#shit fuck balls piss I said
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Okay so is it just an ace thing to be so disgusted while reading/seeing smut like, I just read smut (I thought it was just a cute short fluffy story (it wasn't)) and I'm just disgusted asf and hate myself like I want to take of my eyes rn
Help
#ace#asexuality#send help#please#wtf why#It was on tumblr#and one of my moots (another blog) reblogged ittttt#yeah ik I'm acting like a babey#but whyyyy#shit fuck balls piss I said#okay I need to stop yapping#I miss my the person I was before seeing this#help me
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FUCK IT WE BALL
#FUCK DOOMERISM WE BALL#I'm aware that the collective we did not survive trump#people died en masse from covid and lowered regulations#Live in spite for those people#cause problems on purpose#I'm not gonna quote the firebombing a walmart quote cause I live in FL#I'm already on the ground doing shit and have been for a while#this is making things worse but I'm already warmed up at least#also#found out my aunt that's literally older than the voting rights act voted for trump because Religion™️#this black woman literally remembers MLKjr getting assassinated and said yea Trump is a good choice cause he's christian-focused#Like she was a teenager she was Alive and Aware#But just you wait I will not be letting another fundie christian mfer rule my life again#I'm making it thru this election if it fucking kills me#I will outlive this 'president' and piss on his fuckin grave#Fuck it we ball chat. Fuck it we ball#ex christian#religious trauma
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only slept for 25 minutes but dreamed that i had to calculate the angle that my arm was making with my body. physics might be getting to me
#his ass is not an incline plane#i also dreamt that my lip and teeth were bleeding#which first of fucking all i did Nothing to trigger that im literally just chilling#and second the event that i keep remembering was probably a 2/10 on the Shit people get flashbacks for scale#afterwards i literally posted a picture of said fucked up mouth with a dumb quip on my instagram story#like dude you should be balling chill out#idk im pissed about it... :(
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thinking about having gotten into a little fight with jake and needing space, you told him you wanted him to sleep on the couch. he’d apologized dozens of times but you just couldn’t deal with him.
he would go sleep on the couch, sulking of course, while you got the bed. he couldn’t sleep though, not when his girl was pissed at him.
it would be the middle of the night when he gives up on the couch and trudges back to the bedroom. he needed to be close to you, it was the only way he’d be able to sleep :(
ever so slowly and carefully, he’d lift the covers up and slide into bed with you. you were laying on your side, curled up into a ball, your cheeks dusted with a rosy hue. you looked so cute, jake just couldn’t help himself.
he pressed himself against your backside, already feeling his erection grow in his pajama pants just from coming in contact with your overheated body. he let out a little sigh, wrapping his arm around your waist.
just laying there pressed against you wasn’t enough though, of course. his cock was straining harder and harder against you and he simply just had to move.
his movements were as still as he could be, not wanting to wake you and make you even more angry. he just every so slightly jutted his hips against your ass, offering his dick the slightest bit of relief.
this went on for a few minutes and without even realizing, his hips sped up and his grip on you tightened, leaving you no choice but to wake up.
you turned your neck slightly and quickly caught on to what was happening.
“jake,” you slurred, still slowly breaking out of your sleep trance.
“shit,” he said, planting warm kisses along your exposed neck. “i’m sorry, baby, i just had to have you. don’t be mad, please.”
you sighed, your eyes fluttering closed again as he slid his hand around your front side and started rubbing you over your shorts, all while sucking on your neck.
“couldn’t sleep on the couch,” he mumbled, pushing your shorts to the side and rubbing your pussy bare. “i just need to be near my girl. that’s okay, right?”
based on how wet your pussy was, he assumed you weren’t mad. his fingers were slippery as he gathered all your arousal and spread it around your warm pussy.
“mmm, yeah,” you hummed, spreading your legs for easier access.
“good girl,” he cooed in your ear, feeling his cock twitch against you. “can i put it in, sweetheart?”
“fuck,” you moaned at the thought. “yes, jakey.”
he aligned his aching cock with your wet hole and slowly slid in front behind, sighing out in relief at finally feeling some real pressure relieved.
“oh yeah,” he moaned quietly in your ear. “my tight girl. so perfect and wet for me, yeah?”
you shut your eyes tightly, gripping his hand as he slowly started thrusting in and out of you. your limp body simply rocked and followed along with his movements, too tired to fully control yourself.
“fuck, jake,” you cried out. “kiss me.”
he didn’t waste a second and was quick to attach his lips to yours. he slid his tongue into your mouth and rubbed it against yours, saliva and drool shamelessly spilling out of your mouths.
with the two of you both so tired and sensitive, it didn’t take long to finish at all. jake came deep inside your pussy and kept his cock buried in you for the rest of the night, leaving his cum inside your tummy <3
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a/n: thank u @heebear for these pics <3
#enhypen#enhypen smut#enha x reader#enhypen x reader#enha smut#kpop smut#jake sim#sim jake x reader#enha jake#jake enhypen smut#enhypen jake smut#jake enhypen#jake sim smut#jake x reader#jake smut#enhypen jake#sim jake smut#sim jake#sim jaeyun
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rafe + predator/prey with bambi?
warnings: dark!rafe (he’s nice at first), bratty behavior, dom/sub themes, slight arguing, shouting, manhandling, fear play, rafe chases you around tanneyhill, hide and seek, oral (m. receiving), face fucking, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, rough sex, hair pulling, choking, overstimulation, slapping, impact play (?), asphyxiation, lots of dirty talk, squirting, size kink, breeding kink, baby trapping threats, degradation
link: read more of bambi!reader here <3
w/c: 2.2k
rafe knew the second you slammed the door shut in his face that you had forgotten your place. all the soft, sappy sex you two had been indulging in had officially altered your brain chemistry into thinking you could lock him out of his room in his own house. “open this door, y/n.” rafe hadn’t raised his voice at you in a long time, and while he didn’t want to, it wasn’t long before he felt his patience running thin as you continued to ignore him and give him the silent treatment. you stood on the other side of the door, a pout gracing your lips as you crossed your arms over your chest.
“i’m trying to sort this out with you, baby, but you’re making that really hard for me right now..” rafe spoke gently, his fists balling up at his sides. “you know.. the last thing i wanna come home to when i’ve had a rough day is an attitude and a temper tantrum.” he attempted to twist the door knob, your heart beating in your ears when it started rattling against the hardwood. “i’ve been so good with you, i think you’ve forgotten just how fast things can change, bambi.” his words sending a shiver down your spine.
of course you didn’t want to be on his bad side, but something about the way his voice dropped a few octaves as if he was giving you a warning made you step closer to the door. “open it or i’ll do it myself.” for a moment there, you almost did as he said, your hand reaching down for the door knob before you heard him whisper something underneath his breath. “fuckin’ brat.” you froze just as your fingers grazed the cold metal. he wasn’t going to like what you did next. taking a step back, you shuddered as you watched the shadow of his feet. “n-no.” you whimpered, your heart beating in your chest.
rafe laughed, his jaw ticking as he felt anger boiling underneath his skin. “what was that? what did you say?” surely he wasn’t hearing right. “i said no, rafe!” you yelled back, running to the corner of his room that was furthest from the door. that did it. rafe said goodbye to any kind of restraint he had left, deciding you were going to learn your lesson about saying that little two-lettered word to him. rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, rafe let out a breath before backing away. “are you near the door?” your eyebrows knitted in confusion at his question. “no—”
before you could say anything else, rafe barged in, knocking the hardwood off of its hinges as your hands shot up to cover your ears. you stared at him doe eyed and terrified, his eyes finding yours as he rolled his shoulders back. “i didn’t want to do that..” he stalked over to you, wrapping a hand around your throat before pressing you against the wall, “why do you have to make me be the bad guy, huh?” you gasped, clasping a palm around his wrist. “please— i’m sorry!” rafe stared you down, his eyes nothing but two black holes as his grip around your throat tightened.
“are you? it seemed like you just wanted to piss me off back there,” he dragged you towards his bed, throwing you down before pinning your elbows to the mattress and slotting himself between your thighs, “that goddamn silent treatment, you know i can’t stand that shit.” his face was centimeters away, his breath fanning your cheek as tears welled in your eyes. “you know what i have to do now, right?” you shook your head, fear bubbling in your chest as you remembered the last time he had to ‘punish’ you. “please! i’ll be good, rafe! ‘don’t want to make you mad anymore..”
closing the distance between you two, rafe kissed you softly, wiping away the stray tear that managed to roll down your cheek. “i’m gonna give you a ten second head start to run, and if you decide to hide instead, you better make sure i don’t fuckin’ find you,” he whispered against your lips, “now, get the fuck outta here.” rafe moved aside, your chest rising and falling as you slipped out of the room, your feet skittering across the floor as you started running away from him. you swore your heart was beating a million times per second, the fear of being caught making your blood run cold.
you had barely made it to the bottom of the stairs before you looked up and saw rafe making his way out of the room. he was far too fast for you to outrun him, panic setting in as you started scouring through the halls of tanneyhill. coincidentally, all of the rooms were locked. rafe must’ve did that when you first mouthed off to him, having known how this night would end. “please, please, please!” you struggled trying to open the door to each room only to fall short when the knobs didn’t even budge. “come on..” you whined, rounding the corner of the hallway.
