face blank. 

He studies your features, taking in the changes and the bleakness of your expression. Brows furrow slightly before they go back to a state of nothingness. Simon glances around the room, finding the condition of things concerning but doesn’t show it. 

“Nothin’ you need to worry about comin’ back to you, Sweetheart. Just work.”

“It is when the bastard who abandoned me shows up years later, bloody on my doorstep. Stop acting so self-righteous,” you growl, snapping, “I should toss your arse outside and let them have you. And don’t fucking call me that.”

Silence descends, and your words echo. It’s like now that he was here everything hurt ten times more than when he wasn’t. 

“I never wanted us to end up like we did—”

“Bullshit!” You’re on your feet and stalking to him, pointing with your finger as he hurriedly stands up as well and looks down in shock as you press your digit into his bulky vest. “You shut your mouth, Simon Riley, and you let me explain something to you.” 

He keeps silent, mouth parted and scars shifting around his stubble. His hands slightly held out at his sides and hovering over your hips—not touching you but there just in case. Simon’s brown ords are carefully widened at your tight exclamation. The sound of his clearing throat enters the living room before you speak again. 

“I waited for you, hoped and prayed that you would show me at least a,” your throat bunches, but you push through. “A modicum of respect and show your stubborn self up at my door with apology flowers and a guilty smile on your lips. You know who took care of your family's burial plots, you fucking piece of shit,” his eyes flinch closed a bit, turning his head down as his breath hitches. “Me! You fucking disappeared!”

You know you shouldn’t be yelling, shouldn’t be pounding on his chest with a fist as if he was a door and you the knocker, but, dammit, it’s been years and he just shows up? Like this? Ten times the size he was—scarred and torn to shreds; laced with muscles and an expression of vacancy. Simon holds to your words, hanging off of them with a down-ward turned chin and eyes that lock with yours through pale lashes. 

“Maybe I-I did, o…or pushed some things that I shouldn’t have,” you hold back your tears, but your voice still wavers, tapering off like a line without a hook, “but I didn’t deserve that, Simon.” The first traitorous sob breaks through. “I didn’t deserve that.”

His eyes shatter into a myriad of kaleidoscope bits and pieces, brows flicking from one point on your face to another in quick slashes of guilt. But he still doesn’t touch you. Not until you tell him it’s what you want.

Simon opens his mouth but closes it just as quickly, unable to find any words that would even matter. You let your tears slip down your cheeks, dribbling off your chin. The man’s chest hurts, pulse thumping to mirror yours. 

“I waited for you and you broke me,” you whisper, mouth twisting with odium towards the man under your fist. “I wanted a life with you, Simon, no matter the trials.”

“I didn’t mean to…” The man trails off, clenching his jaw. You scoff, backing up a step and pressing your palms into your eyes. 

“But you did.”

“I had to keep you safe, Ember.” Simon’s fingers twitch outward, eyes frantically moving around as you sniffle and shakily walk away to the kitchen. He follows, desperately on your heels as your spine bows forward with resounding cries of anguish. “I...I wasn’t right in the head, I need you to understand I didn’t want this! I never wanted to fucking hurt you!” 

Your hand connects with the junk drawer, tearing it open and digging a hand inside as he pleads with you to listen. 

“If I didn’t leave I was worried I’d do something—!”

“Then you should have trusted me!” Your hands rip out the ring held on a small leather strap. The ruby glints where it always sits, held in tarnished gold. You chuck it at his chest and suck down breaths so you don’t pass out. “I would have listened! Gotten you help! We don’t abandon the ones we love, Simon! Not us!” 

Simon catches the object by slapping a hand to his chest, pinky finger latching through the leather cord before he jerks his limb back up. When he looks at the ring, he goes utterly still, gazing back up at you slowly. 

“We were supposed to be different,” you sob, trapping it behind your hands. He’s shaking, brows tight and lines along his face as he brings a free hand to run through his locks, gripping the strands for a moment and pulling. “Simon,” you say again, and he looks back at you with glossy eyes. “We were supposed to be better.”

“What did I do to you to deserve that,” he stares, his jaw is loose and he can’t stop clenching and unclenching it. You can see his heart working through his breast. Bloodied. Beaten by fists and slashed with knives. “What did I do to you?”

“Nothing,” he gasps, taking a step forward. “Fuck, Ember, you didn’t bloody do anything to me besides love me.” 

You sputter out, “Then why did you leave me here alone?” Your knees buckle and he darts forward, catching you under the arms as you wail out, shoving on his waist, “You never should have come back. Never should have come back.” 

He lets you push him off; lets you back up to the counter as Simon tilts his head higher to stave off the tears in the sides of his eyes. He’d known coming here was a bad idea, for lack of a better word, but after the Op went bad and all of his safe houses were compromised, he didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t to say he didn’t regret his actions in the past with you, or that he didn’t punish himself for them, yet at the time it was the only thing he could do to give him the sense that you would be better without him. Safe. 

After everything that had happened, he wasn’t in the right state of mind anymore. You deserved so much better. But hearing all of this…

Christ, could he have been wrong? Everything blurred; hurt. Hearing your sobs was like a knife to his heart every time, digging and cutting with serrated edges at the veins and pumping muscle, carving away flesh to shed the pounding redness to light. You held that heart in your hand and in his he held the ring—the ring he’d given to you as a promise of love and honor. 

A pact of loyalty. 

Simon doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the blurring edges of his vision make itself known. His eyes bore harshly, prodding into you as he makes known what he’s been broken since he first locked gazes with you again. The man’s voice shakes, accent deep and tight.

He asks the first thing that comes to his head.

“What happened to your eyes?”

“What?” You ask, incredulously, brows furrowed as your hand digs into the counter to keep you upright. Simon stares deeper, the sides of his eyelids wrinkling with a not-so-hidden sheen of great concern. Unbearable pain.

“What happened to your bloody eyes?” Where had the spark gone? That flare that grew and spread like fire that was the entire purpose behind your name. An unconquerable ache for life. 

You only watch him with a parted mouth and tear-stained lashes, sniffling. Simon tries again, taking a step forward on unsteady feet. 

“Please, Sweetheart, d…don’t, don’t…” He can’t finish, the leather cord intertwined into his fingers as he comes closer. “Don’t tell me I took it away. Not my Ember. Not my Girl’s fire.”

Your eyes are so overflowed you can’t even see him as he hovers over you, fingers coming up to brush your cheeks as his mouth is open in hard pants of breath. “No, no, no. Fuckin’ bastard, not me. Not over me, please.” It’s like Simon’s not even talking to you but rather himself. 

He mutters in fast sentences, eyes panicked. “You were supposed to be better off—‘posed to move on. Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you find someone else?” 

“You’re an idiot, Simon. An idiot,” you sag into his neck, nose digging into his pulse as he quivers, legs having to reset themselves. His heat melts into you as your body gives out with a final sob, “It was always going to be you.”

His arms snap around you like a vise, dragging you into him as he breaks and stifles his whimper on your scalp, breathing right by your ear; gasping for breath. 

