#nimble-shifting

[gacha-incels]

original tweet

[kissandtellus]

‘Into the Slick of It’ LADS Omegaverse

Synopsis: The LI’s are deep into their Ruts. Oh no! Whatever shall our brave MC do to satiate their hunger?

Warnings: Omegaverse, Whining, Submissive Sylus and Caleb, Slight pew pew play, Lemurian’s are double slinging in this, Drooling, Slobbering, Caleb’s mechanical arm malfunctions in the best way, its dirty ya’ll fair warning.

Authors Note: I’m going to try and make full-length versions for each! Rafayel’s can be found here! Zayne’s can be found here! You can also find the ‘Heat’ version HERE.

⋆˚🐾˖° Xavier

Xavier was usually a dignified Alpha. He held open doors for you, bought you anything under the sun, even left his much needed naps (hibernation) to spend time with you.

But when his rut hit him like a freight train, you tried to ignore the scent of him literally leaking from his apartment above. He had locked his doors, curled up in his bedroom with only his fist and one of your sweatshirts.

He’d forgotten to lock his balcony door.

You managed to pull yourself to the railing and slide open the door. His scent enveloped you, as if seeping into your very pores.

The sight the greeted you when you managed to shimmy the lock out of his bedroom door was nearly pathetic.

He was fucking his fist, face flush and balls drawn up so tight to his body in need, they looked like they were aching. Your scent hit him before the sight of you did.

He had no more fight in him.

His pre-cum had completely soaked his fingers. When he pulled his hand away, long, sticky strings of cum connected his palm to his cock.

“M-mm fuck-fuck I can’t stop it. Please,” he was fast, nimble. He was upon you in a second, face buried into your pulse point. From behind his back as he nipped and lapped on your covered scent gland, you spotted the rabbit plush you sprayed perfume on for him.

It was absolutely soaked in his pre-cum. The once pristine black pearl eyes coated his drooling cum.

“Xavier-!”

“M-mm sorry, so sorry, couldn’t help it.” His fingers tear off the scent patches and his nearly busts right against your clothes stomach.

“Just a taste baby, please.”

That taste turned into his rutting into you in the meanest mating press known to man. He was so careful not to let his knot slip inside. Even lacking the few inches of his knot, his nearly purple cockhead drilled into the wall of your cervix like a prayer.

“Haa-X-Xava-ahhhh!” You drooled his name out like a curse. Your hair was splayed everywhere like a halo. You were the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

“Good Omega, good girl-take it-take it! I know you can. Gonna give you this knot. Gonna have you begging for more,” he growled, his canines graving your pulse point.

“Accept this gift from your Alpha.”

⋆˚🐾˖° Rafayel (Full Version)

You ran a washcloth down Rafayel chest. The one pale, milky skin covered with scales. Lemurian rut was different than that of humans. It was more primal, more unhinged. His long tail hung out over the edge of his massive bathtub still.

A fan was sat on high intensity, blowing back his purple locks and the gills behind his ears. “Cutie, can’t I just have a nibble? You are killing me here.” His multi-chrome eyes flashed with a hunger that sent a shiver up your spine.

“That’s the Rut talking Raf, you told me not to listen to you when you’re like this.” The statement was true, but your resistance was wavering.

He was like a pretty siren luring you to your death. He couldn’t control his shifting, nor the way his tail splashed water out of the tub and into the floor.

An hour ago, the slit in his tail had separated, a gush of liquid making way for not his one-but two cocks. The length on top was longer, thicker, angrier.

Rafayel reached with a clawed, webbed hand and locked eyes with you as you tried to cool his off with the water. “My Muse, let me take care of you. I’ll take you back to Lemuria, make you my Queen. You’ll give us so many strong children. I want them to have your eyes.”

It was as if he was dirty talking himself. Whimpers of need spilled from those soft pink lips.

Perhaps Rafayel was the siren from those sailor tales.

Because why else would you have been dragged into the water, fully clothed? Why else would you have let him rip clear through your shorts with his claws?

Why else would you let him not only imaple you with one length, but let him try to coherse you into taking his second one?

“Just once baby-c’mon Pretty, you can take it.” He hushes your blubbering about being way too full. His cocks felt like they could impale your lungs at any second. “I know her so well. She’s strong, just like-oh, ah, fuck!”

Your tight walls gave way just enough for his second cock to snugly stretch out your organs. The rock of his thrust sent the bath water flooding the bathroom floor. His tail nearly had a mind of its own, flopping like a fish out of water while he used you as a means of breeding.

“F-fuck! Rafayel I-I can’t-“

“You can, how else will you be a powerful ruler, if you cannot worship your God correctly?”

⋆˚🐾˖° Zayne

Zayne took all of the necessary precautions to keep his interest during his rut. So much lube, suppressants and less than flattering toys. He always kept this locked away in a trunks. You didn’t need to worry your pretty head about such things.

He bought you an extended stay hotel room until his Rut had passed but you were stubborn. So stubborn that you used the passcode for his house gate and welcomed yourself in.

When you entered, the normally pristine state of his house was destroyed. Your dirty clothes were thrown everywhere, there were scratch marks on corners of the wall as if something-or someone-had to basically drag themselves to the bedroom.

When you finally gained the courage to investigate the feral sounds from the bedroom, your knees went weak.

Zayne had his tie stuffed in his mouth, his button up shirt had been torn open and the shreds hung around his bulging biceps.

The poor toy-oh god, it was molded after your insides, was completely destroyed. The gooey silicone was barely holding together. His thick cock has literally torn the toy into nothing but mush.

Plap. Plap. Plap.

“Are you going to stand there, or are you going to help me?” He growled through the black tie, his eyes never tearing away from the toy disintegrating in his hand.

Zayne promised himself he’d patch you up as soon as his Rut passed, as soon as he finished pummeling your ruined pussy over the back of his couch.

He had defiled every corner of his home with his cum and your slick.

You had tried to crawl away from the mean ‘ole doctor twice now, but each time he just pounced, keeping you pinned beneath his body weight, chasing you like a mutt who couldn’t get his fill.

“Are you refusing your Doctor? Are you refusing the best medicine I can give you, my seed?”

Your vision danced with black spots. He was insatiable. You never quite realized how massive he was, how easily he manipulated you with both his words and his strong grip. He finally gave a warning growl, pinning your hands to the small of your back.

“You wanted to play Doctor so bad, wanted to heal me of my woes. So take it.”

⋆˚🐾˖°Sylus

Sylus was a dragon at the end of the day. A great beast who hoarded his treasure.

That hadn’t changed when he was trapped in the body of a man.

It hadn’t changed how during his Rut’s, he ordered the Twins to keep you away as he hoarded everything precious to him in his room for the next few days.

But unfortunately the two goofballs were not the best at keeping you away. Not that you think they actually tried. Kieran had locked eyes with you when you tiptoed around the corner, before winking and going back to his card game with his twin.

When you pushed open the double doors or his chambers, he was meticulously cleaning the muzzle of one of his guns. But what caught your eye was his cock, flagging and twitching to leave a sticky mess over his belly button.

His eyes snapped up and a low growl escaped his throat before he tried to reign himself in. “Kitten, I told you to stay away.”

He stood from the bed with a grace not befitting his size, his swinging cock, nor the gun still in his hand. He tipped your chin back with the point of hiss and gave your face a deep whiff.

You swear you felt him spurt just the tiniest bit of precum on your sweater.

“Maybe I should let you help me. Let you realize what happens when Prey tempts the Predator.”

But oh-ho, it did not turn out his Sylus had expected.

You were straddling his massive length, his knot resting just outside of your stretched entrance. But his gun was now pressed against his parted, whimper filled lips by yours truly. You were a mean Mistress, watching him beg to pop his knot in.

“Gods above woman, I’ll do anything I-i just-“

You squeezed your fluttering walls around his cock like a vice. “What did I say, big boy?” Your voice was so sweet he might bust at just the thought.

The white haired man bowed his back so beautifully it appeared he might snap in half. His nature was screaming at him to bend this disobedient Omega over and use her like a dirty flashlight. But not her, never her.

Sylus gritted his teeth, that suddenly looked a lot sharper. But his fearsome look was interrupted by his pathetic groveling.

“My Love, My Heart, My Cruel Temptress,” he mumbled, red eyes rolled back to his skull. “Give me the grace of knotting you and I’ll give you any Empire you desire. Just for the chance at breeding this treasure of a cunt.”

⋆˚🐾˖° Caleb

Caleb threw the empty bottle of suppressants so hard against the wall, the flimsy bottle had made an indention in his apartment.

This couldn’t be happening, he could be hitting his Rut on the day you were visiting Skyhaven. His mechanical arm whirred, a loud noise that broke him from his contemplating.

Yeah, of course this thing would act up when his hormones were bouncing all over the place.

When you rang his doorbell three times without an answer, you decided letting yourself in was the best option.

Caleb now regretted giving you a key to his apartment, but not really.

His left hand, the cold one connected to his arm, had short circuited. To the point he could control it. He had growled, tried to push the piece of junk away from his throbbing cock but to no avail.

It was trained to protect him, to relieve any stress or danger he might be in. In that moment it had decided his aching cock and swollen knot were his enemy.

When he looked up at you from the couch, man-spread with his hand pumping his cock, his eyes were filled with tears.

“Pips, Pips don’t look, please-a-ah oh F-“ his but his lips to stifle the noise as a third orgasm ripped through him. The dark gray mechanical hand was coated with white cum, his thighs twitching and knot throbbing with unspent need.

“Oh Caleb-“ you took a step forward, and that was the only permission Caleb needed. His Alpha instincts were in a full rage. He had you pinned down to the living room floor by his fangs digging into the back of your neck. His mechabical bicep was cold against your throat as he drilled into you.

The wet noises were a symphony of just how much he needed you. “Here comes the knot baby-no-no, be a Good Girl. Open her up for me, don’t fight it, oh yeah-oh Good-Good fuckin’ Girl!” His praises sounded jumbled when his knot popped through.

Nothing could beat the way his knot stretched you to the point of tears.

“T-Too big Caleb! Take it-take it outttt!” He would stop in a split second if he knew it wasn’t just your instincts pleading with you to at least give this Alpha a run for his money. He hushed your over-sensitive cries and bottomed out in your warm and very welcoming pussy.

“Nu uh, Sweetpea. You were born to take my cock. Go on, take it baby! Oh, Good Girllll, That’s My Girl!”

[seranextdoor]

tw. dark content, brief gory descriptions, smut, size difference.

pairing. mr. crawling x fem! reader. 1k words.

- i wish there was more on blissful love life end route, wish i couldve fuck this cute little shyt until he blabberin' :p i love this gameeeeeee! sorry for suddenly writing about homicipher after months of ghosting u guys.. hehe...

The smell of death lingers in the air ever since you brought along the certain entity to the overworld. It's faint enough to let you know that he was watching.

Not that you mind, he practically latched onto you like a barnacle the first time he met you at that strange hallway. Mr. Crawling, despite the oddities that comes along his unique charms, was a pleasant companion. Maybe it's the fact that you'd noticed the dark figure, slouching at the corner of your room, or the fact that you'd woke up with him next to you, the high-pitched giggling causing you to stir awake at the darkest hour.

You wonder if Mr. Crawling gets bored at times. You can't blame him, the underworld where he is from an endless maze with sharp corners here and there, not to mention the occasional earthquakes that change the layout of the map. Comparing his world to your little apartment was laughable. Maybe that's why you started feeling his cold fingertips running underneath the thin fabric of your clothes. Not that you'd stop him, Not that you want him to anyway. You taught him a few things, mainly how humans express their love. It's nice to have someone dote on you for bringing them a bowl of fresh human flesh.

'It's better to be with Mr. Crawling,' you thought.

Being with a human means it'll increase the chance of you getting caught and you wouldn't be able to go on another killing spree. At least Mr. Crawling accepts you for who you are.

"You... like?" his croaky voice puts your running thoughts to the side as you tilt your head, your eyes looking at him before they avert down to his wandering hand. His fingers are abnormally slender with a grayish tint as he slowly brushed them on your stomach before they went lower and lower until his fingers practically hovered over your lower body. He gives you a look, "need you." he points down at your clothed pussy, your cheeks quickly warms up at his words.

"Can touch?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. His fingers trembled the more he waited for your response like he itched to touch you. "Can." you give him a brief nod as his fingers slowly slipped under your shorts, spreading your folds before he pressed down on your clit causing your breath to hitches. You watched with staggered breathing as his hand moved in a circular motion, rubbing your clit slowly as your sopping hole clenched around nothing. "Good? Enjoyable?" he asked, giggling when you gasped and nodded at his words while he traced your slit, getting your juices all over his nimble digits.

His kisses are sloppy, and the metallic taste of blood from the flesh he consumed for dinner comes in as the aftertaste when you pull back for some air. Mr Crawling quickly chases after your lips, pressing his cracked and cold ones on yours as his tongue shamelessly swirls around yours. With enough juices coating his fingers, he easily slipped it into your entrance as it squelches, his other hand holding your thigh to keep your legs spreading. “Look down,” he pulled his fingers out with a small pop, proudly showing his wet and pruney fingers to you before he slipped them into his mouth. “heh, good. Me happy!” he giggled, moving on top of you as you rested your legs on each side of his body.

“Mr. Crawling...” you whined, watching him with blurry vision as he pulled the black clothing up, just enough for his cock to peek through. It's almost as if the entity wants you to see it, wants you to see how desperate he is. His pre-cum glistens and gather at the tip of his cock, bulging vein runs on the side of his shaft as your eyes shifts to the patch of dark hair on his pelvis. His knees dig into the mattress, his hand aligning the tip of his cock into your entrance. “Me... go into you slow.” he gently prods your hole with the tip of his cock, shifting his eyes on your face and down to your pussy as he pushes his thick cock past the ring of muscles.

You wince, the girth of his cock is stretching you to the maximum. "Hurt? Pain? Desire me go out?" he asked, looking down at you before you shook your head at his question, "I'm glad." he smiled at your reaction. Your fingers holding onto his biceps as your nails left crescent marks on his skin. "Pat, pat." he rubs your head, cupping your cheek as his cock throbs inside of you when your velvety walls flutters to adjust to his size. "Pretty." he whispers, leaning down to peck your lips. He lets you roll your hips, slowly fucking yourself into his fat cock while he holds your hip. "Like this? Happy?" he asked, his hips stuttering as he thrust back into you, matching your slow rhythm.

"Like it..." you replied, breathless as he began to pick up his pace. He was consistent, the tip of his cock brushing against the spot that sends you seeing stars on your ceilings with every single thrust, your nails raking down on his back, leaving claw marks which heals up as quickly as it came. The sound of skin slapping reverberates around the walls as Mr. Crawling gasps and pants in your ear each time he desperately slammed his cock into you. His long, black locks falling over your face, tangling with your hair and sticking to your forehead and chest. “Like you... Like this..." he chants, sharp teeth nibbling on your neck and down to your collarbones, leaving a trail of dark bruises in his wake.

“Close... me close,” his thick cock throbs inside of you, rubbing furiously against your walls as he holds your hips. His breath brushing against your lips as he gasped, “Come? Need you come," he begged, slobbery tongue poking out to flicks your swollen lips as he coaxed you into cumming on his cock by sharply rutting his cock inside of you as the lewd squelches from taking his cock deeper and deeper increases.

He pushes his hips into you when you came all over his cock, he quickly pushes his cock as deep as he can before his hot seeds spill into your womb, spilling out of your whole when he pulled out to rest his cock on your pelvis. He's still cumming, spurting the strings of loads on your stomach as you panted, your chest heaving up and down as he lazily kisses your neck and up to your flushed face,

"...Pretty."

[writerpeach]

Provocation

ITZY Shin Yuna x m!reader

15k words

“That’s not true,” Yuna argues, arms folded as if this is the most ludicrous thing she's had to explain. "Despite what everyone thinks, I don't sleep around. Maybe a few guys on the weekends, but during the week? I like to have a one-guy policy."

You don't believe her one bit—but you'll play along. "Just one guy? That's it?"

Yuna shrugs her shoulders. "Of course. One guy at a time. One guy on Monday—maybe Tuesday. And Wednesday. That's it."

"That's three, Yuna," you laugh, shifting in your seat to face her a bit more. She takes a sip of her drink, stirring it around before bringing it back up to her pouty, red lips—the ones that cause nothing but trouble.

"Exactly. A different guy each day of the week. I don't think that's a lot. If anything, Yeji gets around way more than me."

Now you know she's lying.

The way you can tell is when her lips move. That's the telltale sign. When a word slips out between them, you always know the words will be objectively false. 

Because this is Shin Yuna, the girl who flaunts every facet of her beauty like it's her job. This is the girl who wears skirts short enough to flash the entire bar a glimpse of her perfect little ass. The one who always leaves the house wearing a bra on purpose, her top always sheer enough to show the shape of her perky breasts. The same girl who would give head to a random guy just because he asked for a stick of gum.

"Yeji? Are we talking about the same girl?" you question, doubting that girl would even have a quarter the sex that Yuna has in one night. Yeji's definitely attractive, but reserved and soft spoken—nothing like the track record Yuna has.

"Hey, don't get it twisted," Yuna protests, nearly spilling some drink when she sets her glass down. "Yeji isn't some innocent church girl. She's a lot hornier than people think. Almost too much. As much as she acts all pure and sweet and innocent, she's a freak."

You'd say you believe her, except it's Yuna—so it's not probable in the slightest. "Right. She's totally a freak and you're an absolute saint."

"Glad we're on the same page." Yuna grins, stealing your drink to take a sip without even asking, leaving those red lips staining the rim of the glass. "She's more insatiable than me."

"I think you've had a little too much to drink, Yuna.” 

Yuna ignores you entirely. "I mean it—that girl is probably getting dicked down as we speak. Or if she isn't, then she's got a new vibrator that's getting the job done, watching some of the most depraved porn out there. That girl is obsessed."

"Obsessed with dick or obsessed with porn?"

"Both. You can't imagine some of the toys she has hidden."

Yuna keeps speaking, but she could say anything at this point, and you know there wouldn’t be an ounce of truth in it. She's gotten more than a couple drinks deep now. And her tight skirt rides up, each not-so-subtle movement revealing more thigh as she shifts, not even the slightest concerned who can see underneath.

"If she's a freak, what the hell does that make you, then?" you ask in all earnest, trying to change the subject, because Yuna clearly can't be trusted around alcohol. This girl and oversharing go together far too well.

"Me? Oh, I'm the best fuck of your life—the one who will choke on your cock like a goddamn whore and let you blow your load all over my pretty face." 

You don’t even look at her when you reply. "Forget I ever asked." 

"But you did ask. And now you're going to take me home so I can demonstrate exactly what I do to those poor, pathetic boys every weekend."

"Absolutely not. I don't recall making an invitation."

"Do I need one? Doesn't feel like it," Yuna asks, with a quick tilt of her head. "Doesn't daddy wanna spend all night fucking this tight little pussy?"

You nearly vomit hearing Yuna's poor attempt at seduction. "Stop it. Please, for the love of god, don't ever call me that again."

She simply laughs it off, leaning close as she rests a hand on your thigh, those nimble little fingers giving a good squeeze, when it wanders just a little too high. 

"Come on," she insists. "The second you’ve got your cock inside me, you know there won't be any pulling out. Daddy won't be able to control himself."

"I'm leaving you here. Take a cab if you have to," you warn, standing up from the barstool without even the slightest look back in her direction.

Yuna sighs. “Okay, fine,” she says as she grabs your wrist, keeping you from going very far. "I won't call you that anymore. Just take me home and fuck my brains out. Please?"

That voice, the desperation, it's hard to resist. Not to mention the pleading look, those big, round eyes staring, and when your focus falls down her shirt, barely even a shirt, the curves on this girl she dares to flaunt in your face. Yuna wants you to know that you'd be a fool to turn her down.

"What's in it for me? Aren't there plenty of guys lining up for a chance to fuck you here?" 

"This place is boring—and none of them can handle me." 

You're not even sure you can handle this girl and her attitude, but when Yuna stares like that, this longing look that begs for attention—it's difficult to say no. "Are you saying that just because you want a ride home?"

"It's a reason, yes." She can't hold back the smile, no matter how hard she tries. "You take me home, and then I'll suck your cock until your legs give out. Won't you help this poor, helpless little slut?"

Against your better judgment, there’s this temptation you can’t ignore. A devil resting on your shoulder, and on the other side, also a devil in the form of Shin Yuna herself. You can’t refuse that smile, those batting eyelashes, or those eyes without a hint of innocence in them. You’re already a lost cause. 

Yuna can’t help but smirk, seeing her prey lured in with such ease as she grabs her coat, one hand slipping in yours, and not even needing a response when the both of you know where this is heading. "No more daddy—that's a promise."

You don’t believe that for a second, but you also don't care one bit as you head out, Yuna clinging to your arm on the way to the parking lot. 

And this might be your biggest mistake yet. 

Neither of you even make it out of the parking garage to your apartment. Yuna has you backed up against the cold, concrete wall, in a dark corner that she swears doesn't have a camera—but even if it does, who fucking cares when the sight of her on her knees takes precedence, getting your cock wet between her lips as fast as possible.

And the sound of her greedy slurps echo off those same walls, somehow a thousand times louder than usual. 

"You know my apartment is right up there," you manage to say in between gasping breaths. Yuna's barely listening, staring straight into your eyes, with her cheeks hollowed to no end and every inch of your cock taken down so easily. She spits over your length a few more times, spreading it along your hard shaft before her lips swallow you whole, not breaking her gaze once for even a single breath. 

With another loud, sloppy suck with those red lips around the tip of your shaft, that's the only time she answers, a small pop filling the air when she backs off, stroking you slowly with her fist.

"That's two floors up. Why wait, when I can just suck your cock here? That elevator takes ages." she argues innocently, running her tongue underneath that most sensitive area of your shaft. "Unless you really want me to stop—"

"N-no. Fuck, no. Don't you fucking dare." 

"That's what I thought,” Yuna replies, and she has no intention to, burying her nose in your abdomen with every last inch consumed by her warm throat. And her wet mouth gets so noisy, so starved, these desperate slurps that could probably be heard all the way to the top floor of the parking garage. 

It's so completely Yuna: her lack of restraint, the enthusiasm as she bobs her head in a blur without any sign of a gag reflex. The way her lips tighten around your shaft and stay there for an eternity without pulling off even for a second, like she needs your cock down her throat for survival. It’s goddamn relentless. 

“God, Yuna, this fucking mouth—" you curse under your breath and place a hand on her head for guidance, wondering how the fuck Yuna manages to take so much at once while looking so beautiful at the same time. It's her lips wrapped around every inch, the way she stares into you, her lipstick all smeared along the base of your shaft with a fresh layer of spit glistening along the length of it. "Why the hell is your mouth so good at this?” 

It's a compliment that's only going to feed that inflated ego, as if that's even possible at this point. But you can't hold back the praise, when her lips feel this incredible, wrapped so tight with all the warm, wet suction you can handle, taking you back into the deep end of her throat like nothing. 

"I’ve told you…” Yuna starts with this smug little grin as she draws out every reaction she can out of your features with a messy kiss to your swollen cockhead. "Suck enough dick, and you have it down to a science. Nobody gives head better than me. Not Yeji, not a single person you've met."

Can’t say you find any fault with that, for once. The rare occasion when Yuna speaks the truth, with how good her mouth feels on you, slurping away to get these groans spilling that reinforces her point. How could anybody come close? 

“Don’t let it get to your head.” 

“Too late,” she says, with her playful little chuckle when you escape from the heat of her mouth. She continues to pump her fingers along every spit-soaked inch that sets you on edge, slowing down only so she can drag it out, savor the look of desperation etched across your face. Then she’s right back down, lips flush to your base in no time. 

“Shit, those fucking lips feel so good. Who knew you had any other skill other than being an obnoxious fucking brat.” 

Yuna doesn't even fight you for that one, giving your length a sloppy kiss, before sliding her mouth down to latch around your balls and suck hard. A tight fist strokes quicker than before, twisting so perfectly while her mouth is occupied, a motion that makes you completely unable to hold back the strangled noises that she gets off on. 

It all feels too good, with her full attention devoted to your aching cock that throbs in her fingers, these lewd slurps of your sensitive balls that drive you towards the edge faster when her mouth gets all hot and wet around you.

“F-fuck, fuck, Yuna—“ 

It’s so clear, the sheer enjoyment written across Yuna's features when she pops off your balls with a loud, wet pop. and then gets your cock right back in her mouth where it belongs.

There’s no stopping her this time—not when she gets a good grip on your thighs for support, so she can slobber on your cock with reckless abandon. A fucking shameless display, saliva dripping down her chin, a messy string that connects from her lip to the tip of your swollen cockhead while she takes you straight into the back of her throat, again, and again, not taking a breath unless she absolutely needs to. 

And then she’s jerking your cock right in front of her face. 

“Almost ready to cum for me, aren’t you? Don't you wanna fucking finish all over my pretty face? Don't you like how nice it looks when I'm covered in your thick load?"

Fuck, do you ever—and it doesn't help when Yuna tightens her grip and gives these rapid strokes that have your head spinning. All you can do is watch as she furiously jerks your cock straight towards her gorgeous face, tongue out so eagerly as she awaits every bit you're ready to release.

When it hits, the first explosive burst shoots across her forehead, streaking right over her hair. The rest follows, finding a place splattering all across her face. All over those open pouty lips—hot, sticky spurts that Yuna catches with her tongue as each shot paints a different spot of her features, the excess dribbling down her chin. 

Yuna laughs through it, trying not to close her eyes so she can watch you unload all over her features, a mess that has no end in sight. More hits her cheek, a nice shot across her nose as your cock pulsates in her tight fist, and the hot spurts continue to paint her in white streaks across her flawless face. A final few bursts land across her open mouth, a taste that gets her smiling so wide through a cum-stained mess.

"Fucking christ, Yuna," you exhale, out of breath as the high lingers.

Yuna lets your throbbing cock rest gently against her cheek, your orgasm slow to subside. Even when every last drop is wrung from the tip, she refuses to take her mouth off you, sucking your shaft clean with a few long slurps and flicks of her tongue that make you nearly collapse. 

"Just look at all that fucking cum. I'm covered in it, like a good little slut should be," she marvels, staring at the exhaustion plastered across your face. "Bet that felt good, huh? God, there's like a week's worth of cum here. All milked out of your thick fucking cock."

And Yuna has never looked better. 

"H-hold on, I'll get something to clean that up—"

Yuna gets to her feet, stepping in to shut down the idea before you can finish. "No need. I'll keep it on until we get to your apartment. Plus, I look the prettiest when I'm dripping with your cum."

It's insane—the words this girl will casually throw out in public, and how she wants to spend the entire elevator ride looking like that. Even if it's late enough that hardly anybody uses this elevator, there's always a chance you could run into someone who lives here. But saying no to this girl was never an option, already heading back the direction of the elevator without giving much a chance to argue, much less a chance to slip your pants back on.

Shin Yuna is quite possibly the worst influence—and yet, here you are.

Once she's all cleaned up, it's just pure unadulterated lust, from both ends as you find a spot on the couch to crash into with Yuna straddling you. Not an ounce of innocence in the kiss. Nothing but hot breath and moans, not even a second to break for air. The alcohol, the ride back here, the blowjob in the goddamn parking garage, you can't even contain yourself anymore. You let this girl get to you in the best of ways and give into this sinful temptation with an absolute desire to ruin her.

Yuna groans as you plant these rough, messy kisses along her neck—god, she tastes so good, like strawberries and sin and everything you're addicted to. She writhes under you, fingers tangled through your hair and you're not leaving your lips off her for a single second. 

"Keep doing that, please, f-fuck," Yuna pleads, and you flip her around effortlessly to do so, her tight little body flat on her back underneath you. You leave these marks all down her neck—sucking hard on that sensitive skin so easy to bruise, and sinking your teeth in at every opportunity. All these whimpers fill your ears and the louder they are, the harder you bite, the rougher your kisses grow.

This relentless assault leaves her breathless, an abrupt change from the usual confidence and arrogance that defines her. Right here, under you like this, Yuna makes it so easy to have her body entirely at your mercy—even more when you strip her shirt off and toss it aside, revealing those breasts fully to the chilly air. You barely have time to admire the sight of them before your mouth moves to devour the newly exposed flesh.

"You have no idea all the things I want to do to you, Yuna," you growl as you take a nipple between your lips, a sharp suck and a light nibble that makes her squirm even harder against the couch cushions.

"Like what? Tell me everything you want to do to me, d-daddy—"

You glare up, eyeing her intently and there's this sudden moment of silence while you refuse to get your mouth back onto her tits. 

"S-sorry, it just slipped," she says with this unabashed laughter, her apology as believable as anything else that escapes from those pretty lips. "Every guy I fuck loves hearing that. Force of habit."

"Don't make me leave you on this couch alone, Shin Yuna. Because I'll fucking do it, no hesitation."

"You'll never hear it again, I promise. Never, ever—now come on, back to what you were doing."

You raise a suspicious brow for a moment, but then it's back to your ravenous mouth focusing all over her chest, kissing up all over when you alternate between them. She loves it too—every hot and heavy kiss, every time you lick right at her most sensitive spots, latching onto her stiff nipples and sucking so hard. Yuna grips tightly at the back of your head, her fingers deep in those locks while you devour her tits and enjoy the softness of them against your face, skin flushed when you switch to the other breast.

And god, this sound that escapes her throat—when you travel down her body and kiss her abdomen, these soft little kisses that make her sigh harder and squirm more, getting lower and lower until the fabric of her skirt blocks your progression. It's this whimper from her lips when you swipe your tongue right above her belly button, a slow drag that tastes as much of her as possible.

"Skirt on or off? Your pick." You kiss at the top of her thighs, waiting eagerly for an answer as you toy around with the zipper.

"Whatever d—" she stops herself halfway. "You want. Whatever you want. On. Just fuck me with it on—can't wait, need you between my thighs already."

Can't say you're disappointed in the decision—pushing her skirt up her thighs to reveal that pretty purple lace that contrasts her pale thighs. But before you have the chance to put her out of her misery, you get a little more comfortable, stripping down to nothing but your boxers while Yuna bites her bottom lip and watches in silence. She keeps staring, wide eyes filled with anticipation as she catches the slightest glimpse of the way you're hard for her already.

"See something you like?" you ask her, Yuna shifting underneath with her skirt neatly bunched up her waist. 

"No, not a single thing," she answers, unable to hide her laughter for a second.

"Good, then I guess I can just go jerk off in my room or something," you tease, about to remove yourself from the couch until her hands lock tight around your shoulders, keeping you planted there.

"Shut the fuck up and eat me out. Can't wait a second more, ruin me with that amazing tongue of yours."

"Not even a please?"

"Absolutely not," Yuna insists, growing more impatient by the second. But it's a good thing you're generous—and more than raring to get between her thighs as much as she needs you to. 

She can hardly contain the noise when you grab the waistband of her panties and drag them down those long legs, Yuna lifting up just slightly to help guide them off. And when they slide past her feet, you don't hesitate one bit, spreading her thighs apart just to admire the sight—exposing her glistening wet cunt in all its glory.

"See something you like?" Yuna echoes your own question right back, flashing a smirk which only fades when you respond with a brief flick of your tongue. 

"Yeah, a perfect place to dump a huge load of cum," you remark back, licking a long stripe up her wet slit before ending in a gentle suck of her clit. "God, you're so fucking wet, Yuna. Dripping like crazy down here."

"Who's fucking fault is that?" 

"Not mine. You're the one who begged me to take you home because you were too scared to find a stranger in the bar to fuck."

The first few long licks do the rest of the talking for you as you bury your head deep between her spread thighs, tongue exploring her deliciously wet pussy. So sweet on your lips the more you taste, a suck of her clit every now and again, these unimpeded moans that can’t help spring free from her lips. 

"F-fuck, oh my fucking—first off, I did not beg. Second, don't pretend like you wouldn't fuck me if I found someone better," Yuna manages to get out mid-way through an absolutely filthy groan, grabbing fistfuls of your hair to push your face against her pussy.

"You're saying you could find someone better than me? In that shitty little dive bar?"

"S-shut up. Your ego's fucking broken," she argues between her desperate moans. You roll your eyes at her and get back to work—watching the way Yuna attempts to cover up her mouth with the palm of her hand. 

"Is that why you're struggling so much not to moan for me? You think any of those drunk idiots at the bar could do what I do to this pretty little pussy?" You're so determined to see her at a loss for words, lapping away at her clit, but that's all this girl brings out of you. It's difficult to play the nice guy when all her lips do is incite a response out of you like this. 