“you look so pretty when you’re scared.” you spun around on your heels, a half scream leaving your lips as rafe started jogging down the long hallway. running across the kitchen, and into the living room, rafe’s laughter echoed throughout the house as he chased you around the couch. “you’re gonna fuckin’ get it.” as a last resort attempt to throw him off, you grabbed one of the pillows from the sofa and threw it at him so you could run up the stairs. just as he caught it, he tripped over his own feet before you made your way into his study, crawling underneath his desk.
clamping a hand over your mouth, you panted softly through your nose as rafe’s footsteps sounded up the staircase. “so you decided to hide after all, huh?” your heart was slamming against your ribcage as he got closer. “i was really hoping you didn’t do that.” he almost sounded apologetic as he stepped into the room next door. you removed your hand from your mouth, fiddling with the ‘R’ pendant on your necklace. “if i get my hands on you.. god, you might just hate me.” just as it sounded like he walked past the room you were in, your heart dropped to your stomach when the door suddenly opened.
rafe walked around, stopping right in front the desk. “one of my favorite things about you is your perfume. it’s so sweet, it’s almost like you leave a trail behind you everywhere you go..” you didn’t even get to react before he was pulling you out by your feet, your screams echoing in his ears. “you make it so easy, baby, it’s like you wanted to be caught.” he pulled you up by your arms, dragging you out of the study and back to his bedroom. he forced you down on your knees, grabbing ahold of your chin as he fumbled with his belt.
“wanna talk back when i’m being nice to you? fine. i’ll just put your mouth to better use.” he said through gritted teeth. clasping your hands behind your back, you gazed up at him through your eyelashes. “listen to me when i say this, yeah?” he slipped his thumb between your lips, “right now you’re not my pretty little girlfriend, alright? you’re a slut.” your skirt rode up your thighs as you spread your legs, sitting back on your heels while you waited for rafe to stuff your throat full. upon his cock springing out of his pants, you whimpered pathetically at the butterflies fluttering in your tummy.
he stroked himself, a groan leaving his lips as he tapped his hardened cock against your tongue. “open that mouth, baby, you know how i like it.” you licked the tip, wrapping your lips around the throbbing head as he threaded his fingers in your hair. “i work all day, deal with my dad’s shit, fuck— all just to come home to that bratty behavior of yours..” he cursed under his breath as you took him deeper into your mouth. “ungrateful sluts like you deserve to be used like this.” you moaned around his length, your eyes widening when he hit the back of your throat.
“oh, my god,” rafe’s jaw went slack, his head tilting to the side as he watched you take him in and out of those pretty lips of yours. “look at me, give me those eyes.” you pulled away for a moment, gasping for air as you flashed your teary orbs at him. rafe didn’t know the logic behind it, but seeing you cry, so drunk off of his cock, he swore it was the hottest thing he’s ever seen. “holy, fuck!” he smiled down at you, his hips stuttering as you took him inch by glorious inch. “my greedy little cock whore, ‘doing so good for me.” you batted your eyes innocently, the action making him hiss.
“i wish you were good all the time, now i have to hurt you, bambi.” he pulled you up, lifting you off of the ground before slamming you down on the bed. you gasped at the impact, your boyfriend sliding your bottoms off before giving you a light smack across your cheek. “you’re so wet down here, baby. shit, you’re just glistening.” rafe tore your thighs apart, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off as you ran a foot down his toned stomach. he pinned your thighs to your chest, his hands resting on the back of your knees. “you want this?” he ran his cock between your folds.
your eyes fluttered shut, his tip grazing your needy clit. “please give it to me. ‘wanna be good for you again!” you cried, a sob ripping itself from your throat as he thrusted into you without warning. “fuck!” rafe covered your mouth, ripping your top off so he could watch your tits bounce underneath him. the slick sound of your cunt filled the space of rafe’s room, your cheeks heating as you listened to yourself make a mess on his cock. “so fuckin’ tight, you’re pulling me back in,” he groaned, “i might just fill you up, ‘trap you with my baby..” you moaned, unintentionally clenching around him.
“you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he pulled your hair, forcing you to look down at where you two were connected. you moaned, your lips parting as you watched him pull out and slowly slide back in. “this cock looks like it’s splitting you wide open,” he brought a hand down and started rubbing hard circles on your clit, “my pretty little thing.” you cried out, your back arching off of the mattress when you felt the familiar tension building in your core. his hand was damn near the size of your head, your eyes rolling back as his cock kissed your cervix with every thrust. “gonna.. oh, my god!”
rafe groaned when your orgasm hit you, a piercing scream leaving your lips as a stream of wetness soaked his lower abdomen. you laid there shaking, your nails raking down rafe’s chest as you sucked him in impossibly tighter. taking his bottom lip between his teeth, rafe didn’t slow down the work on your sensitive bundle of nerves, overstimulation setting in when you started taking the pleasure with the pain. “no more!” you gasped, your thighs closing around his waist as you attempted to squirm away from his touch. he slapped you across your cheek, forcing you to keep your eyes open.
“you’re gonna fuckin’ take it. this is what you wanted when you decided to act the way you were acting earlier, huh? shut the fuck up and take this cock.” he shoved your head into the pillows, the entirety of his palm covering your face as he chased his own high, ignoring your screams and cries. rafe watched the tears flow down your cheeks, his fingers becoming wet as he groaned at the sight. “keep crying for me and i’m gonna breed this fuckin’ cunt— ah fuckkk!” rafe leaned down, pressing wet kisses to your neck before his hips stuttered, his mouth falling open in a silent moan.
“fuckin’ hell!” he uncovered your face, admiring the pretty curve of your lips while he came, those gorgeous eyes just twinkling up at him while he filled you to the brim with his seed. rafe nestled himself deep inside of you, stilling his movements as you two reveled in the feeling of his cum painting the softness of your walls. looking into his eyes, you could see the exact moment he switched into being your boyfriend again, his gaze softening as he cupped your face, his cock still twitching inside of you. pulling out with a curse, rafe was quick to pull you against his chest.
“you okay, bambi?” he pecked your cheek, rubbing a hand against your side as you blinked, still unable to form thoughts as your body occasionally jolted with the aftershocks of your orgasm. you didn’t answer, instead you snuggled into his skin, your eyes shutting as sleep pulled at your lids. you were going to be so sore tomorrow, your muscles already aching as rafe pulled the comforter over the two of you.
#❤︎₊ ⊹ works#₊˚⊹♡ rafe#₊˚⊹♡ dark!rafe#₊˚⊹♡ bambi!reader#outer banks#outer banks smut#outer banks fanfiction#outer banks imagine#rafe outer banks#obx#rafe obx#obx smut#obx fanfiction#obx imagine#obx x reader#rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron prompt#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron imagine#rafe fluff#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe smut#rafe x reader#rafe imagine
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The guys with a girlfriend who honestly.. kind of scares them
In different ways of course, but there’s still the underlying theme of her being rather unsettling
- @murderkittyz
I want you to know that this has been living in my mind. I love writing reader characters that are weird af and quite honestly unsettling
To be honest, writing Nikolai was really hard for this one, and I’m still not totally satisfied by it. I think he’s too willing to match your freak.
cw: some graphic descriptions of violence (not enacted, just threats/movie scenes etc)
Gaz is freaked out by how much you like the dark. You scare the shit out of him all the time because he’ll come home, thinking you’re not home because no lights are on in the house, and you’re so quiet— he is not proud to admit how many times he’s screamed when you suddenly said hi from a spot in the dark. And how whenever you get up in the middle of the night, you don’t turn the lights on. He asks you why, and you just say you don’t need them. Freaky.
There have been a handful of times where you were truly, extremely angry at Soap. And he almost pissed himself every single time because of how scary you get. Not because you scream or shake or slap his chest or anything, but because you don’t do any of it. Outside, you’re calm, you’re smiling. But it’s how you talk to him like he’s a child. “It’s okay. I’m just very, very angry at you right now”. It puts him on fucking edge. It creates this tension like you’re about to do something, that you’re gonna get back at him somehow in some way he’ll never see coming, but you don’t do anything. Absolutely fries his nerves.
Ghost is scared by how easily you tone switch, partially because he’s not really able to do so. The way you can be talking about someone from the base and say “he’s such a fucking prick bastard. I wanna rip off his balls and shove them down his throat far enough that he chokes”. And then the next day, you’ll greet the same guy like he’s an old friend. Extremely polite, pleasant, happy. It reminds Simon that he only sees the real you because you allow him that privilege.