“M’sorry,” he mutters, so silent below his sniveling stutters, “M’so sorry, Sweetheart. This is all my fucking fault.” 

You shake into his chest, face nuzzling and desperate to smell his scent again—tired from all the yelling and fighting. It was still late, you still needed to go to work tomorrow…but Simon. 

Oh, Simon. How could he be so…him?

Your sobs are quieter than his, tiny cries that make the man’s arms tighten around you every time. Hands coming up, you can’t stop the way you want to hold him; how you wish to keep him close to you and push him away all at once. How dare he? 

How dare he still make you love him after all he’d put you through? 

Simon sags to the floor with you in his hold, head bowed and trying to gasp down his vulnerability as tears stain your shoulder. It’s as if the realization that he’d made a mistake had broken him back down to when he was young, past hatred of messing up infesting his brain like maggots. A fear of it, even. 

The man presses quick, panicked kisses to your neck as his breath hitches every other second, rocking you back and forth. 

“Didn’t mean to do it,” Simon utters. “Didn’t mean for it to hurt you—” 

He breaks off and you realize that despite the years Simon’s mind was still very much fragile when it came to home life. You blink and take a deep breath, unable to get out of his unrelenting grip. 

Your hand travels up to find the back of his head, spreading through his hair and massaging his flesh. When things got bad you used to do this with him. Give the man something to focus on so he could pass through his hysteria quicker.

Simon’s ribcage bangs against yours, nearly hyperventilating with how he’s trying to hide his small grunts and whines.

“Simon,” you clear your throat, trying to calm yourself down as seriousness sets in your tone. “Simon, breathe.” 

Your ears twitch, noticing him listen to you as he takes down a long gasp of air and breathes out in puffs on your neck—hot and humid. 

“Ember…”

“Shh,” interrupting, you shush him in tiny whispers, still rubbing at his head. “Brown-Eyes, just sit here, okay?” You feel a jerky nod, his fingers squeezing your flesh off and on as he mimics your own lung pattern. 

It’s a few minutes before he goes completely still again, and you feel the burn of shame from his face in your clutch. The relationship was strained—or whatever you could call this—but you never wanted to see him in pain. Never.  

You knew he was better when he sighs deeply, completely going limp in your arms; great weight leaning into you as you lean back to the cabinets to help with the pure might of his physique. With a slow hand, you un-velcro his vest and his gear, letting it hit the floor with dull thumps and clatters. 

He doesn’t protest, doesn’t move to help or hinder. You would give anything to know what he was thinking. 

“M’sorry,” Simon whispers and you respond accordingly, softly.

“You’ve already said that, Love.” He grunts, taking in a long, deep breath. 

“Need you t’know it.” 

“...I do.”

“Okay.” You close your eyes and stave off your anger at everything happening right now. While it would feel better to yell at him until dawn, what would that even achieve? Everything had needed to be said, had been. And you’d never felt lighter than at this moment. 

You knock your head against him, the both of you panting for breath and hands vibrating with leaving adrenaline. Sweaty and twitchy. 

“You never should have done that, Simon.” Whispering, you sigh. “I needed you. I needed you here. With me.” He stays still, but you feel his lips press deeper into your pulse. You’re practically in his lap, back to the woodgrain. 

In a moment of weakness, or pure longing, you pull his head back and situate your hands at his cheeks, looking over his scars and his broken skin as he lets you move him how you wish. His half-lidded, red, eyes stare—grip around you not letting up. 

Simon doesn’t speak as, unprompted, you kiss the shattered bridge of his nose; you only feel the fluttering of his lashes as they tickle your cheeks. 

“I was scared of myself.” He mutters. “After they died…” His family. “I didn’t want to put you in danger, Ember. Not you.”

“We would have figured it out, Simon. You know that, deep down, you do.” Brown eyes find yours as you tilt his head. 

“You sure?” He asks, desperate for an answer even though he doesn’t know himself. 

Thumbs run up and down his stubble. Your face creases, “...I don’t know. But we could have tried.” 

Simon’s eyes close tightly, and his face tilts to press his lips to your palm, quivering breath exhaled with the strength of an open balloon. Your ring was still stuck in his digging grip, and it was never going to leave for the rest of the night. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, gravely voice lax. 

Studying him now, in this light, knowing he was so afraid of what he might do if he got into an episode, you were stabbed with agony in your heart. To be that afraid of yourself to that magnitude was nearly unimaginable to you.

Nearly. 

“What now?” You ask lowly, the last remnants of tears drying as Simon opens his eyes slowly, looking back at you. 

“Don’t know.” He admits. “I have to leave.”

“I have work tomorrow,” you relate. Your teeth find your lip, biting it. 

A small awkward chokehold captures the both of you. The reality was that both of you were akin to strangers again—such was the curse of lost years and trials you’d faced along the way. 

Brown-Eyes and Ember were dead, yet you still called their names like phantoms of sleek black fabric and chained recollections of a boy with red cheeks and a girl with muddy shoes. The walks to school were there, the dates, and the late nights spent in good company. Touches to skin and open-mouthed kisses. Fireflies that whizzed and the glinting of gold as wind ran through the willows.

Dark corruption stained the faint idea of happiness; of a good world. This was not reality. It was some joke of an existence. 

If life were fair, Simon Riley would have never grown up in that house—his father wouldn’t have latched onto his brother and done dark deeds to wrap the little brown-eyed boy in red tissue paper and barbed wire. A present and sheen of mild sociopathy; separation of any pain or torment. A fighting boy. A boy born with blood on his hands and stuck behind his eyes every time he swung a fist. 

It was a curse to love him. And it was a curse that burned your soul with his very name. 

“Are you going to go?” You ask, eyes blank but yearning for what little comfort you can grab. It had been so long.  Simon blinks, his head still in your hands; body not moving.

He knows he should. He isn’t sure if there’s anything left for him here or not. 

Simon connects his head to yours and you still. “Do you want me to?” 

“Do you love me?” You blurt, blinking at him and confused. Simon’s lips part. “Or if you walk out that door do I plan on never seeing you again?” 

You're about to open your mouth and continue before his own slots perfectly against it.

You gasp lightly, taken aback but in no way opposed. He still felt exactly the same, flesh still tasting metallic and tinged with violence down to his DNA; raised with survival instincts as his greatest ally. Until you. 

With you survival became secondary. 

Your hands go to card through his hair, latching and lightly pulling as Simon’s body shivers; growling against your lips in a dance of heated flesh and damp cheeks. Hearts hammer with the restraint of years. 

“I would never make you beg for my love,” he murmurs between lapsing passes of his mouth, open kisses and dark glances. “Tell me where you want me to be.”

You whimper against him and he goes back in, pressing the base of your skull to the cabinet as hands grip and slide, kneading your skin. 

“Tell me,” Simon whispers. Pleads through grunts. “Ember, tell me.”

“Here,” you admit brokenly, pulling him closer to you as you’re lifted and placed on the countertop. “I need you here, Simon. I need you with me.” 

Fingers capture your chin, keeping your head angled up as your eyes beg. Lips bush with every word, gazes wild as if two leopards locking jaws over a kill. 