"You talk t-too much. Shut up and eat my cunt, so I can cum on your face already."

That you can do—more than happily. With a hand against her abdomen, Yuna's being pinned to the cushions as your tongue lashes away at her delicious folds to really lap up all her sweetness. It's addictive, the way you suck and lick away, from her swollen clit, right down to the bottom of her glistening wet slit, this intense groan tearing right through her as she locks eyes to watch you devour her cunt.

"Forgot how fucking good you taste—god, you taste fucking amazing.” 

“You forgot? Nobody forgets how good I taste. Not when you're addicted to eating my pussy as much as you are—"

That's a ridiculous enough statement to ignore, but you also can't bear the idea of stopping what you're doing, with your tongue exploring in slow, steady laps of every delicious morsel. Not when the sweet taste of Yuna fills your mouth and threatens to drown out everything else you feel, because she's so damn wet. It's the way your head is trapped between her thighs, keeping you right where she wants, smothering your face with her dripping cunt and forcing your tongue as deep as it can possibly reach. 

"Fucking shit—your mouth, that's so good, god. Fuck, fuck, y-you're gonna make me fucking cum! Don't stop—"

Like you could ever. Not when you have Yuna writhing against the cushions, watching the way her features contort into absolute bliss with just a harsh suck of her clit. 

Her mouth hangs open, head thrown back and the lewd, whiny little moans that you're so familiar with come right out. There's a rhythm of breathing that follows—heavy and erratic the more you try to break this girl. She struggles to even control herself when all she's reduced to is a soaking mess in front of your eyes, grinding against your face, needing to cum more than her next breath.

And that's the perfect opportunity to deny her what she wants so desperately. A split-second pause, watching the lust transform into absolute desperation. 

"N-no, please," she protests, urgency in her voice the second she feels your tongue stop. 

"Something wrong?"

"You ass—don't fucking stop. I said not to stop!" 

That's enough incentive to get back to it, fingers plunging right inside that wet heat to give your mouth a much-needed rest. Which only gives you these drawn-out moans, and fuck—there's not a single thing tighter than Yuna. Two fingers sink in with such ease, so wet, so warm, just taking whatever you'll give her at this rate. Nice and slow at first, so you can admire her reaction as you curl them inside, reaching spots that make her back arch right off the couch. 

"P-please, I'm so fucking close, fuck—"

Now she's begging, needing release at a level that's quite rare to see from Yuna. You pick up the pace, plunging those digits deep inside her sopping wet walls, hitting that same spot that makes her hips jolt so violently. 

"Is this what you needed? Come on, I know you're right fucking there. Fucking cum, Yuna. Cum like the needy little slut you are." 

You're not sure if it's the words that do her in, or the merciless assault of your fingers—both together is what gets the job done, the constant wet squelch that echoes with every furious plunge deep into her slick warmth. It's unmistakable when her cunt gushes around your thrusting fingers—spraying all over your hand, the couch, and god knows what else is just destroyed at this point. 

Yuna turns into a relentless, gushing mess, until she grabs your wrist to keep those fingers moving, filling the air with an even more delicious series of sobs.

Beautiful doesn’t begin to describe it when her body spasms the more you pump into this sensitive little cunt. Your fingers are so drenched, with the juices that spill like a fountain, these choked moans that escape with every thrust. And when that begging for more turns into pleading to stop, you're not interested in withdrawal, not until you wring a second orgasm out, a third, however many it takes for her to finally tap out. 

"S-stop, you're gonna fucking kill me, stop—god, it's just too much," she cries out, every ounce of strength left in her failing. Only do you pull out when Yuna forces your arm away, thighs still quivering in the aftermath as you get a good look of the damage done. Flat on her back, she can hardly move on her own. A mess all along her creamy thighs, along the couch, and who knows where else. 

"My poor couch."

"Your poor couch? What about my poor fucking pussy? Look at what you fucking did, I came like five fucking times—"

Even in the aftermath of an intense, messy climax, Yuna can’t help being Yuna.

"I didn't hear any complaints when you were squirting all over me,” you say, and bring your wet fingers to your lips to suck the delicious taste off. 

"Because your fucking fingers felt so fucking good, you asshole—" Yuna's so worn out, completely unable to do anything but just revel in the mess she's made.  

"You're welcome."

"That wasn't a thank you—oh my fucking god, look at my skirt, you fuck," Yuna groans, eyes shifting to the state bunched up above her waist. 

"This is your fault, don't even start."

"Because you fucking made me ruin it, this is like a $300 skirt!"

"My condolences," you say, without a hint of guilt, the damage to her skirt not even the least of your concerns. Especially when you unzip it to slide it right down her slim figure—revealing every inch of her gorgeous body naked for you to drink in. "Excuse me, princess. However can I make it up to you?"

"Don't fucking call me that," she snaps, and even in her weakened state she's not any easier to deal with. "I'm too tired to ride you right now, so you're just going to have to fuck me until my legs don't work." 

"Still not hearing a please," you remind her, slipping out of your boxers at last, your stiff cock finally freed after seeing Yuna's naked frame laid out so perfectly.

"You can take your please and shove it right up your fucking ass. I'm not saying it."

"Fucking brat," you curse, grabbing her waist to position Yuna right where you want her. "I'll do all the damn work then—you're not going anywhere but into this couch."

"Good, about fucking time."

When she's finally done complaining, her gaze falls back to your rock hard cock aimed at her soaking entrance. You shift forward, a hand on her slender waist for support, the head of your shaft nudging her wet cunt.

"Come on then, I haven't got all night—are you gonna fuck me, or just stare?"

"Yes you do. What the fuck else are you gonna do? Go fuck somebody else you won't even remember the next morning?" Angling yourself just right, you don’t waste a second longer to slide inside, right up to the hilt—feeling that tight, heavenly cunt consume every inch.

"My fucking god, Yuna—"

She's never felt more incredible, or so goddamn tight, impossibly wet, warm—every sensation just overwhelming, getting used to it all over like it's the first time inside her. A feeling that doesn't disappear, even before you move one bit, with these beautiful legs spread wide apart as they'll go.

"Forgot how tight my little pussy was, huh?" she taunts, loving the groans that it pulls from your mouth. "You haven't changed at all. Still have that same cute little face you get when you've got your cock inside me. My pussy just ruins every other girl for you, doesn't it?"

"Too tight, god—why are you so fucking tight? Greedy slut gets pounded by twelve guys a week and still this tight? Fuck—"

"Less talking and more fucking. Move your hips—fuck me like the filthy little whore I am, come on."

Your only response is to get your hands right on both sides of Yuna's tiny waist, sliding outside with just the tip of your cock remaining, before slamming your entire shaft to fill her again. The first thrusts alone have her clutching the couch cushions to brace for more, each one a little rougher, a little deeper, the walls of her cunt clenching so hard the more of your throbbing shaft fills her. 

"Don’t hold back. I wanna feel every inch of that thick fucking cock in my wet little cunt," Yuna breathes out with this demand in her voice. "Come on, harder—ruin my poor little pussy, f-fuck."

"That's the fucking plan." All this tension you've built up between each other has reached its boiling point, the frustration, the annoyance, all coming out here and now. Because once Yuna is under you like this, everything changes, your hips pulling back only to shove in again, a relentless rhythm on repeat. 

"Better be. Why do you even need other girls when my perfect little pussy is always here waiting for your cock? You already have a pretty fucktoy to use, don't you—"

"Yuna, stop fucking talking already," you groan with no patience for anymore of her rambling. "Your schedule is a little booked up right now, in case you haven't noticed."

That's when your thrusts hit without holding back, hard enough to get a reprieve from that bratty attitude—watching her pretty features contort as you keep drilling inside that intoxicating heat. Not letting up once, the sound of her slick pussy soaking every inch of your shaft with every slam fills the room, barely audible over the sound of her loud moans. And that tightness, god—it’s unfathomable, unforgettable, each delicious clench driving your hips so you’ll feel more of it. 

"Then I'll fucking clear my schedule. As long as you promise to fuck me like this—I'll put you in my calendar every fucking day."

That's not exactly the solution, and you can't imagine being with Yuna day in and day out, even if that comes with the prospect of having access to this pretty, warm little wet hole whenever you feel like. No, not worth the hassle—maybe for a weekend, but beyond that you'd go insane.

"Once a week is enough. Maybe twice if you can keep your fucking attitude in check."

"You love my attitude. Just like the rest of this body that you can't keep your hands off."

She has a point—a painfully accurate one, but not one that you're willing to admit when you keep trying to silence Yuna with these violent slams that have your balls ready to unload sooner rather than later. Her tight cunt drives you absolutely wild, almost distracting enough from that infuriating mouth of hers.

But even more distracting is the look in her face while you fuck her, and you can't resist staring with every thrust as she continues to keep those legs parted just for you. That's until they wrap tightly around your waist, the heels of her bare feet digging into your lower back, forcing you deeper into this perfect tight body.

"What the fuck are you—"

Yuna's light giggle interrupts your question, the look in her eyes almost enough of an answer on its own. "Just making sure you're not thinking about pulling out. Want every drop you have. Fucking dump it in me."

"God, will you shut up," you groan, face burying into the crook of Yuna's neck, unable to take another second of her mouth running while your hips keep up this unforgiving pace. This tightness, this wetness, it's more than you can handle, using her cunt to fuck every bit of annoyance building inside from what feels like forever. 

"I'll shut up when you cum inside me. It's been way too fucking long since you finished inside me, since I've heard you moan when your balls empty. Does every girl you fuck let you finish like this? Bet none of them do."

You're not even interested in playing this game with her, not when she has you so close already, your pistoning hips driven by such immense desire to flood Yuna's dripping cunt. She's even clenching harder than usual with those slim legs locked so tight, a grip you can't possibly slip from no matter how much you tried. Not that you even would. 

Thrust after merciless thrust, you keep your lips sealed to her neck, sucking so hard like it's the only thing to keep you anchored. All you can do is keep moaning in her ear, keep hammering her greedy little cunt, faster and faster—

"I'm about to fucking cum, Y-Yuna—"

The words leave your mouth right before you've reached your limit. Your mind's elsewhere, not even in control, as your balls tighten and every muscle in your body tenses. Not even a word on her end, like Yuna was waiting for this moment the entire night. There's just hot breath on her neck, your cock pounding so hard into this soaked pussy, every pump taking you further past the point of no return—until that first surge shoots deep inside her wet walls.

A hot, sticky load floods right into her pussy in a violent throb of bursts, pumping one spurt after the other deep as possible. Yuna wraps her legs tighter with each, keeping you buried completely while everything unloads inside her. Everything goes blank, losing track of how many shots fill her tight cunt, a complete blur while your hips move on repeat, fucking it all deeper into her slick warmth. 

"F-fuck, there's so much," Yuna groans, struggling to find the words, feeling every ounce of your hot load spill inside, threatening to overflow before you even finish.

You just continue to drive into her without mercy, until your body begins to give out, sweat dripping all along her pale frame underneath. By the time you're done, you’ve collapsed into the comfort of Yuna's neck, planting gentle kisses along the marks you've left behind while you ride out the high. She stays quiet for a moment—no taunting, no attitude, letting your still throbbing cock rest inside her with your thick load slowly seeping out.

It's the most deserved orgasm you've had in a while, you think. Putting up with Yuna—just to unload everything you have inside, where it belongs. All her annoying remarks, that shameless, filthy fucking mouth all seem to fade into obscurity after everything. For a few seconds, there's bliss. A quiet bliss. 

Bliss that doesn't last very long at all. 

"Did that feel good? Emptying your big, heavy balls inside me?" Yuna asks you, resting her long arms around your body. It's almost calming, the light scratches down your back that lull you into a state of relaxation. Something you didn't think was possible with this girl.

"Y-yeah," you breathe out against her neck, struggling to catch your breath as you linger in the warmth of her tight pussy that can’t stop clenching for more. "I came inside you, now get off me—"

"Never, you're still fucking hard. My legs still work, and I haven't even gotten to ride you yet," she reminds you, staring straight into your eyes with her legs staying perfectly in place. "That load was just an appetizer—daddy." 

You groan—louder than ever before, but not in pleasure.

"What the fuck did I tell you about calling me that?"

Yuna shifts beneath, legs relaxing enough to release the hold—allowing you to slide your cock free from the overwhelming heat.

"What's the matter, a nice, thick creampie in my tight cunt isn't enough for me to call you whatever I please?"

You're ignoring her, in as many ways as you can when you move your gaze between her thighs to admire the sight—the beautiful mess that's dripping from her pussy, so full of your hot cum. "Go home, Yuna. If that's what's you're going to keep doing, then we're fucking done here." 

"You're no fun. It's after midnight, you're not going to send a little innocent girl like me out alone like this, are you?"

Again, you ignore her, standing up from the couch in complete disarray and making a path to the bathroom instead. "I need a shower, but you can sleep on this couch you've defiled for all I care. Please be gone in the morning."

It's a bit heartless, you know, but Yuna brings out this part in you that rarely sees the light of day, when she refuses to listen. Even more so when her footsteps follow closely behind, her petite naked frame and that mess between her legs still dripping without any ounce of shame.

"God, you're such a mood killer," Yuna sighs, grabbing your wrist to pull your attention her way. "I'll stop fucking teasing you. I'll stop calling you daddy, you big fucking baby. Just let me shower with you. Please? I won't even talk. I promise."

That's a hard one to trust, given her track record. But she sounds far too exhausted to even try any tricks, pleading so hard to convince you to let her share your bed tonight. And it's hard to turn down that pout, those bright, widened eyes that stare you into submission.

"Fine. Not a single word in the shower. And if you call me that even once, Yuna, I'm never shoving my cock in you ever again. Do you understand?"

"Of course. Swear it on my life. Promise. Never ever ever—that's it."

And just like that, this look in her eyes when she steps inside the shower after you suggests she'll live up to that word. You'll see. If anything, seeing her naked under the hot steam is enough to commit to whatever terms you've created. A selfish, yet regrettable decision.

A nice, relaxing shower where this brat doesn't utter a single sound, not a single dirty comment—that's better than anything in your wildest dreams.

Things move to the bedroom, as they usually do with Yuna. The two of you are completely devoid of any clothing, because modesty with her around simply doesn't exist. She slides into the spot beside you, resting her head on your chest, delicate fingers in a relaxed grip around the length of your shaft. And you’re happy to do nothing but watch the smile on her face while she gives these magical strokes, not nearly enough pleasure to take things any further. 

"Whenever you're ready to put this big thing back inside me, let me know," Yuna says as casually as possible—as casual as someone can get while palming their hand around your cock.

But you're hesitant to leave this moment—her body curled so perfectly against yours, to the point where you can almost tolerate her. Almost. That being the important thing in all this.

"I already filled you twice today. Not enough for one night?"

"Never enough," she insists, giving a firm squeeze that makes you reluctantly agree. "Plus, you haven't filled my ass, and we both know what a huge fan I am of that.” 

"Obsessed is more the right word. You might be more into me fucking your ass than I am, and that's saying something. Like, I could live inside there."

She giggles, her delicate little fingers tracing down your shaft while she keeps stroking. "Can you blame me when I have an ass like this? You should be the one begging me instead of the other way around." 

"I'd never beg you for anything, Yuna. You're a pretty girl with a nice ass who spreads their legs on command, I don't need much more than that from you."

Yuna responds with a tug at your balls, almost painful in nature to get a point across. "Tell me that again when you want to bury your face in my ass. See if that's true then. Let's see how long you last without getting to eat my ass."

"Okay, okay—point taken."

"Not everybody gets to tongue my ass. It's a privilege."

"So lucky, my life is complete now that Shin Yuna allows me the honor of worshiping her ass." 

That makes her squeeze your cock all too hard in this agonizingly slow stroke. "My ass is fucking amazing. The only word for it, and it deserves some appreciation. I don't even let anyone else but you fuck me there."

"Why do I not believe that?"

Yuna drops a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your chest. "You don't have to believe it. I'll let half a dozen guys all have turns fucking me at once—until they cum inside me or on my face. Nobody but you gets the luxury of pounding my ass though."

“I’m touched.” 

"You should be. Every guy I fuck should be on their knees, begging me for the slightest chance to worship my body, especially my ass." 

Nobody has confidence like Yuna does, even if it's wildly inflated. As much as her very presence annoys you, it’s hard to say you could survive long without that tight ass. Whether it’s bouncing on your cock, your face, or just existing in front of your hips to have a handprint against it. That doesn't mean you'd ever drop to your knees and grovel for her, but there's no denying how much power that ass has.

"Nobody has a better ass than you, Yuna. Not even Yeji. There. Is that what you wanted to hear?" She laughs—this sinister laugh, while squeezing your cock in her tight little hand, nodding all excitedly in agreement. You know it's going to go to her head, but the alternative is much worse. "Good, now can you just jerk me off in peace?"

“Fine,” she says, with a defeated sigh. “If that's what you want. I won't make another sound. You can just relax. Pretend I'm not here. I'll just keep jerking off this nice, thick cock until you cum again." 

"Now you're getting it."

You close your eyes and appreciate the silence, knowing this might be the only time when Yuna doesn't find some excuse to run her mouth. Her hands keep busy, and god, are her hands just heaven when she's so slow and focused. The one time she doesn't say a fucking word, just pumping your cock until you're ready to explode all over her.

You don't even remember falling asleep. The last thing you remember is Yuna straddling you, riding with all the energy in the world despite her earlier exhaustion. Hair draped over her face as she bounced up and down, hips so frantic and needy, groaning while you slipped a finger to toy with her ass. And then it's all a blur. Sweet, uninterrupted slumber, and that's how you ended up like this.

But now, Yuna isn't anywhere to be seen. And you're not sure if that's a good thing or not. So, rather reluctantly, you rise from the comfort of your bed, grab a fresh pair of boxers, a clean shirt, and stumble right into the kitchen for some semblance of routine. 

The smell of coffee lingers in the air, a normally welcome start to the day. This time it's different—it's burnt. Far from the rich aroma of a good cup, the one you've brewed on your expensive coffee machine you imported just months ago. Something's amiss.

There's the culprit. Yuna is standing there, fiddling around with the machine like the controls are in a different language. She's dressed at least, kind of, barefoot in what appears to be your shirt, white and loose fitting, barely covering her delicious bare ass when she's bent over trying to figure out the buttons.

"Morning," Yuna says over her shoulder, as if completely oblivious to the damage she's caused. "Think your coffee machine is broken."

"Did you break it?"

She takes a good hard look at the machine, as if in disbelief, before turning back around. "No, not a chance. It was like this when I got here."

"Yuna, did you break my fucking coffee machine?" you ask again, in dire need of the very thing she's about to deprive you of. 

"What did I just say? It's not broken. Look, if you press this button it comes out with this weird looking water and if you do this—fuck."

This is unbelievable. As if you needed another reason to kick her out the second you're awake, because you know first hand that Yuna should never be allowed in a kitchen. Any kitchen. Not after the burnt chocolate incident. 

"Let me handle this. Before you destroy my kitchen too."

"Hey, rude—I was just trying to be helpful. But you have some weird fucking coffee maker that you need a PhD in three different languages to understand."

She takes a step back, sighing in defeat as you take over and deal with the chaos left behind. "This is why I don't have company in the morning. A pretty girl comes over and immediately tries to burn my entire place to the ground."

There's this surprised gasp that escapes from her lips as you start everything over from scratch, dumping out whatever awful concoction that was brewing earlier.

"Wait, pretty? You think I'm pretty?"

"That's what you're focusing on right now? You really are insufferable," you mutter, with Yuna's eyes fixating on you while she just beams at the compliment. A few adjustments here and there, a fresh pour of water, and the aroma of fresh coffee starts to linger, slowly clearing up the disaster zone Yuna has left behind.

"You didn't answer my question." 

You have nothing in you but an eye roll.

"Yes. You're very pretty," you finally relent, pulling down two mugs from the cabinet above. "I could do worse than waking up to that in my bed. With my ruined coffee machine."

"Hey, it's not ruined, you jerk. It's working now, isn't it?" 

For now. Not the point you want to argue about right now, because you need caffeine in your system more than you ever have. At least you can enjoy a proper cup on the balcony with Yuna, even if that means putting up with her presence. Which maybe isn't as bad as you once thought, given the eye candy alone makes it slightly tolerable. 

Days pass. Uneventful, mostly, without anything much but the occasional lewd text from Yuna at random points throughout the day. Which you'll admit, is preferable to her showing up at your place unannounced, because you think getting off to the nudes she sends without having to hear her whining in person is a much better alternative. 

It's the weekend, and you don't have anything planned that doesn't involve sleeping it all away. An hour at the gym, maybe. Catching up on laundry, cooking yourself a nice dinner—trying that new bottle of wine that's been sitting in your cabinet untouched for months.

But you’ll never get to any of that. 

"Guess who?" 

That’s all Yuna says before forcing her way into the apartment, like she's already expecting to be let in without a second thought. This bright, happy smile on her lips, strutting into the living room in a small little crop top, and these ridiculous white shorts that are tighter than they have any right to be. "I know you missed me. So I'm here to return your shirt. I washed it. Or the dry cleaning people washed it. Doesn't matter."

"Thanks. Just leave it on the counter, and then you can leave."

Yuna frowns, far more offended by this suggestion than any other you've laid out for her. "But you missed me, haven't you? So I'm going to stay for a couple of days, and you're just going to have to suck it up."

So much for peace and quiet. 

“Absolutely the hell not. Don't you have your own apartment to wreck? You're not staying here."

"Why not?" she asks, tossing your shirt on the counter, just like you said. But just as quickly, she takes a seat on the couch and makes herself entirely too comfortable. "My place is a fucking mess, and I'd rather have some company. Plus, you have that really nice bed that's a thousand times more comfortable than anything I own." 

"You're not staying," you reiterate. "Why are you even here? Did you just get done with a dick appointment, so you're coming here now? This isn't a hotel."

Yuna stretches out on the couch, not bothered in the slightest. "No. I haven't been fucked in three days. How crazy is that? We need to catch up, so I figured I would stay with you—"

"We? Try again. I'm sure there's a gangbang going down somewhere, or an orgy you can crash. I am not letting you stay."

"What, is having me in your life such a terrible fate that you'll die if you don't have a moment's peace? A hot girl on your couch and the first thing you think of is getting rid of her?"

"That's exactly right. I have things to do today. important things. Things that don't involve babysitting you."

Yuna cocks her head at you, wide-eyed. "What could you possibly have to do today that's more important than this ass? Huh? Name one thing."

This girl is the definition of exhausting. Trying to tear your attention away from her brazen attitude is harder than it should be, with her figure slumped against the back of the sofa—arms spread wide and long legs extended so invitingly. That top riding higher and higher each time she so much as breathes, offering a full view of her toned abdomen. You can't find the strength or motivation to fight this, when Yuna looks the way she does. And you're certainly no stranger to sleeping with her.

"I don't have to explain myself to you. There are a thousand things more important than giving you attention. Now get off my couch and go find someone else to annoy."

The demand only earns a childish scoff, Yuna folding her arms across her chest. "Oh come on—look, I'll be good. I'll sleep on the couch, I'll cook you breakfast and dinner and clean whatever the hell I mess up. I won't bother you. Promise."

"You're not stepping foot in my kitchen after you almost broke my coffee maker."

"Almost. Keyword, almost," Yuna adds, barely getting to the end of her sentence before standing up and making her way across the living room to your side. "If I can't cook or clean or do anything, how do you suggest I pay you back for letting me stay here, hmm?"

You clench your fists so hard while exhaling, staring daggers into this psuedo-innocent expression that doesn't have any weight behind it. Knowing damn well what those gears turning in her head have planned. 

"Don’t worry, you're not staying here. So there's no need to pay me back." A simple rejection doesn't seem to deter her. It never does. 

She’s no stranger to the word no, but it doesn’t stop her from taking another step forward. And another one, closing the distance between, almost as a test to see how far she can go before the resistance starts. Then she steps back. Only to spin around, those tempting hips and ass pressing right into the crotch of your sweatpants, using the armchair nearby like support to push a little harder. 

And when she's looking like that, the way Yuna throws that devilish look over her bare shoulder while wiggling her ass is such an easy sell, a perfect visual that causes blood to rush down towards your cock. "If you prefer, I could just pull them right off…"

Somewhere deep inside, you want this—to give up this charade and indulge yourself in every inch of her. In that ass you have memorized to every detail, in that perfect fucking cunt that's yours to taste anytime you please. But the second you give in, there's no turning back.

Because you can't keep pretending that you can control yourself around this girl. Every shred of composure you try to have is fleeting when Yuna's there offering herself up on a platter.

"Do you know how long it's been since I've had someone spank my ass? Two weeks? Maybe even three. Nobody hits harder than those big, strong hands. Nobody can put me in my place like you do. And I've been such a bad, bad girl.” 

Staring at the view presented before you, your knees feel a little weak. The things you want to do to this bratty little tease are practically limitless, sending your imagination racing when you follow the curve of her hips. Because maybe it’s about time she got what she deserves. All those handprints, her sensitive flesh just bruised by your palm, the sight of her bent over and spanked relentlessly—maybe her punishment is your reward. 

It's inevitable at this point. And the worst part is, Yuna knows this all too well.

"What are you waiting for? Spank my ass, make it yours. Make it hurt so good. Please."

That please is what does you in. Because you can picture it now, feeling the supple skin of her ass bounce under every smack of your hand, and that high pitched yelp tearing through her throat the second you really put power behind each strike.

It doesn't help those goddamn skintight shorts that hug her ass, a perfect invitation to have your way. 

You sigh under your breath. Because you’ll fold like always, giving in to those desperate pleas. If only to satisfy the lust that builds for Yuna’s tight body. The way your cock will feel buried inside her ass, while you get so rough fucking her. Until she can barely stand on her own two feet anymore.

Fuck. She knows she's already won.

"Fine. You fucking brat. But not here, not on the couch. I'll need a drink for this."

With a final look at her—looking like sin and sex on two legs, you drag her towards the kitchen to look for the strongest thing you have, looking past the bottle of wine that will have to wait. Yuna waits silently by the counter, with that same knowing look in her eye. A look that has no chance to fade even once you pop open a bottle of something to help wash the regret down.

"God, you're going to regret wearing those shorts," you tell her, not bothering with a glass and taking a huge swig straight from the bottle. And then another. 

"I don’t regret a single thing in my life. Now where's mine?" Yuna asks, pout on her lips as she ignores the fact that those shorts are coming off the first chance you get. 

"You're annoying enough sober—you don't get shit until I've had enough to tolerate you." 

She giggles. Which at this point is more infuriating than cute. "So never?" 

Yuna watches the bottle return to your lips for another long sip. You don't even deny that—instead, your eyes are glued to her shapely figure while you wait for the alcohol to kick in. 

"Give me your belt.” 

You slam the bottle down and stare straight ahead at the puzzled look on Yuna's face—but there's no objection. Instead, she complies and unfastens the clasp before sliding the white leather strip right out and handing it over without asking a thing. 

And that's when you do the honors. Unfastening the front button of those ridiculous shorts and tugging the zipper down. Her shorts are so impossibly tight that even after all that, they still take a little extra strength to tug down past the full curve of her ass. But you do manage to peel them down, staring at the tiny scrap of blue cotton and lace that hardly covers a damn thing—what those shorts are concealing beneath, this small string nestled just between her smooth, bare asscheeks. 

“Surprised you even wore panties at all today.” 

“I wore them so you’d rip them off me. It’s no fun if I don’t make you earn it first.”

That cocky little smirk doesn’t falter—not until you grab her ass like it belongs to you, fingers digging in deep, rough enough to make her squirm. Yuna wants to be manhandled, you know that already, so you squeeze harder, spread her wide and knead every inch, marveling at how much of her there is to take.

Her thong barely counts as anything, just a bright blue string that disappears between her cheeks. It's the only thing standing between you and burying deep inside.

"Fuck, I can't wait to feel your hands hurting this ass so fucking hard," Yuna groans, rolling her hips back into your grip. 

You don't respond—because now you've got your teeth hooked into the flimsy fabric of her thong. One swift tug downward snaps the thin fabric and tears right through so you can get right to that incredible ass of hers. No sooner have the scraps of her panties fallen to the kitchen floor before you've got a solid grip on each bare cheek, sinking your teeth in just enough to mark her pale flesh.

Laughing under your breath as you run fingertips across those creamy cheeks, you shake your head in disbelief. "You think I'm going to be using my hands?" you ask while picking up her discarded belt, an almost forgotten strip of leather until this exact moment.

Yuna looks back over her shoulder with the biggest grin.

"We're doing this my way.” 

Dropping your sweatpants right around your ankles for some relief, she can't help but stare at your bulge. And a smile perks up on her lips the instant she catches sight of the leather belt in your tight fist. Surprisingly, Yuna stays silent, even as you test the belt out between the palm of your hand, the crack of leather echoing around the kitchen. "You wanna get spanked? Then you're gonna get spanked. Bad girls don't get a say in this."

"Can't wait," she responds, not obedient, but almost daring as her hands clutch tight to the kitchen counter to brace for the first impact. Neither can you. 

"Eyes forward then, slut," you demand, running the leather down her skin, tracing along every curve until she has no choice but to face away. Before any warning, the satisfying crack of leather connects right against her bare ass, ripping a startled yelp from those bratty lips. A strike so forceful it jolts her body forward and leaves a light imprint on her delicate flesh. 

It puts a smile on your face when you get the same reaction. Another sharp crack cuts through the silence, right against the flesh of her ass with even much force. Another welt, another moan, as this bright red mark begins to form as the color spreads across her flesh. "M-more, please—that stings so fucking good. F-fuck, more."

The next smack sends her hips slamming back into the counter, another strangled noise coming from her mouth right as you hit her harder without thinking. “If it's too much, speak up." 

But the noise she makes is barely coherent. All you can see is the look of excitement on her face as you deliver more stinging slaps to her same cheek, over and over until you've had enough—only switching to the other for an identical treatment and marking the unblemished skin just the same.

"N-never. I love the pain, love the feeling of this belt on my ass—please keep going." Even with the crack in her voice, the smack of leather against bare skin overshadows her cries while you up the ante and show no mercy. 

Over and over with these slaps all over her cheeks, fueled by frustration with Yuna yelping each time you send the belt flying into that sore, marked skin. But she still grinds her hips back at you for more, eager for any ounce of pleasure, and every ounce of pain that comes alongside.

The entire time Yuna stays bent over, loud gasps and pathetic whines for another while these harsh spanks rain down so she can feel the sting that lingers right after. Hard enough to leave her speechless and biting back to not beg you for even worse. She grips the countertop like she'll simply fall over if she doesn't. And after a well-timed hit, you force a break that she doesn't ask for—a moment to collect herself and catch her bearings. A moment to admire the redness that's not going away anytime soon.

"Still want more?" you ask her with a tug at her hair, the belt grazing her tender skin. 

"M-more. Give me everything you fucking have," she can barely breathe out between whimpers, gripping even tighter onto the kitchen counter, so that your next hit to that reddened ass leaves behind an unmistakable imprint on those plump cheeks. "Fucking make it hurt, don't treat me like I can't take it. Harder."

You can certainly oblige her. Harder is exactly what you'll do—each vicious snap of the belt a little more relentless, no pauses between several loud cracks against that aching flesh, causing the most delectable noise as Yuna gasps every single time. Even as you step back, inspecting the artwork you've left on her backside, Yuna is far from satisfied. "I said to fucking make it hurt. But you're holding back on me, stop doing that."

Oh, let her fucking complain. Even with a burning sting on her ass, Yuna can't help but provoke you a bit further, with your grip in her hair tightening. But those slaps only come faster—each vicious hit with the leather cracks over her raw ass, moans muffled as her cheek gets pressed right up against the cold countertop. 

The belt swings wide again, hitting both cheeks at once and making them jiggle, the redness across Yuna's round little ass making a stark contrast against the pure, porcelain skin. And she hears it first before feeling it. 

Another cry of ecstasy that escapes her throat right as the belt brings about more stinging slaps, until you let the folded length of her own belt linger in the air, so she doesn't even know when the next swing will happen. You love nothing more than watching her body tense up—every single nerve on edge knowing another hard smack will come her way the second she even breathes, her reddened ass ready to receive whatever you have left in store for it.

"Like doesn't begin to describe it. I'm fucking crazy for it," she gasps out, when the belt stays far enough away that you give her some sense of relief—until it brushes over the sore, sensitive skin, making the softest touch seem worse than an outright strike. Then it cracks over her cheeks in succession, her thighs clenching together as she takes it. 