Price is scared by your good memory. He’s used to being the one who remembers, the one who’s completely on top of things, the one who knows everything needed to know about everyone. But he’ll mention a colleague that you met once, for 10 minutes, years ago and you’ll ask “Is he still with Martha? She wanted to adopt a dog with him, a Siberian husky, and he seemed so scared of the commitment”. That’s scary. Makes him feel like he has a blind spot. Makes him wonder what you remember about him that even he doesn’t recall.
König is a difficult man to disgust and to scare. He’s seen a lot of things, and he himself is rather unsettling. But he’s scared and disgusted by some of your taste in movies. Things with long, painful torture scenes. All of the blood, flaying of skin, needles, ripping bones from flesh. It’s not so much that you enjoy these movies, but how you enjoy them. You lean against him, but not because you’re scared. You laugh in a way that you never do outside of watching a gorey scene, of someone crying on the floor with broken limbs. He shudders to imagine what you’d be like if you had his job.
Nikolai is unsettled by some of the fantasies you share with him, and how you convey them. Not things that you could really enact, just fantasies. “The other day I thought about being a mermaid— and you being a pirate that captured me to cut me up and sell my parts. But when you were about to cut me open you saw my cunt and decided to keep me as a fuckdoll instead, and fingered me right there with the butcher knife still on the table”. And you say it pretty nonchalantly. He’s honored that you trust him with these inner thoughts, and usually they turn him on completely, but it does creep him out just a little.
#writing#cod fanfic#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#john soap mctavish x reader#simon riley x reader#könig#könig x reader#john price#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick#cw graphic violence#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#johnny mactavish x reader#johnny mactavish#john price x reader#captain john price#Nikolai#nikolai x reader#nikolai cod x reader#cod nikolai x reader#konig cod#könig cod#nikolai cod#cod nikolai#konig x reader#konig x you#cod x you#cod x reader
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You Randomly Get Kidnapped but You Can Handle Yourself (Batboys)
(Requested by @nesting-dreams ily sm thank you for all the ideas/prompts xxx)
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Dick: He was never one to have or tell you what you could and couldn't do. For you, you wanted to work a job like a regular person even though he said he would financially support you. You didn't want to feel like you were mooching off of him.
So as unfortunate as it was you were trying to get in your vehicle after working a really long shift at the hospital while on the phone with Dick, a man came up behind you and they were very swiftly beaten with a metal waterbottle.
Dick was obviously very worried cause of what he heard and he was already patroling the area which meant he very swiftly came to you. You were sat ontop of the man, his arms pinned under your knees as you brutally smacked him over and over with a waterbottle.
"You wanna kidnap people in the middle of the night, You Little Shit?!" You were yelling.
Nightwing had to pull you off of the man noticing the damage you did, it took everything for Dick not to laugh at this man. He got beat up by a tired nurse with a fuckin waterbottle, needless to say he was proud and the man was swiftly arrested. The pair of you went home to have a well deserved nap.
Jason: Being the man he is he decided that it was a fantastic idea to give you a very strong tazer for your birthday because he thought you might need it and you really wanted one.
"I hope someone would, I'll taze their dick off!" You waved the uncharged tazer around very happy about the gift.
"You'll taze their dick off?" He laughed as he appreciated your enthusiasm.
Unfortunately, when you hope for something bad to happen it usually brings bad things around, you we're trying to get into the apartment with Jason was on the other side which of course the dumb ass trying to kidnap you didn't realize that.
By the time Jason get out there you were very clearly tasing this mother fucker in the balls. The man was groaning in very obvious pain, a shot of electricity to the family jewels didn't feel very good.
"You wanna go again, Asshole? You want me to taze you in the mouth, I'm sure that shit hurts just as much."
"I think you got him, Babygirl." He was smiling with full pride. He knew you would never use the taser without knowing 100% that you could do it without getting hurt and you very successfully did.
The man was left there and Jason brought you back inside, put your tazer back on the charger and then showed you all the ways he was very proud of you.
Bruce: He really didn't want you to have any sort of self-defense tool because he knew that if you fought back the likelihood that they would hurt you is extremely higher.
Naturally, you being you you bought a little bracelet that if you press it then it makes a very loud noise which can hurt whoever's ears you're pointing it at.
Another feature on there is that it sent him your location which was probably something that he would have been okay with if that's all it did but alas it was not.
From sparring with Bruce you knew a lot and this asshole pissed you off, trying to kidnap a woman while she was pumping gas? "I think the fuck not."
You had very promptly pushed the button and cupped it against the man's ear which caused him to get disoriented and fall flat on his stupid face.
"That's why you don't mess with girls at the gaspump! Suck my metaphorical dick, Motherfucker!" You would think that this was a Fortnite game with the way that you were acting, to anyone else it would have been the funniest thing ever but of course Bruce doesn't have the biggest sense of humor.
He thought what you were doing was reckless and stupid, you should have gotten your car and left. Bruce proceeded to lecture you the entire night about exactly what you should have done and why it was dangerous and how you're lucky that it didn't turn out worse than it was.
"We don't take pride when we hurt someone and we sure as hell don't gloat. What we're you thinking? He couldve got up. That was reckless."
Tim: Tim craved coffee like it was some sort of drug needing to be injected into jis veins and you really really loved the little muffins the coffee shop had. You got up early in the morning and we're making your way to the coffee shop.
You figured out you were being followed quite quickly so of course the only thing you had in your bag was your wallet and maybe a few pens. Nothing the regular person would think would be overly useful in a situation like this.
The pen was useful though if you used it right, it was swiftly brought between your fingers, you texted Tim you were being followed. He very promptly shot out of bed to protect you, throwing on whatever close were scattered around the messy bedroom.
Once he found you, you were leturing the man on all the places you could stick the pen. The man was on the ground pinned to the floor. None of the Batboys were ever gonna let their woman go out of sight without some sorta training.
"I could stick this in your jugular, if you'd like. I could gove you the choice you were never gonna give me."
"You could stick it in his eye, its less lethal and could be considered an accident." Tim chimed in with a smile, the smile on Tim's face was quickly matched by yours.
The man underneath you was panicking because for all he knew you two were complete psychopaths considering jow many Gotham has. He started begging for you to let him go, You got off him while clicking the pen which made him run off like a little crybaby.
Tim and you walked hand and hand to the coffee shop like nothing ever happened. You both knew the pen wasn't what scared him if was your confidence and the way you spouted things off like a crazy person.
Damian: Damian was very much his father's son and he would do the same psychotics weird ass shit that Bruce did. The only difference was he asked you and you very clearly said no to a tracking device being put in you but that did not stop him from doing it and he did it very easily without you noticing.
Of course he didn't know anything was wrong until he noticed that you're tracking device really didn't move too much. He was kinda worried but it was instantly interrupted.
The phone rang and it was a guy calling for ransom while a guy in the background argued with you and said something about you stabbing him in the ass.
"We want a million." The man said off the bat.
"That's all your gonna ask for?!" Then there was the sound of the phone hitting the floor while you beat the shit out of them with a chair leg.
"You should really have better quality shit if you're gonna kidnap someone!" You yelled while the two men grunted on the floor, the first one had had the chair smashed into his back and this one was being wacked with a chair leg.
Damian showed up in regular clothes, he could tell by the phone call you didn't need any help.
"How the fuck did you know where I am?" You asked with clear suspicion and irritation.
"I traced the cell phone call." He lied very easily but there was something off and you could tell. He always kind of scratched his chin when he told you a lie and he had a shitty poker face.
"You put a tracker in me?! When we get home, you are cutting it out. I dont care that you track me but I'd rather not have a weird piece of metal in my body, Damian! I already have this stupid birth control for you, but at least that shit's been tested."
He knew that there was no point in fighting with you so therefore when the both of you got home, he cut it out and he stitched it back up and did everything he could to apologize without actually saying the words. You wore tracking bracelet from then on, a lot less invasive of the body.
Damian definitely was left apologizing over that for months cause he knew he betrayed your wishes and your trust. It was flowers, jewlery, gifts galore. Damian was never good with his words, you knew he was sorry but you wanted him to say it. Once he did the tension between the two of you quickly evaporated into thin air.
-> Masterlist <-
-> Send me prompts if you'd like <-
#batboys#jason todd x reader#jason todd#dick grayson x reader#damian wayne x reader#red hood x reader#batboys x reader#batman x reader#tim drake x reader#bruce wayne x reader#batman#batfamily#batfam#red hood#nightwing x reader#damian wayne
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MINE ft. Yeji
yeji x male reader smut
9k words
it's a follow up to... NURSE
“You’re unbelievable!”
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
“You’re going to make me go insane!”
“That good, am I?”
“I swear one of these days—”
“I know, I know, I feel the same—”
“—I am seriously going to kill you!”
“Uh, shit, I’m out of jokes with that one.”
“Good, because I am Not. Fucking. Joking.”