“Fight to get me back.” Brown sparks with purpose, a small puff of air hitting your mouth as eyes darken over. In this moment, you do not know if you’re dying or living. “Make it right.”

“Affirmative.” Simon moves his head back, taking your ring and looping the cord around his neck, he keeps it there as you watch, breathless. Your face creases with question. The man’s lips flicker when he sees this, coming back and grasping your hips as you instinctually latch to his waist. 

“I’ll give it back when I’ve earned the right for you to be called mine again. Seems I have work to do, Sweetheart.” He kisses you once more, firm and true. “First, I’ll ‘ave to figure out if my Girl can get her spark back, yeah? I’ve proper gone and fucked it up.” 

That night you lay in the heap of limbs and sheets that couple the both of you together. In the morning the questions would start, and Simon knew you’d take nothing short of the truth. 

And he’d give you it. All of it. 

Because Simon Riley knows well enough that you don’t go and bite the hand that feeds twice. Certainly not when it was you. Certainly not when it offers a love he would never hope to find again, in this life or the next.

So you keep the other close and sag into a deep slumber, not to wake for a long, long time. 

And you’d both never slept better

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[bandgie]

Who Dun It?

mystery!skzmember x fem!reader

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

warnings: MDNI 18+, dubious, finger fucking, intox implied, ruined orgasm, public fingering

780 words

It shouldn't feel good, but it does.

His chest is flushed against your back, making the room even hotter. You could blame the amount of people drunk and piling up, but it wouldn't be true. You like how his hands roam your body, how he gropes and squeezes your flesh. 

He has big hands, that's one thing for sure. This unknown man can fill his hands with your breasts, pressing them against your chest and jiggling the fat. His fingers find your pebbled nipples underneath the thin material of your top. 

Each tug makes you moan, each twist makes you throw your head back to his shoulder. You rub your legs together to get any sort of friction, but the man beats you to it.

His slender fingers make their way past your short skirt, under your panties to feel your sopping cunt. 

"Wet already huh?" His voice is like velvet in your ears. "I barely even touched you." You can hear a smirk in his words. "Or maybe you like being touched by a stranger. Do you like it?"

You nod frantically, trying to swivel your hips so his fingers brush against your clit. "Yes," it's a breathy answer. "I like it."

He leans down to your ear, lips ghosting over the shell. "Then spread your legs for me."

So you do, as much as you can at least with the crowded room. You moan when his fingers slide against your slit, gathering and spreading your slick. When he reaches your clit, he rubs it in hard circles. The pressure makes you yelp, hips shying away instinctively at the rough touch.

His other hand steadies at your waist so you can't wiggle too much. He grips you a little tighter when he finally sinks one of his fingers in your warmth. The moan you let out is crude, but the college students surrounding you two hardly seem to care. Their lack of attention is an encouragement to rock your hips against him.

The man, who you think you might fall in love with tonight, pumps his digit in you at a steady pace. You swear you can hear the perverted sound your cunt makes even through the music, but it only spurs you more.

His palm slides over your exposed flesh while he finger fucks you, never letting you forget how easily you opened for him. "Gonna cum on my finger huh?" He groans in your ear. "Dirty girl, don't even know who I am."

You don't, and you don't care. "Faster. Ngh~ you're so good,"

He moans in your ear at that, opting to not only go faster but to add an extra finger. It feels as though just two of his digits are a cock in you, hitting you deep and stretching you wide. You want so desperately to turn around and see who's touching you, but you like the mystery. You like that twinging sense of the unknown as the stranger brings you closer to completion.

With your clit being slapped consistently and your cervix being prodded, you can feel your legs trembling from your soon orgasm. It makes you scramble to find purchase on the man's thighs, on the wrist that's disappeared under your skirt. He lets you reach back and tug on his hair. 

His long hair, you note.

"Holy shit," you breathe. "I'm gonna cum. Cum, cum I'm gonna cum!"

He picks up his pace. He shoves his fingers so deep and fast you know everyone can hear it. Your toes curl, your eyes roll, your-

"COPS!" Someone shouts. "COPS!"

People around you begin to push one another, scrabbling to leave the apartment that's overly filled with smoke and spilled booze. They effectively shove the man away from you, tearing his fingers from your heat that makes you cry out in such desperation. 

More people hit your shoulders, some scream with laughter while running. 

You turn your head around, hopeful to find the man in eyesight. But all you see are the back of heads, then your friend's face amidst the chaos making her way to you. 

"We need to leave. Now."

She yanks you by the wrist, not commenting on the arousal dripping down your thighs or how your skirt is drenched in the front. 

Never in life have you been more frustrated, more distraught. Being dragged away while all you can remember is how well he finger fucked you, how beautiful his fingers looked and felt. His voice, his breath on your skin. And never in your life have you been filled with such determination. You'll find this man. Have him finish what he started. 

With new vigor, you head home.

a/n: can you guess who the mystery man is?? and im thinking about making a part 2 but I wanna see how this performs first lmao.

[iliketangerines]

hi I love your stuff can I ask a Bi-Han x guardian angel reader smut where the reader is training and they look so hot training and Bi-Han is trying to hold back not to fuck them right there and now but once they go back to there bedroom Bi-Han just pushes them on the bed and just fuck them and btw this is my first ask and I was a little shy asking you this

sweat and tears

a/n: lol i remember being nervous the first time i ever requested something too

pairing: bi han x gn!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), nipple play

Bi Han was going to kill you, he swear to god he was, because right now you’ve shed the outermost layer robe of your outfit, leaving you only in a thin t shirt

he can see your nipples through the thin shirt as you train, guiding the trainees through the practice set, and his hands are itching to get themselves on you

for now, he presses his icy hands to his face to cool himself off as he watches you sweat underneath the blazing sun, and he looks down to the floorboards to try and control himself

you jog on over as the trainees leave for dinner, and you pant into the air, smiling at him as he continues to release his frustrations onto the practice dummy, nearly tearing it apart

laughing at his anger, you slap him on the back and ask what’s wrong, and Bi Han turns to you slowly, pupils blown wide as he stares at the sweat droplets tracing the outline of your muscle and the curve of your body, soaking your shirt

your shirt sticks to you in just the right places, and Bi Han’s mouth goes dry as he looks at your sweaty neck, glistening in the setting sun

he grabs onto your wrist with a cold hand and walks with you in tow, and you follow, confused by your husband’s strange behavior

as your bedroom comes into sight, you let out a confused sound, but before you can even ask a question, Bi Han slams the door open and practically throws you inside

sliding the door shut, you ask what’s got him so worked up, and he whips around and stalks to you, footsteps heavy on the wooden flooring as his chilled breath billows out of his nose

you let out a nervous laugh and take a step backwards, falling onto the bed, and Bi Han crowds around you, crushing his weight into you as his lips crash onto yours

a moan leaves his throat as his hands finally trace your body, squeezing at the strong muscle and at your chest that had been teasing him all day

his chilled hands cause a shiver to run through you, but you welcome the kiss all the same, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in closer