"My god, nobody has an ass like this, Shin Yuna. Nobody. Especially now with all these pretty little marks, and those noises you make when I spank you, I could listen to those all fucking day."

You put the belt down and stroke over the red welts from where you may have gone just a little too far, not that Yuna would ever object. She glances back over her shoulder with the biggest smile, even through the tears staining her cheeks.

"That’s as much as you deserve, you desperate little slut.” 

Up her body you wander, pulling her upright and stripping her of that small crop top so your hands have better access. Then straight into the clasp of her bra, cupping her tits once you’ve freed them, kneading with a little force the way you know Yuna loves. 

"I can handle so much more than this, I swear. I could take so much more," Yuna insists with another cute sniffle. The problem is, you know she can. All you have to do is glance between her thighs, and the mess on the tiles tells you enough. 

"I know you can," you breathe in her ear, hand trailing up around her throat until your fingers close tightly around it. Yuna lets out this short and sweet moan in your grasp when you apply more pressure. “But you got what you want. Now it’s my fucking turn.” 

Yuna drips at the thought. There's no sense in resisting her, no point in pretending this wasn't inevitable from the moment she had herself bent over with those tight fucking shorts. You'll give into everything she wants despite pretending to do the opposite. 

"What's that fucking word you keep calling me?" you ask her, the grip around her neck making her thighs clench even harder this time. "Go on."

"D-daddy. That's it. But you said never to—"

"Doesn't apply here. One time, this one time, use it. Use it while I'm shoving my cock in your needy little asshole, understand?"

"Yes—I fucking understand. Y-yes, daddy. Just this once."

A quick release of her throat so Yuna can turn her body in your direction, the tears in those alluring eyes yet to dry up. Your free hand palms over her ass once again, getting a nice, possessive squeeze as a reward for everything she's endured already.

"My ass fucking hurts," she says, laughing it off between shaky breaths and the occasional sniffle. "G-god, this belt fucking hurt more than your hand ever could."

"Are you complaining or bragging?" you ask as your lips meet, hot breath against one another as her slender fingers grasp against the hem of your shirt, up and off within seconds so she can slide her fingers up and down your bare chest. 

"What do you think?" 

Your boxers come off last, not even hitting the ground before Yuna is stroking your stiff cock with this playful expression on her features. Then it's in her grip the entire time you walk her down the hallway and into the bedroom. As expected, she can't keep her hands off of you for more than a second, right up to when the bed frame hits the back of her knees and the only option is falling back onto the mattress.

"God, Yuna, the things I'm going to do to you—the ways I'll ruin you." With her legs spread wide, and thighs glistening with arousal, you get to indulge in the view while Yuna plays with her clit in lazy, drawn-out circles.

“Need you in my ass, daddy—need it now. Isn't that clear?" Oh, how unexpected that she’s going to abuse the permission of that one single word. 

"I can assure you the feeling is mutual," you insist, and join her on the edge of the mattress, taking her hips and flipping her over until she's lying right on her stomach with that sore, marked ass up on display, raised up off the mattress.

She props herself up on her elbows so she’s in position, right in the center of the bed. The sight is perfection—this shameless, insatiable fucktoy, sprawled across your bed with her legs parted, knees sunk into the bed, ready and waiting for you. 

Just as she opens her mouth to say something, you bury your face into those pillowy cheeks, the tip of your tongue swirling against her tight fucking asshole.

"F-fuuuck, it's been so long since I've had your tongue in my ass, daddy," Yuna moans, your spit lubricating her puckered hole all over, the softness of her cheeks pressing deep against your face as she tries to grind back. You shove your tongue deeper, tasting, savoring everything—eating her ass like it's the only reason you let her stay here tonight. The reason why you even opened the front door.

There's nothing better than the unfiltered moans while you plunge your tongue deep into the depths of her asshole, face first against it and greedy, spreading her wide apart while you slip in, those cries of pleasure getting higher. 

You taste—no, you devour her, tongue exploring, thrusting in and out of that tight little ring that clenches around each swipe. This delicious tongue-fuck that gets better the more desperate Yuna sounds, writhing around your sheets and pushing back, all in hopes to keep your mouth where it belongs. 

"This ass belongs to me," you remind her, a harsh slap on the still reddened flesh to make the pleasure even better. 

Yuna spreads her cheeks wider so you can plunge as deep as possible, so you can hear her delicious moans as your spit covers her glistening hole. One long, sloppy lick in and out, tongue so deep in her asshole that all she can do is whimper helplessly for more. 

"D-don't act like you didn't miss this," she says, still as cocky as ever through a breathless groan of satisfaction. Your tongue teases one last time, a thumb replacing it to press into the ring of muscle that's already relaxed, seeing how easy it is to sink into.

She’s more than ready, but you need one more taste before grabbing the lube so you can slide a wet digit right inside the puckered hole of Yuna's ass—fingering her the same way you've done countless times already. 

She's tight, of course, that’s a given, but even as a finger curls inside, this grip around your finger won’t begin to compare once your cock is in the same place. Two fingers is the limit, plunging them deep enough to stretch Yuna just enough so your cock will slide right in. "Only I get to fucking pound your asshole, yeah?"

"O-oh fuck, it's only you, daddy. Nobody else, nobody but you, I promise—your cock in my ass, right where it belongs. J-just you." 

Your fingers finally pop out, and instead the slick, swollen head of your cock is pushing into the tightest, most inviting hole—one long, deep thrust right up until the base, so her asshole can swallow every last inch in a single motion. 

Yuna clutches the sheets so tight, arching her back to push that ass up into the air. She's so tight that you can't even fathom it, this delicious clench around everything stuffed to the hilt—and there's nothing like this. Nobody gets this privilege, you believe. Nobody gets to indulge in the luxury of fucking Yuna's perfect, tight little asshole. Not a single person but you gets to make her moan quite this way. 

"Stop wasting time and fuck my ass. Pound me, p-please. Don't make me fucking beg." 

So much for savoring any of it. You sink your fingers right into her ridiculous hips, gripping her harder than usual to drag her backwards onto your cock. Hard enough to force this groan out of her—so needy and pathetic in the midst when your hips meet her bare ass. A brief moment to take it all in, before sliding almost entirely back and rocking forward with full force. 

"Oh my fucking god—my ass feels so full, shit—"

She's barely breathing between words, and you don't intend on helping her out in that regard at all when you're too busy staring at her red, tender cheeks, loving how they jiggle with every rock of your hips.

“Did you expect anything else?" you ask while giving her a good, harsh slap to that same spot where red is still clear as can be. With such a good view, it's impossible to do anything other than drive deep and begin pounding her mercilessly. "A pathetic fucking slut like you deserves nothing but a rough fuck. And that's what you're gonna get." 

Yuna does little but spew moans and throw her head back when your cock buries deep in her ass. This tightness never gets old, your hips on a mission to bury in her and hit all the places Yuna loves, enough to get her drooling all over your pillows. But her asshole—as snug, warm, and irresistible as it is, you can’t fathom how hard she squeezes every time you drill forward, showing no signs of restraint.

"S-so good," she lets out through short gasps, her face buried in the pillows and her teeth biting your sheets hard. “Love when you treat me like a fucking toy, daddy—"

"Yuna, that's exactly what you are," you tell her while you're so deep in her ass it's almost overwhelming. "So tight, I'll never stop pounding you, fuck. Tightest little hole I've ever fucked."

Yuna glances over her shoulder, while you get a good, tight grip on her hair and tug so she clenches harder, with every stroke balls fucking deep—as rough as you think she needs it. Even as the sound of your cock reaming her ass echoes throughout the entire room, nothing could possibly be enough. 

Your unrelenting, deep thrusts into Yuna's asshole cause the whole damn bed to creak from the violent force of your strokes, pulling her hair harder for that extra roughness she loves. 

No break, not the slightest pause until you absolutely have to—because you could do this all day and not grow tired of the way Yuna moans or how her cheeks bounce when you slam into them. Those cheeks that you get a tight handful of—palms full, and dig your fingers in for some leverage while your thrusts turn animalistic, barely in control at this point. 

But Yuna can take it, you can see it in that fucked out expression. The pleasure written all over her features while her mouth falls open as you show her no mercy—spreading her ass just so you can marvel at your cock hammering in and out, stretched out so wide around you.

"So good, g-god, so deep, love how deep your cock goes," Yuna can barely get out, like it takes all the energy out of her. You know you're not anywhere near wearing her out, not while watching your dick destroy her asshole.

"Not enough?" 

“N-not even fucking close. Give me all you've got, come on," she pleads for in this broken, muffled whine with her face shoved so far against your sheets she can barely breathe. 

Another deep thrust, enough force behind that slams the bed against the wall, loud enough to compete with the sound of her ass slapping against your hips. And when you draw back again, you grab her delicate little wrists, pulling her arms behind her back and using them as leverage—so Yuna can't do anything at all but let her asshole get wrecked.

"More, more—keep fucking pounding my tight ass, come on. D-don't stop, daddy. You know I'm fucking addicted to this fat cock," Yuna pleads so pathetically, immobile and helpless, taking whatever comes next with her arms hostage and your cock impaling her to the hilt.

Your hips do exactly that. Fucking her ass in quick strokes until all she does is cry out for you to destroy her, and then some. Yuna takes everything, the groans and yelps when you give no chance for recovery, the thrusts so deep and noises more depraved by the second. Her wrists pinned by the small of her back so she doesn't even have the chance of touching her swollen clit.

"That cock in my ass feels so fucking amazing. Oh my fucking god, fuck me, fuck my asshole as deep as possible."

When you yank her body back, your hands stay locked around her wrists with enough force for her to gasp. But you’re too busy pummeling her ass to even get a word out—too focused on that impossible tightness wrapped around your cock, the  perfect grip around every inch like it's trying to force you to cum.

"Better get used to this, slut. My cock is going to keep wrecking your tight little ass over and over again for the next two days. And maybe even longer if you really deserve it."

Her wrists go free, only for your hands to find her delicious hips again, slamming back in and using all the momentum to crash into Yuna as hard as your body can muster—until she's pinned flat onto your mattress, trapped right under you without a single break between the thrusts that hit at a different angle. 

With your legs spread on either side of her, your torso stays flat against her naked back, keeping your weight right down over her small frame. The bed shakes each time you enter the deepest parts of her ass, every single stroke her greedy hole swallows up and demands even more than you can possibly offer. 

"That's it, j-just like that. Just keep fucking my ass, love the way that you ruin it—"

"Yuna—" You bring a harsh smack down across her reddened, sore cheek to really punctuate each thrust. "You think I wouldn’t when your ass is squeezing my cock so fucking good?"

Every bit of movement between the two of you happens right where your skin is pressed against hers—sweat on her body indistinguishable from the sweat on yours. Hands around her hips so you can keep a nice, possessive grip while you relentlessly drive forward to pound her body into your mattress, no chance of lasting much longer now. Not with the way you're drilling her, no chance at all.

And yet, you can't tear your eyes away from how her ass looks getting pounded, bouncing every time your hips make contact with the reddened cheeks of her ass.

"If you fuck me any harder, you might actually break this bed," Yuna gasps out, laughter still coming to her lips despite how ruined and breathless she is. That sounds like a good option, if you can’t help it, no matter how rough you need to be with her. Yuna is beyond that—insatiable and incapable of getting satisfied for very long at all, the way most people would. 

But that doesn't mean you won't give your all for this performance. So you get back on your knees, getting each hand full of Yuna's plump ass, sinking your fingertips as much as humanly possible to watch your cock destroy this perfect girl. 

"Then I'll keep going, until we've destroyed my entire goddamn bedroom. That's how much I love pounding your ass."

She just giggles until a moan replaces it, lost in all these noises. You won't stop, not if your legs give out from exhaustion. Every hard and deep thrust has your eyes fixed upon where your hips meet those decadent cheeks. With Yuna face down on her stomach, there’s no better view to watch how well your cock stretches her hole open. 

"You're getting there, I can feel it," she taunts. You hate that you can’t even see her face, but you know she’s grinning. Smug little brat. "Go ahead, fill this tight, little asshole. Use it until you cum."

And she just gets you so riled up, that it's inevitable, as soon as those words leave Yuna's mouth. "I cannot believe I went this long without my cock inside you. When you say it out loud, it just sounds—"

"Crazy? Come on. I know it drove you crazy. The only time you're actually fucking happy is when this big dick is buried in my ass. Not just inside some random girl who's not me, or a warm mouth who's not mine."

God, do you hate when she's right. Hate it with every fiber of your being, but you don't even have time to think about anything else, because these soft cheeks you're palming so hard is the thing that's about to break you first. That same voice that you can't stand on most days, is what helps you unravel—what brings you to that delirious edge and drives your hips with full force for these last few deep thrusts that rattle the bed. 

You start to lose full control, snapping your hips a little too fast, once, twice—before finally bottoming out with her name on your lips and erupting deep inside her ass. It's unstoppable, filling her with your thick, messy release in each deep throb when your cock pumps Yuna full, her asshole accepting it with each final burst of tightness.

"There you go, fucking cum in my ass," Yuna moans out as those harsh clenches milk everything out of you. You ride that high for as long as possible, each furious thrust pumping your seed deep inside, each hammering her body into the mattress—again and again until your balls have nothing left. 

Even after then, your hips don’t cease, fucking the rest of your load deeper inside her tight, filled hole. You can already see your release trickling out, her ass stuffed too full and overflowing with your cum already. "F-fuck, there's so fucking much, it's so thick—oh my god, daddy came so much…” 

Yuna sighs out into the silence, while you're left holding those sore cheeks to catch your breath. Both of you struggling to recover. 

"That's like, several days worth of cum in your ass," you say, dragging your spent cock out of her to get a good look, holding her cheeks spread apart as it flows in a thick mess between her thighs. Your fingers slide right into that gaping, ruined asshole, pushing back whatever cum threatens to drip out.

"Jesus, Yuna. Look at how much is spilling out. Was worried I actually broke you there for a moment when you're this tight."

"Nope. Still perfect. And it's still not enough," Yuna says, insatiable as ever. Only then do you start to peel yourself off of her, her worn-out body a complete sweat-covered mess.

“Too bad. You fucking drained me dry, you greedy slut."

Yuna laughs, and when she rolls over on her back to face you, she's the image of perfection: hair matted all against her forehead with sweat, makeup a bit smeared, her lips and cheeks redder than usual—ruined but still absolutely stunning.

“Like you could ever run out. Not when I'm around…” 

Yuna shifts right in front of you until she's directly in front of your gaze and kneeling between your legs. She smiles up at you and her mouth gets right back on your throbbing, sensitive cockhead. Each obscene slurp makes it a little harder to convince yourself that she shouldn't be staying for the weekend, because you might not ever let her leave. While not a day goes by without you hating her guts, not a day goes by without wanting to pin her up against a wall and fuck her senseless.

Her mouth slides deep, cleaning off everything, and her lips, her tongue running against the slit, and the cute expression the whole time, god—this girl is going to be the death of you.

She drags her tongue in slow, gentle swipes around the head, sucking every single drop clean and looking for more. There's not a single bit of reluctance—her wet mouth eagerly cleaning up your shaft in long strokes. Then she slides both hands around your hips and shoves you back, knocking you off balance until you hit the mattress. Yuna doesn’t give you a second to recover, already between your legs again. 

Now you're the helpless one, that hot little mouth working to fit the entire thick length down her throat. You don't even care about the overstimulation, not with this view of Yuna bobbing her head, those lips sealed tight. 

"Fuck, you’re crazy—“ you let out, running fingers through her messy hair, while Yuna ignores you and devours your spent cock, balls deep down her throat until she gags the slightest bit.

"You love it, though. Because it means you’re gonna fuck me harder now.” 

Maybe you do regret ever opening the door for her and letting her inside your apartment to ruin her. Or maybe you're the one ruined instead. You're not entirely sure at this point. 

"You're gonna have to wait, not everything is at full capacity yet." Yuna cocks her head to the side, stopping her full strokes so she can crawl up and get comfortable on top of you, until you're face to face, inches apart. 

"Daddy got too worn out pounding my ass? Is that my fault?"

All you have the energy for is to brush away strands of her disheveled hair out of the way, so you can stare at her gorgeous face. "Yes. And you can stop calling me that. One time thing, remember?"

Yuna giggles. "No—one time won't be enough. You know I like saying it."

You can’t even hide the sigh that escapes. But you should have known better, you suppose, for letting the floodgates open and allowing her that one time. Now you'll never hear the end of it, and it's going to be rolling off her lips the next time she begs you to fuck her again.

"You'll never listen to anything I say ever, will you?"

You already know the answer to that. But you’ll still indulge in her lips, this unexpected soft kiss after all the roughness. After all the debauchery of tonight, it’s what you both need. 

"Definitely not," Yuna replies, eyes wide and bright. “You’re just gonna have to find a way to shut me up—daddy."

You hate that word with a passion, you'd hate it if you were to hear anyone else say it to you—but for some reason, hearing that coming from those pouty lips, you hate even more that you might grow to love it the same amount. "You get to stay the weekend, and not a minute longer. Got it?"

There's this knowing glint in her eyes, all too confident that you'll break and think otherwise. "Don't be so sure about that. After one more night, you'll be begging me to stay an entire month. Begging me."

A roll of your eyes, and a laugh that’s far too loud escapes, because in truth, she's most certainly right. It's this push and pull between wanting her far away and wanting her around more than ever.

"Yuna, don't push your fucking luck," you warn, the last remnants of trying to distract from the truth.

"It's a little late for that, don't you think? I've pushed far past my limit. Might as well just start moving my things here."

That's a step too far. You'll fuck her brains out as many times as she needs, you'll even allow her to sleep in your bed for as many nights as she wants. This is already too domestic for your liking, but the thought of her staying here without giving you a moment's break? You'd rather perish.

"Absolutely fucking not. Don't even joke about that, Yuna."

"I was kidding," she insists, playing with the locks of your hair, not bothered at all by the agony on your face. "I'm here to get dicked down, that's it. I don't need to take over your whole apartment just to make sure my asshole is stretched." 

"Jesus, Yuna. Why the fuck are you so—"

"Insatiable? Hot? Good at deepthroating you until you explode down my throat? Because it's fun to see you get so flustered, daddy." 

Another one slips past her lips. You're just going to have to live with it at this point, she's so obsessed getting a reaction out of you, and you make it so easy for her. "Fuck off, I do not get flustered. And you need to stop saying that."

"No fucking chance. I'm going to call you that every single time you pound me. I'm going to scream it while you shove my face into your pillows and fuck the shit out of me, while you fold me up and choke me, get me on my knees and gag me until I'm drooling—"

"Yuna, I am not fucking you for at least another hour. Maybe even two."

"That's fine. We don't have to fuck at all, because my ass still fucking hurts,” she says, letting out a noise somewhere near a giggle and a sigh all at once. “I'm going to feel those welts you left on me forever, that belt made my ass so fucking sore that I'm surprised I can even walk. Just thinking about it makes me fucking drip—“

"Could you be any bigger of a slut than you already are?" 

Yuna shakes her head, this soft smile as if your insults only spur her on, as they seem to do. "Never. Not even if I tried." 

[makeitworse]

IN MY RESTLESS DREAMS

you’re reminiscent of her— too much for him to just let you go.

contains: dark themes. f!reader x inho. pregnancy (reader replaces junhee). age gap (reader 20, inho late 40s). obsession. freudian bc it’s by me. taboo relationship. light smut. 18+

the instant his eyes fell to your stomach, in-ho’s vision blared with red.

such a young girl— you appeared barely more than just a child yourself. even beneath the baggy tracksuit there was a visible bump of your belly. that tiny sign of life, it changes everything.

who the fuck let you in?

thoughts sunk talons into his brain— jagged and furious. his fingers twitched at his sides, tempted to grab the closest guard’s radio and have you pulled from the island.

if in-ho had of known, he would’ve had the recruiter’s head mounted on his office wall. that sadistic fuck— approaching a young expecting mother.

it defiled the principles behind the games.

in-ho glanced at the fellow men of the team hovering over you— the two marines: gi-hun’s friend and his ponytailed lackey. they were here to pay off debts caused by their own stupid, selfish choices. that wasn’t you. it couldn’t be.

his chest tightens, a fragmented memory of his late wife wafting through his mind. how she was determined to go through the surgery knowing she was pregnant. just as you were here, putting you and your baby’s life on the line, aware of the risks.

it left a rotten taste on his tongue. you weren’t trash— not like the other players. you were just a young (albeit naive) girl who presumably joined the games to support her child.

it was admirable, taking up the promise for money from a dodgy man in a suit for the good of your baby. he respected your courage— but he can’t feel anything other than dread for this next game. how were you meant to fair in the pentathlon with such a hindrance?

in-ho watched you talk amongst the team. they were curious, prying about the details of why you were here in such a state.

you remained nonchalant. you’re speaking about your pregnancy like it barely inconvenienced you— you just happen to be more hungry and less nimble than the other players.

you reminded him of his wife’s spirit. hell, even your features and your demeanour distantly resembled her. you could be her twin.

“you’re very brave, coming here.” in-ho’s voice cut through the others.

you give him a small smile, which he returns thoughtlessly.

the announcement of time up rings out through the room, and each team of five is directed to sit in rows.

player 388 was practically hanging off of you. there was a feeling simmering under in-ho’s skin— jealousy wasn’t quite the name for it. he just knew you should be talking to him in place of the boy. you hadn’t smiled at him like you did for in-ho.

of course, 388 made a (pathetic) attempt to sit next to you. in-ho lightly pushed him with his hand, stepping in front.

“you don’t mind if i sit here, do you?”

388 looked like a deer in headlights. in-ho had tried to keep his voice even, but there was a palpable shift in his energy. something dark. something unlike the player 001 they’ve come to know.

wordlessly, he steps aside with a meek nod. in-ho steals the spot next to you as all the players sit and listen to the instructions.

as the games are being explained, in in-ho’s peripheral he catches 388 craning his head to stare at you past him. as if in-ho’s not even there.

he claimed the seat next to you for a reason. in-ho glances at 388 with a still, yet intense, gaze— though he can’t contain how his lip twitches.

388 crumbles under the weight of in-ho’s stare, quietly leaning back in his spot.

that’s what i thought.

the first teams are called to the tracks. as their ankles are being shackled, in-ho turns to you, leaning in closer than he should. he angles his back to shield you from 388’s prying eyes.

“what was your name?” he keeps his voice low.

your brow quirks as you reveal your name. you pronounce it like it’s a question.

in-ho chuckles at that, trying out the sound of your name on his tongue. despite yourself, you smile with him.

“aren’t you a little young to talk to strange men in the subway?”

“old enough, since i’m talking to another one.” his expression, the faux warmth, drops ever so slightly. you just snicker at his reaction. “i’m twenty.”

in-ho exhales, recollecting himself. a pregnant twenty year old, condemned to this island and these games under his watch. he curses under his breath.

“what?”

“ah, it’s just..” his gaze falls to your stomach again. instinctively, you place a comforting hand over it.

“i can take care of myself.” you assert.

he nods, his mouth curving into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “i have no doubt.”

the crack of a gunshot to signal the game beginning makes both of your heads turn— as does in-ho’s stomach.

you’ll have to participate in this state. you’re carrying your baby with you.

rumination swirls in in-ho’s mind as he stares at you, watching the players in the pentathlon.

since taking up the mantle of frontman, in-ho had locked his grief in a box and kept them out of reach on the top shelf of his brain. and now here you were, embodying the soul of his late wife— knocking the box off the shelf and spilling its contents all over the floor.

you’ve got that same stubborn glint in your eyes, that same curve of your belly with life blooming inside. it wasn’t a mere coincidence that you approached in-ho and his group. and perhaps neither was the recruiter inviting you to the games.

this was fate. a second chance. in-ho would save what he couldn’t back then. you’d be the wife and child he’d succeed in protecting.

he’ll make sure of it.

“how far along are you?” in-ho murmurs.

you turn your attention to him, away from the game. the time was almost up for the players. he didn’t want you to witness the incoming bloodshed.

“seven months soon.” you whisper back.

in-ho reaches for you, and when you don’t budge, he rubs your arm reassuringly. you trade smiles. to you it’s an act of warmth. but in embracing in-ho’s touch, you’ve just let him mark you as his. you’ll come to understand that.

he needs to make certain of it. so, though he shouldn’t pry, he asks: “and the father?”

your smile fades. you shake your head, and your eyes falter to the ground, searching for comfort away from his. in-ho squeezes your shoulder— and he notices the slightest flinch from you.

“it’s okay.” you meet his gaze again, and he musters the kindest smile he can manage. he can’t recall the last time it could come to him naturally. “you’ve got me now.”

at that, your eyes light up. a glimmer of hope.

staring back into his, he can’t imagine there’d be little more than void for you to find.

you jolt at the sound of rapid gunfire. time had run out for the contestants. as if on instinct, you’re curling into in-ho’s chest, and he’s leaning forward to catch you in an embrace.

you shudder against him as he holds you through the noise of the slaughter. in-ho places a hand on your scalp, shushing you as he gently strokes your hair.

he dismisses the heads turning in your direction, particularly of the pony-tailed boy sitting next to him.

let it be known that you’re his. of course, you just hadn’t been told yet. but you’ll learn.

you weren’t scum. you weren’t a leech with bottomless greed. not like the others, those that the games were designed to cull. you didn’t belong here.

but now, you belonged to him. you were redemption. and he would redeem his shortcomings of his past with you— by any means necessary.

and this time around, he wouldn’t simply love you. he wouldn’t just hope for the best. hope is what got people killed.

no, he’d own it. control it. lock it down so tight no one can take it from him. you.

you push yourself from him, keeping your gaze from meeting his. he caught how your eyes were glossy.

“we’ll get you out of here.” he says, and he means it. “i’ll make sure of it.”

and he can. you may hate him for what he’ll have to do to keep his word. but you’ll be safe.

in-ho offers his open palm to you. and, like a silent agreement to his promise, you take it.

you will live. your baby will live.

our baby.

your team scraped by with a win. no thanks to in-ho, who’d been intentionally flunking his turn at spinning top.

he would’ve watched the others be shot dead with a grin, particularly 388— who he could’ve sworn was fucking holding your hand during the pentathlon.

you didn’t need his help. you didn’t need anyone that wasn’t in-ho.

after the game’s conclusion, the players sat around in groups, conversing while waiting for the next vote.

your team learned each other’s names. you softly repeated his once he stated it: young-il. it’s sweet, and it’ll be even sweeter when he hears his real name from your lips.

you go to stand, excusing yourself to the bathroom. before 388 (or dae-ho, as he’s learned) can get a word out, in-ho’s already offering to walk you there.

“thank you,” you mumble, in-ho at your side as you cross the room of bunks. the other players stares weighed heavy. “the bathroom guard makes me so uncomfortable. sometimes i’d rather have just wet the bed.”

in-ho chuckles from his chest. “really? well, i could tell him off.”

you scoff. you laugh it off together— as if he’s not serious.

he’d order them to put their gun to their head and pull the trigger if that’s what you so wished. anything for the mother of his kid.

in-ho waited in the corridor for you, giving you a reassuring smile as you disappeared into the ladies bathroom. he turned his gaze to the guard, hardening his face.

the guard returned an almost imperceptible nod. the message was clear.

in-ho’s head tilts at the sound of an approaching voice. as they get closer around wall, he recognises it as player 124: the one he ruffed up in front of everyone, alongside that purple-haired loudmouth.

“haven’t you seen how she walks? that old bastard must be having fun with her—”

in-ho’s stare was cold as they encountered him, stopping in their tracks.

player 124 exposes himself by stumbling over his words, grabbing at his dyed-haired friend’s sleeve for support.

in-ho moves to come off leaning the wall, and then 124 cracks.

“i’m sorry, sir. it was just a joke.” he takes a measly step back. “i’m sorry for speaking about your daughter like that.”

230 nods along, albeit his mind was clearly in a different place.

they’re idiot junkies who’ll probably kill each other in the special games. in-ho just needs to keep an eye on you until then, if they try anything. in that case he’ll kill them with his own hands.

your face appears on the other side of the ladies door as it swings open. in-ho turns his stare away from the men standing in front of him, and they usher into the male bathroom.

“did they want a round 2?” you quip.

in-ho shakes his head. he gives a low chuckle, but there’s no humour in it.

the tide of the vote had turned to the O’s once again. as gi-hun placed the last, fruitless vote— in-ho glanced at you, watching as you placed a hand over your stomach. this time wasn’t in comfort, but dread. you had to go through another game while carrying a child. his child.

in-ho stayed by your side. you even let him place a comforting hand on your knee, and his thumb drew soft circles over the fabric of your pants.

he’ll make it up to you for having to endure this under his watch. soon, you’ll be elsewhere— some place safer and sunnier. the three of you.

as there’s calls for lights out, in-ho takes his chance. he gets your attention by saying your name softly.

“would you be comfortable sharing my bed? i’d sleep easier, knowing you’re safe.”

your mouth parts slightly as you listened. it was forward, but he harboured no ill intent. you could tell that much. the corner of your lip curved with a smirk.

“i’m not too young to share a strange man’s bed?”

in-ho’s face twitches. he bites his tongue until he tastes copper.

clearly, you already have.

he composes himself with a smile. it wasn’t your fault. and with in-ho, you won’t feel hurt like that again.

the bed was barely wide enough for one person, let alone two. the thin mattress wasn’t any more comfortable than stone.

it wasn’t enough for you. nothing in this place is. but in-ho reminds himself that he’ll make it all up to you— in the meantime, it was enough to sleep under the same covers as him. breathe the same air.

in the dark, he watched your silhouette. your hair spilling over the pillow, the curve of your hip under the sheet. the rise and fall of your belly with each breath.

you shifted in your spot, letting out a soft exhale as you rolled over to face in-ho. the glow of the ceiling piggy bank illuminated your face. your eyes flutter open, brows crinkling when you notice he’s already looking at you.

“you’re still awake.” you whisper.

he didn’t answer. just nodded, eyes trained on your mouth. your lips were red raw, bitten from anxiety. he wanted to soothe them. he wanted to do a lot of things.

you scooted closer. “i don’t think i can sleep.”

what little distance there was between your bodies before, was now nonexistent. your arms, cradled against your chest, pressed against in-ho’s shirt. your knee bumped his. and your face— you were a mere breath away.

before he can think it, in-ho’s hand reaches for your waist. warm. possessive.

“you’re safe now,” he tells you quietly. “nothing will touch you while i’m here.”

your hand finds his chest, resting lightly over his shirt. “even if it’s you?”

in-ho’s mouth twitches. thoughtlessly, his fingers dig further into your waist. “i don’t count.”

you answer wordlessly, tilting your chin up to align with his face. your fingers curl at his chest, and your lips part ever so slightly. tentative— inviting.

then his mouth is on yours.

it was soft at first. just a question, not a demand. but when you pressed your body against him, something snapped.

the level-headed young-il act slipped off. in-ho kissed you like a crazed man. like he’d been starving, and you’re his only saving grace.

you mewl into his mouth, and he slides his hand under your shirt in kind— warm against your stomach, palm ghosting the swell of your belly before drifting upward.

he swallowed your breath, teasing his tongue against yours. he grinded his hips once— slow, hard.

you met it with impatience. clutching the fabric of his shirt, pressing yourself against his arousal with a soft whimper into his mouth. in-ho responded with a groan.

you repeat the action, kissing him needily as you rock against him— before in-ho pulls back, breathing hoarsely.

“no, not yet.”

you stare at him, left wanting. in-ho kisses your temple.

“another night.” he promises, dragging the pad of his thumb across your lower lip. you try to close your lips around it, but he retracts his hand with a hiss. “so impatient.”

in-ho pulls you against his chest, arms embracing you. you don’t fight it.

“sleep now. i’ve got you.”

even if you’d rather die playing these games, your fate belongs to him now.

and once this show was over— when the last body hit the floor and the last mask was hung up, he’ll quietly take you to his quarters. somewhere he can make certain you’re safe, somewhere no one knew your name but him.

you might hate him for it. maybe you’ll scream and cry and thrash about. but he was the father that stayed, protected you and your child.

and that makes you his— whether you like it or not.

note: this idea hasn’t left me alone so here it is expanded. also, it’d be wrong not to credit @murderofravens for inspiring me to even write for inho. go check her work out! (while writing this, i also learned of a s3 theory that junhee will give birth during the games and then inho steals her baby so.. there’s that.)

tags: @lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ferrarifinnick @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @loveesiren @ttturnitup @avsarchivez

[these-lovely-monsters]

Mating Season

[NSFW | 18+]

Characters: m!werewolf x f!reader

Content: hunting, primal behavior, predator/prey, sex, p in v, knotting, claiming bite, possessiveness, mild dubcon

#13 Mating/Hunting Season from @ozzgin's Monstertober 2024 prompt list

⋆ ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ⋆

It’s werewolf mating season in your village and it’s a full moon which means it’s time for the hunt.