Yeji’s well and truly pissed—rightfully so, mind you (you really fucked up this time), and for the first time ever there may really be no clever quip or line that can get you out of this one.
But of course, that won’t stop you from trying.
“Look around! This isn’t a fucking joke!”
She’s glaring at you, the kind of furious that could melt steel with her gaze alone, eyes narrowed into sharp slits that slice through your bullshit like a hot knife.
And so, you blink first, balking under Yeji’s glare, and decide to take her advice and look away, look around at your surroundings—at the many, many reasons Yeji is justifiably upset.
For one, there’s your current location—a hospital room, not a good look. Then, there’s the cast around your arm and bandages on your head—not the worse of injuries, but again, when you couple it with the IV snaking its way up your arm, and the morbid beeping of a heart rate monitor filling the silence, it really does not make you out to be the most intact of individuals.
Finally, there’s Yeji, her eyes verging on tears and her hands balled into fists, clutching the fabric of your hospital gown and looking like she’s ready to tear the room apart.
Add them all together: a hospital room, a handsome but seriously injured boyfriend, with his devastated girlfriend wracked with worry besides him… it doesn’t paint the best of pictures.
But yet, before you can stop yourself, another attempt at lightening the mood: “You should see the other guy.”
There it is! A crack in Yeji’s armour, a flicker of something other than righteous fury on her face—eyes widen slightly, lips part just a smidge—a ghost of a smile, perhaps?
But it’s gone before you can confirm its existence—Yeji’s façade is maintained and all you get is a minuscule quirk of her eyebrow.
“The other guy was a car,” she says through gritted teeth.
“And now that car is being turned into scrap and I get to be in the presence of the most beautiful girl in all of Korea.”
“I hate you,” she replies, lovingly (you hope).
“Most beautiful girl in all of Asia?” You’re almost there, you can see it on her face.
“Still hate you.” An ease in tension—a slight drop of her shoulders, a relaxing of her grip.
“The world?”
A sigh, a frown slowly turning upwards, success! — “You’re an idiot.”
“I’m your idiot,” you add, and that gets you a smile—a real, genuine, heart-stopping smile that lights up the room more than any fluorescent bulb could ever dream of.
“What am I going to do with you?” She’s shaking her head, letting you have your little victory.
“What would I do without you?” You ask, and she's rolling her eyes—nothing she hasn't heard you say before. “Certainly wouldn’t get to stay in a room this nice.”
Yeji blushes, her cheeks taking on the same shade of the excessive number of roses decorating your bedside. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Seriously, Yeji?” You say, and echo back to her, “look around.”
It’s Yeji’s turn to act coy—as if it’s perfectly normal for a hospital room to come with a flat-screen TV, designer furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the city.
The room is closer to a luxury suite than a recovery ward—bigger than your apartment, even—and there’s a voice in the back of your head telling you to maybe risk another injury so you can maybe extend your stay even longer, especially if it means getting to have Yeji fuss over you like this.
“I might have called in a favour or two,” Yeji admits. “But they said this was the only room available!”
“Yeji, this is too much,” you say, but she’s already ignoring you, waving her hand dismissively.
“It’s nothing,” she says, rising off the bed and leaving you to your own devices, satisfied that you’ve been properly scolded.
But, you know better. While Yeji is like this with everyone she cares about—always giving, always putting others first—with you she gets especially intense with her caring, and as much as she’d probably deny it otherwise, you know that she’s more than a little smug at the sight of you laid up in this fancy hospital room, with nothing to do but let her pamper you.
“Sure, sure,” you say, but you can easily imagine her on the phone with every hospital in a fifty-kilometre radius, pulling strings left and right, leaning on the right people to get what she wants.
It’s just who Yeji is—no half measures, above and beyond in every aspect.
“I should unpack,” Yeji decides, retrieving a ridiculously oversized bag from the corner of your suite.
“Unpack?” You ask, but your question falls on deaf ears.
“I was halfway across the world when I heard what happened.” Yeji's clicking her tongue with annoyance as she struggles with the zipper for the bag. “Two days before I could get a flight out!”
“You didn’t have to rush—” you start to say, but Yeji whips her head around, a clear warning not to finish the very stupid sentence you’re about to complete.
“I didn’t have time to pack everything, just grabbed what I could from our place—” (your place, technically) “—and came straight here.”
Yeji instantly sets about your room, making sure that there isn’t a corner that hasn't been touched by her: your favourite tea brewing, the last book you were reading, a Bluetooth speaker playing her ‘songs to remind you of me’ playlist; every single thing you could possibly need to feel better.
It’s not even what she’s doing as she completes her takeover of your hospital room, it’s how she’s doing it.
She’s in her normal everyday uniform: one of your flannel shirts over a tank top that just so happens to ride up just right, showing off her toned midriff as she reaches to hang a change of clothes for you in the wardrobe. Then there’s the snug, tight yoga pants moulded to her curves that stretch over her unbearably firm ass every time she needs to bend over and take something else out from her bag.
It’s all too perfect to be accidental, and you start to get conspiratorial, like perhaps this innocent act of care is just a torturous reminder of your what you can’t have while you’re all laid up and injured.
She is dressed normally. But normal, everyday clothes for anyone else on someone like Yeji, with her body—all sleek muscles and tight lines—is absolutely devastating.
Yeji works fast, a tornado of love and care clad in a dangerous pair of leggings, and in minutes she’s done, adding a finishing touch by spraying her perfume around the room, overpowering the sterile hospital scent with the sweet, floral notes that are uniquely hers—this is her space now, anyway.
Finally, she stops at the foot of your hospital bed, picking up your medical chart, reading it like she understands it all (actually, knowing Yeji, she probably got her medical degree on the way to the hospital just in case she deemed the doctors and nurses weren't doing a good enough job and she decided to take over).
“Hm,” is Yeji’s summary of your current condition. It’s cute, seeing her stare at the clipboard with a focus she usually reserves for the stage. “Eating well, no signs of deterioration in fine motor skills, very responsive, and very… friendly?”
You raise an eyebrow. “They wrote that down?”
“Attending physician: Dr. Park Yoona, Nurses: Roh Ji Yun, Jeon Jeong ah, Bae Hye Jin,” Yeji starts to read out the list of names—female names—and you start to hear the nails being hammered into your coffin, “Nurse Kim Ji Won—seriously, like the actress? All women. Hm.”
“Really, I hadn’t noticed!” Maybe feigning ignorance would increase your chances of survival. “You’d think in this day and age there’d be more male nurses now though, right?”
“Hm,” it’s that noise again. “I’m glad to hear that while I was worried sick about you, desperately trying to get over here, you’ve been well taken care of. Must be nice surrounded by all these cute women in their little nurse outfits.”
“Oh, please,” you test a deflection, “they’re just doing their jobs.”
Yeji’s eyes bore into you. “One of these nurses dots her ‘I’s with love hearts.”
You can only sigh at your impending doom. It’s been a good life.
“Who do these women think they are?”
You switch up your strategy, trying another angle: “They’re medical professionals, Yeji, not strippers.”
“Right, medical professionals,” Yeji echoes, her tone thick with sarcasm, before she suddenly switches up, putting on her sweetest, and most uncomfortable, baby voice. “Oh no, such a big, strong man that needs help. Tell me where it hurts so I can rub it better for you!”
“Stop, stop,” you protest, as much as you would like her to rub it better, you still have your pride. “I barely even talk to them—they just do their check-ups and leave. I can’t even remember what they look like, they’re probably all just plain, old ladies.”
You regret the words as soon as you say them (you really should’ve seen this coming), because before you can get any further into your pitiful defence, the door to your room swings open, and in struts a young, cheery, bouncy woman.
“Is my favourite patient ready for another check-up?” You're already cringing at the nurse’s question—her voice a squeak that’s far too high-pitched and far too cute for a hospital. If anything, she looks like an actress playing the role of a nurse, in some bad movie where they clearly casted for looks over believability.
Yeji’s eyes widen at the sight of the new, endowed occupant of the room, and she reads the name on the nurse’s tag, pinned firmly over a set of scrubs that’s a few sizes too small, and you’re immediately reminded of her earlier threat to kill you with surprising clarity.
“Kim Ji Won,” Yeji reads out loud, before suddenly remembering herself, lowering a baseball cap over her eyes and slipping on a surgical mask, hiding her face from view. She turns away, pretending to fuss with the flowers on your bedside table.
“Oh!” The nurse exclaims, and you’re starting to feel the walls of what was once a luxurious hospital room start to close in. “I didn’t realise you had a guest,” she says, as light and cheerful as ever, “is she perhaps your… sister?”
Oh God, Yeji might really kill you after this. “No, no, no, she’s my—”
But Nurse JI Won ploughs onwards, having the gall (or lack of a sense of self-preservation) to turn to Yeji, and chat away. “Your brother has been the perfect patient! Me and all the other nurses just can’t get enough of him! He’s such a charmer!”