he parts from your lips, looking at your dazed eyes and the light sheen of sweat covering your neck, and Bi Han can’t help himself as he moves his mouth lower to kiss hickeys into your skin

you sigh and ask what’s got him so worked up, and he grunts, knowing that you know exactly what had worked him up so much the second his hands had attacked your chest

they still knead at the soft flesh, your chest relaxed and soft as you let him grope at you and kiss hickeys into your skin

your fingers undo the bun in his hair, and you run your fingers through the locks, sighing at its softness and its thickness

he hums into your neck and sinks his teeth into the sensitive flesh to make you yelp and groan, and he drinks in the small sounds that you make

the contact isn’t enough, he needs to be touching your skin, and Bi Han pulls away for just a moment, just long enough to rip your shirt from your body and leave it in tatters

you gasp at the feeling and stare up at him with indignation, complaining that that was a nice shirt, and Bi Han rolls his eyes, saying that he was the grandmaster and he could get you another one if you so wished

ignoring the rest of your complaints his hands come down onto your chest, pinching at your nipples and and rolling them between his thumb and pointer fingers

the stimulation makes your voice warble and unsure as you heat up out of embarrassment or arousal, or maybe both

Bi Han moves his head down to latch his lips onto one of your nipples, his other hand continually teasing the other, and his tongue laves over the pert bud

it’s almost like heaven in his mouth as he listens to your soft moans and sighs as he bites and runs his tongue over the bud over and over again

he grinds his hips into the mattress, groaning at the friction on his cock, and he nearly loses focus on the task at hand as he grinds against the sheets

but then your hands grip onto his hair, lightly tugging at the locks and bringing hims back to you and your soft chest

Bi Han groans at the feeling and flicks his tongue against your nipple, pinching at your other with an icy hand, and it makes you shiver and groan

your hips buck up into him, and he has to restrain himself from cumming in his pants at the friction, biting into the soft flesh of your chest instead

a loud yelp comes out from you as you grip onto his hair tightly, and he can’t help himself as he moans loudly, grinding his cock further into his pants as he cums anyway

it would be more embarrassing if Bi Han actually cared about cumming so quickly in his pants just from teasing and tasting you

more or less, he just wanted to cum on you, watch it drip onto your skin and claim you as his, but he supposed he could always just do that later

he rocks his hips back and forth slowly as he rides out his orgasm, and you look down at him and pet his hair, letting him come down from his high

you let your head fall back onto the pillows and let out a strangled sound as Bi Han moves onto the other nipple and lavishes it with attention

your voice is strained when you say that you thought that he was done, and Bi Han momentarily disconnects from your sweet skin to tell you he wasn’t done

he wasn’t done until he’s tasted every part of your body, and with that, his mouth delves back onto your chest, ready to tease and torture you for the rest of the night

[melancholyhigh]

mother do u think u can do subby leon with a lactation kink? or dom leon. (re4 him is so daddy)

masterlist.

note. thank you sm for the request anon <33 there's def a lack of dom leon on my blog. i haven't written a dom character in a while so i'm sorry if i'm rusty ;(

content. nsfw. 0.7k words. dom!leon, p in v, sleepy & soft sex, fingering, squirting, creampie.

It takes a few kisses shared between Leon, and you’re already soaking through your panties. It’s humiliating as you whimper into his mouth, his soft lip pressed to yours.

In your defense, you’re fucking tired. Leon couldn’t sleep, and even though he didn’t want to disturb you from your peaceful slumber, what kind of lover would you be if you didn’t try to help? You didn’t know it, but your warmth presented with so much comfort you would never understand. 

Even on nights like these, where he couldn’t rest, the slow, sensual kisses he left on your pouty lips were enough to calm his worries. 

Running your fingers through his soft hair, you moan quietly, subconsciously grinding onto him. Leon groans at the feeling of your clothed cunt, drenched, sliding along his muscular thigh. He adores the ways you respond to his touch. Your hardened nipples, peaking through your thin shirt and the shy whimpers you let slip.

It wasn’t his intention to get you so worked up, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy you whining his name, pleading for his touch. His calloused palms squeeze the supple flesh of your waist, bringing you closer to his warm body. He continues to tease kisses down your neck, nipping the sensitive flesh. 

He wants to hear you beg for him. Beg for him to please you like no one else can. He wants to admire you as you fall apart, writhing on the sheets and crying out for him.

Your eyelids are heavy, and the building pleasure in your core makes it nearly impossible to doze off. You nuzzle your face into the crook of Leon’s neck, your nails grazing his scalp to the back of his neck.

“Leon, please,” you mumble deliriously, your words dragging out. Leon slips his hand into your panties, using his deft fingers to collect your arousal before pressing on your pulsing clit. You moan breathlessly, your teeth digging into your bottom lip, attempting to conceal your loud whines. You didn’t want another noise complaint.

“This pussy’s so needy f’me, angel,” he whispers, his breath tickling your ear. His ring and middle finger enter your hole and slowly thrusts into your cunt. Your pussy flutters around him as he rubs your sensitive nub with his thumb. His hardening dick is pushed to your plush thigh as he plays with your drooling cunt.

A hitch in your breath indicates you’re nearing your climax, but Leon ceases his fingers in your cunt. You’re dazed, your eyes glazed over, overwhelmed at the sudden loss of pleasure. You rock your hips, fucking yourself on his thick fingers, and Leon chuckles at the sight.

“Want you to cum on my cock, sweetheart,” he says, and you scoff tiredly at his words. He shifts his position on his bed between your thighs. He marvels at the wet spot on your panties before pushing them aside, exposing your leaking pussy to his eyes. 

He moves his basketball shorts down, exposing his fully erect dick, dripping with pre. The head of his cock bumps your throbbing clit as he glides it along your slick folds. He groans as he pushes himself into your tight cunt, your warm walls fluttering around his fat cock.

He begins to thrust into you, his hips moving back and forth, your arousal dripping down, coating the inside of your thighs. Moaning when you clench around him, he fucks you quickly and steady. You’ve done so much for him. The least he can do is make you cum. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, trying to keep your eyes open as he splits you with his cock. He’s so deep that you can feel each vein of his shaft. Broken and shaky moans escape your bruised lips and your back arching off the silken sheets.

“Leon!” you cry loudly, thighs twitching and tears welling up in your eyes.

You come undone, clamping tightly around his cock and your pussy spurting a clear liquid, gushing onto the mattress and his flushed skin. He leans down, kissing you deeply and passionately as he finishes inside you with a loud groan. 

Slipping out of you, he admires his and your combined fluids as they leak out of your overly sensitive cunt. He caresses your tear-stained cheek softly, observing as your breath evens out.

“Let’s get cleaned up, baby.”

“Mfm, can’t we jus’ keep cuddling?”