It’s almost midnight and all the eligible women have been gathered in the town square to prepare for the event. You stand amongst the group, everyone dressed in thin gowns and barefooted. A cool breeze causes you to shiver or maybe it’s just the anticipation of the activities to come.

The soft murmurs of the crowd are punctuated by howls in the distance. The werewolves are prowling through the darkness, eagerly awaiting their prey. Under the bright moonlight, the women around you glance at each other with mixtures of nervousness and excitement.

When the first midnight bell rings out over the square, everyone jumps, and the crowd surges forward. At first it’s a tangled mess of jostling limbs as everyone heads for the gates at the town’s entrance. But once you’re all through, the mass of bodies disperse in different directions and you take off sprinting into the darkness.

You’re racing through the trees, leaping over logs and boulders as you try to ignore the pain in your feet and the sharp scrapes and nicks from nearby branches. Your heart is pounding in your chest and your breaths are coming heavy. Over the roar in your ears, you hear the snarls and howls of the werewolves stalking their prey, mixed with the shrieks and moans of those already caught.

Your legs are beginning to ache as you zig zag in no particular direction. So you slow down, wondering if you’ve gone too far. But then you hear a twig snap in the trees behind you. Your heart lurches into overdrive and you sprint forward again.

Moving as fast as you can, you recall the only instructions you were given. “Run.”

Your predator is close on your heels, his paws thudding softly on the ground as he nimbly trails you through the forest. Just as you turn to look over your shoulder, you catch sight of a giant, black werewolf leaping out from between the trees.

When he collides with your body, you let out a soft “Oof,” and you both go tumbling to the ground. He deftly rolls you so that he takes the brunt of the fall and when you come to a stop, he’s hovering over you, pinning your body to the cold hard ground.

Although his form is mostly humanoid, he’s covered from head to toe in thick, dark fur. His head is also the shape of a wolf’s and he has a long tail that swishes behind him. His massive claw-tipped hands are buried into the dirt on either side of your head and his heavy breaths wash across your skin.

Baring his teeth in your face, he starts to rock his hips against your naked pussy and you gasp. When he shifts his weight so his cock is dragging against your clit, you let out a soft moan and he snarls at the sound.

Faster than you can track, he swipes his claws at your gown, shredding the material and leaving faint red scratches where his nails nicked you. He stares down at you for a moment, his pupils dilating as he watches your exposed skin pebble in the cold air.

He bends his head to lick at your breasts, his tongue flicking out to tease your nipples, causing your back to arch off the ground. Then he lowers himself down so his hot body is draped over yours. Before you can appreciate the warmth, he shifts his hips so that the tip of his cock is nudging at your already slick entrance and you groan in anticipation.

Opening your legs wider in invitation, you grip his fur and tug. With a growl, he sheaths himself fully inside you until his hips are flush with your thighs. You cry out at the sudden fullness and he pauses to let you adjust. When your body begins to relax, he pulls out and then thrusts back in. He does it again and again until he’s setting a brutal pace, fucking you hard into the dirt.

You quickly become lost in the exquisite sensations as your back scrapes against the rock-strewn ground while his massive cock stretches and fills you to the brim. He’s snarling and wild-eyed above you as he ruts into you in a wild frenzy, unable to control himself at the feel of your hot cunt squeezing him so tightly.

When your orgasm climbs higher and higher, almost at its peak, his movements become jerky as he meets you at the top. Right before you tip over the edge, you feel his massive knot pushing against your entrance, trying to stretch your pussy impossibly wide.

Before you can protest, he lowers his mouth to your shoulder and growls one guttural word against your skin.

“Mine.”

And then his teeth are sinking into your flesh in a vicious claiming bite at the same time his knot pushes past your tight walls and you scream.

You’re launched into another stratosphere as your eyes roll back in your head and your entire body seizes up. Hot cum spurts inside you, filling you up endlessly until it starts to seep out around his knot and drip down your thighs. His hips are still jerking erratically as he rides out his orgasm, dragging your own out with it, until eventually he’s completely spent.

───

You must have passed out at some point because when you awake, he’s carrying you in his arms as he trudges through the forest.

“Where are we going?” You ask groggily.

“To my den,” comes a deep gravelly voice above you. “I’m going to fuck you until my cum is a part of your essence and everyone knows that you belong to me.”

Tip Jar :)

[carnalcrows]

NINE LIVES, ONE BULLET

pairing: outlaw! gojo saturo x male reader

synopsis: You’re a thief. He's a legend. All you wanted was the artifact — not a partner, not a bounty, and definitely not feelings. But there’s only one bed, one bullet, and maybe one shot at making it out alive. (And gods help you, you’re starting to like him.)

content warnings: 18+, outlaw/thief dynamic, bottom male reader, heavily inspired by puss in boots, Gojo is feral in a silk shirt, slow burn with explosive payoff, community bathhouse smut (fingering, p in a, reader receiving), one bed trope, fake marriage but the feelings are real, suggestive swordplay, magical artifact slowly corrupting the reader (he’s fine. probably), minor blood and injury, mutual possessiveness disguised as banter, major character death, emotional vulnerability in stolen clothes, they save the day but lose some of themselves, Gojo probably steals your boots.

word count: 10.5k 💪🏼

You were two clicks away from glory.

The last mechanism in the vault lock was nearly purring under your tools, an intricate thing of gears and whispers that had taken you three nights to decode. The room was dim, lit only by the warm flicker of a stolen lantern and the soft red glow of rune-etched stone along the floor. Whoever built this place wanted the treasure buried and forgotten, but they hadn’t counted on you.

You adjusted your gloves, fingers nimble as the final latch gave the faintest click. Satisfaction hummed through you, the kind that only came from outsmarting kings and walking away richer.

And then you heard it.

A crunch.

You froze.

Not the stone-shifting crack of an ancient trap. Not the telltale grind of armoured boots. No—this was sharper. Wetter. Smugger.

You turned your head, slowly, already dreading what you’d find.

And there he was.

Satoru Gojo. Leaning casually against the far column, biting into a red apple like he’d strolled into a marketplace instead of a cursed noble’s vault. White hair gleaming. Mask angled just enough to be obnoxious. His boots were dusty, his grin shit-eating, and his eyes—fuck. Of course, he didn’t bother hiding them.

"Don’t stop on my account," he said, juice running down his wrist. "You looked so focused. It was adorable."

You stared.

Then blinked.

Then said, flatly, “What the fuck.”

He gestured with the apple. “Hi.”

“Did you follow me?”

“Technically, I was here first. I just took a more dramatic entrance route.” Another bite. “Rooftops. Rope. Possible broken window.”

You looked past him, and sure enough, one of the stained glass panels high above was cracked open, edges glittering with fresh damage.

“You’re a fucking legend,” you muttered, turning back to the vault.

"Aww, you do know me."

“I also think you're a fucking nuisance.”

Gojo laughed, low and pleased. "You say that like it’s mutually exclusive."

You exhaled slowly, jaw tightening. “You planning on standing there eating fruit while I do all the work?”

“Actually,” he said, and there was the sound of something metal shifting behind you, “I was thinking I’d help.”

You spun, knives drawn in a blur.

But Gojo wasn’t threatening you—he was kneeling beside the pedestal now, peering at the exposed vault like it was a puzzle box.

He whistled. “Damn. You already disarmed the pressure plates?”

“You’re loud,” you said, circling him warily. “And messy.”

He looked up at you, bright-eyed. “But cute, right?”

Your blade hovered an inch from his throat.

“You’ve got five seconds to leave.”

“Oh?” His smile widened, infuriating. “Or what? You’ll stab the most charming outlaw in the land?”

“If it shuts you up, absolutely.”

“Harsh.” He leaned in, voice lower now. “You always this violent on first meetings, or am I special?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

"And you're hot when you're mad."

The moment stretched between you like a tripwire. His smile didn’t falter, but his fingers twitched near the hilt of the blade at his hip. Not drawn, not threatening. Just… prepared.

So he wasn’t an idiot. That was disappointing. You liked idiots. They bled easier.

“I know who you are,” you said finally.

“Everyone does.”

“I don’t mean your wanted posters. I mean your real reputation. You get people killed.”

His expression didn’t change, but something cold flickered behind his smirk. “People get themselves killed. I just make it interesting.”

You hated how good that line was. Hated more that it made you want to smirk back.

Instead, you sheathed your knives and moved past him to the artifact.

Small. Black. Humming with a pulse you felt in your ribs. The voidseed, they called it. One wish. One curse. Same odds, depending on how desperate you were.

Gojo stood too, closer now. You felt him behind you, tall and warm and irritating.

“Any chance you’ll split it?” he asked.

“Not even if you begged.”

“Mmm. I am good at begging, though.”

You straightened, turned, and faced him properly for the first time.

Sharp white hair. Lashes too long. Lips still stained from that damn apple. He was every kind of trouble, wrapped in silk and arrogance, and now he was standing between you and the exit.

You sighed. “I’m not fighting you in here. Too cramped.”

“Shame. I like it cramped.”

You stepped around him, slow, purposeful. “Touch me again and I’ll bury a dagger in your throat.”

He chuckled, following. “That’s not a no.”

You reached the exit passage, then paused. Looked back at him.

“You planning to follow me out?”

Gojo shrugged. “I’m not leaving empty-handed.”

“So rob someone else.”

“But you’re so much more fun.”

You stared. He smiled.

Then you threw a smoke vial to the ground and vanished into the haze, vaulting up the hidden escape shaft you’d scouted days ago. You didn’t bother looking back.

Let him chase you if he wanted.

You’d cut him off at the knees later.

---

The city was quieter at night—if you could call this a city. It was more like a stitched-together sprawl of forgotten temples, crumbling stonework, and wealthy cowards playing noble. Beyond the roofs stretched the distant outline of forest, where the real dangers lived. Where you were planning to disappear.

If not for the man currently chasing you.

You moved fast, vaulting from rooftop to rooftop, leather boots gripping slick clay tiles. The wind tugged at your coat and hissed in your ears. You landed, rolled, and sprang again without pause—muscle memory and adrenaline making you feel half-feral, half-myth.

Gojo was still behind you.

Gods, how was he still behind you?

You glanced back just as he landed a story down, arms outstretched like a damn acrobat, long coat flaring, silver hair glowing in the moonlight. He looked delighted. Delighted.

“This is the most cardio I’ve done all year!” he called, grinning. “Is this foreplay? Feels like foreplay.”

“Try dying!” you shouted back, and dropped smoke behind you again.

But he didn’t slow. Didn’t stumble. If anything, he laughed harder—like this wasn’t a chase at all but a fucking game, and you were the only one pretending to play it seriously.

You hated how good he was at this.

You hated that it was kind of fun.

You pivoted hard, ducked under a broken arch, and slid down the angled side of an old cathedral roof, boots skimming the rain-slick edge. You landed in the alley with a sharp grunt, breath visible in the cold.

Then silence.

No footsteps. No Gojo.

You waited five, ten seconds—ears straining—then exhaled slowly and melted into the shadows, slipping through the gap between buildings you’d marked earlier. It led into the narrow passage behind the bell tower, where the stone was warped from age and easy to scale.

You climbed three stories before you heard it again.

Crunch.

You looked up.

There he was.

Leaning against the spire like a gargoyle, eating another fucking apple.

You stared. “How—”

“I’m very light on my feet,” he said cheerfully, tossing the core into the dark. “Also, you take the exact same route every time. Predictable, but sexy.”

Your hand twitched near your knife. “If I kill you, does the bounty double?”

He cocked his head. “Are you flirting?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you reached the top of the roof and sat, boots swinging over the edge, chest rising and falling from the sprint. Gojo watched you, then flopped down beside you like this was all part of the plan.

Below, the city was a patchwork of flickering lamps and watchfires. The guards hadn’t spotted either of you yet. You could still vanish. You could still shake him. But for some reason, you didn’t move.

“I should stab you,” you muttered.

“You keep saying that,” Gojo replied, voice lighter now. “But here we are.”

Silence stretched between you. Not tense, exactly. Just full—with things you weren’t going to say and things he probably already knew.

Gojo broke it first. “That vault was yours?”

“Obviously.”

“You cracked it clean.”

“Obviously.”

He grinned. “I’m impressed.”

You glanced at him. “That doesn’t mean anything coming from you.”

“It does to me.”

And there it was again—that thing he did, that flicker behind the jokes and showmanship. Like he saw something in you that he wasn’t supposed to. Like he was trying to get under your skin on purpose.

“Why do you keep chasing me?” you asked, finally. “You could be halfway to the next kingdom by now.”

Gojo stretched his legs out, boots scuffed and dusted with rooftop grit. “Maybe I like shiny things.”

You rolled your eyes. “You didn’t even want the artifact.”

“Nope.”

“Then why—”

“I wanted to see who got there first.” He looked at you. Really looked. “And what they’d do with it.”

You met his gaze and felt something tighten in your chest.

“You think I’ll use it?”

He shrugged. “I think you’re not as heartless as people say.”

You laughed once, short and bitter. “And what gave you that idea? The knives or the running?”

“The way you looked at it. Like it scared you a little.”

You didn’t answer.

He leaned back on his elbows, tilting his head toward the stars. “I’ve seen men go mad for things like that. Or worse—get hopeful. That’s always when it breaks them.”

“Hope?”

Gojo nodded. “It’s a fragile thing. Makes people desperate.”

You turned away. Looked down at the artifact in your coat pocket. Still warm. Still humming. Like it was alive. Like it knew it had just become yours.

“I’m not desperate,” you said quietly.

“No,” Gojo agreed. “You’re angry.”

You didn’t ask how he knew that. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was guessing. Or maybe he really did see straight through people the way they said he could. Whatever it was, it made your skin itch.

“You gonna tail me all night?” you asked, voice back to flat.

“Depends,” he said, stretching. “Are you gonna make it worth my while?”

You stood abruptly. “Don’t follow me, Gojo.”

He didn’t rise. Just watched you from where he lay, too relaxed for someone who could be skewered in two seconds.

“You’re not the only outlaw after that thing, you know,” he said casually. “You might want backup. Or a partner.”

You looked over your shoulder. “I don’t do partners.”

“You might change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

Gojo smiled, softly this time. “I’ll see you again anyway.”

You disappeared into the shadows before you could give him the satisfaction of a reply.

And still, somewhere behind you, you heard him laughing.

---

You smelled blood before you stepped inside.

The tavern was quieter than you remembered, and that was saying something—it was already a shithole on a good day. You’d holed up here before: halfway between two borders, just obscure enough to be ignored by local law. Perfect for laying low after a heist. Perfect for disappearing.

But tonight, something was… off.

You kept your back to the wall and your hood up, fingers tracing the hilt under your coat as you passed between half-empty tables. A few men looked up—one blinked too slow, another’s hand twitched toward his belt. You kept walking.

The barkeep didn’t speak. Just jerked his chin toward the back room.

You slipped through the curtain.

Kaito was waiting. Ex-fence, part-time drunk, full-time coward. But useful—if you were willing to stomach the smell.

“You got it?” he rasped, eyes wide. “You actually got it?”

You didn’t answer. You pulled the object from inside your coat, still warm and faintly pulsing. The voidseed sat between you like a heart torn from a god. Kaito leaned forward, reverent.

“Shit,” he whispered. “You really pulled it off.”

“I need papers,” you said. “New name. New country. And I need it fast.”

Kaito nodded too quickly. “Yeah, yeah, I got a guy—wait, no—had a guy, he moved east, but I can get—”

The door behind you slammed open.

You turned just as the first knife whistled through the air. You ducked. It hit the wall behind you with a dull thud.

Four bounty hunters. Maybe five. All armed. All grinning.

You moved before they could surround you, flipping the table and vaulting over it. The room exploded into motion—Kaito shrieked and disappeared under a bench, typical—and you drew both knives in one smooth motion, spinning as the first man lunged.

You slashed his thigh, ducked a club, kicked the third in the stomach hard enough to hear ribs crack. It was fast. It was brutal. But they kept coming.

They weren’t just here for blood.

They were here for the artifact.

Shit.

You were outnumbered, boxed in, and—

The window shattered.

Something slammed into the room in a blur of white and blue. The air twisted, and suddenly three men were on the floor, groaning or unconscious. One tried to crawl away. A boot stepped on his hand.

Gojo.

“Miss me?” he said, smile sharp and stupid and radiant.

You didn’t answer. You threw a bottle at the last standing hunter and watched it explode against his face.

“Charming,” Gojo said. “Didn’t know you could throw like that.”

“I’ll throw you if you don’t explain how they found me.”

Gojo crouched, yanked a bounty poster from one of their belts, and tossed it to you.

You caught it.

And froze.

Your name.

Your face—sketched, but unmistakable.

And scrawled beneath it in fat, blood-red ink:

WANTED – DEAD OR ALIVE – POSSESSION OF AN ANCIENT CURSE REWARD: 5,000 GOLD COINS

You stared. “Five thousand?”

Gojo whistled low. “Even I’m not worth that much.”

“This wasn’t here yesterday.”

“Which means someone talked.”

You turned to Kaito. He held up his hands. “I didn’t say anything, I swear—!”

You kicked over his table. He screamed and ducked.

Gojo chuckled. “So. What’s your plan now?”

“Run,” you snapped. “Fast and far.”

“You won’t make it through the border checkpoints with that poster circulating. Every pair of eyes from here to the capital’s gonna be looking for you.”

“Not if I move fast.”

“Not if you move alone.”

You stopped.

Gojo smiled, all lazy amusement. “Travel with me. We’ll cut through the cliffs and loop around the marshlands. No patrols, no checkpoints. I’ve got people there. We’ll be ghosts.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“That’s mutual.”

You glared. “Then why help me?”

He looked down at the voidseed, then back up at you.

“Because,” he said, voice lower now, “you’re not the only one who wants to know what that thing does. And I’ve got a map.”

You paused.

He added, “To the place it came from. The one no one dares go near. Not unless they want answers. Or power.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

You could stab him. You could go alone. You could disappear into the woods and take your chances with the bounty on your back and the hunters at your heels.

Or you could take the risk.

You sheathed your knives. “Fine. One week. Then we’re done.”

Gojo grinned. “Whatever you say, partner.”

“I’m not your partner.”

“We’re travelling together. You’re not not my partner.”

You shoved past him. “If you talk this much while we’re walking, I will kill you.”

“That’s fine. You’ll miss me.”

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t look back, either.

Because for the first time since stealing the voidseed, you weren’t running alone.

And you hated that it made you feel a little less doomed.

---

You hated traveling with other people.

They slowed you down. They made noise. They had opinions about things like “breaks” and “which direction the cliffs are” and “not threatening every barkeep you meet.” And yet, here you were.

With him.

Gojo Satoru walked like a man who’d never feared a fall. Long strides, loose limbs, like the world was his to trip through. He hadn’t shut up for hours—about the voidseed, about local legends, about a mythical hot spring he swore was nearby and probably full of naked people.

You barely grunted in response.

Mostly to stop yourself from saying something you’d regret.

He didn’t seem to mind.

“So,” Gojo drawled as you both passed through the last arch of the ruined bridge, the cliffs yawning on either side like jagged teeth, “are you always this fun, or am I just special?”

“You talk too much.”

“And you glare like it’s a love language.”

“I’m thinking.”

“About killing me? Or kissing me?”

You didn’t answer.

Gojo laughed. “Ah, so both.”

The path ahead narrowed—just a crooked trail winding down into the ravine. No signs, no markers. You knew this route, barely. Smugglers used it sometimes, but it wasn’t exactly a highway. The wind picked up as you descended, sharp and biting, tugging at your coat and snapping branches overhead.

Behind you, Gojo sighed dramatically. “So… what’s your plan once we get across? Sell the voidseed? Hide it? Build a shrine and worship it?”

You glanced over your shoulder. “You really think I’d tell you that?”

“No,” he said. “But I like your voice. Could listen to it for hours.”

“You’re lucky I don’t slit your throat in your sleep.”

“I am lucky,” Gojo agreed. “Every day.”

You rolled your eyes. And still—somehow—didn’t stop walking next to him.

You camped that night in a hollowed-out cave, tucked into the cliffside like a secret. You’d found it years ago, when you were still running jobs with people who were now either dead or very, very far away. It was dry. Sheltered. Just big enough for two.

Which was annoying.

Gojo flopped down beside the fire you built, unbothered as always. He peeled off his coat, set down his sword with something resembling care, and stretched like a damn cat.

“You know,” he said, watching the flames dance, “you snore.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You do. It’s kind of endearing. Like a very angry bear.”

You threw a twig at his face. He caught it, grinning.

“You know you’re insane, right?” you said.

Gojo shrugged. “Takes one to know one.”

You didn’t reply.

The fire popped softly. Outside, the wind howled through the canyons like a warning. But in here, it was warm. Almost… peaceful.

You hated it.

“You’ve done this before,” Gojo said, after a beat. “Stolen something dangerous. Run from a bounty. Lived with a target on your back.”

Your jaw tensed. “You haven’t?”

“Oh, I have,” he said lightly. “But I tend to leave a trail of ash and broken hearts. You’re more subtle.”

“You say that like it’s an insult.”

Gojo turned his head, looking at you through the flickering light.

“No,” he said. “It’s impressive.”

You stared at the flames. Let the silence grow teeth again.

“I’m not interested in your compliments,” you muttered.

“And yet, here we are,” he murmured. “Sharing fire. Sharing risk.”

“Not a team.”

He didn’t argue.

Didn’t need to.

The next day, you crossed the ravine and headed toward the outer reaches of the valley—closer to the forgotten routes that led to the Wastes. That’s where Gojo said the answers were. Where the voidseed had been found once before.

But first, you needed supplies.

And supplies meant towns.

You picked a smaller one. Backwater. No central guard. Fewer chances to be recognized.

Or so you thought.

The minute you stepped into the town square, Gojo nudged your side. “Don’t react.”

You didn’t move.

But you saw it.

A new bounty poster.

Your face, again.

And Gojo’s. Right beside it.

Same scrawled headline: WANTED FOR THEFT OF AN ANCIENT RELIC – EXTREMELY DANGEROUS REWARD: 7,000 GOLD – DEAD OR ALIVE

“Didn’t know you were that popular,” Gojo muttered.

“I thought you said your contacts were clean.”

“They were. Someone’s really invested in finding us.”

You ducked into a side alley, heart thudding. Gojo followed.

“What now?” he asked.

You were already scanning. Thinking. Calculating.

“They’ve got spotters,” you said. “We can’t stay long. We grab supplies and get out.”

“They’ll flag the wanted faces the second we walk into the market.”

“Then we won’t walk in as us.”

He blinked. “You’ve got disguises?”

“Better,” you said grimly. “A local custom.”

Gojo raised a brow. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

Two hours later, Gojo stood beside you in front of the town registrar, wearing ceremonial robes that didn’t fit and smiling like he was having the time of his life.

You, on the other hand, were trying not to punch someone.

The registrar blinked down at the paperwork. “So… you’re here to register a bond?”

“Just passing through,” Gojo said brightly, sliding his arm around your waist. “But my beloved and I are finally tying the knot. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

You gritted your teeth. “Ecstatic.”

The woman beamed. “Well, congratulations! I’ll just need you both to sign here—”

You grabbed the pen before Gojo could write something stupid.

You didn’t look at him when you scribbled your name—fake, of course—but you could feel his eyes on you. Amused. Curious. Warm in a way you didn’t want to think about.

“Done,” you said. “Can we go now?”

The registrar handed you a scroll. “Welcome to marital bliss!”

Gojo winked. “We’ll try not to kill each other.”

“Please don’t!” she called cheerfully as you walked away.

Later, back in the woods with the supplies stashed and your cover intact, Gojo laughed until he almost fell over.

“Oh my god,” he wheezed. “We just got fake married.”

You didn’t respond.

“Do I get a honeymoon? What about a kiss? Should we consummate the union?”

“Shut up.”

Gojo slung an arm around your shoulders. “C’mon, hubby. Admit it. You liked holding my hand.”

“I was restraining you.”

“Semantics.”

You elbowed him in the ribs. He laughed harder.

And somehow, you weren’t annoyed.

Not really.

Because for the first time since this whole cursed job started—you didn’t feel like you were running. You felt like you were walking beside someone who might actually survive the ending with you.

Maybe.

If he didn’t die first.

---

You knew something was off the moment the birds stopped singing.

It was dusk. The sky had softened into gold, trees slicing the light into ribbons as you and Gojo crept along the overgrown trail just past the ridge. You were supposed to be half a day ahead of any bounty trackers. Supposed to be deep enough in the forgotten woods that no one would dare follow.

But the silence gave it away.

Not natural. Not safe.

You stopped moving.

Gojo stopped too. “What is it?”

You didn’t answer. Just drew one of your knives and slipped into the trees.

Behind you, Gojo made a low sound—approval, maybe. He followed without complaint. Quiet. Efficient. Annoyingly graceful.

Then the first arrow struck the dirt near your boot.

You reacted instantly, diving behind a fallen log as the air exploded with motion. Figures burst from the brush—five, six, maybe more. Faces masked, blades out, a full ambush party and not the amateur kind. These weren’t bounty hunters.

These were bounty killers.

Gojo cursed behind you. “Friendly crowd.”

You gritted your teeth. “They were waiting.”

“For us?”

“For me.”

“God, you’re popular.”

You didn’t dignify that with a reply.

Instead, you moved.

Two in front. One on the ridge. Another circling left. You lunged for the closest figure, catching them by surprise, your blade slicing across their thigh as you twisted to avoid a second strike. Blood splattered the leaves. They went down with a grunt.

Gojo was beside you in a blink, staff spinning, cracking skulls with that infuriating ease of his. But you could tell he was holding back. Always did. Like he was dancing, not fighting. Like none of it really mattered.

Until it did.

Because one of them got close—closer than you expected. A blade slashed across your arm. Hot pain bloomed. You staggered, just a second too slow.

Gojo turned, face shifting from amused to lethal.

The man didn’t even get to scream before Gojo drove his palm into his chest with a sickening crack.

Then silence.

Not quiet like before. Not suspicious.

Just stillness.

Bodies on the ground. Blood steaming in the cool night air.

You hissed, clutching your arm. “Fuck.”

“Let me see.” Gojo stepped closer.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“No shit.”

“Stop being difficult,” he muttered. “You’re not impressing me.”

You glared at him but let him push your coat off your shoulder. He knelt beside you, fingers brushing the torn fabric gently—almost too gently. His hands were warm. Steady.

“Not too deep,” he said. “But it’ll scar.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

You froze.

Just for a second.

Then you scoffed. “You care about a lot of things that don’t concern you.”

Gojo didn’t answer.

Just tied the bandage tight and stood.

You stood too, slower this time. Wincing. You wiped the blood off your blade and sheathed it again, staring down at the bodies.

“They knew we were coming,” you said.

“Looks like it.”

“Which means someone’s tracking us. Close.”

Gojo was quiet.

Then: “Geto.”

You looked up.

He wasn’t joking. Wasn’t teasing. That brightness he usually wore like armor had dimmed, pulled back like a tide.

You swallowed.

“You think he sent them?”

Gojo nodded once. “Yeah.”

You didn’t ask how he knew.

Not yet.

But something in your chest twisted.

You made camp deeper in the woods, away from the blood. The night was colder now, as if it knew something had changed.

Gojo didn’t joke. Didn’t chatter.

You didn’t push.

Instead, you sat with your back to the fire, knife in your hand, watching shadows flicker against the trees. You could still hear the sound of that last man’s chest caving in. Still feel Gojo’s hands on your arm. Still—

“You were good today,” Gojo said softly behind you.

You didn’t turn. “I’m always good.”

He huffed a laugh. “Yeah. You are.”

Another pause.

Then:

“Thanks for not dying.”

You looked at him then. Really looked.

He was leaning back, arms behind his head, hair messy, eyes soft and unreadable in the firelight.

And for once, he wasn’t smiling.

You didn’t know what that meant.

So you said, “Don’t thank me yet. We’ve still got a long way to go.”

He met your gaze.

And this time, he didn’t look away.

---

The village wasn’t on any map. It didn’t even have a name, just a rusted sign by the gate that read STAY OUT in faded red paint. That didn’t stop Gojo from walking right in, of course—whistling like he owned the place.

You followed him reluctantly, steps slower, warier. Something about the place made your skin itch. The houses were squat, sagging under their own weight, and the streets were too quiet. Not the kind of quiet that comes with sleep or peace—but the kind that settles when something is wrong.

You passed a farmer hammering wooden planks across his windows. He didn’t look up.

Gojo leaned toward you, voice light: “Charming little vacation spot, huh?”

You didn’t smile. “Let’s find a place to rest. In and out. No distractions.”

Gojo just nodded, but you knew better. The man couldn’t resist poking the bear—especially if the bear was cursed, dangerous, or full of secrets.

It wasn’t hard to find the inn. It was the only building still standing straight. The sign above the door read The Hollow Lantern in cracked gold paint. You pushed the door open, and the air inside smelled like dust and oil and something faintly metallic.

A woman sat at the counter. Her eyes flicked to you, then to Gojo. “Rooms?”

“Two,” you said quickly.

She shook her head. “Only one left.”

Of course.

Gojo didn’t miss a beat. “We’ll take it.”

You didn’t protest. Not out loud. But the look you shot him could’ve burned a hole through stone.

He just grinned.

The room was small—barely enough space for your bags, your weapons, and the one creaky-looking bed shoved up against the far wall.

The silence stretched.

Gojo flopped onto the mattress like it was a king’s feast. “Not bad! Sheets even smell clean.” He rolled onto his back, arms behind his head. “You want left or right side?”

You stared at him. “I’ll take the floor.”

“No you won’t. You’re still injured.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to suffer through worse now.” He patted the space beside him. “Come on. I promise I won’t bite—unless you ask nicely.”

You flipped your knife once between your fingers before sliding it back into your boot. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

Gojo smiled, but didn’t answer. For once, he let it be.

You didn’t lie down. Not yet. Instead, you stood by the window, eyes scanning the dark street below. Somewhere out there, the forest still whispered. The same forest that had nearly buried you both in bodies just hours earlier.

Something wasn’t right.

You turned to Gojo. “Why this village?”

He blinked at you, sitting up. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t ask. You didn’t hesitate. You just… walked in. Like you were looking for it.”

Gojo looked away then, expression shuttering. His smile faded—just for a moment, but enough to catch.

“There’s a rumor,” he said finally. “Old one. Says this place was cursed after a voidseed burst under the mountain. Says anyone who stays too long starts hearing voices in their sleep. Seeing things that aren’t there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you thought we should spend the night here?”

He shrugged. “If it’s cursed, it means no one will look for us here.”

You didn’t have a counter to that.

But you still didn’t like it.

You lay down reluctantly that night, fully dressed, your back to Gojo, your hand never straying far from the hilt at your hip. The bed was warmer than expected. You hated that. Hated the way your muscles loosened despite yourself. Hated the way Gojo’s breathing, soft and even beside you, almost calmed you.

Almost.

“You awake?” he asked.

You didn’t answer.

He continued anyway. “I get why you don’t trust me.”

Your jaw tightened.

“But I’m not your enemy.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to see his profile in the moonlight leaking through the cracked shutters. His eyes were open. Bright. Watching the ceiling like it held the answers.

“I’m not anyone’s ally either,” you said. “I work alone.”

“I know.”

Another pause.

Then softer: “You don’t have to, though.”

You closed your eyes. Tried to pretend it didn’t make something sharp twist under your ribs.

You dreamed that night.

Of fire. Of eyes in the trees. Of a voice calling your name in someone else’s tone. You woke up in a cold sweat, heart pounding—and Gojo was already sitting up beside you, alert. Barefoot. Shirt rumpled.

He looked at you like he’d seen something too.

“You felt it too?” he asked.

You nodded slowly. “Something’s here.”

Gojo’s voice dropped. “Voidseed.”

You stared at him. “How do you know?”

“I’ve felt it before.”

There it was again. That crack. That space where the mask slipped.

You sat up. “How many times?”

Gojo didn’t answer. Instead, he stood, crossing to the window.

“Geto used to track them,” he said finally. “Years ago. Said they were pieces of a bigger magic—older than anything in this world. Said if you collected enough of them, you could change fate.”