Yep. Definitely dying. It’s been a good life.
“Oh, oops!” Ji Won giggles, as she somehow drops the clipboard she was holding, sending papers scattering across the floor. “I’m so silly, give me a second to get it together!”
“No, no, it’s okay you don’t need to—” you try, but by now you should know better, “—bend over and pick it up.”
She’s already turned away from you, pointing her ass up and straight into the air, performatively picking up the pages one by one, taking her time so you can commit to memory the exact colour of the lacy thong peeking out of her pants.
It’s so blatant that you’re almost impressed, but compared to the practiced ease of your girlfriend, it’s a pale imitation. Still, your mind can’t resist making the comparison, even though there’s no ass in the world that can hold a candle to Yeji’s cheeks wrapped in sheer nylon.
Look at you, all loyal and shit—even in the face of all temptation, you’re still a committed boyfriend, through and through.
If only Yeji, who is now evaluating you with a glare as hot as a thousand suns, could know that your mind is filled with thoughts of just her… even as you're staring at Nurse Ji Won’s ass.
You’re dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.
“Aha, got it!” Ji Won is back on her feet, jumping with a cheer that suggests that maybe she could use a little more support, whilst completely immune to the sudden drop in temperature in the room. Yeji might as well be a ghost to her, the nurse looks only at you, scanning your body, searching for any new injuries that may have popped up since your last check-up.
If only she knew to just come back in an hour.
“It says here it’s about time to take out your IV!” Ji Won sunnily declares.
Consent isn’t a word that seems to exist in this nurse’s vocabulary, and she takes the opportunity to lean real close over you, pressing her ample chest against your side, making sure you get the full feel of her curves as she reaches across to the stand.
Of course, you don’t look—that would be insane. Instead your eyes are on Yeji, who’s definitely not looking at the nurse. No, she’s still boring a hole right through your skull, her hands holding a shredded flower, her knuckles turning white.
“Okay, that’s all done!” Ji Won chirps, and mercifully removes her breasts from your shoulder. “Hey, why are you acting all shy? You’re usually so much friendlier!”
“Oh?” Yeji makes a noise for the first time, and it terrifies you.
But again, the nurse pretends like she doesn’t even exist. “Let me check your heartbeat… And—”
“I’m sure it’s all fine and you can leave now, right—” You try a last-ditch effort to save this poor nurse’s life, but she’s clearly not taking the hint.
“Perfect as always, Mr. Metronome!” She says, writing down on her clipboard, clearly not noticing the seconds of her remaining lifespan ticking away. “We always talk about how you must work out so much to have a heart rate so low and consistent, I mean, obviously you do—look at you!”
You file her comments away as yet another reason your life is about to end, and try to push on, “so—I’m all good, right?”
“Of course you are,” Ji Won replies, turning the volume right up on the flirtiness, and her eyes flicker over to Yeji before she winks at you. “But I’ll just double-check everything before I go.”
“No, I think that’s enough!” Yeji breaks the conversation with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, and the poor nurse jumps from the sternness of her voice. “You said he’s fine, he said he’s tired, and so that means you can leave now!”
“Oh, he’s tired? Does he need extra pillows, or is there anything I can do to make him more comfortable?”
But Yeji already has her out the door, practically dragging the girl out of the room by her collar of her scrubs. “He’s fine!”
The door slams behind the nurse, but not before you hear her giggle, “Hey, you look familiar!”
An icy silence fills the room once the nurse is gone, thick and tense. Yeji doesn’t move for several beats, it’s eerie the way she just stands there, staring at the closed door of your hospital room.
Something clicks in her head, though, and she locks the door, turning back to you, seemingly having made a final decision on your fate.
“So…” you throw out a feeler, trying your best to move straight past, well, everything. “How’s the tour going?”
“Is she perhaps your sister?” Yeji’s voice jumps an octave, a perfect imitation of the high-pitched squeak that had just left the room. She turns to you, throwing the cap off her head and tearing the mask off her face. “Vomit.”
“I have no idea what that nurse was talking about,” you say, immediately making a case to plead your innocence.
“So gross!” Her words are dripping with pure disgust, but at least it isn’t directed at you (for now, anyway). “That’s it! We’re moving hospitals!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down.”
“What is it with girls like that? Oh, you must work out a lot, I mean obviously you do!” Yeji continues her eerily uncanny impersonation. “Seriously, you’re an adult and you’re doing baby talk? ‘Perfect as always Mr. Metronome!”
“She’s just being nice, probably didn’t mean anything at all,” it’s a very weak argument you’re making, the only way the nurse could make her intentions more obvious were if she was wearing a bright neon sign that flashed ‘please fuck me!’.
“Bitch. Shameless! Hitting on my boyfriend in front of me. Acting so cute, so helpless—oops! I dropped my clipboard!” Yeji’s pouting now, fluttering her lashes, mimicking every blatant flirtation Nurse Ji Won had thrown your way.
“Really, we’re doing caricatures now?”
“Carica-what?” Yeji tilts her head to the side, and starts to sway her way over to you, her hips swinging from side to side with an exaggerated bounce. She’s playing it up to a T, making sure to sway, shake, to jiggle with each step she takes. “What does that word even mean? It’s such a big word. You must be really smart.”
Yeji settles into the role of the pretty, ditzy nurse far too easily, and her eyes tell you that she’s enjoying it far too much. For now though, you play along, clearing your throat and putting on your manliest voice—“I have been told I have a rather expansive vocabulary.”
“Wow, another big word,” Yeji’s at your bedside again, taking your hand into hers, looking up at you with wide-eyed awe. “Oh, you’re just so clever!” She giggles, as her other hand just so happens to come down on your thigh, leaving her free to squeeze and massage your muscles. “And so strong too! Do you work out?”
You grit your teeth as Yeji starts to trace her thumb in gentle circles over your skin, all the while staring up at you so innocently—she’s laying it on thick. “Sometimes…”
“I can tell…” Yeji continues, her voice trailing off as she runs her hand further up your thigh, light as a feather, but when she’s looking at you with those eyes and that smile, it’s if she’s dragging a live wire across your skin. You swallow hard, trying to keep your composure as she leans in closer, lets her top hang a little loose, lets you get a peek at the soft swell of her breasts, parts those full, pouty lips of hers, her fingers tracing the contour of your leg as she moves higher and higher and higher, until her fingertips are on your—“Unbelievable! I cannot believe that actually works on you!”
“That’s unfair!” You shout in surprise, letting go of a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. “You can’t expect me not to react when you’re doing that!”
“Uh huh, I bet!” Yeji says, clearly not buying it. “You’re not at all attracted to the helpless, innocent, bouncy little slut that leans close so you can get a good view of her fat tits?”
“I’ll have you know I’m a singular pair of tits kind of guy.”
“This bitch,” Yeji curses under her breath, throwing her hands up in frustration. She unfortunately removes her hand from your leg, and plops herself down on your bed (it’s easily big enough for two), stewing in her emotions. You watch each cross her face: concern, jealousy, disbelief, a slight hint of amusement.
“Yeji,” you say, getting her attention, snapping her out of her thoughts. “You’re my girlfriend. I’m yours. That’s that.”
She stares back at you, her eyes light up at the declaration, and she punches your arm—your healthy one, of course. “You better be.”
It’s strange, seeing Yeji like this—so raw, so visibly affected by someone else’s attention on you. You’ve always thought of her as so strong, so confident, but there’s something in her possessiveness over you that is making you think about things that should definitely not happen in a hospital.
Fuck it, injuries be damned, without another word, you stretch forward and grab her by the waist, your good hand wrapping around her firmly, pulling her closer to you. She gasps, but doesn’t resist, no, she leans into your touch, her body melting into yours as if it’s been starved for affection.
You hold her tight, letting her settle into your embrace, and can only laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation you’re in. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be taking care of me, you’re really not helping my blood pressure right now.”
“I’m still mad at you,” Yeji murmurs into your chest, but there’s no venom in her voice. Instead, it’s filled with something else entirely—something softer, more vulnerable. Her body relaxes against you, and you feel the tension in the room start to dissipate.
“Let’s not pretend that you weren’t enjoying acting like a helpless, little slut, Yeji,” you accuse, and Yeji’s cheeks flush a deeper shade of red. “I know you.”
“It’s your fault,” Yeji says, still hiding her face in your chest. “You and your ridiculous sexy nurse fantasy.”
“It’s a classic,” you shrug, before making an executive decision. “And this time, we actually have the right setting for it.”
Yeji looks around the room, shyly biting her lip. Again, all an act, she’s far too perceptive to not have the same thought on the forefront of her mind. “Here?”
“I saw you lock the door.” You catch the smirk that flashes across Yeji’s face. “Your mind is as filthy as mine, Yeji, I’m just better at vocalising it.”
“You think you can read my mind?”