[devilfic]

part five of this series dedicated to @aspenaspid​ because they asked so, so nicely

cw: 18+ mdni, implied masturbation (m), non-sexual bondage... technically. it definitely didn’t start that way, miguel’s definitely got a thing for “sir”, EXTREMELY suggestive, no explicit smut.

miguel cannot look you in the eyes right now.

you’re suspended above the crime scene in a web stronger than your own, and it’s hard to see you the same after what he’d done. it should’ve drained him, made him immune, or at least exhausted his desire for you a bit. and you’re none the wiser, of course, and he’s the only bearer of shame, but he’s watching you wriggle and writhe and he’s struggling not to turn back around and portal himself out of there before he made a mess of his suit again.

jessica had since subdued her anomaly, the one you both had come for, and found miguel standing at the far back of the scene with his mouth set in a hard line, “you might wanna take a sample of that web before we head back. villain’s webbing is double the strength of anything I’ve seen. if you can reproduce it, could be useful.”

it would be useful, yes. the synthetic webbers in the spider-society could definitely benefit. his own webs had their perks, but he imagines what he could do if he had access to something this strong. they’re strong enough to hold you captive, thin enough to look translucent. the white strings knot around your ankles, your wrists and chest, pressing deep into your flesh even as you tug and tug and tug. you keep tugging, growing winded with a fine sheen of sweat across your brow, groaning and whining for someone to just cut you out, that you’d do anything for someone to just run their talon down the axis of your chest and cut you free, catching on your suit in the process and ripping a hole for him to just tear-

you groan even louder this time, “can someone get me out, please?”

jessica laughs, pats miguel’s shoulder, “think I’ll leave this one to you.”

miguel whips his head to her, “me? you’re the one that got them in this mess. you cut ‘em out.”

but she’s already on her way, fashioning a portal out of thin air, “they’re your assistant.” and she falls through before miguel has the chance to argue.

there’s a lot less people around now. this universe’s spider had been tied up on the brooklyn bridge and someone was heading out to get them down, so it was just you and miguel and a spattering of police assessing the damage to the city. you blow a stray piece of hair out of your face and whine, “miguel.”

he swallows. maybe cutting you out sooner than later would be for the best.

you’re suspended horizontally, laid back in the bed of webs spread eagle. he uses his own webs to swing up and onto the surface, careful to keep from getting himself caught, and crawls his way over to you on all fours. he reaches your ankles first and extends a talon to snip away the webbing. it falls apart with a little effort.

as soon as your legs are free, you draw your knees to your chest and sigh and miguel has to look away before he gets any ideas. he crawls toward your wrist next, but hesitates. you’re looking up at him with such doe eyes that he feels his hand tremble a bit, “are you hurt?”

you glance away, suddenly a little irritated, “no. I barely got in on the action before that asshole webbed me up like this. he was gonna eat me.”

miguel raises an eyebrow, “eat you?”

“you should’ve seen the guy. he was huge, had fangs just like yours and six more legs.”

miguel frowns. a giant mutated spider appears in his mind, hovering over you with drooling fangs positioned over your throat, prepared to devour you whole. he was sure he didn’t look much different with a villain in his grasp. “just like mine?”

you turn back to him, eyes searching his own. it seems you both are remembering when his teeth sunk into your arm days ago. “not exactly... one fang was the size of my head,” something that big would’ve killed you with one drop of venom, “I tried picturing you as him to sweeten my imminent death, but he wasn’t nearly as good-looking.”

a comment like that would’ve usually had him cutting a hole in the web just to watch you fall to your demise, but hovering over your body (your trapped body, with nowhere to go, and a tantalizing view of your throat on display) had him thinking... other things.

he crouches on a single line of web, hunching his body over you until he blots out the light of the city above you, until his shadow overtakes you and your eyes widen. he places one hand by your head. his lips part slowly, naturally, revealing the very tips of his fangs to you. he watches your breath quicken and your throat bob with a hard swallow. if he’d had 24 hours to get over the images of you he’d conjured up to get him off, you both would’ve been back in nueva york by now.

but it’s been about an hour since he’d spilled into his hand over you for the fourth (or fifth? or sixth?) time, and none of it compared to seeing you like this.

“oh, really?” his voice rasps low.

for once, for once, he’s caught you off guard.

it was no doubt he was bigger than you. and when he wanted, he could be frightening. but even when he tried—and oh, he tried in the beginning, hoped it’d scare you away—you never wavered. it irritated him then. he’d wanted to make you shake.

and now you’re looking up at him and it’s not quite fear, but it stings like an electric current between you. you’re not quick to quip like usual. he can hear the tremor in your breathing. there are police sirens abound but it might as well be completely silent the way you zero in on him.

he’s committing it all to memory in the event his shame can’t keep his hand from finding its way back into his pants later.

you fill your chest with air and arch your back, a movement that makes his brain short-circuit, just to release your sweet breath and fall back into the webs again, “if I didn’t know any better,” you begin, eyes trailing up from his talons curling around the web by your face to his eyes, “I’d say you were trying to get me excited, mr. o’hara.”

his eyes narrow into slits, “what happened to ‘sir’?”

your face breaks out into a smile so triumphant that he realizes you’d done that on purpose, had tried out that “sir” to see if he liked it, not just to tease him. and now you had him hovering over you with his teeth bared like he had no sense. you were insufferably smug. he could feel how pleased you were, the way your body eased into the webs and each and every twist of your body traveled back to his fingers, overwhelming his senses. you’d caught him in a web of your own.

“if I call you sir, will you let me go?”

miguel doesn’t see it but he hears the sound of you stretching your fingers, making no attempts to free yourself anymore. he feels one of your knees brush his hip and wonders if the web will stay intact if he portals the both of you out like this. he needs it. to research, of course.

“I could just leave you here, let them handle you.” he nods to the people down below, forcing himself not to react.

“it would be just like you to leave right before it gets good.”

“that implies ‘it’ was ever gonna happen.”

your eyes flash with something. miguel watches your forehead wrinkle, then smooth over once more, “you’re right. maybe I should take web-slinger up on his offer when we get back, then.”

web-slinger... hit on you?

miguel’s fist clenches and before he realizes it, the webs underneath his hand snap and his arm falls through, throwing him off balance and dropping his full weight on top of you. he tries to gather his bearings but suddenly something is touching his face—you, your hand that had broken free when he’d closed his talons into a fist at the thought of patrick o’hara (oh, you’d definitely done that on purpose) and you—and holding it an inch apart from your own. he waits with bated breath, all at once at your mercy.

you tuck a stray hair behind his ear and he all but full-body shudders, “don’t worry. you’re the only o’hara for me.”

part six

[seeyalaterinnovator]

The Halocline - Rhett Abbott x Reader

Summary: Reader gets roughed up a bit, Rhett comforts her

Warnings: reader is the victim of violence, descriptions of wounds, descriptions of a panic attack, no spoilers for outer range

Word count: 1.9K

Authors note: My friend sent my a requests with rhett abbott saying "Hey, just look at me. Breathe." ... I shamefully finally got around to it.. so here we are...

Keep reading below the cut

The cool Wyoming night air brushed against your exposed skin, each step carrying you closer to the Abbott house. Certainly someone was here, if not Rhett, since he wasn’t answering his phone. You prayed he was just asleep or his phone had died, and that’s why he wasn’t answering any of your calls. The porch groaned under your feet when you hobbled up the steps, up toward the door. 