“And you believed him?”

Gojo gave you a sad smile. “I believed in him.”

You stood too.

And the floor creaked between you, quiet and heavy, like it was holding its breath.

Morning came gray and slow. You packed in silence. Gojo didn’t press you again. But something had shifted between you. Not quite trust. Not quite warmth.

But something.

You left the village by noon. The innkeeper watched you both with tired eyes. And just as you passed the edge of the woods again, Gojo looked at you sideways.

“One bed,” he said casually.

You grunted. “What about it?”

He smirked. “You didn’t stab me.”

You didn’t smile.

But you didn’t deny it either.

---

You’d barely made it past the village border when Gojo started whistling again. Same tune, same arrogance, like the ambush, the cursed bed-sharing, and the voidseed whispers hadn’t left even a scratch on his soul. You, on the other hand, were nursing a splitting headache and a very real ache in your side that you absolutely were not going to let him notice.

“Stop that,” you muttered.

“Stop what?” he said, cocking his head with a mock innocence that didn’t fool you for a second.

“That noise.”

“I’m creating ambiance. Mood. Vibes.”

“Your vibes are making me homicidal.”

Gojo grinned, “Well, at least they’re working.”

You didn’t dignify that with an answer. Just adjusted your coat, made sure your dagger was still where it belonged, and scanned the horizon ahead.

A town lay a few miles out—marked on Gojo’s stolen, half-burned map as “Rookridge.” He’d claimed there was a shortcut through its back alleys that would take you both to the pass ahead. You didn’t trust him, or the map, or frankly even the ground beneath your boots right now. But it was the only real lead you had. That, and the faint whisper of voidseed still lingering like smoke on the wind.

The town looked normal at first glance. Dusty. Quiet. The kind of place where people didn’t make eye contact unless you paid them for it. But Gojo slowed slightly as you entered the main square, steps lighter than usual. His hand brushed yours—barely.

“Careful,” he murmured, just for you. “We’re not alone.”

You didn’t ask how he knew. You felt it too. That ripple in the air. That hunter’s tension curling along the back of your spine.

And then they stepped into the street.

Two of them. Dressed like theatre villains, all leather and buckles and unnecessary capes. One was tall and lean, with a blade so polished it shone like a mirror. The other was shorter, broader, and carried a spiked flail that looked like it belonged in a torture museum.

But it was their faces that made your stomach sink.

They were smiling. Like they’d been expecting you.

“Well, well,” the tall one purred, pointing his sword lazily between you and Gojo. “If it isn’t the infamous sorcerer and his grumpy little bodyguard.”

Gojo perked up. “You think I’m infamous? Aww, stop.”

“I won’t,” the shorter one said, cracking his knuckles. “The price on your head is enough to buy a kingdom.”

You tilted your head. “Whose head?”

Both bounty hunters blinked.

Gojo elbowed you lightly. “Aw, don’t be shy. They’re clearly here for me.”

“You wish.” You rolled your eyes, but your hand was already on your dagger.

“Don’t fight over me,” Gojo sighed. “There’s enough bounty to go around.”

The tall one moved first—fast, practiced, but not fast enough. Your blade met his mid-air with a clash of steel and a flick of your wrist that sent him staggering back.

“Whoa!” Gojo laughed. “Look at you go, sweetheart!”

You didn’t answer. You were already moving—ducking a strike, spinning, slashing low. The flail swung behind you, a whistle of iron in the air, and Gojo intercepted it with a wall of crystal-clear magic that cracked the earth.

“Oh, come on!” the shorter bounty hunter shouted. “Magic?! That’s cheating!”

Gojo grinned. “I know.”

The fight spilled into the square, drawing attention from the nearby tavern and market stalls. But no one stepped in. They just watched—silent, sharp-eyed. Rookridge didn’t seem like the kind of place that interfered.

The tall one tried a fancy move—flipping off a crate and aiming for your head with a scream of overconfidence. You ducked, grabbed his belt mid-air, and slammed him into the ground.

He groaned. “You’re… stronger than you look.”

“Yeah,” you said, flipping your dagger once, “I get that a lot.”

Gojo, meanwhile, had turned the fight into a performance. He was laughing, spinning, summoning brief flashes of light to blind and dazzle. Every move was unnecessarily theatrical, but undeniably effective.

The flail came flying again, and Gojo sidestepped with a flourish. “You know, I thought about becoming a dancer once,” he mused. “But bounty hunters make such terrible partners.”

The flail-wielder screamed in frustration and charged.

Gojo just blew him a kiss and raised his hand—boom. A pulse of energy sent the man flying into a water trough.

Silence settled.

You stood over the tall one, breathing hard, dagger pressed to his throat.

“Still want that bounty?” you asked.

He wheezed. “You’re… both insane.”

Gojo popped a piece of dried fruit into his mouth and winked. “And you’re boring.”

The bounty hunters crawled off eventually, muttering curses and threats. You didn’t follow. You’d made your point.

“Do you always piss people off that quickly?” you asked Gojo, wiping blood off your blade.

“Only the people worth pissing off,” he said cheerfully. “That guy’s sword was too clean. He needed humbling.”

You glared at him. “They could’ve killed us.”

He tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. “But they didn’t. Because you’re terrifying and I’m fabulous.”

You exhaled hard and kept walking.

That night, you ended up at a tiny tavern on the edge of Rookridge. The innkeeper gave you both a once-over, eyes narrowing.

“You bonded?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Town’s prepping for the Moonbind Festival,” she said. “Only bonded pairs can stay the night. Security measures. Too many outlaws and opportunists about.”

You turned to Gojo. “Tell her we’re not staying.”

Gojo slung an arm around your shoulders before you could move. “Of course we are! My darling and I just survived a double bounty ambush—we deserve a real bed.”

The woman squinted at you both.

You forced a smile. “We’re very happy.”

She handed over a key. “Only one bed.”

Gojo winked. “Even better.”

You didn’t punch him. That counted as restraint.

---

You woke up to the sound of bells.

Not the sharp clang of alarms or the echo of church towers—these were delicate, wind-chimed things, threaded between banners overhead and strung along doorways like blessings. The whole village had changed overnight. Rookridge was unrecognizable. The market stalls were blooming with silk and smoke, incense curling between jewel-toned tents, and the streets were packed with masked dancers who moved like water.

Gojo was already outside when you stumbled down from the room, leaning against the inn’s outer wall with a pastry in one hand and glitter on his cheek.

“Happy Moonbind,” he said, offering a bite like you hadn’t nearly murdered him in the night for stealing the blanket.

You took it anyway. “What the hell is Moonbind?”

“Seasonal festival,” he said, chewing lazily. “Magic’s thin during the solstice, so towns get nervous. The masks confuse spirits. The dancing keeps things grounded. And the baths—oh, those are for purification.”

You arched a brow. “You sound like a tour guide.”

He winked. “I did a season as one. Got fired for seducing the clientele.”

You didn’t respond. Mostly because you were too busy trying to ignore the fact that he looked really good in the morning light. Loose shirt. Messy hair. Smudged charm and the kind of smile that had ruin me written all over it in invisible ink.

You hated him. You hated him.

You were starting to like him.

The festival carried on around you, full of performances and half-magic rituals. You watched a child pluck fire from a bowl with bare hands and turn it into confetti. A woman offered to tell your fortune for a coin and a strand of hair. Gojo convinced an illusionist to make him float six feet in the air, lounging like a cat on an invisible hammock, just so he could yell at you from above: “You should try smiling sometime, y’know!”

You did smile. A little.

Just not at him.

Not that he noticed.

Or maybe he did. Bastard probably noticed everything.

By midday, you reached the temple.

It looked abandoned—half-sunken stone and creeping moss—but the inside pulsed faintly with something ancient. The puzzle room was beneath it, down a spiral staircase so narrow Gojo kept bumping into you “on accident.”

“You don’t have to keep touching me,” you said.

“I know,” he whispered, too close. “But it’s more fun if I do.”

The trial was designed for two. Pressure plates. Mirrors. Glyphs that lit up when touched simultaneously from opposite ends of the room. It was built for partnership. Trust.

You hated it.

But you worked through it—together.

You read the symbols. Gojo solved the riddles aloud like a smug professor. At one point, he grabbed your hand to guide it toward a panel and didn’t let go.

Neither did you.

Not immediately.

At the end of the trial, a vision struck.

You touched the relic in the center of the room—and it hit you like a punch to the chest. You saw yourself, older. Alone. Blood on your hands. Gojo—gone. Or worse.

You stumbled back, dizzy with the weight of it.

Gojo caught you. Didn’t say anything. Just braced your fall like he’d known it was coming.

“Don’t touch it again,” he said softly, voice suddenly too serious.

“What did you see?” you asked, still breathless.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Something I deserved.”

You didn’t talk much after that. Not through the walk back, not through dinner, not even when Gojo tried to distract you by juggling apples for a group of children.

You kept thinking about what you’d seen.

Not just the blood. Not just the loss.

You were starting to understand why he moved the way he did. Like he was running from something.

Same as you.

The bathhouse was empty when you entered.

Steam curled along the surface of the water, warm and thick. The stone walls were carved with crescent symbols, and candles floated in little wooden bowls, their reflections soft and golden.

Gojo was already in, of course. Neck deep, hair slicked back, eyes half-lidded.

“You coming in or just planning to stare dramatically from the doorway all night?”

You didn’t answer. Just undressed, slow and deliberate, like it didn’t matter.

But his eyes tracked every movement.

You slid into the water across from him and leaned back.

Neither of you spoke.

The silence was charged—thick as steam, warm as blood.

Gojo broke it first.

“You really trust me this little?”

You opened one eye. “It’s not about trust.”

“What is it about, then?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know.”

He moved through the water slowly. Closer. Close enough that his knee brushed yours.

“You looked scared today,” he said. “When the relic showed you something.”

“So did you.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But I’ve been scared of that future a long time.”

You watched him.

He wasn’t smiling now. No jokes. No theatrics. Just Gojo—quiet and tired and real.

And maybe it was the warmth. The silence. The ache in your chest that hadn’t left since the trial.

But you moved.

Just a little.

And he moved too.

When your mouths met, it wasn’t a kiss. It was a collision. Desperate. Sharp. You gripped his hair. He tugged you closer. Water splashed between you, arms and mouths and heat tangled like you were both afraid the other might disappear.

His lips trailed down your jaw. “Still hate me?”

You exhaled hard. “You talk too much.”

He laughed, breathless, and pulled you into his lap like it cost him nothing.

But it did. You could feel it—in the way his hands shook slightly when they touched your waist, the way he kissed like someone trying to memorise the taste of safety.

You let him.

Let him press against you, skin to skin, steam rising around your joined bodies like a prayer.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t rough either.

It was real.

Slow, gasping, fingers on hips, lips at neck. Your body burned. His voice broke. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel hunted. You didn’t feel like an outlaw.

You just felt wanted.

After, you stayed in the water.

Gojo rested his head against your shoulder, quiet. For once.

You let him.

You didn’t say it. Not out loud.

But you were falling.

And it was already too late to stop.

---

The last time Gojo saw Geto Suguru, the world was on fire.

Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. Literally. Flames licked the rafters of the old church they’d hidden in for weeks, smoke curling like claws through the broken windows. Geto had been standing at the centre of it all, calm and golden and furious.

“You were never going to stay, were you?” he asked.

Gojo didn’t answer. He was too busy choosing which lie would hurt less.

Geto already knew the truth.

They’d grown up together—same orphan network, same underground circuit, trained to steal from sorcerers and run cons on temple grounds. Geto was the planner. Gojo was the charmer. And between the two of them, there wasn’t a vault in the empire they couldn’t crack.

They’d talked about building something. Not a gang—a sanctuary. A real home. For people like them. Outlaws. Half-magic runaways. Curse-born kids. No one else would give them peace, so they’d make their own.

But then the Voidseed came into play.

An artifact that didn’t just show the future—it rewrote it, anchored by whoever held it long enough to burn their soul into it. And Geto... Geto wanted to use it. Not to steal gold, but to change everything. Uproot the monarchy. Collapse the sorcerer courts. Win.

Gojo said no.

It wasn’t because he disagreed. It was because he knew what it would do to Geto. And to himself. You don’t touch a god and walk away unchanged.

So he stole it.

And ran.

Geto found him three days later with blood on his sleeve and the Voidseed gone.

“You always think you know better,” Geto said, voice like thunder in the silence. “You always think you’re saving people. But you only ever save yourself.”

The building collapsed before they finished that fight.

They haven’t seen each other since.

But Gojo still wakes up some nights with ash in his lungs and Geto’s words etched into his ribs like scripture.

---

You didn’t talk much after that night.

Which was funny, considering the things you’d done to each other in the water.

Gojo didn’t seem interested in defining anything. Just kept walking beside you like always—cracking jokes, stealing fruit, humming off-key under his breath like nothing in the world could touch him.

But it had.

You saw it in the way he paused before reaching for you now. The way his smile lingered longer than necessary. The way he said your name softer, like it meant something new.

He didn’t push. You didn’t ask. Whatever this was, it was becoming something more. And it terrified you.

The forest had grown thicker the closer you got to the outskirts of Serinfall.

Birdsong had vanished. The air was too still. Even the trees seemed to lean in, eavesdropping.

That’s when you felt it.

Pressure. Wrongness. Like the kind of curse that leaves no mark but still crawls into your bones.

You stopped walking.

“Don’t move,” you muttered.

Gojo froze, one hand halfway to his coat pocket. “You sense it too?”

Three shadows dropped from the trees. Silent. Sharp. Their movements weren’t human—smooth like oil, reeking of borrowed magic and blood money.

One of Geto’s, you realized. Or maybe all three.

“Well, well,” the tallest one said, voice like spoiled honey. “Look what the moon dragged in. Satoru Gojo and his latest fling.”

Gojo didn’t rise to the bait. He just tilted his head and smiled like he was bored. “You should’ve brought more than three.”

You didn’t wait for them to strike.

You moved.

It wasn’t clean. Fights never were.

Steel met steel. Cursefire crackled in the underbrush. You ducked, rolled, blocked a blade with your forearm and sent your dagger into the bastard’s throat before he even blinked.

Gojo handled two of them at once. No blindfold this time—just power barely held in check, lighting his hands like wildfire. He moved like sin, like something too beautiful to survive this world. You hated how much you liked watching him fight.

When it was over, you stood with blood in your mouth and a tear in your sleeve.

Gojo looked worse—cut lip, bruised cheekbone, smile still in place.

“You alright?” he asked.

You stared at him. “Did you let one of them punch you?”

“…Maybe.”

“Why?”

“I wanted you to worry about me.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You’re in love with me.”

You didn’t answer.

Because it was starting to feel a little bit true.

You set up camp that night under a sky full of stars.

The fire crackled. The silence stretched. Gojo poked at the flames with a stick like a bored child.

You finally broke it.

“Why’d you leave him?”

He didn’t pretend not to know who you meant.

“I thought I was saving him,” he said, softly. “And I was wrong.”

He didn’t look at you. Just stared into the fire like it held the answer to a question he still didn’t want to ask out loud.

“He had a plan,” Gojo continued. “A big one. Clean the slate. Destroy the courts. Give power back to the cursed-born. But the relic… it doesn’t work like that. It takes. It always takes. It would've eaten him from the inside out.”

“So you stole it.”

“I stole everything,” he said. “His trust. Our future. Maybe his soul.”

You sat there in silence for a long time.

Then you leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder.

“You don’t look like a hero,” you said.

He huffed a laugh. “You don’t either.”

You let his hand find yours in the dark.

Neither of you said anything after that.

But the fire burned warm, and the stars didn’t feel so far away anymore.

---

You felt it thrumming. Like a heartbeat that didn’t belong to you.

The Voidseed.

Still tucked safely in the hidden lining of your coat. Still pulsing like it knew you were close — too close. It had started earlier that morning, a low buzz under your ribs, and hadn’t stopped since.

“You’re twitchier than usual,” Gojo said, walking just behind you.

You didn’t turn. “Twitchier than you when someone tells you no?”

“Please. I thrive on rejection.”

The path narrowed as the trees thinned into pale, bone-dry rock. You could smell the vault now — stone and decay and something that didn’t belong in this world. A place that had been locked away for good reason.

And yet, you were headed straight for it.

Gojo adjusted the strap of his pack with a whistle. “So. End of the road.”

You exhaled. “Not yet.”

“Close enough.”

He caught up, his shoulder brushing yours. You didn’t move away.

“It’s still with you, right?” he asked, voice low but easy. “The Voidseed.”

“Yeah.”

“No sudden urges to use it? Wield a little death? Rewrite the laws of the known universe?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not today.”

“Good. Would’ve hated to kill you before dinner.”

You almost smiled. Almost.

The vault sat buried beneath the ruin of a forgotten temple — jagged stone stairs leading down into shadow. The door was etched in old language, crawling with vines. No lock. No trap. Just a sense of wrong that made the skin on your arms rise.

Gojo stood beside you, quiet for once.

“What happens if we open it?” you asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the door like it had whispered something only he could hear.

“Depends,” he said eventually. “What Geto wants… it’s not just power. It’s change. Revolution. Burn-it-all-down kind of change.”

“And you don’t?”

“I wanted it too,” Gojo said. “Once. But not like this.”

He looked at you, eyes clearer than they had any right to be.

“I want to live. That’s different.”

You looked away.

Because suddenly the Voidseed felt heavier.

Because his hand was brushing yours again, and you didn’t pull back.

Because you weren’t sure who you were anymore without the violence, the chase, the lie.

And because you might want the same thing.

---

The air changed the moment you stepped inside.

Colder. Thicker. Like something was pressing down on your lungs, or maybe pressing in—watching. The stairs spiraled tight, stone slick with condensation and old blood. Each step you took felt louder than the last.

Behind you, Gojo didn’t say a word.

He hadn’t spoken since the door unsealed itself at your touch.

Didn’t have to.

You both knew what this place was.

Not just a vault. Not just the end of the map.

It was the place the world came to die.

At the bottom, the space opened wide.

A dome of black stone, pulsing faintly with light from no source at all. Runes crawled across the walls like scars. And in the center — a dais. Empty. Waiting.

You felt the Voidseed in your coat begin to ache.

Gojo stepped forward slowly, gaze moving across the carvings.

“This is older than the clans,” he murmured. “Before the curses. Before the courts. Before the Nine.”

“You think Geto knows that?”

“I think he doesn’t care.”

He turned, eyes meeting yours.

“You know he’s here, right?”

Your jaw tightened. “How long?”

“Since the last town. Maybe longer.”

You exhaled through your nose. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t want to ruin the honeymoon.”

You almost laughed. Almost.

But the temperature dropped again—hard.

The shadows in the corners moved.

And then he stepped out.

No disguise. No mask.

Just Geto Suguru, dressed in travel-worn robes and half a smile.

He looked like a man who’d already won.

“Hello, boys.”

Gojo didn’t flinch. “You’re late.”

“I figured I’d let the newlyweds have their privacy.”

He glanced at you—at the Voidseed you hadn’t yet drawn.

And smiled.

“You brought it,” he said softly. “I knew you would.”

You held your ground. “I didn’t bring it for you.”

“No?” Geto tilted his head, almost fond. “Then why come at all?”

Gojo moved slightly—just a step, a shift in weight, the start of something violent.

And Geto raised one hand.

The air shattered.

A blast of cursed energy slammed the space between you, forcing you back.

Gojo caught your wrist to steady you, his own energy flaring like lightning beneath skin.

Geto didn’t press.

He just looked at the two of you like something hurt.

“You could’ve come with me,” he said. Quiet. Intimate.

“You could’ve stayed,” Gojo answered.

Their gazes locked. A thousand memories between them. All knives.

And you stood between them—Voidseed burning against your ribs, heart in your throat.

Because the real question wasn’t who was right.

It was who you were going to choose.

---

The air cracked.

No warning, no flare of ego, no last chance to run—just Geto, moving. His cursed energy split the silence like a fault line, and suddenly you were airborne, legs kicked out from under you by a wave of force that struck faster than thunder.

Gojo caught it before it could reach you again—his arm out, barrier flaring with that same searing white-gold burn that lived behind his blindfold.

“Language of violence, huh?” he muttered. “Guess we’re skipping the dance.”

You rolled to your feet. “Weren’t you the one saying he was sentimental?”

Gojo grinned without humor. “Yeah, and now I remember why that’s terrifying.”

Geto didn’t wait.

Another flick of his wrist and the temple shuddered, a wall of blackened energy exploding upward like a tide—jagged, writhing, wrong. Gojo met it mid-air, a flash of his Limitless energy spiraling into the blast and cracking it apart like glass.

You moved then. No hesitation. No warning.

Your dagger—your favorite one, the one hidden in the boot heel you never took off—was in your hand before your mind caught up, your body cutting toward Geto in a blur. He saw you coming. Let you come.

“You’ve been walking with him all this time,” he said as you struck. “Does he even know what you are?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Your blade met the edge of his cursed barrier and burned—not from contact, but from your own energy spiking harder than you expected. The Voidseed pulsed once against your chest, like it wanted out.

Geto’s eyes flicked to it.

And then he struck.

A cursed lash shot out from his palm like a whip of shadow, aimed not at you but through you—targeting Gojo. You twisted, took the hit sideways instead of clean through. The energy scraped through your side like acid, but you didn’t fall.

You screamed something raw and wordless—maybe Gojo’s name. Maybe just rage.

Gojo answered with silence.

And violence.

He vanished. Reappeared behind Geto with that cruel smirk he wore like armor. His hand curled around the base of Geto’s skull and slammed him forward, into the stone floor. The ground cratered. Dust filled the vault.

Geto coughed blood, cursed energy flaring around his body like a second skin.

“Still hiding behind your pretty face, Satoru?” he rasped. “Still scared of what you could be if you stopped playing the hero?”

Gojo didn’t reply.

This wasn’t about philosophy.

This was about the Voidseed. About you. About the temple that was not meant to open, and a past that refused to stay buried.

You pressed your palm to the wound on your side, felt the hot, slow trickle of blood. The Voidseed thrummed harder now, wild and hungry, like it was tasting the end before it came.

The world narrowed. Geto was rising. Gojo’s hands curled into fists.

And you? You moved toward the center.

Toward the dais. Toward the thing you’d carried through storms and near-death and stupid arguments and fake marriages and quiet, aching mornings where Gojo let you rest your head against his shoulder and didn’t say a thing.

It was time to decide what to do with it.

Whether to keep running.

Or finally let the whole world burn.

---

The Voidseed was screaming now.

Not with sound, but with want. With a pressure behind your eyes, a song in your teeth. Your skin burned where it touched your chest, your blood responding in time to its pulse. It wanted to be used. To become something.

You staggered toward the dais, vision tunneling. Behind you, Gojo and Geto were still locked in war—flashes of cursed energy so bright they lit the room in strobes, tearing cracks through ancient stone and memory alike.

“Satoru,” Geto was snarling, somewhere in the wreckage. “You always were too soft.”

“And you were always too bitter to admit you lost me first,” Gojo spat back. “Don’t take it out on him.”

On him.

You turned sharply. Gojo wasn’t even looking at Geto anymore. His eyes were on you.

Blood dripped from his temple. One arm hung at an awkward angle. His barrier flickered like a dying star—but his focus was clear. Steady. Like you were the only thing keeping him upright.

“Hey,” he called out, half-laugh, half-desperation. “Don’t let it eat you. You’re more stubborn than that.”

Geto moved to strike him down. A flick of the wrist, a curse erupting in a black wave— —but you moved first.

You didn’t think.

You threw the Voidseed.

It spun in the air like a star too bright to touch— —and exploded.

Not outward. Not in heat or fire or destruction.

It unfolded.

The world warped inward, colors leaking, time hiccuping. Everything twisted like you were looking through broken glass. You felt your feet leave the floor. The dais cracked beneath you. Gojo and Geto were both flung backward like dolls caught in the mouth of a storm.

But you… You were still standing.

Because it had chosen you.

You don’t remember grabbing it again.

But suddenly, the Voidseed was in your palm, blooming like a flower carved from shadow and light.

And Gojo was dragging himself toward you, chest heaving, hand outstretched.

“Don’t—” he said, voice wrecked. “Don’t use it. Not like this.”

Geto, on the other side of the rubble, laughed—ragged, ruined.

“You think he hasn’t already?” he spat. “You think he’s yours now?”

Gojo didn’t look away from you. Not even for a second.

“He’s his own.”

You looked at him.

At the man who saw you break open a vault, who shared meals and bathtubs and one stupid bed. Who let you steal the Voidseed and never once asked you to give it up.

And something inside you—something poisoned by rage and survival and so many lonely nights—broke.

“I’m tired,” you whispered. You weren’t even sure who you were talking to.

Gojo was there in an instant. Hands on your wrists. Warm. Real.

“I know,” he said. “I know. Just stay here. With me.”

The Voidseed flared.

And then—

You turned.

You faced Geto.

And you chose.

---

You didn’t remember lifting the Voidseed. You just remember how quiet it got.

Geto rose from the rubble, his body wrecked and bleeding, but still standing. He looked at you like he pitied you. Like he thought you were still small.

“You don’t know what that thing will do to you,” he said softly, like a prayer gone bitter. “It’s not a weapon. It’s a mirror.”

You stepped forward, past Gojo’s outstretched hand. Past his warning. Past your own fear.

“I know,” you said. And you let it bloom.

The world peeled open.

No light. No sound. Just pressure — the unbearable density of everything at once. Your breath caught as the Voidseed unraveled in your chest, carving lines of raw power across your skin like constellations.

Geto braced himself. Raised his hand.

But he wasn’t fast enough.

The Voidseed reached out like a second spine, like your soul had teeth, like the universe remembered you owed it something — and this was how you’d pay.

You spoke his name.

Not out loud.

Not in a language with words.

You just spoke it, and the power knew what to do.

Geto didn’t scream. He just— folded in on himself.

Unmade. Quietly.

Not as revenge. Not even as punishment.

Just as balance.

When the light returned, the temple was cracked open like a wound.

You were still standing. Barely. The dais had crumbled beneath your feet, the Voidseed now dark in your palm — used, emptied, but still warm. Like it hadn’t left, just gone quiet.

You dropped it.

It didn’t bounce.

Gojo caught you before you fell, one hand steady under your ribs, the other cradling the back of your head like something fragile had survived.

“I thought I told you not to use it like that,” he murmured.

You blinked at him, blood in your teeth. “You also told me not to flirt with bounty hunters. We both ignore good advice.”

He laughed, then kissed your forehead like he needed to know you were real.

You didn’t speak for a long time after that.

You sat with him in the broken vault, backs against the ruins, breath syncing up again. The kind of silence that meant you weren’t running anymore. Not today.

Eventually, he nudged your shoulder.

“You still got one bed in you?” he asked. “Because I’m thinking hot springs, low ceilings, terrible fake names.”

You looked at him — messy, bleeding, half-destroyed.

And grinned.

“I’ve got a hundred.”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

Taglist: @axetivev, @peekaboo, @yyuinaa, @zaynesyumei, @sageofspades, @onyxmango, @puccigucii, @the-ultimate-librarian, @sooobiinn, @calgurl, @kissenturine, @bleedingbl0ssom, @rarealienbutt, @mazettns, @al3xinnn, @kuchi-sabi-shii, @abarelysentientmagic8ball, @ino77777777 @i2innie @umbrathefury @umbrathefury, @odins-archives, @pearleafie, @unini, @abarelysentientmagic8ball, @xreyi, @someone0vx, @kizeru, @rarealienbutt, @ungommasilku, @hyperrnovva, @gayaristocrat, @sageofspades, @tintenka1, @timaas-blog, @sae_see, @alien, @jun, @BelovedEngie, @lysanderplume, @leron1108, @kauo-writez

[angrythingstarlight]

Can see this being roommate!Bucky

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRcGCfkW/

Tell me why I saw a comment that said: I've watched my husband down a whole team just cause they downed me first. He definitely got the gak gak that night. 😂😂

-gif/idea anon

Roommate Bucky is always ready to defend you. And you—you're about to learn firsthand why gamers are notorious for being good with their fingers.

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

WC: 2K

CW: Size kink, Beefy Bucky being absolutely massive, praise, degradation, choking, hand kink, fingering, overstimulation, hint of voyeurism, video game violence.

AN: Written on my phone, unbetad. This isn't based on any game in particular. It's just an excuse to write a little bit o' smut.

“No. No. Nonononono.” 

YOU’RE DEAD flashes across the screen mocking you as your avatar’s bullet-riddled body fades into the abyss. You slump in the oversized gaming chair, tossing your controller on the desk. Jeers ring in your headset and you rip it off, throwing it next to the controller. She was so pretty. It took you ages to find one you liked and could pair with the cute outfit you picked.

The guys on your team didn’t even give you a chance. Who takes out one of their own? These jackasses apparently.

"You okay?" Heavy footsteps resound behind you. Glancing up, you see your roommate strolling into the living room. Your heart races at the sight of him. He’s gorgeous. No one should look this good.

Deep blue eyes framed by long lashes. Beard neatly trimmed, enhancing his jaw. He's wearing a pair of loose grey sweats that cling to his muscular thighs, long brunet locks, damp from the shower, curl around his nape. No shirt of course.

Your eyes follow a bead of water that rolls down his massive chest and goes into the valley of his ridged abs. It hits the band of his navy blue boxers peeking out from his pants and your mouth goes dry imagining what's hidden under those layers of cotton.

While you’re busy ogling him, he notices the mess you left on his desk and the start over screen on his gaming computer. “What happened, bunny?” 

The reminder of that stupid game has your frustation and anger returning in droves and it overtakes your burgeoning lust. You explain how the guys, his gaming buddies, decided to fuck with you by taking you out in a flurry of friendly fire when they realized Bucky wasn’t in the room. The longer you speak, detailing all the nasty things they said to you, the more his features harden, a muscle ticking away in his clenched jaw.  

“Huh,” he mutters under his breath. Bucky ambles over to the chair and lifts you out of it like you weigh nothing to him, considering what he benches for fun, you know you don’t. He sits down and arranges you over his thick thighs, your back resting against his warm, bare chest. He leans forward, picking up the controller and headset.

 It's not the first time, you've sat on his lap during one of his gaming marathons, Bucky says you help him play better.

“What are you doing?” You ask, canting your head back, his body wash, fresh cedar and vanilla, wafts over you and it takes everything in you not to drop your face into his chest and just inhale him. 

The corner of his lip lifts into a smirk. “You’ll see.” 

Adjusting the headset, he takes the controller in both hands, his corded biceps that are bigger than your head brush against the sides of your breasts.

If he feels the shiver that wracks down your body, he doesn’t comment on it. He never does.

The controller looks so small in his large hands, your gaze follows the veins lining the back of them as his fingers nimbly manipulate the buttons. A rush of heat spreads through you when he rests his chin on your shoulder.

You try to clench your thighs to quell the ache beating between them, but your legs are dangling over his and you can’t.

“I—I’m not.” The lie is obvious even to your ears. He hums noncommittally, but you feel his arms press closer to your body, pushing your tits together. 

You shift on his lap, freezing in place when you feel his chest rise and fall against your back, his deep, knowing laugh rolls across your skin. He teaaes, “don’t tell me you're needy already, bunny?” 

Sometimes you can't tell if he's teasing or not. You asked once and he just grinned like tie answer should be obvious.

“Sure you’re not,” Bucky casually retorts after a man appears on the screen. His guy is more menacing than your avatar, tall and flanked in dark green camouflage, face concealed by a skull mask. Weapons rotate next to him, eventually stopping on a machine gun. Static crackles through his headset and he’s dropped onto a rooftop. “I’m back fuckers.” 

Various greetings trickle through, only to be cut short when it becomes apparent that Bucky is going on a rampage. He storms across the building. Player after player goes down. Some you don’t even see until they fall to their death. 

“Aw c’mon.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Seriously, what the fuck Barnes–” 

He’s ruthless. Headshots. Stabbing. More headshots. Your already damp panties are drenched when you point out the one that shot you first, and Bucky’s guy stomps the fuck out of Walker6969 before snapping his neck. A slightly undignified giggle slips past your lips when you hear his obnoxious complaint about Bucky not playing fair. Oh. Fucking. Well. More curses filter through his headset as he absolutely decimates the field. 

Bucky tilts his face towards you with a blithe smirk, taking out another player without missing a beat. “I warned you shitstains that you better be nice to my girl.” 

It’s not long before there’s no one left. Bucky tosses the control down, and wraps his arm around your belly, and leans back, taking you with him. “Feel better?” 