“You know I can.” You lean in, your mouth finding hers in a soft kiss to prove your point—you didn’t need to ask to know that this is what she’s been after the whole time. Your lips find her forehead, “I can read your mind”—a kiss on her cheek—“your body”—and a whisper in her ear— “your pussy.”
You know you’re right by the hitch in Yeji’s breathing, how she leans into your touch, and when she straddles you without a second thought. Her thighs squeeze down against yours, the fabric of her yoga pants sliding against your hospital gown. She’s all soft curves and heat as she settles herself over you, her hands pressing down on your chest to keep herself steady.
“That nurse really riled you up, didn’t she?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Yeji steals another kiss from you, a moan muffled against your mouth. But yet, there’s the slight grind of hips—slow, deliberate friction, unbearable by design. “I’m just here to take care of my helpless boyfriend.”
“Yoga pants, Yeji. Again,” you say. “I saw it all. How you just so happened to need to stretch, or bend over, or lean just right,” you tease, even though it’s getting harder and harder to get your words out by the second. “You’re just as bad as her, only you’re way better at it.”
You kiss her again, this time with more urgency, the type of kiss you’ve been dying to give her since she first walked into the room, your tongue slipping into her mouth and tasting minty sweetness on her breath.
“And you look way fucking hotter than her when you do it, too.”
A smug smile plays on Yeji's lips as she's kissing you again. “I am the most beautiful woman in Korea.”
“The world,” you correct her.
“Goes without saying,” she finished. “’Extremely hot girlfriend’, if I remember correctly?”
“On fucking fire,” you summarise, and reach out to touch her, needing to feel her, but Yeji stops you placing your hand back on the bed.
She gives you a stern look, and shakes her head. “No, no, no. You’re the patient here, remember? You’re not allowed to do anything,” she says, her voice a mix of playfulness and authority. Yeji leans in closer, her breath hot against your ear. “You have to let the slutty nurse take care of you.”
You see it again—that switch—and Yeji gets more adventurous, cutting off your breath as she drags her hand down, sliding it under your thin hospital gown, walking her fingers back up your thigh. She stops just shy of your hardened cock, her eyes never leaving yours, revelling in your neediness for her, your want, before finally she takes a hold of you, her grip firm and tight and sure.
There’s heat in her palm, and she pulls a moan out of you and into her mouth as she starts to slowly stroke. It’s the softness of her hand against the growing stiffness of your shaft, her fingertips grazing your skin—you know you should be more careful, more considerate of where you are, but with Yeji’s touch, all rational thought is lost.
“I bet none of those bitch nurses could make you feel like this.” Yeji’s touch is a masterpiece of precision and passion, each movement calculated, practiced, she’s right—she’s the only one who knows how to touch you in just the perfect way to make you ache. Her fingers dance along your shaft, her grip tightening and loosening in a rhythm that only she can hear.
“I don’t even know who you’re talking about.” You groan, playing dumb, your mind filled with nothing but Yeji’s body on top of you, her fingers wrapped around you. “What other women?”
Yeji’s eyes narrow, but she can’t hold back her smile. “Good answer,” she whispers, rewarding you by moving faster now, each stroke deeper, more deliberate, reading your every reaction to the way she pumps you, timing her fingers with your stuttering breaths.
She likes—loves—taking care of you, making you feel good, there’s a thrill in it for her, knowing that she’s the one who can make you this vulnerable, this desperate. Her hand moves with confidence, her strokes become more insistent, her gaze hungrier, and she leans forward, pressing herself into your chest, letting you feel the softness of her breasts, the stiffness of her nipples through the flimsy fabric of her top.
“Does this feel good, honey?” She asks, like she doesn’t already know the answer, like she can’t feel your hips bucking up to meet her touch. "Do you like it when I take care of you?"
You nod, unable to form words, unable to do anything but keep your eyes on Yeji and marvel at just how fucking hot she is on top of you as she strokes you. Her hair falls in soft waves around her face, tickling your neck and cheeks, and her eyes—those piercing, all-knowing eyes—affixed to yours, holding you hostage.
“God, I love this cock,” Yeji murmurs between kisses against your cheek, your jaw, your neck, “so big, so hard… All mine…” She’s so satisfied, so happy with herself—with your cock—her constant praise as much for her as it is for you. “Fuck, look how big you’re getting for me, barely fits in my hand.”
“God, Yeji,” you gasp, struggling to keep together, to keep from losing yourself in the palm of her hand, as each of her strokes, each of her words, keep coming, stroking your cock, your ego, fucking with you completely. “I’m getting close—”
“Not yet.” Yeji lets you go, leaving you panting, your tortured cock standing tall and missing her attention.
Before you can even mount a protest, she’s sliding up your body, stretching above your head to grab the hospital bed remote, smothering you with the soft mounds of her breasts as she does so. You groan into her, forced to feel the weight of her pressing down on you, the warmth of her skin against yours, teasing you in a way that’s both infuriating and heavenly.
With a click, the bed whirs into action, reclining back until you're flat on your back, staring directly up at her. She kneels over your head, and there’s the outline of her pussy through the fabric of her leggings, all swollen and damp and begging for your tongue.
She doesn’t have to look to know she has your undivided attention—she's pulling her shirt and her top over her head, setting her breasts, ripe and full, bouncing free from their confinement. No bra today (of course she didn’t, what would be the fucking point?) and you get a full view of those perfect tits, her dark, pebbled nipples already stiff for you.
“It’s your turn to take care of me.”
Yeji lowers herself onto your waiting mouth, lets out a noise that’s so needy, so fucking greedy, as your lips meet her heat for the first time in what feels like an eternity.
“Fuuuuuuck…”
You kiss, lick, nibble at her, tease her, groan into her thighs, as she urges herself against you, making you breathe in the scent of her sex, so immediately wet for you.
It’s not nearly enough for either of you—you need to feel her against your lips, your tongue. You move your hand up her thigh and towards her hip, digging your fingers into her waistband. But Yeji stops you again, and says the four most pleasant words in any language. “Just fucking rip them.”
There’s no hesitation—she lifts her hips off your face, you snake your hand between her legs, take one end of the fabric between your fingers, and another in your teeth: one quick, sharp yank, and you tear. The nylon gives way with a satisfying rip, and Yeji shivers above you as the cool air hits her full, puffy, exposed cunt.
“Mmmph, yesssss,” Yeji hisses as you pull her back down onto your lips, shuddering as you kiss that lovely crease where her thigh meets her pelvis, her pleasure vibrating through your own skull. She quivers, shifts, needy for your lips on her naked pussy, and she pleads, “stop teasing… I need it…”
You smile against her skin, your breath ghosting over her pussy, making her squirm. "What's the magic word?"
"Now," Yeji says, her voice firm, her thighs so magnificently tense. "The magic word is now."
With that, you give her a long lick, starting from the very bottom of her pussy and moving upward, tasting every millimetre of her juicy cunt, tracing the entire length of her slit, ending with an indulgent flick of her clit.
“Fuuuuuuuuck,” Yeji cries out, shivering, falling apart as your tongue finds that sweet spot, her thighs tightening around your neck. Her hands come down to either side of your head, her fingers tangling in your hair, holding you in place as she starts to rock back and forth, setting her own rhythm, matching her hips with the pace of your tongue. “God, you’re so fucking good at that, always so fucking good at that.”
She’s whining, so, so desperate, so pleading, and you’re eager as you taste her, explore her, will her to come apart in your mouth. You’re taking generous licks, tongue dancing around her clit, teasing it, testing her full vocal range as she cries out your name
“Oh, please, please baby, fucking please.” She’s getting wetter and wetter, coating your tongue, your lips, your chin. “I missed this,” she gasps, grinding herself against your tongue, all desperation and utter awe. “Missed you making me feel so fucking good.”
You look up, up at her as she rides your face, she’s so fucking breathtaking. Her body tensing around you and on top of you—so tight, so firm—chiselled abs honed by decades of dancing, that gorgeous curve of her waist leading up to her perky, petite tits, so lovely, bouncing with every gasp she takes.
"I'm so wet for you, honey, so fucking wet," Yeji whimpers, “you always make me so fucking wet—I can’t—ah!”
A sharp inhale, you suck her clit into your mouth, flicking your tongue against the sensitive nub. She’s moaning so fucking loud, so unrestrained, echoing through the hospital room and down the hallways, loud enough to let every nurse on the floor know exactly how fucking good it feels to be on top of you. Her hips jerk, she can’t control her own body now, and you know she’s getting closer and closer, determined to ride your tongue right to the end.
Just looking at her is all it takes for you—seeing her so damn horny, so satisfied sets you on edge, needing something, anything to take your cock and match her euphoria.
“Do you want me to help you out, baby?” Yeji’s reading your mind. You groan and affirmative into the folds of her cunt, and in an instant, you go from being smothered by her juices to being faced with the full, perfect tautness of her ass.