You knocked once. No answer. It was late, late enough that most of the house would likely be asleep by now, having to get up early tomorrow for chores around the ranch. Cecilia was a light sleeper though, that you could count on. So you knocked again, this time with a little more force. Still no answer.

“C’mon, Rhett!” You cried, voice hoarse from the sobs that wracked your body earlier, raw from screaming for any kind of help that never came. 

Your fist pounded desperately against the screen door, the tinny noise echoed into the open air and died off in the howling wind. There was always someone in the Abbott house, of course except when you needed them the most. “Shit.” You mutter under your breath.

Goosebumps rose along the flesh of your arms, the reddened welts from earlier burning as you sucked in a deep breath and tried to figure out your next move. Tears welled in your eyes as a hopeless feeling settled deep in your chest, but you refused to let them fall, not until you were somewhere safe again. Trembling, torn up hands reach up to scrub at your face as you turned toward the barn. 

You noticed a faint yellow light flickering through the cracked barn door, likely forgotten by someone earlier. It wasn’t the comforting embrace of Rhett, but it would have to do. The barn was far better than trying to walk back to the pit bar to get your car and risk running into Trevor again. God knows what he would try this time. Maybe if you were lucky one of the Abbotts would find you here in the morning when they started their morning chores around the ranch. 

So with a grunt, you slowly made your way over to the barn where you would hopefully hide out amongst the bails of hay. Your footsteps were heavy, weighed down with exhaustion as you crossed into the barn, the dusty smell of hay and motor oil hitting your nose. To your surprise, a familiar form was hunched over the back workbench, a white cowboy hat hiding a head full of sandy brown hair. You nearly could have collapsed from relief.

“Rhett?” You swallowed around the lump in your throat. 

“Sweetheart- what are you doin’ out here so late?” Rhett inquired, turning as he wiped his oil covered hands on an old rag. 

Stood in place, you couldn’t muster the strength to step any further into the light, to expose yourself to the careful scrutiny of his deep blue gaze. The sweet, lopsided smile that pulled at Rhett’s thin lips was discarded quickly, the tattered rag left on the dirt floor when he noticed the tear stained sheen on your cheeks. “Sweetheart? What happened?” His voice was heavier this time.

“I-..” All the air in your lungs dried up, leaving your chest deflated and empty. Paralyzed, your panicked gaze met his as you tried to choke in a breath. No air came though. Rhett saw your chest spasm with the effort of trying to suck in air. Quick to action, his booted feet carried him over to where you stood, though dread took pooled heavily in his gut.

“Jesus-” He gasped, his warm breath puffing out against your battered face. The first thing he noticed now that he was closer was the gash that marred your forehead, a steady trickle of blood trailed down the side of your temple and down your cheek. The second thing he noticed was the smattering of dark splotches that shadowed your skin, likely to be deep purple bruises by the morning. The third thing he noticed was you were without the sweater you always had on at this time of year. The neckline of your shirt was torn, seams ripped and stained crimson. You trembled in your spot, still frozen in place, skin peaked as shivers wracked your body. 

Rhett was quick to shuck off his jacket and drape it over your shoulders and tuck you into the warm fabric. His large, steady hands ran along the length of your arms, trying to rid you of the constant shivering. “Honey- who did this to you?” He kept his tone level, despite the anger that welled up inside him. 

You tried to answer, mouth opening around the Tillerson boy’s name, but all that came was a strained croak. Hot tears fell down your cheeks, burning as they rolled past the areas of broken skin. Hiccups soon took over, and breathing grew even harder. “Oh god!” You say between cries, grabbing a fist of hair and tugging at it hard enough that pain pricked your scalp. Anything to distract you from this drowning feeling that resided heavy in your chest.

With as much tender care as he could, Rhett grabbed a hold of your wrists and detangled your vice grip from your hair. His warm hands came to rest on your flushed cheeks, careful to avoid any area that looked cracked open. His touch was firm and steady as he squeezed just enough, holding your head steady and in line with his. “Hey..” He loosed a breath, barely a whisper as he searched your eyes.

“Hey, just look at me. Breathe.” He instructed in a collected manner, held you steady in his grasp despite thrashing like a bull against his hold. “Sweetheart, breathe for me. You can do it.” Wild eyes met his, and for the first time that night you finally felt safe. At first, your breaths came in frantic puffs, but you focused on trying to force the air from your lungs and exchange it for new air, inhaling deeply and blowing it out on a steady controlled exhale. 

“That’s it, good job. Keep goin’.”He encouraged, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead, despite the dried blood that flaked against your skin. 

You stayed like that for a while, breathing in and out, until Rhett was satisfied that you weren’t going to pass out on him from a lack of air. Now that the adrenaline had eddied away,  your head throbbed in time with your bounding heartbeat. You winced, shying away from the light once again. “Rhett I-”

“Let’s get you inside and cleaned up, okay?” 

There was no fight left, so you allowed Rhett to guide you into the house and up the rickety steps to the first clearing, where his room was. His hand stayed put on your low back, a calming presence as he pushed you into the threshold of his room and shut the door, careful not to wake anyone as it creaked shut. 

First he pulled off his jacket from your shoulders, blue eyes roaming over your skin. Now that he was in better light, he could see the large welts that covered your arms, and how your shirt was ripped in more than one place. His lips pressed together to keep the questions at bay, now wasn’t the time for an interrogation. He needed to get you patched up and in bed. 

“Come on.” He spoke softly as he took hold of your hand and brought it to his lips before he tugged you toward the bathroom. 

You hovered awkwardly in the doorway, unsure what to do with yourself. That was okay, Rhett knew what to do - probably better than anyone else in this house. His hands peeled away your tattered shirt and tossed it aside. He helped you sit on the countertop before turning on the faucet. The sound of the water filling up the sink was the only noise as you watched him rummage through the closet in search of the well used first aid kit. Rhett made quick work, using a pack of gauze to clean up your forehead so he could assess the damage. He didn’t think you’d need stitches, but he held pressure for good measure. You sucked in a breath, trying to back away from his hand. He muttered a soft sorry while he leaned in and pressed a warm kiss to your forehead. 

“I was at the pit bar.” You mumbled, averting your gaze to your hands which gripped your thighs tightly. “I was just on my way out when Trever Tillerson wouldn’t let me past.” 

The words were heavy on your tongue, like you didn’t quite have the right words to say. Rhett didn’t stop cleaning your wound, needed to keep his hands moving so he didn’t do something stupid like track Trever down and kill him. You knew he was listening though. A muscle in his jaw ticked when you mentioned the name, he knew what kind of reputation Trever had.  “I tried to push past him, told him I wasn’t in the mood for his antics tonight. He didn’t like that.” The tears came softer this time, only rolling down your flushed cheek when you squeezed your eyes shut. “No one else was around, I tried calling out. He-”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it. Not right now.” 

“Thank you.” You sighed. 

Rhett finished cleaning your wound in silence, placing an antibiotic ointment over the open part and smoothed a bandaid over the broken skin. His hands firmly grabbed your hips and helped you off the counter, led you back into the bedroom. He grabbed one of his old t-shirts, knowing how much you liked to sleep in them. 