“Yeah,” you reply sincerely, both impressed at his skill and pleased that he was so willing to defend you. “Thank you.” 

“You really want to thank me, Bunny?” he whispers in your ear, nipping the lobe with a soft bite. 

Your breath hitches. His hands curve under your knees, placing your legs over the armrests. “I asked you a question,” Bucky states, his tone domineering and dark. 

You struggle to find any answer, but you can’t think with your roommate’s warm hand sliding down your shorts and cupping pussy and all you can do is whimper.

“You’re soaked,” he teases, tracing a finger down the middle of your clothed cunt. His touch is light, so light, but it sends a zap through your clit. “Could feel this hot little pussy throbbing on me. Practically begging for my cock,” Heat fans up the back of your neck and spreads to your face. He could feel that? Before you can drown in embarrassment, he’s kissing his way across your shoulder. ”Need me to get rid of this ache, don’t you?”

You want your roommates hands on you more than anything in this world. You’ve thought about this so many times, you can’t believe it’s happening. His touch feels better than you dreamed. His other hand travels a leisurely, gradual path up your shirt, moving your bra out of the way so he can roll your sensitive nipple between his rough fingers. 

Another slow sweep over your pussy, just skimming your pulsating, swollen clit. It’s not enough. “Please,” you whine out, grinding down over his growing bulge. He’s getting bigger and bigger under you. 

“Please what? Hmm, bunny, please what?” He cruelly taunts, pinching your nipple until your back arches off his chest. “Use your words.” 

You cry out, the spark of pain fades into a heady, warm pleasure. “Touch me.” 

You feel his lips curve into a smile, his teeth scrape over your throat. His thumb presses down your clit and goes still. “I am touching you.” 

This is unbearable.

You’ve never been so wet in your life and he hasn’t done anything. You need him so badly it hurts.

Your pussy clenches down on nothing, you feel so empty.

“Bucky, I need you, need your fingers inside me, please fuck me,” you babble, willing to say anything to get more of him. 

He doesn’t make you wait long. Without warning, he pushes your panties aside and a thick, calloused finger slides inside you. 

“Tight little thing, aren’t you?” he remarks, adding another. Bucky used to everything being small compared to him. You are no exception. He doesn’t give you time to get used to the stretch before he starts scissoring you open, working your hot, wet cunt until he can give you one more finger. Bucky crooks his fingers, and he finds that elusive spot, the one you swore didn’t exist until now. He finds it again. And again. And again. White-hot sensations make you curl in yourself, your thighs trembling. The rough pads of his thick fingers languidly working that sensitive spot as he moves to your other nipple, plucking it into a hard peak.

“That’s your spot huh?” He asks with a cocky rasp. He knows. You told him by the way your moans went all breathy and softy and you started grinding on his cock like a greedy slut being to be filled. Judging by the way he can barely fit three fingers inside you, he knows his cock is going to split you in two. He can’t wait.

“Oh god,” you breathe out, clawing deep marks in the leather under your hands.

The wet schlick schlick schlick of your pussy with every knuckle-deep thrust of his fingers is pornographic.

Right around the second or third time, you clench down around him; he decides he’s going to film you, put your pretty pussy front and center on his flatscreen across from his bed, and make you watch as he fucks you the same way you’re fucking yourself on his fingers, your hips rolling back and forth, grinding your ass over his throbbing cock. Gonna make you watch as you struggle to keep every inch inside you, make you watch him fuck you stupid. 

“Look at you making a mess all over me. Should make you clean it when you’re done. Gonna have you keep my cock warm while I finish the game.” The debauched image of you sitting on his cock while he plays flashes through your mind and a desperate moan builds in your throat, spilling out of your parted lips. “Yeah, you’re going to let me use this sweet cunt any time I want, gonna turn you into my personal fuckdoll.” 

His thumb swipes over your clit, once, twice. Sensations burn through your veins, your body feels so hot and tight, like you’re on the edge of imploding. His hand leaves your nipple and grabs your throat, the sudden pressure makes your head feel light. “Oh god." Right there, fuck he just has to keep doing that, you’re so close, he just has to stay right there. 

It’s like he can read your mind because he does, going harder and harder, giving you everything you need. “C’mon bunny, let me have it, give it to me.” 

“Fuck yesyesyes, don’t stop please don’t–” you sob, the start of your orgasm sparks inside you. 

“Not gonna tell you again, cum for me right the fuck now,” he rasps in your ear, squeezing tightly as he slams into your cunt, his thumb circling your clit faster and faster. His fingers catch your spot again, the pressure so good and so right that it sends you over the edge. Your orgasm barreling over you, wringing pleasure from every nerve in your body, and you gush around him.

“There it is, that’s my girl,” he praises, his words lost over the steady roar in your ears. He fucks you through it, drawing it out, only stopping after your vision blurs and you let out a pathetic noise, somewhere between a whimper and a sob, but you feel too good to care how you sound.

You’re a mess—limbs trembling and weak, still so lightheaded, you can't lift your head, letting it loll lazily over his broad shoulder. He gently takes his fingers out of your pulsating cunt and holds it up, the evidence of your release dripping down to his wrist. He brings his long index finger to his mouth, sucking it dry with a grin. “Damn, you taste good.”

"I–fuck Bucky that was amazing." You grab the armrests and push yourself up.

“Where ya goin’? I didn’t say I was done with you,” Bucky says, his hand loose around your throat as he brings you back down. "I was jus' getting you warmed up."

Oh.

He grinds against your ass, his heavy cock digging into you. He's so big. Despite the fact that you're still on an orgasmic high, you want more. You want Bucky.

“You still gonna thank me Bunny?"

And I—

Roommate!Bucky has returned!

[megapteraurelia]

roommates!osasuna who make you dinner every night: osamu cooks like a god and suna just leans against the counter, shirtless because he can't be bothered to throw on a shirt (plus, he does enjoy the looks you give him or the rough grip osamu has on his neck when he's standing in the way).

osamu ends up feeding you while suna's shoulders keep your legs spread underneath the table, face buried between your thighs. the grip you have on osamu's arm is deathly, yet his spoon still taps your mouth, his voice rough when he tells you to open up.

roommates!osasuna who each insist on showering with you, even when they had already washed themselves. osamu who catches you by the hem of your panties when you enter the bathroom and try to flee, seeing both of them under the spray of the water already, who pulls you in closer, the material digging in between your slick folds.

"where do ya think yer going?"

"i— i just-ah wanted—"

suna who holds you up, his arms slung underneath your legs so osamu's hips have free reign to fuck into you. his voice sounds sweet and cruel in your ear, "yeah? wanted what, baby?"

roommates!osasuna who have completely different energies in bed. osamu is slow, commanding, dominant in a soft-spoken way, his hand resting against your throat and suna's neck lightly, like a warning, like a promise. he doesn't shy away to put both of you in your place when you act up, arms headlocking suna ever so often because he especially loves to be a brat.

suna is a lazy tease until he isn't, until he gets serious, because then he's all over you, hot whispers in your ear, his hips grinding until you're breathless. he loves especially when his hand pumps osamu's cock and he hears the low groans in tandem with your higher moans.

roommates!osasuna who sometimes accidentally flirt at the same time and you forget how to function. when osamu presses a glass of water to your lips, his other hand lingering on your back, "drink up, sweetheart." or when suna offhandedly fixes your hair, pulling it back to braid it for you, his legs brushing your own and he tells you, "messy suits you."

roommates!osasuna who crowd you in the hallway just to 'talk', and it's osamu's arm braced against the wall beside your head and suna leaning in close, his hand on your jaw forcing you to look up to them.

roommates!osasuna who are a mix of soft praise and filthy mouths, "look at ya, sweetheart, begging so sweetly, so messy. c'mon, on yer back f'me. face up so sunarin can see how pretty ya look."

and if it was only that, but— "you wanted that, don't forget, baby. asked for this even: two cocks, four hands," suna's behind you, his fingers nimble on your puffy clit as if you aren't about to combust from the stretch of osamu's dick inching itself deeper into you.

"you're trembling, baby. i promise you can take another, ah fuck, 'samu —" he trailed off, teeth finding your sweaty neck when suna's cock flinched inside you at the added friction of osamu, and a high-pitched whine escaped him, "you're made for this, yeah, you are. such a little whore, look at how easy he slid in—"

and here you are, trapped in between two bodies as they fucked you in tandem, the friction delicious, the wet squelches like music in your ears amidst osamu's grunting and suna's mewls, strings of spit coating your skin when their mouths found each other over your shoulder, and their hands—

pressing down your abdomen, on your overstimulated clit, lodged in your mouth, heavy on your tongue.

you see stars, that's how hard you came.

roommates!osasuna who shift slightly, tears still drying on your cheeks, body limp and sensitive from the way they took turns using you and holding you down like belong to their own little puppet show.

osamu is the first to come back to himself, and he shakes his head a little, his muscles still involuntarily twitching, breath heavy, voice wrecked from groaning your name. when he sees you trembling and dazed, he's already leaning over you, hand heavy and warm on your jaw. his thumb brushes your bottom lip and his voice is low and steady, "still with me, sweetheart? hm? c'mon, open those pretty eyes f'me."

when osamu takes care of you, it's all safety, it's all home, it's gentleness coming to life in the way his hand finds its way to your chest to feel your heartbeat for a moment, before he's up and already wetting a warm cloth, grabbing water, fluffing the pillows underneath you and suna.

sunarin instead is quiet, pressed close, body heat melting into your skin. his fingers ghost over your thighs, your waist, your shoulders. his voice is a sleepy murmur, soft against your ear as he nuzzles in, face buried in your hair.

"you're so good for us, baby, always so good."

he doesn't outright asks about your wellbeing like osamu does, but he watches the way your body comes down from everything and when you shiver, he tugs a blanket up. when you whimper, he kisses the back of your neck.

you love sunarin when he's smug, when he teases you, when he talks back to osamu, but you love when he's half-lidded and flushed, holding you close a tiny bit more.

and then he says, "still feeling me inside you, huh?"

his fingers trail down, gently pressing over where it still aches and when osamu's back to wipe you down, suna is the one who holds your legs spread when you're too weak to.

"sunarin."

suna hums, "yeah?"

"out."

"but it's so warm."

osamu's voice is gruff, wiping a streak off your inner thigh, "how am i supposed to clean 'er up if yer dick's still in— stop grinding, rin."

and he was. suna is insatiable in the way his hips automatically move to lightly rut into you, in the way his mouth kisses your throat and licks up strips of sweat. your head lolled back, your face flushed, as you're already entering another reality again, too far gone.

"out, rin," osamu's hand splayed on suna's thigh, fingers digging in, "i'll give ya somethin' to keep warm with later."

that does the trick, and when suna pulls out, cum leaks alongside it, and the feeling of the stuffiness gone, the feeling of their proof of love escaping almost has you whining.

"she's leaking down her legs. fuck, that's hot," suna murmurs, voice scratchy, his finger dipping to catch some, "we should take a picture."

osamu doesn't say anything but he thinks he agrees, his eyes transfixed as his hands rub your hip bone gently, almost reverently just to watch. the slick shine between your legs, the trails on your skin, the way you're open, trembling.

"look at ya, drippin' all over the place."

his hands move slow at cleaning you up, pausing between wipes to press kisses to your inner thigh, your hip, your belly, voice wrecked in between the soft caress, "so messy, sweetheart. we did a number on ya."

you were sleepy with his gentle care, with the way suna's hand strokes your hair, his other hand cupping your boobs — not in a sexual way, just warm, heavy, arm draped over your torso.

once you're clean, once suna's clean (and osamu's very thorough in the way he licked up the residue cum), once osamu's checked your body over like he's trying to memorise every bruise and bitemark they had left on your skin, he joins both of you in the bed. chest against your chest, hand cupping your face, his other on suna's waist over you — he belongs right there with you two.

"proud of ya, sweets, you always take us so damn well."

roommates!osasuna who both kiss your cheeks at the same time, whispering i love you from different sides of the best, blanket tucked all around you, warm with their body heat, their affection, their desire.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

TAGLIST | @sodaneko @takes1 @classicalelephant @pomigranit @sugacor3 @boktuoafterdark (you had asked to be tagged in suna stuff, and well— it's not just suna, but he is involved...)

[traffys-heart]

one piece men + sex toys | nsfw

alr so this got way out of hand. originally all of these were supposed to be short paragraphs per man but they turned into small short stories. the lengths vary and the tone changes in each one but i hope u guys enjoy (∩˃o˂∩)♡

characters: monkey d. luffy, roronoa zoro, vinesmoke sanji, portgas d. ace, sabo, eustass kid, killer, trafalgar d. law

cw: lowercase, afab! reader, vibrators, fingering, dildos, female masterbation, fleshlight, drinking, blindfold (on reader) , handcuffs (on reader), vaginal sex, biting, sex machine, mention of anal, dildo receiving oral, body pillows, virgin! loser! law, no beta

cw nicknames used: atta girl, lady, chic

monkey d. luffy

u and luffy were resting in your bed, enjoying some of the rare leisure time the crew had. u were reading a book robin lent u while he laid over ur lap, lazily soaking up some warmth. he had been fishing w usopp and chopper earlier when he got kicked our of the group for 'free balling' some sashimi and eating chopper's catch raw. eventually he got too bored of staying still and began to shift around on ur legs, deciding to move his hands around ur sheets.

his nimble fingers moved in patterns, drawing random shapes until he came across a bump in between ur blankets. it was sort of in the shape of a slender pill bug which excited him. pulling the mysterious shape out, it was in fact not an insect but something pastel and smooth. this both disappointed and intrigued him.

“hey what’s this pink thing”

ur novel flew across the room faster than usopp’s legs when he sees a new island. u attempted to grab the small vibrator out of ur captain’s hands, horrified of the situation u had found urself in. while u and luffy have been in a loose romantic relationship for a while neither of u had made any moves into sex territory, so the prospect of him finding ur vibrator was very unprepared for.

unluckily for u before u could take it back he had inspected it closer and came to a realization on his own. his own cheeks becoming a faint red color to match the ribbon on his hat.

“oh i know what this is. i think sanji’s magazines w naked people had one of these before”

u weren’t exactly surprised at his exclamation, but also a little peeved considering u were hoping to exit the uncomfortable situation by lying to him about the actual use of the toy.

“do u want me to use it on u?”

if ur eyes could bulge out like a rubber hose cartoon character ur sure they would have bc that was the last question u expected him to ask. his eyes sparkled with something akin to hope and paired well w his cheeky smile urging u to say yes.

u hesitated on ur answer so luffy tried to provide further explanation.

“sanji says girls use these to feel good, yea? well we’re together and i wanna make u feel good. so u shouldn’t have to use this alone, i’ll be there w u”

cursing and praising the pervy cook u nod ur head, feeling heat rise to ur face at his proposal.

-`♡´-

ur captain’s fingers piston themselves in and out of ur sloppy cunt w cute clicking noises as he holds the vibrator steady on ur clit. u can feel urself becoming over stimulated from the amount of pressure he’s applying on the bundle of nerves. the consistent rhythm of the toy massaging ur clit along w the rough pads of his fingers massaging ur g spot send u to ur climax sooner than anytime by urself.

as u pulse on his hand he watches in awe as more sticky fluids seep onto his palm, coating him in glossy slick. big dark eyes peer up at u and maintain eye contact as he removes himself and licks all of u off his hand. luffy returns the stationary vibrator to ur clit but this time moves spreads ur thighs wider allowing his head to be slotted right in front of ur cunt.

his tongue accompanies the low buzzing sound and u never want to feel good alone again.

roronoa zoro

u and zoro were working out together above deck until u both decided that u needed to take a break. he mostly spent all his time doing weight training that hardly seemed practical while u stuck to more traditional forms of exercise. u left to go hit the showers while he did whatever ppl who only shower once a week do.

after u got out of the showers u noticed the girls room door was already open, but u didn’t think much of it considering it meant either robin and nami had enough of the boys for today or zoro still wanted to hang out.

turns out the latter was true, which was fine, however there were two things that kept u from truly being just fine.

the first of them being that u were still in a towel and needed to both dry off, as well as clothe urself before u could let ur human moss stink up ur room. the second being that as u walked in ur eyes immediately zeroed in on ur dildo in his hands.

one of his eyebrows was already raised but when he noticed ur presence he shot a devious smirk ur way that told u u were not leaving this situation without fourth degree embarrassment.

“i mean i knew u were flexible and all but i didn’t think u had this in u”

ur mouth hung open at his comment, and he gestured the silicone cock closer to u for emphasis. sure u had gotten a toy that was somewhat larger than the average size, but was that not the point of plastic? and who is he to judge u?

“oh please judging by ur reaction u’ve never seen something so big. must be nice to finally hold something larger than a pencil”

his eyes narrow, but squint at the challenge u seem to be presenting.

“yea? and i’d like to see u take half of this without giving up or passing out”

-`♡´-

zoro never considered himself a gluttonous man, however the way u take ur dildo makes him want to consume u. the fat lips of ur cunt squeeze the faux veins of the toy as u slowly shove it inside of u. he swears he can almost feel the way u clench down when the silicone tip rubs against ur sensitive walls.

finally as the base kisses ur ass u let out a small cry from the feeling of being so stuffed. u never had someone watch u as u mounted the dildo before and the prominent hard on in zoro’s pants made it hard to think abt the bet he gave u. the pride inside of u was already fed from successfully shoving the whole thing inside of u, however the shallow breathes from the guy in front of u wasn’t bad either. in small thrusts u started to fuck urself w the toy, bathing in the sounds and smells of lube and sex.

ur vision trailed up when u noticed zoro’s hand slip under the waistband of his pants. when u got a view of his hard cock u almost came on ur toy right then and there.

well, u can’t always be right.

vinsmoke sanji

u enjoyed helping sanji in the kitchen esp when he allows u little tastes of the meal before it’s served here and there. u guys were cooking up a wonderfully savory soup and luffy already had to be kicked out thrice before he ate any of the ingredients. sanji was chopping up some vegetables while u monitored the pot. occasionally u stirred it around and accidentally u splashed some of the broth on his dress shirt.

being the sweetheart he is, he waved it off and told u it was no problem and only asked if u could bring him a new one from the guys room. obliging and feeling mighty guilty u dashed off and went rummaging through his dresser.

to ur surprise u not only found him a new shirt but what u first thought was a flashlight (in the drawer?) however under further inspection found out it was a flashlight. gripping the toy with surprise, u don’t hear the blond come up behind u to retrieve his garment only to be shocked by ur discovery as well.

the looks of horror exchanged by the both of u bounce of the walls of the ship as he stumbles to articulate the words for an explanation.

However, before he can get a sensible sentence out, u take the initiative to step closer with both the fresh shirt and pocket pussy in arms. placing a hand on his chest u attempt to calm him and offer much needed relaxation in his time of stress.

“how abt u loose the stained shirt and i give ur hands a break?”

-`♡´-

sanji’s naked torso bared itself to u almost as deliciously as his flushed out face. his hair was sticking to his forehead from the copious amounts of sweat that ran down his body after u ripped orgasm after orgasm from him. his hips bucked uselessly into the toy despite already being fully flush with the silicone. u were sat on the side of his bed jerking the toy up and down his needy cock.

lube and semen covered his own trail of hair from the base of his shaft to his navel. ur soft hand ran through the mess and in tickling fashion caused his eyes to snap shut and his back to arch into ur touch. he hoped and prayed to the gods above that u would offer the feeling of ur own real pussy to him. how he dreamed of being inside of u instead of his stupid toy, fucking it pathetically each night to ur name.

his eyelids fluttered open when he felt something lacy lightly slap his face. some prayers truly r answered.

portgas d. ace

ace was a regular when it came to the infirmary on the moby dick. technically all u girls were really meant to care for whitebeard, however when u weren’t monitoring his bloodwork, ensuring he takes his medications, and hooking up his ivs, u had fire first ace to take care of.

for a logia user he sure got hurt a lot, cuts and bruises always seemed to appear on his skin despite the ability to easily burst into flames when he needed to avoid danger. u didn’t mind fixing him up, however, he was always a good chat as well as a pretty face to warm ur day.

this particular night a large portion of the crew was celebrating an intense battle they faced. due to ur captain’s large territory throughout the grand line, u often needed to defend islands when rival pirate groups underestimated the older generation’s strength.

booze, greasy food, and music danced jovially around the deck and while u would’ve loved to join in on the festivities, u also had quite a long day.

so u slinked back into ur cabin where the other nurses stayed as well and enjoyed the rare moments of solitude on the ship. ur uniform was replaced w ur evening slip and u snagged an unopened bottle of wine to pair w a book u had begged ace to retrieve while he was away.

dimming a few of the candles that lit the room, u bent over to blow out one further away from ur bed when a large flame shot out of the wick. before utter fear could take root in ur face, however, thick eyebrows and sun kissed freckles smiled back at u from the embers.

ur self restraint allowed u to wait until ace fully completed his transformation to shove him playfully in the ribs.

“i didn’t see u at the party!”

a twinge of guilt was overshadowed by awe when u saw how genuinely concerned ur second division commander looked at u. explaining the situation to him he merely raised one of those thick eyebrows, ran a hand through his dark greasy hair, and shot u a sly grin.

“ah no i get it. sometimes u just gotta rub one out. or in? is that what chics say?”

staring at him w incredulous shock u tried to comprehend how he for some reason interpreted ur words as code for u needing to masturbate. either he got hit in the head one too many times or u were more tired than u thought.

ace walked past u and nudged ur vibrator peaking out from underneath ur sheets. the pretty pink silicone almost glowing the atmosphere u set for the room. ur mouth hung wide open, aghast u made such a mistake of leaving it out like that, and in front of a cremate no less.

he turned back to u and plopped himself on the bed, arms stretched out behind him. patting his thigh with one hand and using the other to remove his hat he gestured over to u.

“c’mon let me take care of u tonight”

-`♡´-

the low hum of ur toy sent perfect waves of pleasure into ur clit and throughout ur body. with both of his arms hooked under ur knees ace easily spread u wide for ur little vibrator to gently massage ur nerves. despite ur begging for a higher setting or his own fingers, he denied ur requests until u orgasmed again in his lap. he wouldn’t even talk to u, he would just suck sweet hickies onto the side on ur neck and collarbone and shake his head no, tickling ur face, when u asked him to go harder.

eventually u felt the knot twist and tighten in ur belly. ur pelvis shifted around in his grasp, attempting to free u from his constricting hold and take control. luckily u were no pirate and ace held u down w no problem, letting u cum all over ur vibrator as u whined abt nothing in particular.

ace removed the toy from ur puffy clit and allowed u a few seconds of respite before plunging his thick fingers into ur welcoming cunt. yknow he actually thinks he’s beginning to understand this whole care taker thing.

“atta girl”

sabo

u really needed to clean ur room. to be honest it wasn’t as bad as koala claimed it was, but u’ll admit w all the missions and paperwork u may have been slacking in the organization department. it was easy to loose track of the lesser important tasks at hand when ur trying to bring down the world government.

ur very lucky ur boyfriend was there to help u tidy up ur place, esp considering how packed his schedule is, the two of u barely spend alone time together as it is.

as u pushed open ur door w ur hip, u already found the blond hunched over ur small desk trying to sort all the stationary u’ve left array over the past few months. sighing u kiss the top of his head and get to work underneath ur bed, dusting off what seemed to be library books far past their due from another island.

tucking those away for future u to worry abt, u crouched next to sabo in his chair. u dreaded looking through ur drawers, quite frankly not remembering what sort of junk u threw in there in the past. u asked him if he could get the left side so u could focus on the right and almost immediately he got to work. guess thats why he’s chief of staff.

while u were rummaging through a bunch of knick knacks, some including memories u happily showed ur boyfriend, sabo also found something of interest.

“hey, u never introduced me to these before”

glancing in his direction u saw the pair of leather handcuffs dangling from his index finger. ur expression switched from nostalgic to humiliated immediately, cursing urself for allowing such a thing to be carelessly thrown in w the rest of this junk.

up until now, u and sabo never used anything besides a bit of lube when it came to sex, so for him to discover something so different of u was nerve wracking. snatching the cuffs back from him, u patiently waited for some sort of reaction from him.

what u were met w was not the disgust or uncomfortable u expected but in fact a ‘wait a minute’ and after a quick jog down the hall to his own quarters he returned w a silk sash in his hands.

“when i first started yknow um, yea, i was nervous to see my partners’ reaction to the rest of the scarring on my body. the blindfold helped me ease them into it, and i guess myself as well”

u didn’t really have any words to share, ur own kink hardly stemming from something as sentimental or sweet as his own. u were glad he felt like he could share something so personal like that, as well as seemingly come over that hurdle, considering it’s ur first time hearing of it. after taking a break on ur room cleaning, the two of u conversed deeper into the topic until u decided to take his hands in urs and acknowledge the looming conversation to be had.

“so neither of us have really discussed toys in our sex life before. if that’s something ur also into, im up for it as well”

-`♡´-

ur arms were raised above ur head and bound together by the thick leather of ur handcuffs. ur chest was forced upwards in this position giving sabo easy access to trail his tongue around ur perky nipples. the silk blindfold deters ur vision so every chaste touch he leaves on ur body leaves u wondering were the next one will be. sweet licks trail up from ur tits to ur collarbone, giving the skin a harsh nip. u cry out from the pressure, shivering from the way it left tingles running up ur spine.

his swollen cock head rubs circles around ur cunt, gathering slick until he’s ready to push in. the feeling of ur heat already sending beads of precum dripping out of his tip. u want him to stuff u with his cock already, the lack of mobility and vision making it harder for u to wait. when he finally allows himself to cave into ur welcoming pussy ur hands want to instinctively grasp his shoulder blades, hindered by the chains.

the afternoon ended up being full of sweat, orgasms, and kink discovery, leaving ur bedroom floors messier than when u started.

eustass kid

kid was always inventing something new, even early into his childhood he enjoyed playing in the scrapyard and putting together whatever he could find. he enjoyed reworking the metal gears and bolts inside of smaller mechanics washed up on the south blue shore and studying their deconstructed parts. his devil fruit only made this hobby of his easier into adulthood.

when u joined kid’s crew he felt the immediate spark between the two of u. it was just something u knew as the magnet magnet devil fruit user. killer told him everyone can actually feel shared feelings and it was called ‘mutual attraction’ but quite frankly he thinks that’s a load of bs. if that was really true than a lot more ppl should’ve made moves on each by now.

either way, excited by ur presence on his ship, he took out most of his exhilaration in his workshop. working on something that would really woo u. not that u needed to be impressed, but he still wanted to make u feel special. what was meant to be a few pieces of scrap welded into the shape of roses turned into a full scale sex machine.

focusing on what would increase ur pleasure to the maximum his contraption would not only penetration all ur cute holes but give him a good show as well. after weeks of progress he really only had a single problem. u guys weren’t together yet.

only after a handful of months and then some did u two officially begin a relationship, what felt like eons of destroying rival pirates and marines w u finally developed into a fully fledged commitment. it had been a while since he had touched that 'gift' he made for u in the beginning, so long he had forgotten it sat in the back of his workshop during ur grand tour.

ur eyes shone w wonder as he showed off all of his private inventions, not yet revealed to the rest of the crew, nonetheless the broader public. his ego felt like a golden retriever puppy brought into a kindergarten class with all the praise u shed him and it was only when u pointed to the strange chair thing that he began to waver.

the design was not exactly discreet, having multiple sex toys and dildos attached to the pistons on the end of the seat. he refused to lie and claim it was something he used on himself, he doubts that would exactly add to his rough and tough persona (no kid we love pegging in this house) so his only option was to awkwardly reveal the truth. u were already stuck w him this far in, surely this couldn't be that bad of a deal breaker.

"soo have u tested it?"

sheepishly he answers with a small "no", that sounds a little too high pitched in his usual rougher scottish drawl.

"then what r we waiting for?"

-`♡´-

it took him a while to fully strap u into the chair and position u perfectly. w enough lube and heavy petting u were successfully restrained, with ur holes stretched just enough to be penetrated easily. siting back on his own stool, kid watched intently as ur cunt began to swallow the smooth head of the dildo. u both decided that the one tapping ur ass would only be used if u could handle the first.

ur legs shake as u take more and more of the plastic inside of u, feeling the intricate and creative ridges on the mold. when one of the ribs presses against a particularly spongey spot ur back arches against the restraints. ur tongue lolled out from the intensity of being fucked by something so non-human and u began to let out moans u don't think u've even heard in porn.

through the reflection of the goggles on his head u could see ur pathetic body twist and turn from getting fucked by a machine. how u loved the mind of ur perverted genius.

killer

u and killer got along as the rational duo in the kid pirates. with ur batshit crazy captain and equally as riled up crew mates both of u found solace in being the only ones without loose screws. it was nice being the sensible pirates in a group of barbarians.

which is why despite killer being first mate and second in command, he often found himself in ur presence. whether it be helping u w chores, asking ur opinion on the next route, or even just chatting abt daily life, the two of u got along better than almost kid and him.

which is why it confused and hurt him to hear that there was something that u haven’t talked to him abt.

this all started when he overheard hip and house gossiping w each other and he noticed ur name drop. walking over he tried to gain a better picture of what they were discussing but noticing his presence the two girls abruptly stopped and scurried away. knowing ur good relationship w the two he doubted it was anything malevolent, however even as first mate what was so secret that even he couldn’t handle it?

the second time he was thwarted by this topic was during dinner. he had cooked a rather impressive large hog for the entire crew, but the pork chops were the last thing on his mind when quincy leaned down and whispered something in ur ear while giggling causing u to blush. while washing the dishes together he asked what her joke was and u dodged the question like he was shooting bullets at u. u always let him in on jokes :(

during the monthly girls sleepover night (u all sleep in one cabin anyways. no one really gets it.) emma challenges u to a truth or dare, absentmindedly u pick dare and all the girls in the room share devious smirks of mischief. a quick conference of whispers r shared and then adjourned before they give u ur dare.

“we dare u to show killer ur little, sorry no actually big secret!”

ur shoulders dropped in defeat as the second u saw their grins u knew ur fate was sealed. u also knew truth or dare was scared on the victoria punk so there really wasn’t any getting out of this either. gathering the designer shoe box from underneath ur bed u trudge out of the girls room in defeat with the sound of high pitched squealing and laughing behind u.

first mate came w some privileges. one of which was not having to share a room w the rest of the crew, save for kid. although kid hardly spent any time in their shared room, usually down in his workshop tinkering away on some new shit. so when u showed up in killers doorway with ur dildo in hand and a prayer he wouldn’t end ur friendship right then and there, at least u knew ur captain wouldn’t have to experience the worst second hand embarrassment of the century.

if u could see killer’s eyes u would assume they were as wide as saucers. before u could continue ur semi-planned explanation he dramatically scanned the rest of the hall for bystanders and then pulled u inside his bedroom, slamming the door shut.

“u actually use that thing? and u put it inside u?!”

“uh yea”

silence overtook the two of u and for the first time u felt the judgement that the both of u normally expressed for others turned on urself. the gravity of ur mistake began to overtake u and shame started to bubble and toil within ur chest.

“i mean, i’m here”

ur eyes flick up to the taller man, unfortunately not only is his statement confusing, his expression is concealed with that stupid mask.

he cleared his throat and tried again. “if u ever wanted to try out a real person that is”

-`♡´-

killer’s thick cock bullied its way into ur cunt, stretching ur walls more than ur toy ever did. the soft stinging left pricks of pleasure after a few seconds and every little shift made u appreciate the heaviness of his shaft. ur mouth was busied on ur dildo, sucking on the squishy plastic and working it down ur throat. u made sure to make a show of taking the next few inches knowing that killer’s intense gaze would be focused on ur lips.

his hand began to massage ur stomach, pressing down and rubbing the layers of flesh separating him from his cock. the pressure felt oh so perfect and u couldn’t help but clamp down on him, especially after his fingers dipped to roll small soft circles on ur clit. killer thrusts shallowly into ur cunt, savoring the way u hug him and practically drag him back inside of u. ur muffled moans reverberate on the silicone and he groans at the thought of u taking him in ur mouth as well.

ur somewhat perplexed ur never bothered killer in taking care of ur sexual needs but ur happy u let him have his way w u that night. after all, it’s the sensible thing to do.

trafalgar d. law

law enjoyed his private space. that much could be seen by anyone who knew him after five minutes. he especially enjoyed keeping his personal collections private. such things range from his coins, sora warrior of the sea comic books, and yes sora merchandise.

there was one person he was willing to show his things to though, and that special lady would be u. he loved going through his glass case of special addition figures and explaining the rarity and backstory behind each one, all while u listened intently. u treated him almost as if he wasn’t a twenty six year old man obsessed w fiction and he loved it.

very few people, (besides the sora fan club) cares to hear about his interests so when u excitedly sat urself down on his bed and urged him to explain to u why sora’s giant robot kinda looks like a bug he couldn’t stop his mouth from moving.

however, he supposed, all good things must come to an end. after all u’ve been so kind to him, but he couldn’t find a well worth explanation to give to u when u discovered his ‘secret’ piece of merchandise.

for starters, he hasn’t used it in a long time. no, after he met u he was smitten and he’s had no need to resort to such things. but it’s not like he was just going to throw it away. a limited edition piece should never be discarded with such ease. law truly thought he would just discreetly hide it and never bring it up.

that is until u decided to go find some extra blankets and pillows for a movie marathon w ur boyfriend and u checked in his closet as he told u, only to find an extremely provocative body pillow of who u think (ur still learning) is pink poison from the antagonists germa 66.

still, deciding the pillow was actually quite soft u brought it out and tried to think of silly ways u can tease law abt ur discovery.

placing the pillow in front of ur face u crept up on him until he finally noticed u and when he did u thought u might’ve scared him to death. his face fell to depths u didn’t think existed and u had to tackle him to stop the devil fruit user from shambling himself out of the situation.

after explaining to him that u don’t particularly care if he likes to fuck pillows w comic book characters on them and he confesses that ever since he met u he’s only ever jerked off to ur image in mind (how kind) u two were able to put the topic at ease.

however a lingering question persists in ur mind.