She makes it look so easy, so graceful, lifting herself off your face and spinning around to this new position—face down, ass up.
A second later and your wishes are granted—your cock, so heavy with need, standing neglected and alone is met by Yeji’s soft, warm lips, kissing the very tip of you, tasting the drops of pre-cum that’s already leaking out of you.
“Let me make you feel better,” is all Yeji says—just one light kiss, a whisper into your cock, and she dives onto you, swallowing your cock whole. It’s far too much, far too quickly, you’re out of breath and ready to tap out as her warm, wet mouth envelopes your whole rod in one, smooth suck.
Her tongue swirls around you, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, she takes you deeper and deeper, until you’re buried down her throat. You throb inside her, her throat muscles contracting back around you, and you can’t help but thrust up into her mouth, seeking more, needing more.
“Yeji!” You cry out her name on reflex as she takes you in, her hands digging into your thighs as she works her mouth up and down, bobbing, taking you deep and noisily, smacking her lips, sloshing her tongue. Whatever pain you had lingering from your arm, your head, or your ribs, it’s all forgotten—there’s only Yeji, and her exquisite lips, doing everything she can to wring every drop of pleasure out from your body.
It's too much, too intense, and you’ve been on the edge since she first grabbed a hold on you. This can’t end now, not when she’s sucking you so hard, practically worshipping your cock. You need a distraction—pull her hips back, gently, firmly, push that beautiful ass back into your face and indulge in her again.
“Mmmph—!” Yeji moans into you as your tongue meets her cunt, the sound reverberating down your shaft and right into your brain.
And now it’s a competition—you push through her pussy with her tongue, feel her walls tightening around you. She’s pushing back into you, grinding down on you, making sure you get the full flavour of her cunt, her ass, every inch of her on your taste buds.
She’s more frantic now, moving faster, sloppier on your cock as you push her closer and closer to climax. Her tongue slides against you, her cheeks hollow out around you, she drools and dribbles down your shaft—it’s messy and wet and absolutely fucking amazing.
But you can’t let her win, not this time. You double down on your efforts, suctioning your lips over her clit and start rapidly flicking your tongue, setting a relentless pace that you know will make her crumble. She tries her best to keep up, to keep going, but she’s a mess of sucking and moaning and quivering all over your face and on your cock.
Yeji works her tongue, her lips, her mouth—she makes sure you know it’s all yours. But then, after taking you all the way to the back of her throat, your cock pops out of her mouth with a wet smack, and she lets out a cry of pure, unbridled ecstasy. “Fuck, I can’t, I can’t, I’m gonna—FUCK!”
She collapses, bent over and prone, only her ass rocking and grinding against your face as she utterly, completely falls apart, ruined by just your tongue, ruined by the orgasm you’re giving her.
“So good—God—fuck—keep going, keep going, keep going!” Yeji’s voice is a chant, a prayer that you’re more than happy to answer. She’s shaking, her pussy pulsing against your face as you lick and suck at her clit, clouding your mind with the heady mix of sweetness and desire that has you hooked. She’s lost, given up and given over to you now, her moans becoming screams—“your tongue, your fucking tongue—gah!”
Her body geos rigid, locking up as she hits that wonderful peak—but you’re not ready to stop. You keep licking, keep pushing through wave after wave of pleasure that crash over her, not giving a second of rest. Her juices flood your mouth and you swallow greedily, drinking her in like it’s the only medicine you need.
“Fuck—fuck—fuck—fucking making me feel so good—God!”
Nothing fucking matters, all you know is Yeij’s cunt is on your tongue and her ass is in your face, and your only job is to keep licking her to her core, until she finally goes slack, crumbling on top of you.
She stays like that, her legs shaking like she’s just run a marathon, her nipples squashed against your chest, her gasps hot and ragged against your thigh. You can feel the staccato of her heart, and you hold her close, massaging her lower back as she does her best to catch her breath.
And yet, there you are, still throbbing, still so fucking hard and delirious with your need for her touch.
There’s no point in hiding it, she’s so close you can feel her breath on your cock, your close enough to poke her eye out with how hard you are.
“Someone’s feeling left out,” she says, as if she’s not entirely to blame. “Is that for me?”
“You know it is,” you respond, far weaker, more pleading than you intended.
A gentle, torturous kiss against your thigh, and you’re just about ready to explode in her face. “Then I guess as your dutiful, loving, girlfriend, I better do something about it.”
It’s so easy for her—one moment she’s exhausted, out of breath on top of you, the next she’s fully recovered, back on top and mounting you, facing you as she smears the tip of your cock with her wetness.
You try to sit up, eager to get straight to it, straight to fucking her like you need to, but her hands are on your shoulders and she’s pushing you back down.
“Lie down, baby,” she hushes you, pressing you down onto the mattress. “Just enjoy this.”
Her eyes narrow as she drinks in the sight of you, bursting with anticipation as she lowers her pussy onto your cock. It’s a special kind of torment, one that makes your hips buck involuntarily, so impatient to feel her warmth again.
But she takes her sweet time, and it’s only when she’s close enough, she bends down, mouth hovering over yours. Your eyes drift shut, and you wait for that soft contact of her lips, but it doesn’t come.
Instead, she whispers, "I've got you," and you feel the warm, velvety embrace of her cunt as she takes you in, inch by agonising inch.
Fully seated, her walls close around you, and that’s when she kisses you hard, her tongue pushing past your lips and into your mouth with the same aching hunger of her cunt around your cock.
She tastes so damn good, feels incredible—it’s been too long, and you want nothing but to grab her, hold her and slam her hips down onto yours and drive deeper into her, but your body won’t cooperate.
You can only lay there as she starts to move, her hips rocking back and forth, slowly, intentionally, having you seeing stars. And then, just when you think you can’t take it anymore, she lifts herself up off your cock, and in one swift motion, sinks herself straight back down, whispering “holy fuck yesss” against your lips.
She needs time to get used to you, used to your cock filling her whole again. “This fucking cock,” she bites your lip as she rides you, “always so big, always so perfect.”
Yeji has to take it slow, has to let her pussy stretch around you, adjust to you, before she can start to ride you, to fuck you like she really wants to. And she does want to—wants to claim you, erase any doubt about who is the one person that can fuck you like you deserve to be—so, so much.
Each movement down the length of your cock is faster than the one before, each moan into your mouth hotter, each clench of her cunt around yours so much tighter, until she’s fucking you in earnest—harder, faster.
“So thick, so, so, riiiiight,” Yeji groans.“I’ve missed this, needed this.”
She’s riding you like she’s been waiting for this forever, like this might be the last time, bouncing her ass up and down, her eyes hooded with lust, her hair a wild mess around her flushed face, her nipples swinging every time your hips meet.
“When you get better, honey, I need you to fuck me real hard,” Yeji whispers in your ear, her breath hot and tickling, thick with lust, her tight cunt milking you, keeping you on the edge of insanity. “But I’ll take care of you for now, I’ll take care of this cock—fuck I love it—I love you—I love that you’re mine.”
“You’re mine too, Yeji,” you groan back to her.
“That’s right—I belong to you and you belong to me,” Yeji punctuates her point with a hard slam of her cunt down onto your cock. "You're My. Fucking. Boyfriend."
She’s getting faster and faster now, picking up her pace, like she needs to prove something, to herself, to you, to the entire fucking hospital.
“Those other bitches can’t ride you like I do—can’t fuck you like I do,” Yeji’s panting, each word fucked out of her, coming out like a proud battle cry. She’s right, you’re sure of it—no one else can make you feel this way, no one else can take you, claim you like she can. She’s lost in it now, lost in the heat and the friction, her whole body consumed by a burning desire to show you just how good she is at this.
Yeji leans back, sitting upright, giving herself better leverage to bounce on your cock, giving you a better view of her body—all perfectly sculpted edges and soft curves—and those fucking perky tits. They’re stunning, just like the rest of her, and you reach for them on instinct, cupping the soft mounds, feeling the weight of them in your palm. Her nipples are so hard, erect, begging for your touch, and you don’t want to disappoint—could never—so you pinch and twist them, watching her face contort with pleasure, feeling her pussy tighten around you as she cries out.
“No one can take this big fucking cock like I can—down my throat, in my cunt.” It’s a declaration—loud and proud, for every single person in the hospital to know.
“Jealous?” You grunt out the word, hoarse, rough. “Thinking about me fucking other woman like I fuck you? Making them scream—making them cum as hard as I’m about to make you?”
You can see the twist in Yeji’s face, how her pupils dilate as your words sink in. There’s a war playing out on her face, jealousy and desire, the mere thought of you fucking other woman making her pussy spasm around you. “Oh, fuck you! You would ruin them, honey, they wouldn’t be able to take you. Or is that what you want to hear? Some cute bitch screaming: ‘oh baby, oh please, oh daddy, I can’t take it—I can’t take this big fucking cock!’”