“Arms up.” He instructed, sliding the tshirt over your head and helped you slide your arms through the holes. He then knelt down before you, sliding off your jeans, his warm hands grazing along your thighs. You grabbed ahold of his shoulder to steady yourself as he helped you step out of the fabric. “There you go.” 

As Rhett stood back up, he looked down at you, his gaze uncertain. A line formed between his brows, his eyes bouncing between your own as if searching through your soul. He whispered a soft ‘c’mere’ and pulled you into his strong embrace. His hands wrapped tightly around your shoulders and tucked you against his chest. You inhaled deeply, smelling the familiar, comforting scent of leather and tobacco he always carried. This was what home felt like. You nuzzled into him, muscles releasing the tension they held onto. 

“I love you.” Those three words felt right, certain even. Despite the night’s events, you knew you would be okay as long as you had Rhett. 

“I love you too, sweetheart.” His pressed another kiss to the top of your head, and then tucked you under his chin. You listened to the steady beat of his heart, slightly faster than it usually was, as it thudded against your ear. 

It would be alright. This was your home. Rhett was your home.

[A/N]- this was inspired by the song The Halocline by Hippo Campus <3

[the-fiction-witch]

Paramour

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Aegon Targaryen Couple - Aegon X Reader Reader - Y/n (Paramour) Rating - 18+ Blow jobs/ nudity/ fingering/ masterkink/ Word Count - 1799

Aegon woke feeling groggy and tired as he almost always did. Likely the wine from the night before. He woke and rubbed his eyes looking around his soft bed of green silks. The sheer gold canopy closed around his bed blocking the day from him and him from the world.

just as he began to wake more yawning slightly the curtains around his bed peak open and she revealed herself,

"Blessed Morning, My King." Y/n cooed as she slipped inside the curtains. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, her skin on full display, eyes wide and willing with a seductive smile across her lips. Her whole body was covered only by a small excuse for a dress made of a thin sheer green organza and a golden chain around her neck.

Y/n was Aegon' paramour, his own personal lady of his chambers. To be toyed with and fucked to his heart's content to stop the young King from going and knocking up a bunch of street of silk whores. And as she was everyday, Y/n was ready and willing to serve.

“Ah, good morning, my little bird,” Aegon purred, running a hand through his messy white hair as he sat up in bed, the silk sheets slipping down to reveal his chest. His eyes roamed over Y/n's curves, lingering on the way her dress seemed to cling to every inch of her body. “You look particularly lovely today,” he said, his voice low and husky with desire. He beckoned her closer with a finger, his gaze never leaving hers. “Come here, my sweet. Let me see what you've brought for me this morning.”

she happily climbed into his royal bed, crawling to him on her knees, stopping at his side within his reach with her knees spread and hands behind her back

“Ah, perfect position,” Aegon whispered, his eyes burning with desire as he reached out to run a finger along the curve of Y/n's throat. He leaned forward, his lips brushing against her ear. “I've been dreaming of this moment all night,” he murmured, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. His hand trailed down to cup her breast, his thumb teasing the nipple through the thin fabric of her dress. “You're so responsive to my touch,” he purred, his other hand moving lower, fingers dipping to caress the soft flesh of her cunt. “Tell me, Y/n... what do you want me to do to you?”

"Whatever shall bring you pleasure and joy my King" she cooed

Aegon chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement as he leaned back against the pillows. “How...predictable,” he teased, his fingers still tracing gentle circles around her nipple. “But don't worry my little bird,” he whispered, his voice dripping with promise. “I'll make sure you know exactly what brings me pleasure.” With a sudden movement, he tossed off the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He grasped her wrists, pulling her to her feet and spinning her around to face him. “Kneel for me,” he growled, his voice low and commanding.

"of course my King" she smiled happily kneeling on the floor and looking up at him

Aegon's eyes flashed with satisfaction as he gazed down at Y/n, his chest rising and falling with a slow, deliberate breath. “Good girl,” he whispered, his voice dripping with approval. He reached out to run a hand through her tangled hair, his fingers tangling in the soft strands as he pulled her head back. “Now, show me what you're really worth,” he hissed, his eyes blazing with hunger. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke in a low, urgent tone. “Suck me dry, Y/n. Make me cum.”

she began without a word moving closer and kissing his cocks head before happily wrapping her lips around his shaft and sucking hard, her eyes kept contact with his and her hands sat between her legs as she sucked

Aegon's eyes rolled back in his head as Y/n's warm mouth enveloped him, her suction sending waves of pleasure crashing through his body. “Oh, yes...yes…” he groaned, his hips thrusting forward instinctively as he lost himself in the sensation. His gaze remained fixed on Y/n's, drinking in the sight of her rapt expression, her eyes shining with excitement as she worked him over. As he grew closer to climax, Aegon's breathing quickened, his hands reaching out to grasp Y/n's hair, holding her in place as he pumped into her mouth. “Harder...harder…”

she moaned and sucked harder moving one hand up to massage his balls to aid his release while the other rubbed her clit,

Aegon's eyes snapped shut as Y/n's increased suction and expert massage sent him careening towards the edge. “Yes...yes... oh, god…” he chanted, his hips bucking wildly as he struggled to hold on to control. But it was too late, the dam had burst and he felt himself spilling into her mouth, his seed shooting down her throat in hot, pulsating jets.

As the aftershocks of his orgasm faded, Aegon's eyes fluttered open, his gaze locking onto Y/n's once more. He watched, transfixed, as she swallowed convulsively, her throat working to accommodate the thick ropes of semen that had flooded her mouth. With a satisfied smile, he released his grip on her hair, allowing her to pull back and gasp for air. But instead of letting her go, he reached out and wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, drawing her in for a rough kiss. “Marry me,” he growled, his lips crushing hers as he spoke.

she kissed back if a little surprised by his unexpected demand

Aegon's kiss deepened, his tongue probing the depths of Y/n's mouth as he held her in place. He could feel her initial hesitation giving way to desire, her lips relaxing beneath his as she surrendered to the moment. As they broke apart for air, Aegon's eyes locked onto hers, burning with intensity. “You'll marry me,” he repeated, his voice low and commanding. “You'll be my queen, by my side forever.”

"You have a queen-" she tried to explain

Aegon's face darkened, his jaw clenched in annoyance as he cut her off. “You'll do exactly as I say, Y/n,” he hissed, his breath hot against her skin.

"yes my King" she agreed knowing this was merely his pleasure talking and once he was calmed down the whole idea would be forgotten,

A triumphant smile spread across Aegon's face as he tightened his grip on Y/n's wrist, his fingers digging into her skin. “Good girl,” he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered a single word: “Now.” With that, he spun her around, pinning her against the nearby wall as he yanked up her dress and plunged two fingers deep inside her.

she squealed in pleasure her pussy already dripping from her rubbing while she sucked him off, as his fingers moved she moaned and screamed moving her feet apart to give him move space to finger her, and her head threw back in desperate pleasure

Aegon's eyes flashed with excitement as he watched Y/n surrender to his touch, her body arching against the wall as she begged for more. His fingers moved in time with her moans, pumping in and out of her slick folds as he worked her towards another climax. With a grunt of effort, he added a third finger, stretching her wide as he filled her completely.