“so how does a guy like, get off on a pillow?”

still red in the face, law turned to u, hair covering his eyes as he spoke

“um i could show u”

shock hit both ur faces but seeing as u had no apprehensions, u lay down for another explanation.

-`♡´-

shiny lube covered ur entire torso, allowing his hard on to easily glide across ur stomach. ur shirt and bra were long discarded, nipples hardened at law’s insistent pawing and sucking. he was straddling u from above, taking in the sight of u all perfect underneath him. his cock was angry, throbbing, and extremely excited to be this close to a woman for the first time.

when he started to hump ur body, u had to will urself from not reacting to the ticklish movements. next time u’ll have him mount ur ass or something bc the feeling of his cock slipping through the slick on ur belly instinctively made u want to tense up and giggle. law ended up cumming really quickly so it never ended up becoming a problem though. one of his hands reached for a tit while the other went beside ur head so he could quickly press his mouth to urs.

ur teeth clashed together and he gripped the fat of ur breast a little roughly, but god if the whimpers coming out of the this man while he spurted ropes of semen across ur chest weren’t the hottest thing u’ve ever witnessed.

as he pulled away u smiled and reached out to fix some of the hair that stuck to his sweaty forehead.

“hey at least u don’t have to wash any stains outta me”

[silkensago]

beneath it all

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ jason todd x fem reader. fluff. — 1k words. ⭑ after a long night out, you and jason come home to read together on the couch.

The night finally exhales in the gilded drawing room of Wayne Manor.

Its breath drifts slow across polished pearl-like marble floors, rustles the sheer curtains by the ceiling-high windows, and pools quietly beneath the twinkling crystals of the chandelier above, though the room has long since gone still, save for the soft thrum of two heartbeats, tucked quietly beneath it all.

Tonight’s mission had been infiltration. A high-class party in Gotham’s heart, where secrets hid beneath silver and smiles that didn’t quite reach the eyes. With a gun strapped to your thigh, hidden under silk, your fingers stayed steady even when the night turned sharp. 

But now, here, the danger has melted away, leaving only calm in the form of Jason’s steady warmth pressed close. 

Sitting pretty in his lap, your strappy white dress spills like moonlight over a midnight lake draped across his dark slacks. You can feel the heat of his body beneath your thighs, fabric pressing against bare skin.

Jason drinks you in quietly—the curve of your shoulder, the way the fabric shifts as your thin little straps slip down, the gentle rumple of the hem from how he keeps tugging you closer, closer still, once the city finally let the both of you go.

Gotham doesn’t need you right now. He does.

He’s still in his white oxford, unbuttoned at the throat. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, flexed forearms showing the faintest trace of the night’s effort. 

You’re on your couch. His couch. The one Dick playfully rolls his eyes at, watching the two of you tangled up and taking over the space. The same one Damian pretends to throw up near whenever he passes by, making you laugh as Jason flips him off without missing a beat.

One of his arms is around your waist. The other balances a paperback between you, those strong, nimble fingers that so gently trace your skin, keeping the spine cracked without thought. The cover is soft, well-loved and worn from use.

Your body sinks into him and your breath softens. You’re safe. 

Jason pulls you in closer, watching you with the quiet kind of attention that always makes you feel seen without ever having to utter a word. The book stays open.

He’s sitting deep into the cushions while your back is pressed comfortably against his chest. It’s the kind of closeness that doesn’t require an excuse anymore. Just muscle memory. 

You finally reach the last sentence on the page, then slide your fingers under the corner to flip ahead.

“Wait, sweetheart.”

Jason’s cheek grazes yours as he leans forward, eyes still on the paragraph. His warm breath brushes the shell of your ear, voice like dark chocolate melting slow and deep, low over a quiet flame.

You freeze, page halfway turned.

Jason nudges it back with just his thumb, glancing down at you with that little tilt of his mouth that makes your stomach flip—half fondness, half amusement.

“You skipped my favorite part.”

“You have a favorite part?” you murmur, leaning back into him.

He hums, lips brushing close to your ear. You giggle. It tickles. “I always have a favorite part. Especially when I’m reading with you.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, letting him finish the page. The book is steady in his hands, and so are you.

You shift a little, legs draping comfortably across his lap, one arm loosely circling his waist as you settle more fully into him. Tucked into him sideways, nothing has ever felt so right.

Jason’s arm tightens around you instinctively, the book dipping slightly as he adjusts to hold you closer. He doesn’t say anything. Just rests his cheek briefly against the top of your head, like you’ve always fit right there.

The words on the page are starting to blur together and eventually, you give up trying to stay upright. 

Jason glances down, a slow, lazy curve tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Even half-asleep, you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Falling asleep on me? Didn’t think the book was that boring.”

“No.” You shift closer, voice soft and mumbling into him. “S’not the book. You always make me sleepy.”

The corner of his lip twitches. “My sleepy girl.”

Your fingers find his waist. Just barely—cold at the tips, almost a whisper of a touch.

But it’s him. Of course, he notices.

Because it’s you.

His larger, calloused hand finds yours. He folds it gently into his palm, then lifts the hem of his shirt—guiding your touch beneath, until your hand lies flat against the bare skin above his hip. Heat hums beneath your fingers.

“That better?” he murmurs, voice low. Soft enough to make something flutter and curl inside of you.

You nod into his chest, fingers splayed flat against his skin.

He exhales softly. Chin rests on your head. The book slants closed beside you, half-dropped.

You move again. Slower this time. Legs stretched across his lap, one arm settling around his middle. Your cheek finds the space just over his heartbeat. The silky material of your dress glides against the cotton of his shirt, soft over firm.

His breath hitches. He doesn’t move.

Then his hand drifts down. Finds yours where it’s fallen loose near his ribs. Lifts it again, and tucks it beneath his shirt.

He’s solid beneath your palm—all defined muscle under soft heat, the steady rise and fall of him slow against your fingers. 

“Here,” he says.

You hum, low and content. He laughs under his breath, running a knuckle affectionately against your cheek.

Jason shifts, one arm beneath your back, the other draped across your shoulder. His head tilts against the couch, eyes already half-lidded. He doesn’t need to wonder if he’ll sleep well. You’re here.

“Goodnight, sweet girl.”

—

Morning seeps slowly through the high windows of Wayne Manor, a pale whisper of light drifting slowly across the marble floor, softening the edges of the waking house.

The grand drawing room door parts with a gentle creak. A pause.

Two figures lie tangled—one folded into the other like threads spun tight. Her hand slips beneath his shirt, fingers resting against skin. A pair of arms curve around her, steady and sure. A worn paperback, half-sunken into the cushions beside them.

Alfred moves soundlessly across the floor to the cedar chest nestled in the linen closet by the window. The scent of lavender rises as the lid lifts.

A thick blanket is unfolded with great care, draped gently over the pair. Corners tucked just so. It settles like a quiet benediction, like freshly fallen snow hugging the ground. Simply meant to be.

A small smile tugs at Alfred’s lips.

From the hall, a gagging noise, followed by a sharp yell: “Father!”

A breath. The door was still open.

“They’re doing it again!”

A sharp sigh. Footsteps retreating, fading behind the call.

He slips out as Damian appears. The door clicks softly closed behind him.

“Alfred." The boy mutters, nose wrinkled with disdain. "We must burn that couch."

“Of course, Master Damian,” Alfred replies. There’s a twinkle in his eye.“Right after breakfast.”

[glamorizethechaos]

Lonely No More | Jack Abbot x Single Mother Reader

Chapter One: Transformer

Summary: A struggling single mother with the world on her shoulders leans on those closest to her for help. Jack stepping up and making sure you down drown above water.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: single mother, age gap, dead beat dad, fluff, angst

"Mama, I dont wanna go." your son whimpered from the backseat as you drove to the hospital for your night shift. Working nightshift as a single mother wasn't ideal, but when a senior resident spot opened up you had to jump at the opportunity. It's for Daniel you justified. The nights away from him were hard, and the little sleep you'd get during the day were even harder. Each day when you walked into the Pitt your smile said one thing, but your eyes said another.

"You'll have so much fun, Danny, I promise." you glanced at his teary eyes through the rearview mirror. As you walked into PTMC with Daniel in tow and his bag slung over your shoulder, his grip on you got tighter. You tried your best to keep him out of the hospital, even during pick up and drop offs with your sister. It was normally her who watched your son on the nights you worked, but with a gnarly case of the flu, you were left stranded. You burned through all your sick and vacation time for the nights your sister was out of town, or Daniel just needed you.

As you sat him on the counter of the nurses station you introduced him to Dana, who happened to be your saving grace for the night.

"Are you sure about this, Dana? It's asking a lot."

"It's not asking when I offered." she assured in the midst of saying hello to Danny. "My oldest is ecstatic, I'm still convinced that 14 years later she’s still pissed I gave her a younger sister instead of brother."

"Daniel, can you say hello to Miss. Dana? She has two girls who are so excited to play with you tonight! Doesn't that sound fun?"

Daniel buried his face into the crook of your neck as Dana ruffled his red hair.

"Who's this?" Jack asked as he walked in for his shift, Danny peaking at the other unfamiliar voice.

"This is my son, Daniel." you smiled at him. "Daniel say hello to Dr. Abbot."

"Jack is fine. Hey bud, I used to have cool hair like you, ya know?"

"You were a red head?" you cocked a brow, only knowing his salt and pepper curls.

"Believe it or not." he glanced at the admissions board while signing in on the computer. He noticed your sons damp cheeks and the way you swayed side to side trying to sooth him. You knew the second it was time to leave he'd be a mess, it was still 6 months away but you were already racked with anxiety over him starting pre school.

“Alright baby.” You handed Daniel over to Dana, to which he started screaming and gripping onto your scrubs. It was enough to make your heart break.

“No mama! I wanna stay with you!” He started to kick his way from Dana’s grasp.

“Hey bud,” Jack spoke up after seeing the tears well in your eyes. “Your mom said you like transformers, is that right?”

Your son nodded, wiping his snotty nose on your pant leg.

“You know I’m part transformer myself?” Jack said, pulling up his scrub pants to expose his metal prosthesis. As Daniel’s eyes widened with excitement, yours softened at his kind gesture.

“Where is the rest of the armor?” He asked immediately reaching out with his nimble fingers to touch it.

"Megatron stole it, but listen buddy-- let’s make a deal, okay?" Jack said holding out his hand for your son to shake on it. "You go have a sleepover with our friend Dana, and tomorrow if you're good, I can show you the rest of my transformer collection, how does that sound?"

Daniel could hardly control his excitement as he jumped up and down eagerly.

"Can we mama?"

"As long as its okay with Dr. Abbot." you smiled, planting a sloppy wet kiss on his cheek and inhaling the sweet smell of his shampoo one last time until morning. "You can call me before bed and first thing in the morning, okay? Mommy packed your monster spray for Dana to spray all the closets and under all the beds. Mr. Kitty (who happened to be his favorite stuffed dog) is in your bag too."

There was a bit of hesitation from the both of you before your son reluctantly took Dana’s hand. Internally you were a wreck, waiting for the inevitable call from Dana that he was inconsolable and you’d have to pick him up.

“He’ll be fine.” Jack assured you with a brief shoulder squeeze. And the call never came. In fact you got lots of photos throughout the evening of your son playing with Dana’s girls— they baked cookies with him and ate far too many in the fort they all built. The final photo of him tucked into her bed fast asleep with the message:

“Husband is on the couch tonight”

You smiled at your phone. When the chaos of the night began to settle down, and the sun began to peek over the horizon, you found Jack to thank him. He was on the roof of course, it had become a ritual for him at this point. You handed him a cup of stale coffee and stuffed your hands in your pockets as the wind whipped between the buildings.

“Really Dr. Abbot, thank you. That was quick thinking earlier today. I can’t believe you remembered he liked Transformers. Not even his dad knows that.”

Jack grimaced slightly about the remark regarding his father. No one knew who he was, no one ever met him, no one even knew his name. Albeit your bubbly and inquisitive nature, your personal life was a mystery to lots of people in the ER. On occasion you’d mention something that helped solve your mystery. Or rather your sons… you really only talked about Daniel, your eyes lighting up each time. About him starting soccer, the woes of potty training, or his love for Transformers.

“You mentioned something awhile back to Dana about his birthday. Just so happened to overhear.”

“So you were eavesdropping…”

“No… ‘observing’” he chuckled as you smacked his arm playfully.

“I just hate leaving him like that, ya know?” You began to unravel, voice cracked ever so slightly that most wouldn’t notice, of course Jack did. His head jerked towards you quickly at the sound of your unwavering voice, his stomach churning at how beautiful you looked despite the 12 hour shift.

“Yeah I’m sure it’s tough…” he offered support.

“But this is my dream, ya know? I’m growing a future for him, for us. I just—“ you paused trying to find the right words, a single tear escaping from your eye. “Ya know, I try and give 100% at work, I mean you’ve got to, I hold people’s lives in my hands every day…” another tear, “but then I go home and try to give 100% for my son. At the end of the day, I can’t do both. One always is gonna fall short. And I worry that it’s my son I’m not giving my all for.” Soon the floodgates opened.

Jack wrapped his arm around you with a sigh, kissing your temple before resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Enough of that… you’re a great doctor and a great mom. Daniel worships you. You wanna know how I know you’re a good mom?”

“How?”

“Because bad parents aren’t worried about being a good mom or dad. They’re aren’t worried about giving their all, or not spending enough time. Listen, we see our fair share of shitty parents in our line of work, you certainly don’t fall in line with any of them. Not even close.”

You didn’t say anything, just looked down at your feet. The tip of your nose began to grow pink, a tell tale sign it was time to go back down. He walked you back down as you waited for Daniel and Dana to arrive back at work.

“Mama!” You heard the familiar voice flooding in from the ambulance bay. He ran over and leapt into your arms, knocking you backwards in Dr Abbot.

“Did you have fun, baby? I saw all your pictures!”

“Mhm” Daniel nodded “Dana snores.”

The whole nursing station erupted in laughter as Dana’s mouth fell open.

“I do not! You sound like my husband little man.”

“How about breakfast?” Jack asked grabbing Daniel’s backpack from your hands. “I think the big boy deserves some pancakes.”

“Oh Jack you d-“

“Yes please! Yes please!” He squealed, more so coming out at yes pwease, yes pwease. “Then can I see your transformer legs?”

“A promise is a promise.”

————

After a breakfast of maple syrup and a side of pancakes, Daniel was itching to get to Jacks. He clung to you, hands around your neck as Jack ushered you into his front door. His house was spotless, like he was back in his army barracks waiting for his morning inspection. You had to beg your toddler to keep his hands to himself.

When you followed Jack into his bedroom you blushed. It felt so intimate, and that you shouldn’t be there. His bed was crispy made. Your eyes began to wander as you fought to keep focused. He peaked at his dresser and saw he wore a Tom Ford cologne that smelled of vanilla and sandalwood.

“Okay bud, here is the collection.” He opened his closet, your son’s eyes widening as he plopped down on his knees. First Jack pulled out his running prosthesis. “This one here looks pretty funny huh? It helps me run from the bad guys quickly. It kinda looks like a J for ‘Jack’” he traced his finger along the outside of the blade. Jack set it aside and picked up another one.

“This was my first transformer leg, so it’s pretty old and doesn’t fit as good as it used to. And this is my back up in case something happens to the one I’m wearing. You can pick them up and look at them, buddy.”

“Can you put this one on?” Daniel asked, trying to awkwardly pick up his running prosthesis, which Jack was quick to oblige. He removed the socket and liner and exposed his stump so Daniel could see. It was the first time he’d ever seen something like that before. Jack was eager to answer all this questions.

“What’s that line?”

“That’s my scar.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Nope can’t feel a thing. You can touch it if you want.”

Daniel ran his fingers, still sticky from breakfast, along his leg in amazement. Squeaking and poking around the rounded limb.

“What did they do with your other foot? Throw it in the trash?”

“They blew it up.”

“The bad guys did?”

“Yep. In a place called Kandahar.”

“Is that on planet Cybertron?”

“Close. Afghanistan.”

Jack attached the new prosthetic and showed your son how he could run and jump. The two of them took turns seeing who could jump the highest.

You rubbed your eyes, the night shift finally catching up to you. Knowing your son had all the energy in the world and you wouldn’t have time to rest made your head throb. The days you survived on pure will and coffee, and during the nights you survived on red bull and adrenaline. The last time you got a full nights sleep was before your son was born. You had no family in Pittsburgh aside from your sister, and friends were had to come by when your schedule didn’t allow for socialization.

When you opened your eyes, Jack was staring at you, Daniel on the floor trying to put on one of Jacks legs.

“You okay?” He whispered.

“Mhm, just tired.” You crossed your arms, catching a chill. Jack glanced down and looked at your son, chuckling at his sheer determination.

“Are you able to rest before your shift tonight?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Jack shook his head, and without a word started digging through his drawers and plopped some sweats and a t-shirt at the end of the bed, before ripping back the sheets.

“Just change out of those scrubs before getting into bed.”

“Huh?” You were confused.

“Danny, bud. Wanna help me with some yard work? Mommy is gonna sleep a bit, okay?”

“Wait Jack… you can’t— I can’t—I mean— what?”

“I’m off tonight. I can sleep later. You can’t take care of him after working a 12 hour shift only to do it again tonight and tomorrow. I have some stuff to do outside, he can help. Just again, make you change out of those scrubs first. Tell Mommy good night.”

Jack scooped up Daniel and the two wished you good night before softly shutting the door. Leaving you stunned in the middle of Jacks bedroom.

[sixeyesonathiel]

you should've known satoru gojo, your teasing little shit or a husband, would turn "helping" you take the pregnancy test into another of his freaky games.

cw: domestic filth, light humiliation, urination, oral sex (f receiving), bodily fluids, teasing, overstimulation. 2.4k wc, 18+ only, MDNI.

a/n : this is the demon of a drabble i mentioned last night omfg, i really REALLY tried to tone it down i swear—the first version of this was much more NASTY because it’s with yandere satoru so i really watered down the nasty in this version 😔🥀

the lace chafes. it’s new, obviously—he likes dressing you up for different occasions, and apparently today’s theme is humiliation.

the pink lingerie clings like a sly wink, crotchless, with frilled cutouts that bare your nipples, flushed and peaked, your slit exposed, slick and warm under the bathroom’s vanity light. rhinestones catch the glow, glinting like they’re in on his joke. a tiny silver charm dangles from the straps, brushing your collarbone, etched with your wedding date—a honeymoon keepsake he picked with a smug grin.

you’re squatting over the toilet, thighs spread wide, knees trembling, heels teetering on the glossy tiles, your wedding ring glinting on your left hand—a slim, polished white gold band, cool and sleek, cradling a small, pale blue diamond that shimmers softly. the inner band hides an engraving, “mine, gently,” in his handwriting, a secret he loves tracing. the ribbon straps tug your shoulders, tied with a flirty bow by his nimble fingers, his teasing hums—bright, mischievous—still echoing as he dressed you up, smirking like he’s won a bet.

he kneels close, all cheeky adoration, white shirt unbuttoned halfway, flashing the lean curve of his chest, a faint mole dotting his pec. his sleeves are rolled up, forearms flexing, damp white hair clinging to his forehead, one stray lock curling over a sparkling blue eye full of mischief.

his wedding ring gleams—a brushed white gold band, matte and minimal, with a hidden etching of the day he met you, a detail he fidgets with when he’s bored. it catches the light as he holds the pregnancy test under you, angled to catch your stream, his grip steady but his fingers twitching with eager impatience. those eyes, too blue, too smitten, trace your slick folds, your hardened nipples, drinking in the way your lips purse, the way tears of embarrassment pool in your eyes.

“do you really have to be here?” you mutter, voice laced with reluctance and a sassy edge you’ve picked up from him, your annoyance sharp like a flicked rubber band. your hands hover near your face, fingers twitching, nails neat and glossy, your ring catching the light as you fidget, trying to mask the blush searing your cheeks.

satoru’s unfazed—his lips curl into a grin, eyes glinting like he’s just heard a challenge, and he shifts, knees scuffing the tiles, to grab your wrists, easing them away with a gentle, teasing tug.

“no hiding, angel,” he teases, voice dripping with mock innocence, eyes wide, lashes batting like he’s pulling a prank. “i gotta see my pretty wife. you’re too cute when you’re all annoyed.”

he leans closer, his breath tickling your cheek, and kisses it away, lips quick and warm, a quiet chuckle bubbling up. he holds your wrists loosely with one hand, keeping your face bare, while the other steadies the test under your slick slit, the plastic brushing your inner thigh, cool and startling.

he insisted on this—helping you take the test, to hold the test himself, ever since you both decided to check if your honeymoon efforts paid off. you’ve been trying since the wedding night, tangled in each other’s arms, laughing through kisses, and now, weeks later, you’re both antsy for the result.

“i’m your husband, i’m all in,” he’d said, pulling the test from the pharmacy bag with a smirk, eyes twinkling like he’s up to no good. now you’re squatting, thighs aching, his eyes fixed on your wet, pulsing slit, watching slick glisten on your folds, dripping to the tiles. your bladder’s barely cooperating, but your annoyance is a simmering spark, and he’s loving it, the way your breath hitches, the way your hips twitch, the way your cheeks blaze.

“come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, poutier now, lips jutting out, his white hair shifting as he leans closer, nose brushing your knee. “you can do it. don’t keep your man waiting, yeah?” his thumb strokes your thigh, grazing a faint mark from last night’s antics, and you flinch, thighs trembling, trying to close but bumping his hand, warm, eager, his ring glinting.

“you’re so cute when you’re grumpy,” he says, voice low, eyes glinting, soaking up your tears, your pursed lips, the way your ring sparkles as your fingers twitch. “just let go for me, okay?”

you roll your eyes, a sharp, sassy flick you’ve stolen from him, your annoyance bubbling like a kettle about to whistle. “you’re ridiculous, toru,” you mutter, voice shaky but pointed, “hovering like some weirdo. it’s embarrassing.”

of course, your annoyance only earns his amusement. he laughs, a bright, delighted sound, his grin widening like you’ve just made his day, his eyes crinkling with glee.

“weirdo? ouch, baby,” he teases, leaning closer, his tone all mock offense, his free hand squeezing your thigh like he’s sealing a deal. “i’m just helping my wife make our baby dreams come true. don’t roast me now.” his eyes sparkle, eating up your sass, and you huff, cheeks burning, embarrassment swallowing you whole.

you just want this over with. your bladder’s not even full, but you force it, a reluctant, warm stream hitting the test strip he’s holding, splashing softly against the bowl, a few drops trickling down your thighs. your face burns, blush flooding your neck, and you squirm, hands jerking to cover your face, your ring glinting like a tiny star.

“toru, please, get out,” you whisper, voice cracking, tears spilling, dripping onto your chest, catching on your bare nipples, the charm at your collarbone. “it’s so embarrassing, i can’t stand you watching.”

“embarrassing?” he chuckles, warm, teasing, eyes locked on your slit, watching slick glisten, a faint dampness lingering like a shadow. “angel, it’s perfect. you’re perfect, all shy and open for your husband.” he holds the test steady, letting the stream soak it, his lips curving into a grin, his throat bobbing as he swallows, eyes flickering with that eager, hungry edge.

“there you go,” he breathes, voice thick with adoration, “my good girl, doing so good.”

he lifts the test, inspecting the wet strip under the light, his eyes squinting, a soft hum in his throat as he sets it carefully on the counter. then he’s pulling you up from the toilet, hands under your armpits, gentle but quick, your heels wobbling as your legs shake, the tiles cool under your feet.

you stumble, a tiny whimper slipping out, but he’s got you, turning you around, pressing you against the cool bathroom wall. your bare nipples graze the tiles, your slit still dripping, and he’s right behind you, breath warm on your neck, hands sliding to your hips, his ring cool against your skin.

“can’t leave you sitting there,” he murmurs, voice a teasing worship, lips brushing your ear, his hair tickling your shoulder. “too messy for my pretty wife, even if i’m so inlove with you like this.”

he drops to his knees, tiles creaking, hands spreading your thighs, his nails grazing your skin softly. you feel his breath on your slit, hot and ravenous, and you squirm, pressing against the wall, tears streaming as you try to pull away, your ring scraping the tile as your fingers curl.

“no—toru, don’t,” you gasp, voice breaking, hands fumbling for the tiles, nails slipping, your blush a wildfire. “i just went, it’s gross, please stop.” your protests are soft, desperate, but he moans, a low, hungry sound, like your embarrassment is his favorite flavor.

his tongue hits first, a slow, obscene lick through your folds, tasting the thick, musky slick of your arousal, a faint, barely-there trace of dampness from before, like a whisper of your earlier flush. you gasp, a shaky, mortified sound, hips twitching to escape, but he’s ravenous, lapping long, dripping stripes, his lips smacking loud, wet, filthy, like he’s devouring a rare treat.

“god, you taste like my fucking heaven,” he groans, voice muffled, tongue dragging from your leaking hole to your clit, sloppy and greedy, spit and slick pouring down his chin, splattering the tiles.

his hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, ring digging into your skin, and he’s a wreck—chin drenched, lips glossy, white hair plastered to his sweaty forehead, moaning like he’s unraveling. he buries his face deeper, tongue plunging into your slit, licking deep, messy, slurping every drop like he’s trying to merge with you.

satoru’s eyes lift, locking onto yours, those blue irises blazing with a teasing, unrelenting hunger, watching you lose your mind above him. your breath snags, eyes widening, tears streaming as you squirm, but he doesn’t look away, his gaze pinning you like a vow as his tongue swirls, slow and deliberate, around your clit, sucking it hard until your hips buck, a choked moan spilling out.

“toru—no, stop,” you whimper, voice cracking, but your protests are fading, your mind splintering under his stare, his tongue, the way he’s consuming you. he moans into your slit, loud and shameless, spit dripping down his jaw, his neck, soaking his collar, his nose mashing against your clit as he licks, lips smacking, tongue fucking into you with a wet, squelching frenzy, spit bubbles bursting at the corners of his mouth.

“don’t want to,” he mumbles petulantly, lips smacking, tongue dragging through your folds, slow and sloppy, teasing every sensitive inch, his eyes still fixed on you, watching your lips part, your eyes glaze, your breath turn ragged.

he sucks your clit again, rough, then gentle, alternating until you’re gasping, your thighs shaking, your mind a fog, your ring glinting as your fingers claw the wall. his fingers join, three, stretching you wide, pumping fast, curling against that spot that makes you bite your lip, the wet sounds echoing over your whimpers.

“look at you, losing it so prettily,” he groans, voice slurred, lips smacking, his chin a glistening mess, spit and slick dripping onto his chest, his shirt ruined, his hair a sweaty tangle.

he drags it out, licking slower, messier, long, dragging stripes, sucking your clit with a lazy rhythm, then diving back in, tongue swirling deep, teasing every pulse, every twitch. his eyes stay locked on you, watching your tears fall, your lips tremble, your breath hitch as you claw at the wall, nails scraping, trying to hold on, your face a map of desperation and pleasure.

he’s relentless, lapping at your hole, sucking your folds, dragging spit and slick into his mouth, moaning like it’s his lifeline and he’s the one getting his soul eaten out of him, his lips red and swollen, his chin dripping like he’s been dunked in you. “can’t stop, sweet girl,” he pants, words slurred, lips smacking, spit dripping onto the tiles, his shirt soaked at the chest. “you’re too damn perfect, my perfect wife.”

he lingers, dragging his tongue through your folds, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing every shiver, every pulse, his eyes never leaving yours, watching your face crumple, your breath turn to pants, your body melt against the wall. he sucks your clit again, long and deep, then flicks his tongue, quick and merciless, until you’re trembling, your thighs clamping around his head, your ring catching the light as your fingers dig into the tiles.

“toru,” you gasp, half a moan, half a plea, and he hums, a teasing vibration against your slit, his eyes glinting with mischief as he pushes you further, his nose rubbing your clit, his tongue plunging deep, sloppy and unhinged, spit pooling under him like a testament to his greed.

satoru pulls back for a breath, just to grin, lips glossy, spit dripping down his chin, and dives back in, tongue flicking fast, then slow, teasing until you’re gasping, shaking, your mind a haze of heat and want, his gaze burning into you like he’s etching your ruin into his soul.

he keeps going, licking deeper, slower, his tongue tracing every curve, every sensitive spot, sucking your clit until you’re a trembling wreck, your mind blank, your protests gone, your body a live wire under his touch. his fingers pump steady, wet and loud, curling just right, and he’s moaning, groaning, face buried like he’s drowning in you, his eyes still fixed on yours, watching every twitch, every gasp, every shudder, like he’s collecting every moment of your unraveling.

“fall apart for me,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing, lips brushing your slit, his gaze searing into you as he sucks hard, pushing you closer, his nose nuzzling your clit, his tongue a relentless storm, spit and slick dripping down his throat, his chest, his shirt a ruined mess.

when you come, your vision whites out, body convulsing against the wall, pleasure slamming through you like a tidal wave, fierce and unstoppable. your thighs clamp around his head, slick gushing from you in a messy, uncontrollable squirt, soaking his face, his chin, dripping down his neck in glistening rivulets.

satoru doesn’t falter, licking you through it, drinking every pulse, every drop, his tongue sloppy, ravenous, moaning louder than your cries, his eyes still locked on yours, watching every jerk, every gasp, every shudder, like he’s carving your ecstasy into his very being. his hands tighten on your hips, steadying you as your legs buckle, his fingers digging in just enough to anchor you, his ring cool against your fevered skin.

his face is a wreck—lips swollen, chin drenched, spit and slick dripping down his throat, his chest, his shirt a soaked ruin, hair a sweaty tangle plastered to his forehead. he doesn’t stop, tongue flicking over your oversensitive clit, a teasing, relentless swirl that pulls a whimper from you, your body twitching under the too-much, too-good sting of overstimulation.

he hums, a low, greedy sound, lips grazing your pulsing folds, drawing out every last shiver until you’re a trembling, breathless mess. he pulls back, panting, face flushed, and kisses your thigh, soft, lingering, his breath hot against your skin, his lips leaving a faint, wet mark like a whispered promise.

satoru reaches for the test, picking it up with shaky, slick fingers, holding it to the light. a pout forms, dramatic and teasing, his lips jutting out, but his eyes glint, playful, promising more. “negative,” he sighs, voice soft, mock-sulky, but that spark in his eyes says he’s already itching for another round of “trying.” “guess we’ll keep trying, huh, sweet girl?”

[aeth-eris]

rising signs : animalistic features

aries rising - tiger, falcon, and lynx

body: aries risings exhibit the muscular and agile build of a tiger, combined with the aerodynamic frame of a falcon and the compact, athletic form of a lynx. their bodies are often toned and fit, showcasing their strength and speed. they possess an upright posture, emphasizing their readiness and boldness, as if they are always prepared for action. the combination of these animals highlights their powerful and assertive presence, as they move with precision and swiftness. face: angular, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline that mirrors the boldness of a tiger. their eyes are sharp and intense, much like the falcon’s focused, penetrating gaze, while their expressions carry the quiet, alert nature of a lynx. the overall facial structure is defined and commanding, reflecting a fierce and determined attitude. their gaze can be both direct and intimidating, showcasing their fearless and straightforward approach to life. aura: dynamic, assertive, and commanding. aries risings carry an electric, action-oriented energy that feels like a constant surge of adrenaline. they exude a sense of confidence and leadership, blending the power and grace of a tiger, the sharp awareness and agility of a falcon, and the stealth and precision of a lynx. their presence ignites intensity, pushing others to rise to the challenge or keep up with their relentless pace.

taurus rising - bison, tortoise, and walrus

body: taurus risings have a solid and powerful build that combines the massive strength of a bison, the grounded, steady presence of a tortoise, and the robust frame of a walrus. they typically appear broad and muscular, with thick limbs and a physique that emphasizes resilience and stability. their movements are purposeful and deliberate, often slow and measured, showcasing their connection to the earth and their preference for consistency. face: broad and rounded features, with a calm and peaceful expression that resembles the serene gaze of a tortoise. their eyes are steady, showing depth and warmth, much like the wise look of a bison. the full cheeks and strong, defined chin echo the presence and strength of a walrus, giving them an appearance of solidity and strength. aura: grounded, reliable, and reassuring. taurus risings project a steady, nurturing energy that feels safe and dependable, combining the wisdom of a tortoise, the protective power of a bison, and the enduring strength of a walrus. their presence is calming, making those around them feel secure, as they exhibit a consistent, steadfast nature that doesn’t waver.

gemini rising - sparrow, monkey, and butterfly

body: light, quick, and agile, gemini risings have a lean build that allows for rapid movement, similar to a sparrow’s nimble form. they carry the playful energy of a monkey, showing a lively and expressive demeanor, while the delicate, fluttering grace of a butterfly adds a sense of lightness and charm. their body reflects a youthful, ever-active nature, constantly shifting and adapting to their environment. face: sharp, animated features with bright, inquisitive eyes that capture the alertness of a sparrow. their facial expressions are lively and change rapidly, similar to the playful curiosity seen in a monkey. they may have fine, delicate facial structures that resemble the soft, whimsical beauty of a butterfly, adding to their light and engaging appearance. aura: playful, energetic, and intelligent. gemini risings carry a dynamic and sociable energy, blending the lightness and freedom of a sparrow, the quick-witted and expressive nature of a monkey, and the delicate charm of a butterfly. their presence feels like a breeze—refreshing, unpredictable, and always in motion—sparking curiosity and encouraging interaction.

cancer rising - seal, koala, and panda

body: soft and nurturing, cancer risings often have a gentle, rounded build that reflects the comforting presence of a seal. their physique is compact, similar to a koala’s, emphasizing approachability and warmth, while the soft and cuddly nature of a panda adds a sense of protection and tenderness. they move with a slow, flowing grace, creating an inviting and soothing presence. face: round and expressive, with large, tender eyes that resemble the gentle and caring gaze of a panda. their expressions are soft and calm, showing warmth and empathy like a seal’s, and they possess a nurturing quality reminiscent of a koala’s peaceful demeanor. their cheeks are often full, giving them a youthful, approachable look that conveys comfort and care. aura: warm, gentle, and nurturing. cancer risings project an energy that feels soothing and protective, blending the tenderness of a panda, the comforting nature of a seal, and the nurturing presence of a koala. their aura creates a safe space, making others feel understood and supported in their presence, as they embody a sense of home and emotional safety.

leo rising - lion, peacock, and golden eagle

body: leo risings possess a powerful, athletic build reminiscent of a lion’s strength, combined with the tall, elegant posture of a golden eagle and the flamboyant beauty of a peacock. they have a commanding presence, with a fit, muscular frame that draws attention and exudes confidence. their movements are deliberate and graceful, embodying their regal nature. face: striking and bold, with prominent, angular features that evoke the majesty of a lion. their eyes are intense, like a golden eagle’s, projecting a sense of focus and strength. the dramatic flair of a peacock is seen in their expressive facial gestures, emphasizing their charisma and boldness. voluminous hair often enhances their presence, resembling a lion’s mane or a peacock’s extravagant display. aura: radiant, magnetic, and commanding. leo risings emit a confident and captivating energy that draws others in, blending the regal power of a lion, the focused intensity of a golden eagle, and the showy elegance of a peacock. their aura feels bright and uplifting, inspiring admiration and respect, as they naturally take center stage in any setting.

virgo rising - cat, antelope, and dragonfly

body: virgo risings have a slender and graceful build like a cat, with the agile, athletic form of an antelope and the delicate, light structure of a dragonfly. their bodies appear refined and controlled, moving with quick and precise movements that highlight their attention to detail. face: delicate and angular, with sharp, intelligent eyes similar to those of a cat. their expressions are thoughtful, often showing focus and calm observation. the sleek look of an antelope and the fine, intricate beauty of a dragonfly are reflected in their facial features, giving them an air of grace and sophistication. aura: calm, meticulous, and composed. virgo risings carry an energy that feels precise and thoughtful, combining the awareness of a cat, the grace of an antelope, and the lightness of a dragonfly. their presence is composed and organized, creating an atmosphere that feels efficient and intelligent, like everything is in its proper place.

libra rising - gazelle, swan, and dove

body: libra risings are long-limbed and elegant, with the slender and graceful build of a gazelle, the poised beauty of a swan, and the gentle softness of a dove. they have a balanced and proportional physique that moves fluidly and gracefully, appearing refined and harmonious. face: symmetrical and soft, with serene eyes that mirror the peaceful gaze of a dove. their facial features are refined, exuding the delicate beauty of a swan and the graceful movement of a gazelle. their skin and facial structure often appear smooth and well-balanced, enhancing their overall elegance. aura: harmonious, peaceful, and inviting. libra risings emit a calming and balanced energy that feels welcoming and graceful, combining the elegance of a swan, the charm of a dove, and the poise of a gazelle. their presence creates an atmosphere of beauty and harmony, making those around them feel at ease and inspired.

scorpio rising - wolf, scorpion, and raven

body: scorpio risings have a lean and muscular build, combining the stealthy, agile form of a wolf, the controlled precision of a scorpion, and the sleek, dynamic appearance of a raven. they move with purpose and fluidity, exuding an intensity that feels both powerful and mysterious. face: sharp and defined, with piercing eyes that convey the watchful, predatory gaze of a wolf. their facial features are intense and captivating, reflecting the enigmatic and precise nature of a scorpion and the mysterious allure of a raven. their expressions often appear serious, hinting at hidden depths and secrets. aura: intense, magnetic, and enigmatic. scorpio risings project a deep, transformative energy that feels both powerful and alluring, blending the loyalty and intensity of a wolf, the stealth of a scorpion, and the mysterious presence of a raven. their aura draws people in, creating a sense of intrigue and fascination that leaves others wanting to know more.

sagittarius rising - mustang, albatross, and otter

body: sagittarius risings have a tall, lean, and athletic build like a mustang, with the expansive, soaring energy of an albatross and the playful, flexible movements of an otter. they possess a fit physique that exudes freedom and vitality, moving swiftly and gracefully. face: bold and expressive, with bright, adventurous eyes similar to an albatross’s far-seeing gaze. their facial features are open and inviting, reflecting the playful nature of an otter and the wild, untamed spirit of a mustang. their expressions are often warm and enthusiastic, embodying their love for exploration and adventure. aura: adventurous, open, and enthusiastic. sagittarius risings carry an expansive, free-spirited energy that feels vibrant and uplifting, blending the speed and freedom of a mustang, the vision of an albatross, and the joyful playfulness of an otter. their presence encourages exploration and inspires others to embrace new experiences.

capricorn rising - ibex, owl, and mountain goat

body: capricorn risings have a sturdy and lean build like an ibex, with the disciplined structure of a mountain goat and the quiet, resilient presence of an owl. they move with precision and strength, reflecting their determination and focus. their physique often appears strong and fit, showcasing their resilience and their ability to navigate challenges with grace and endurance. face: angular, with a serious, observant gaze that mirrors the keen eyes of an owl. their facial features are defined and strong, showing the resilience of an ibex and the perseverance of a mountain goat. their expressions are composed and calm, highlighting their practical and methodical approach, often exuding an air of quiet authority. aura: disciplined, steady, and authoritative. capricorn risings exude a grounded energy that feels strong and reliable, blending the endurance of a mountain goat, the wisdom of an owl, and the resilience of an ibex. their presence is focused, instilling a sense of stability and determination in others, encouraging confidence and a sense of purpose in any environment they enter.

aquarius rising - octopus, crow, and gecko

body: aquarius risings possess a flexible and adaptable build like an octopus, combined with the sleek, dynamic presence of a crow and the agile, versatile movements of a gecko. they often have a slim and unique physique that reflects their individuality and adaptability. their movements are fluid and unpredictable, showcasing their readiness to adapt to new environments and embrace unconventional ways of moving through the world. face: distinctive features with bright, intelligent eyes similar to those of a crow. their expressions often carry a sense of curiosity and insight, reflecting the adaptability of a gecko and the enigmatic quality of an octopus. their facial structure is unique and may have an asymmetrical or unconventional charm, emphasizing their innovative and forward-thinking nature. aura: unconventional, innovative, and dynamic. aquarius risings project an energy that feels futuristic and adaptable, blending the intelligence and flexibility of an octopus, the sharp wit of a crow, and the resourcefulness of a gecko. their presence feels electric and intriguing, inviting others to think outside the box and approach life with an open and inventive mindset.

pisces rising - manatee, chameleon, and jellyfish

body: pisces risings often have a soft, rounded build like a manatee, combined with the fluid, adaptable movements of a jellyfish and the transformative nature of a chameleon. their physique appears gentle and calm, emphasizing a peaceful and approachable presence. they move with a serene, flowing grace that feels almost ethereal, embodying a sense of fluidity and adaptability to their surroundings. face: soft, gentle features with large, dreamy eyes that convey deep empathy and sensitivity, resembling a manatee’s warm and compassionate gaze. their expressions are fluid and often reflective, mirroring the chameleon’s ability to adapt and change. their overall look has an otherworldly quality similar to a jellyfish, with a soft and delicate appearance that enhances their mystical aura. aura: dreamy, empathetic, and fluid. pisces risings emit a soothing, nurturing energy that feels ethereal and adaptable, blending the gentle nature of a manatee, the flexibility of a chameleon, and the calming essence of a jellyfish. their presence creates a peaceful and intuitive atmosphere, making others feel at ease and inviting them into their compassionate and imaginative world.

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝒐𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆 .ᐟ 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕

synopsis: Matt is obsessed with your lip gloss.

warnings: SMUT , obsessive!Matt, soft dom Matt, teasing, pervy Matt, flicking beans, and more.

ʚ with love and big tits, Rose ɞ

The lipgloss painted on your lips had driven Matt insane all fucking day. It wasn’t intentional on your end, but god…he was in pain from how bad he needed you.

He wanted your perfect lips messy. Matt needed to see your saliva drip down and smudge the pearlescent glitter—he needed to see you as he needy as he felt.

And it didn’t take long.

As soon as you two had gotten home and started cuddling, you were caught off guard by Matt’s behavior. He wouldn’t let you get up—or even move from your body being pressed directing onto his. His hands clamp possessively on your sides, frantically pulling you against him.

The lack of distance between your bodies answers your confusion about his behavior. You feel it, he’s hard—he’s throbbing.

A subtle grind of his hips makes your breath catch in your throat. Matt lets his hand palm and massage your thigh, his lips tracing delicate kisses on your neck—knowing it’s one of your weakness.

Anytime he kisses your neck he’s mesmerized how quick your energy shifts. Your hands grip harder, your breaths get shorter, and you…you always get so needy.

This time wasn’t any different. Desperation is audible with the sound of your nails scratching into the sheets. It’s intoxicating how blissful everything feels, but your body screams for more.

His efforts aren’t enough. Teasing isn’t sufficient for the pulse building between your legs. Your skin crawls for anything and the heat shriveling in your gut begs for something as soft pecks turn sloppier trailing down to your collarbone.

The weight of your body falls further against him. Air whispering on the wet trail of kisses has you in a daze. You’re hypnotized by the feeling of your body heating up warmly and aching for him to touch you more.

Matt lets out a breathy moan as you sway yourself back onto his hard bulge with sluggish, uncoordinated movements. You need him. You need him so bad that there’s little left but pure instinct.

“Matt…” you whine out.

Harsh breaths fan onto your neck as he continues ravishing you with hungry kisses. His hands falls forward. “Is this what you need, doll? Just want more, hm?” he rasps, dipping his hand through your pants to circle your clit over your underwear.

The broken moan that leaves your lips is encouraging to him. He lets himself find a good, slow pace while toying with the sensitive bud.

You can’t help but let your back arch against his front, but Matt is sure to keep you pinned against him. He wants to feel you writhe.

“You were teasin me all day, sweetheart…that damn lipgloss, I swear. Shouldn’t I return the favor?” His fingers start to pace even slower, a light pressure barely even palpable from his touch now.

“I…didn’t mean to, you—please,” you say, biting on your lip as you feel his chest vibrate with a low hum.

“Don’t worry, doll. I know you didn’t mean to and I—“ he lets his hand slide beneath the thin fabric of your panties.

There’s little hesitation as he swivels his nimble fingers through your wet heat, circling your hole for slick before dragging his hand back up to your swollen clit. “—I don’t tease my girl too much, no…I…” his pants are heavy against your neck.

A certain lace of lust found in his voice and his touches—one that makes you feel like a doll, not a toy. He’s playing with you. So intricately…so delicately…so obsessively….

”—I don’t do that, right? Always make my girl feel good…don’t you think, sweetheart?” he purrs.

The aggressive nods of your head awakens something in him—an even hungrier touch as he starts to grip you a little harder, pushing his fingers with more passion and starting to strum them delightfully against your clit.

A shriek leaves your mouth. Your hand grabs around his wrist in pure desperation. It’s too much.

“Want me to stop?” he asks.

Your grip becomes stronger, pulling his hand further into your underwear and your grind up into his touch. “N—no…I—fuck, please just…don’t stop, it—feels s’good, I,” you rush between breaths.

Matt hums, dipping his nose to run alone the subtle marks from his lips made on your neck just minutes ago. “Yeah? want me to keep playin with my doll, hm? I—fuckkkkkk, sweetheart…that’s right—“ drool is slipping from your lips as your mind runs blank. It feels so good. Nothing could float in or out of your mind. It’s just this—the pure bliss of his touch calming you to a numb state of pleasure.

“My messy girl—-fuck, my—my pretty doll.”

The sight of your drool sliding down and mixing with your lipgloss is even better than he had been imaging all day. It’s the perfect sight—it’s the perfect feeling. You look so messy, all ruined and he’s barely done anything. The way your body squirms is viciously beautiful to him. You can’t control yourself.

You’re a perfect mess.

And it’s all for him.

[colouredbyd]

The Great Honey Heist

poly!marauders x fem!reader

synopsis: in which flicker (you) teams up with raccoon!barty for a midnight honey heist in the kitchens, only for things to spiral when barty becomes a walking sticky dessert tray, the great escape turns into honey-covered chaos, and both of you are caught red-pawed by the marauders—and a furious regulus with no patience.

warnings: racoon animagi barty, chaos, magical mischief, animagus shenanigans, food theft, excessive food, sticky situations (literally), bickering boys, lots of fluff, mild language, a very dramatic regulus black who did not sign up for this

w/c: 3k

part of my mini blurb series flicker & the marauders masterlist

"Shhh, Barty, they’ll hear us," you whisper, barely containing a laugh as the raccoon at your feet lets out an ecstatic little yippee and spins in a joyful circle, his striped tail flicking like a banner.

He’s practically vibrating with glee, his little raccoon body lit by the silver wash of moonlight pouring through the high castle windows. You crouch beside him, lips pressed tight to stifle a grin, and extend a hand toward the shimmer of fur twitching with excitement.

Barty nuzzles your fingers for half a second before bouncing back with an eager chirp that clearly means Hurry up! The biscuits won’t steal themselves.

With one last glance toward the Gryffindor portrait hole to ensure the coast is clear, you draw in a slow, steady breath. Magic pulses through your veins like a warm ripple—bones compress, limbs twist, your vision shifts and sharpens.

In a heartbeat, you fold into the form you know best: thick red fur wrapping you in warmth, rounded ears flicking toward every sound, paws soft and nimble against the stone, and that ever-rebellious russet tail that’s more trouble than it’s worth.

You are Flicker now.

Barty, already halfway down the corridor in a gleeful scuttle, pauses dramatically at the top of the moving staircase. His tiny paws tap against the stone with the impatience of someone who believes time is being gravely wasted. He glances back, eyes wide and expectant, waiting for you to catch up.

You dart after him, nimble and nearly silent, tail swaying with practiced precision—until, inevitably, it betrays you.

Your tail snags on the edge of a suit of armor.

Clang.

You both freeze. The armor groans under its own weight, metal trembling ominously. You yank your tail free and hurl yourself beneath a nearby tapestry, heart thudding like a war drum. Barty follows with a startled bleep, flinging himself in after you and landing in a graceless heap that tangles both your limbs in a furry mess of panic and poor decisions.

Smooth, you huff, flicking his ear with a paw, tail twitching in irritation.

He chirps back, entirely unfazed, and bolts off again—racing toward the staircases like a raccoon on a mission, tail high and limbs flying.

You sigh and follow, paws thudding softly as you weave between floating candles and shadowy corners, nearly colliding with a wall and skidding past a dozing portrait whose stack of books teeters dangerously.

Barty, of course, is in his element—letting out bursts of delighted chirps and squeaks, tail swishing behind him like the baton of a sugar-crazed conductor orchestrating pure mischief.

At last, you reach the portrait of the fruit bowl, breathless despite not needing lungs in this form. Barty rises on his hind legs and eagerly jabs the pear with both paws. It giggles, squirms, and swings open, revealing the warm, golden heart of the Hogwarts kitchens.

Light spills into the corridor, and with it drifts the heavenly scent of honey, melted butter, and fresh bread. You and Barty exchange one gleeful glance.

Then you’re inside.

The kitchen is quiet, save for the soft clink of cooling cookware and the gentle snore of a house-elf nestled in a bread basket. The hearth casts everything in a haze of honeyed gold, and for a fleeting second, it feels like you’ve stepped into a dream made of sugar and steam.

The plan is simple: quick, clean, quiet. Two jars of honey—three if the coast stays clear. Grab, vanish, leave no crumbs.

That’s the plan.

You head straight for the tall shelves at the back, where the honey sits tucked away like treasure. With a light leap onto the counter, you nose open the pantry door. Rows of golden jars gleam in the dim light. You choose two with swift, practiced precision and turn, tail flicking with quiet pride.

Only to see that Barty is absolutely not following the plan.

He’s across the kitchen, a raccoon-shaped embodiment of chaos. Perched on a top shelf, wobbling dangerously on the rim of a copper pot, he’s clutching at least four buttered biscuits, a wheel of cheese, and—somehow—a treacle tart balanced on his head. And still, impossibly, he’s reaching for more: a jar of something suspiciously syrupy and poorly secured.

You chirp sharply, whiskers twitching with alarm. Barty, you're going to fall.

He glances at you mid-stretch with a look that can only be described as smug, idiotic bravado—like a raccoon who believes, against all odds and evidence, that he was born to defy gravity.

And then he falls—spectacularly, catastrophically, like a raccoon-shaped meteor plummeting toward inevitable, sticky doom.

It is not a graceful tumble. It’s a full-bodied, limbs-splayed catastrophe of a plunge, right into the massive pot just below the shelf—filled, unfortunately, with something dark, viscous, and profoundly sticky. 

The squelch of impact is so loud and so utterly grotesque that you physically recoil, ears flattening in secondhand embarrassment.

Barty surfaces a moment later, drenched in molasses and looking like someone tried to deep-fry a stuffed animal.

You scamper across the tiles and peer into the pot. You absolute menace, you squeak, swatting him on the head as he attempts—and fails—to scale the slick metal wall. He slips again with a pathetic slop, paws scrabbling helplessly like a greased-up goblin in a bucket.

With a resigned sigh, you grip the rim and lean in, latching your teeth onto the scruff of his neck. It takes all your strength to haul him upward.

He flops over the edge with all the grace of a dropped pudding, molasses oozing off him in slow, syrupy defeat. His biscuit collection is gone. His pride, probably too.

You open your mouth, ready to scold—because, frankly, he looks like a half-melted tart someone forgot in the sun—when your ears twitch at the unmistakable sound of footsteps.

Someone’s coming.

Footsteps, loud and deliberate, echo through the corridor, nothing like the soft, scuffling tread of a house-elf. These are heavier, sharper.

Human.

You both freeze. From the other side of the kitchen, the door creaks open.

A voice, sharp and curious, cuts through the warmth like a knife. “Who's in here?”

The honey jars in your paws tremble. Barty lets out a betrayed little bleep. You don’t move. Don’t breathe. Only stare at the tall shadow spilling across the floor.

You are very much caught.

Barty doesn’t hesitate. The moment the voice echoes through the kitchen, he lunges upright with all the ungainly speed of a raccoon dipped in syrup and grabs your paw with a wild look in his eyes.

You both bolt, paws skidding on the tiles, jars sloshing wildly as you scramble for an escape—but in the chaos, Barty misjudges the corner of a low shelving rack. He crashes into it shoulder-first, sending the entire unit swaying ominously. You try to veer out of the way, but it's too late.

With a tremendous clatter, three heavy containers on the top shelf tip forward and crash down over your heads.

You are immediately and thoroughly buried—one with a collapsing stack of chocolate cake, another spilling a full basin of raspberry jam, and the third dumping a shocking amount of cold ham in wet, smacking slices.

The impact knocks the breath from your lungs. Jam oozes down your ears. A slice of ham slaps over your eyes like a greasy eye mask.

Barty doesn’t hesitate. The moment the voice echoes through the kitchen again, he lunges upright with all the ungainly speed of a raccoon dipped in syrup and grabs your paw with a wild look in his eyes.

He takes off like a shot, dragging you behind him.

You stumble after him, jars of honey clutched to your chest, paws thudding against the tiles as you scramble to keep up. The jars slosh dangerously with every step, threatening to slip from your grasp, but Barty doesn’t care. 

As you both sprint through the kitchen, weaving around tables and swinging past spice racks, Barty begins his descent into further madness. Whatever it is, it sends him grabbing wildly at anything remotely edible within reach.

A baguette? He rolls against it and it sticks to his back.

A fistful of dried cranberries? He belly-flops into the bowl and comes out looking like a fruitcake. A slice of chocolate cake? He rams his shoulder into it like a battering ram, frosting now smeared across his cheek and clinging to his side like a battle wound.

Stop collecting food! you squeak in a desperate whisper, jars still clutched as you leap over a dropped spoon.

By the time you reach the kitchen exit, Barty is twice his normal size, lumpy with ill-gotten goods. Biscuits trail behind him like breadcrumbs. A sausage dangles from his tail. He looks less like a raccoon and more like a rejected dessert trolley on legs.

And that’s exactly the moment the door to the kitchen bursts open.

There’s a shriek. Not from you or Barty—yours is more of a strangled yelp, his is more of a delighted whee!—but from the figure now staring in horrified disbelief at the scene before them.

You don’t stop. You both dart past the intruder, who yells something vaguely accusatory and disgusted, and then you’re back in the corridors, paws pounding, the jars still somehow intact in your grip.

You bolt down one hallway, then another, dodging moving staircases, leaping over stairs, slipping around corners. Barty lags slightly behind now, not because he’s less determined, but because he’s carrying roughly the caloric content of a Christmas feast on his body. He pants heavily, legs wobbling, one eye squinting beneath a dollop of marmalade.

You’re almost at the portrait hole. Almost—

And then a hand shoots out of the shadows and snatches you mid-leap, plucking you clean out of the air like a misbehaving child.

You scream, high-pitched and startled, the jars of honey clutched like precious treasure against your furred chest. Barty slams into your side a second later, a sticky explosion of jam and cheese. He squeaks in protest and flails his sausage-covered tail.

“What the fuck, Flicker?” growls a voice that could only belong to one person on Earth.

You slowly turn your head, heart hammering.

Sirius Black looks murderous.

He’s got you by the scruff, eyes ablaze, one brow twitching dangerously. His hair’s a mess, his dressing gown is half-off one shoulder, and he’s barefoot, which somehow makes the fury worse. 

His hand is sticky now from grabbing you, and he looks personally offended by it.

From the far end of the corridor, a voice yells, “BARTEMIUS CROUCH JUNIOR WHAT THE BLOODY HELL—”

You all turn just in time to see Regulus Black, storming toward the kitchen corridor from the dungeons, robes flapping dramatically behind him, wand half-raised. He freezes mid-step as he takes in the scene: his brother holding a honey-covered red panda by the collar, a raccoon with an abnormal amount of food fused to his side like armor, and what appears to be a pie slowly sliding off Barty’s head.

For one perfect, silent moment, he takes it all in.

And Barty—mid-gallop, absolutely covered in what looks like the full dessert table from dinner, a pie slowly sliding sideways off his head like an ill-fated hat.

Without a word, he steps forward, grabs the raccoon cleanly by the tail, lifts him up like he’s an old sock, and takes a long, horrified look at the molasses-glazed disaster in his hand. Jam, frosting, cheese, breadcrumbs, possibly ham—it's really hard to tell. 

He drops Barty with absolute disgust immediately like a cursed object. Barty hits the stone floor with a grotesque squelch and lets out a high-pitched, deeply wounded raccoon yelp.

You blink from Sirius’s grip, where you’re dangling like a shameful sugar gremlin. Barty blinks up at you from his sticky puddle of defeat. You both flinch in unison, instinct kicking in.

You bolt left. Barty bolts right.

But Regulus moves like lightning.

His wand is pointed before your paws even leave the ground, voice sharp and cold as steel.

“If either of you,” he says, quiet and dangerous, “even thinks about running for a single bloody second—”

You both freeze.

He takes a step forward, slow, precise, the way predators move when they already know you won’t escape. His eyes, dark as ink and twice as cutting, pin you in place.

“—I will hunt you to the ends of the Earth. And I don’t care if you’re a raccoon, a red panda, or a flaming hippogriff!”

Regulus lunges forward and grabs both of you—one sticky raccoon by the scruff, one red panda by the tail—with the sheer fury of a man who’s done cleaning up other people’s messes and has reached the end of his perfectly pressed rope.

He lifts you both a few inches off the ground, arms locked, nostrils flaring.

“Shift. Back,” he growls, voice low and venom-laced.

Barty whimpers. You glance at him. He glances at you.

And with matching expressions of deep, tragic guilt—you both shift back.

A shimmer of fur becomes limbs, paws become fingers, ears fade, tails retract—and suddenly you’re just two sugar-coated disasters sitting on the cold stone floor, one of you clutching honey jars with sticky fingers, the other hunched under the weight of his biscuit-crusted shame.

Barty, panting, wheezes, “Hii, Reg!”

Sirius drops his head into one hand and sighs. 

Before anyone can process that visual assault, two more figures appear from behind the nearest corridor, both out of breath, both armed with wands and worry.

James skids to a stop. “You found her?”

 Remus slows behind him, eyeing the honey jars, your guilty face, and Barty’s war-ravaged state. “Is that… is that honey in his ear?”

Sirius sighs even louder. “Where else would she be except the bloody kitchen,” he snaps, voice thick with exasperation and something far too close to fondness.

You blink up at him, still holding the honey, and whisper, “Worth it?”

“If you think for one moment that you’re sleeping anywhere near me tonight,” Regulus hisses, voice razor-sharp, “you’re gravely mistaken.”

Barty, ever unbothered and absurdly pleased with himself, straightens up and winks. “You’ll miss me.”

“I’ll exorcise you,” Regulus deadpans, backing away as if Barty might fling jam in his direction.

You finally climb to your feet, still clutching your honey jars like cherished offspring. Barty dusts himself off, then slinks an arm around your shoulders like this has been a roaring success. The squelch is immediate.

You recoil. “Ewww, Barty, you’ve got jam on me!”

He grins, the picture of innocence beneath a frosting-smeared forehead. “Relax, Trouble. It’s raspberry. You love raspberries!”

You glare up at him, unimpressed, and swipe at your now-sticky arm. “I also love not smelling like an exploded dessert cart.”

Behind you, Remus steps closer, giving both you and Barty a long, exhausted once-over. His jumper is askew, his hair rumpled, and his face reads exactly what everyone else is too tired to say aloud: Why am I always cleaning up your messes?

“You need a shower,” he says flatly.

James, who’s just catching his breath, nods in agreement. “More like three.”

Sirius, still holding his sticky hand out like it personally offended him, chimes in with a grimace, “I’m going to bleach my skin.”

You step away from Barty, only for his jam-coated tail of crumbs to swish against your leg as he tries to look suave again. “You know, for two sneaky animagi, I think we did pretty well.”

“Pretty well?” you echo.

“You only got caught once.”

You scoff. “Barty, we almost got murdered by Regulus and disowned by Sirius.”

“Almost, Trouble.” He wiggles his brows. “It’s the almost that counts.”

Remus sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Come on, both of you. Showers. Now.”

You groan, trying to twist out of James’s grip, but he has you firmly by the wrist and is dragging you down the corridor like a grumpy older brother. “No arguments,” he says, eyes ahead. 

“You’re going straight to the showers before you start attracting ants.”

Behind you, Barty is putting up a very different kind of fight.

Regulus has him by the back of his robes, hauling him like an unruly toddler while cursing furiously in French under his breath

Barty, unfazed and still somehow cheerful despite the fact that half a treacle tart is sliding down his back, twists around to wave at you with a jam-coated hand. 

“Best honey heist ever!” he calls, grinning like he’s just won an award.

You grin back and wave with your free hand, the other still wrapped protectively around your precious jar of honey. “See you later, Junior!”

Regulus lets out a hiss of disgust and mutters, “Non, tu ne la reverras plus, elle mérite mieux—”

James snorts. “I think he just proposed murder,” he says to Sirius, who nods solemnly.

“Romantic,” Sirius deadpans. “In a Slytherin kind of way.”

At the end of the corridor, Remus waits, arms crossed, tired but patient. As James steers you in his direction, you slow, holding out one of the jars of honey. “Here,” you say, cheeks still warm from laughter. “For you.”

He blinks. “Me?”

You nod. “Yeah. I heard you saying last night that you ran out of honey for your tea. So… I got you some.”

Remus stares down at the jar in surprise, like it’s something precious. His lips part, clearly touched—but before he can form a response, Sirius howls with laughter behind you.

“You know,” he gasps, leaning against the wall for support, “there are easier ways to get Moony honey!”

James practically chokes.

You whip your head around. “Sirius!”

“What?” he grins. “I’m just saying, less trouble.”

You shake your head, cheeks flushed, and mumble, “I was trying to be sweet.”

Sirius wiggles his eyebrows. “Oh, love, you’re sweet. The method, though…”

You finally laugh, breathless and bright, as James pushes open the bathroom door and steers you inside.

Barty’s probably still arguing with Regulus in the Slytherin dorms, leaving sticky footprints for Regulus to clean up.

You try to dig your heels in at the threshold, making a noise of protest. “Do I have to shower? I’m already, like, seventy percent dessert. What’s the point?”

Sirius pokes his head in behind James, eyeing the jam in your hair with a smirk. “Because if we let you go to bed like this, you’ll wake up glued to the sheets.”

“You smell like a fruit basket, dovey,” Remus says gently, already turning the tap with a resigned smile. “And I say that with love.”

You pout, dramatically, arms still wrapped around your jar of honey like a child clutching a toy. “I risked my life for this.”

“And we adore you for it,” James says, pressing a kiss to your temple even as he tries to peel off a glob of frosting from your shoulder. “But we’re not sleeping next to this.”

Sirius grins, arms folded. “Speak for yourself. Personally, I think it’s kind of hot.”

Remus raises an eyebrow. “You thought it was hot when she transfigured a spoon into a squirrel last week.”

Sirius shrugs. “What can I say? I have a type.”

You roll your eyes, heart warm despite the sugar-crusted state of your limbs.

Because even though you're stickier than you’ve ever been, molasses in your hair and your dignity somewhere between the chocolate cake and the raspberry jam, they’re all still looking at you like you hung the stars.

And they’ve never loved you more.

Laughter bubbles in the tiny bathroom, warm and alive and sweet as the sugar clinging to your skin.

And as you finally give in and step under the spray, their voices tangled in affection and teasing behind you, you can’t help but smile—because no matter what Regulus says, this will go down in Hogwarts history as The Great Honey Heist.