Y/n's screams grew louder, her body trembling beneath his hands as she teetered on the brink of collapse. And then, with one final thrust, she came apart in his arms, her entire body convulsing in a riot of pleasure as Aegon rode the wave of her orgasm alongside her.

As Y/n's tremors subsided, Aegon withdrew his fingers, leaving her panting and exposed before him. Without a word, he reached down and scooped her up in his arms, carrying her to the nearby bed where he deposited her with a gentle thud. He followed close behind, His eyes roamed over her still-heaving form, drinking in the sight of her flushed skin and parted legs. “You're mine,” he growled, his voice low and possessive as he claimed her once more.

"all yours my King" she cooed up at him

Aegon's face twisted into a cruel smile as he heard Y/n's words, his eyes glinting with amusement in the dim light. He slid a hand between her thighs, finding her wet and ready for him. With a swift motion, he positioned himself at her entrance and pushed forward, claiming her with a single, smooth stroke.

Y/n's gasp was music to his ears as he filled her completely, her body wrapping around him like a vice as she clung to him in desperation.

Aegon's pace quickened, his strokes growing harder and more insistent as he rode Y/n to another crescendo. Her nails dug deep into his shoulders, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she struggled to keep up with his relentless rhythm. As they neared the peak, Aegon's grip on her hips tightened, his fingers biting into her flesh like claws. He lifted her off the bed, holding her aloft as he continued to pump into her with wild abandon. Their bodies crashed together in a frenzy of sweat and skin, the sound of slapping flesh echoing through the room as they hurtled towards their shared release.

As the tension built to a fever pitch, Aegon's eyes locked onto Y/n's, his gaze burning with an inner fire. With one final, brutal thrust, he sent them both tumbling over the edge, their cries mingling in a scream of ecstasy as they shattered together in a blaze of pleasure. For a moment, they hung suspended, frozen in time as the aftershocks wracked their bodies.

Then, slowly, Aegon relaxed his grip on Y/n's hips, allowing her to slide back down onto the bed with a soft thud. He collapsed beside her, his chest heaving with exertion as he wrapped a possessive arm around her waist. “Well done,” he whispered, his voice husky with satisfaction.“You pleased me very well this morning.”

"I am glad your grace." She cooed between her gasps before she sat up and slid her dress down he body leaving her naked "are you satisfied, my King?"

Aegon's eyes narrowed, his gaze raking over Y/n's newly-exposed form with a critical eye. For a moment, he said nothing, simply studying her as if searching for some hidden flaw. But then, a slow smile spread across his face, and he reached out to trail a lazy finger down the curve of her breast. “No,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “Not yet.” He leaned forward, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck as he whispered a single word “Again.”

she bit her lip and laid down his bed on her stomach spreading her legs wide "yes my King,"

[drewsbuzzcut]

Blurb

Morning sex where model initiates it bc of how sexy mat looks in the morning

His little messy hair that she wants to run her hands through (while riding him🤭)

I imagine they have lots of windows in their bedroom and so they go to sleep with the windows/balcony door open so it can be breezy and just imagine the light that lets in both mat and model are in heaven waking up to each other that way!

Warnings: SMUT and unedited

Waking up to a warm breeze floating through the room and bright sunlight casting a glow over everything, is something out of a dream.

It’s even better when you turn around and find your boyfriend looking absolutely beautiful. His hair is all tousled and his lips are pouty and so kissable.

You scoot closer to him and throw a leg over his waist, cuddling up to him. You press a kisses to his chest all the way up to his jaw as your hands knead into the muscles in his back. You were planning on falling back to sleep, but now you just want your hockey player to wake up and love on you.

“I’m the luckiest guy ever,” Mat grumbles and rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

You let out a small giggle, because it’s true. He is a lucky guy and you’re a lucky girl.

“Why is that Mr. Barzal?” You ask, voice low and your hand rubbing up his bare torso.

“Because I get to wake up next to the sexiest girl, kissing me and I get to fuck her,” he whispers in your ear, making chills rip down your spine. His hand follows the curves of your body, stopping every now and then to squeeze at the plump flesh.

Whenever Mat is in Italy, he’s more insatiable than usual. You cannot complain though. You’ll happily indulge in his endlessly cravings.

You give him a smirk paired with a hum as you start to scale down his body. You kiss and nip at his taut skin, thoroughly obsessed with his thick cords of muscle. Finally, you straddle his lap and press your hands into his pecs to keep yourself upright. The feeling of his already hard cock underneath your hot core makes you feel dizzy. Your head swims in the clouds as your body starts to heat up, and he’s not even inside of you yet.

You grip his length and slip him between your folds, your hips rocking back and forth until he’s drenched in your arousal.

“Ride me, baby. Make a mess on my cock,” Mat hisses.

“Say please,” you tease, your nails slightly digging into his skin.

“Please,” he just about begs. His voice is so raspy and pleasing that you can’t make him wait any longer.

After a few strokes, you sink down on him with a whimper. Your head spins and your body feels fuzzy as you get adjusted to the stretch. Your boyfriend’s hands land on your hips to keep you steady, and you finally start to rock into him.

You start slow, but when Mat’s finger finds your clit, your body becomes electrified and you gain momentum.

You grip the thin chain around his neck, pulling him up so that he’s seated up. One of your hands cards through his hair while the other cups his face. You love when your eyes bore into his as he fucks you. It’s so intimate, and there’s nothing better than seeing your man become mush under you.

“Just like that,” you moan and buck your hips, taking his cock deeper and deeper.

“Fuck, you feel so good, pretty girl. You’re so wet for me,” he groans and holds you down as he thrusts up into you, eliciting a scream from you.

His mouth takes advantage of your bouncing breasts and sucks a nipple in between his lips. His mouth suctions along to the rhythm of your hips, which easily creates a knot in your tummy. Your limbs start to tingle, signaling that your release is coming quick.

Mat’s teeth bite on your stiffened peak, making your pull on his hair as your hips swivel.

“I’m going to cum. More,” you beg before sealing your lips to his. You lick inside his mouth and nibble on his lip as he takes over.

“Cum for me, baby,” he moans into your mouth, his finger finding your clit again.

Your senses go into overdrive, burning at the feeling of Mat’s hands touching you all over. Your vision starts to blur and your body starts to become fuzzy. You can feel his cock pulse inside of you, the veins dragging against your wet walls. With the way the head of his length prods into your sweet spot, you orgasm within seconds. Your nails dig and drag down his skin until your hands cramp up.

“Ugh fuck,” Mat growls. Your walls collapse on biscuits cock and suck his own release from his balls.

“I’ll never get over this, over you,” you whisper, leaning down to lay against his chest.

Both your bodies still tremble, but being pressed to him helps keep you grounded.

“Me neither, babe. I love you,” he rasps, his fingers dancing along your spine.

“I love you more,” you say with a kiss to his lips.