There’s truth in the mockery, and there’s a dark thrill in Yeji’s jealousy. But now’s not the time for anything (or anyone) else but her—you’re too close, too far gone, your cock throbbing with the need to spill into her.
“Only I can take it, it’s mine, mine, mine.” She’s soaking you, so needy, so deep, so fucking filthy as she whines over your cock. “You better keep fucking me—only me—or I will make your life hell.”
“Show me then,” you challenge her, and you can see something flash across her eyes—something primal, something rough.
“I’m yours,” she declares again, riding you in a way that can only be described as pure art, her whole body moving in perfect harmony with a singular goal—to be absolutely wrecked by your cock. “All yours, nobody else’s. And you’re mine.”
It takes one hard pump into her tight, sweaty body and she’s falling into you, her body pressed on top of you, her forehead pressed against yours. It’s electric, the connection between your bodies, a jolt of pleasure surging through your cock and her cunt until all that matters is the feel of her fucking you like her life depends on it.
It’s love at every thrust, every gasp and moan. Nothing but Yeji on top of you, her soft skin pressed against you, her heartbeat racing against yours, her wetness coating your cock like a silk glove. Not just pleasure, you’re claiming each other—she’s whispering it in your ear, whispering your name like a promise, a declaration of war against anyone who would dare to come between you.
“Fuuuck.” Yeji bites down on your shoulder, digs her nails in your skin, squeezes her pussy around you like a vice. “I’m gonna do it again,” she mewls, “this cock—your beautiful cock—is gonna make me cum all over again.”
She’s chasing that precious feeling, desperate for it, her hips moving in erratic circles, determined to bring you with her. You can feel it too, the beginnings rising from the base of your cock, the tension in your balls. You want to hold on, to make this last, but at this point it’s like trying to hold back a tidal wave.
“Give—fuck—give me more!” Yeji’s eyes are squeezed shut; her mouth open in a silent scream as she grinds down on you, her body trembling with the effort to keep her balance. You can see the tension in every line of her body, how her abs clench, her toes curl. It's like watching a live wire, and you're the one holding the current. "Nobody can fuck me like you do—fuck—nobody can take you like I can!"
You wrap your arm around her shoulder, holding her tight, wrenching control from her, making her prove her words with every forceful thrust. You’re going to be in pain later, but fuck all that—Yeji’s so wet, so tight, so fucking hot—she’s a force of nature, and you’re just the lucky fuck that gets to be in the eye of the storm.
“You’re going to cum in me, now, okay? I’m going to cum so fucking hard and then you’re going to cum right inside me.” Yeji’s completely given herself over to you, letting you fuck her, use her, she’s all yours anyway. “Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck!”
And then she’s there, her cunt gripping you like a fist, her walls pulsing and quivering around you. Yeji’s eyes fly open, her gaze locks onto yours, and she’s cumming hard.
Her orgasm rips through her body, she’s choking your cock with pussy, muscles tightening and release in a painful rhythm, and all she can do is shake and cry out every filthy word she knows, every sweet noise she can make as she spills and creams and comes apart on top of you.
“It’s too much,” Yeji’s barely holding on, panting incessantly, “too-fucking-much—too-fucking-much!”
The way she looks, the way she fucks, the way she cums—it’s a thing of beauty, an absolute fucking honour to witness—every twitch, every shiver, every gasp that falls from her swollen lips. Her nails pierce your skin, her teeth threaten to draw blood, her eyes wide and wild as her climax crashes over her.
“Please-please-fucking-please!”
But she doesn’t stop. If anything, she’s becoming more insistent, more urgent, fucking back against you again, her hips moving in a blur, taking you like a woman possessed. She’s pleading for you, pleading for you to give in, to let go, to follow her into bliss. Yeji’s a woman on a mission—to make you feel her, to make you fill her and you realise that maybe this isn’t just about jealousy anymore—it’s about making you know in every fibre of your being that your cum belongs in her cunt and her cunt only.
"Give it to me," Yeji demands, “I need you to—please—fuck—cum in me!”
Every word’s a trigger, sending you spiralling over the edge. It’s been building for an eternity now, an unbearable pressure needing to find a home in Yeji’s scorching, sopping wet pussy.
“Kiss me—I need you to—need to taste—fuck—please—kiss me now!”
There’s nothing left to do but obey, bringing your hand to the back of her neck and pulling her down into a fierce, bruising kiss. Your mouths crash together, your tongues dance and entangle, your teeth clash, and all the while Yeji’s clenching around you, cunt contracting in an effort to keep you still, keep you together.
“Fill me.”
A final, triumphant spear into her and your gone—releasing, spurting your cum deep inside her—so hard, so hot, so intense, emptying everything, all of you, every last drop into her greedy pussy.
“Yesssssss—this—this is what I needed.” Yeji hums a satisfied note into your collarbone, so full, so complete, so content. She’s still slowly rocking her hips back and forth, still pulsing around you, milking you dry. “I feel so…full.”
She dissolves into a puddle in your arms, nuzzling her head into the crook of your neck. Your hand finds its way to her back, tracing gentle circles, rubbing away the tension that’s been built up, the strain she’s put her body through.
She’s warm, she's so alive, and you can feel her heart beating against your chest, a stilted, hurried rhythm that's gradually slowing down. You kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her neck, anywhere you can reach without having to strain yourself. It’s a gentle reassurance, making sure that for all the fucking and the filthiness, she knows that no matter what happens, you’re there to make sure she’s okay.
Yeji whispers an “I love you,” her words like a balm to your soul. “I really, really, fucking love you, you know?”
“I know, Yeji,” you say, low enough for only her to hear. “I really, really, fucking love you too.”
There’s still the embers of your shared climax resonating through your bodies, the come down from an epic high that’s left the two of you a tangled mess of limbs and hospital sheets. You both lay there, Yeji’s pussy still spasming around your cock, your cum and her juices dribbling down and pooling between your bodies.
“I was really worried about you.” Yeji whispers, vulnerable. The admission hangs in the air above you, a stark reminder of the fear and insecurity that’s been simmering just beneath the surface. “When they called me, I thought—I—I fucking hated that feeling.”
“I’m sorry,” you say. It’s all there is left to say.
“And I am really pissed about these nurses,” Yeji adds with a deadly seriousness, that only makes you smile. “I’m moving you to another hospital as soon as I can.”
“We just might have to after this,” you murmur, stroking her hair as you catch your breath. “No way they didn’t hear any of that.”
“Good.” Yeji declares, a little too intensely, too smugly.
You look down at her and can’t help but chuckle. “Well aren’t you all happy and copacetic now?”
Yeji looks back at you, pauses, and then grins. “Copa-what-tic?”
You can only roll your eyes. “Copacetic.”
“Wow,” Yeji starts, her voice back up an octave, laced with sickly sweetness. “Such a big, complicated word. You’re so smart.”
“Uh huh.”
“And these muscles too! Look at you all pumped and sweaty. Have you been working out?” Yeji teases, her cheeks still flushed a bright pink shade. She reaches down to give your bicep a gentle squeeze, mouthing an exaggerated ‘wow’ in amazement of its size.
“I did just finish a pretty intense workout. Might’ve even got another concussion from having my brains fucked out.”
“In that case, as your nurse it’s my responsibility to get you good and clean.” Yeji’s kissing you again, soft and slow. “Come on now, let me give you a good, nice scrub.”
“Is this going to be a reciprocal thing, you wash my back, I wash yours?”
“Why don’t you come with me and find out?” Yeji slides off your cock, peeling herself off your sticky body, and lifts herself up and off the bed.
You watch as she stretches, her body a glorious mess of grace and sweat and cum, and for a moment you’re just in awe of her. She’s glowing, and she’s not even trying.
“Aren’t you going to join me?” Yeji winks, already sauntering away from you and towards the bathroom, her hips swaying, her ass calling for you with each perfect bounce. “It’s time for some serious physical therapy. Nurse’s orders.”
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𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐏 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐎𝐖
🏐— tsukishima kei x f!reader
— synopsis: he hates your intelligence in classrooms and you hate his cunnigness at the court. both go at great lengths to defeat each other, but how is it that both of you were the only ones that can help each other be better?
— warnings: swearing, a bit suggestive, enemies to lovers (although kind of enemies)
You slam your paper on his desk.
Tsukishima barely flinches. He removes his headphones and hangs them on his neck, unbothered by your looming presence as he stares blankly at your paper. 96
The corners of his lips tug down, seemingly unimpressed. "Eh."
"Eh? Aw, is little Tsukishima disappointed at himself?"
He looks up at you, stares deeply into your eyes. And for a moment you'd think his domineering gaze would soften as he was overawed by you. But then he smiles, that annoying little shitty, narcissistic smile.
"Actually, not at all (l/n)," his smile is bright, almost genuine, but his sarcasm is radiating. "I got a 98. Not bad, though!"
You swear steam was coming off your body.
"96 at modern Japanese." He says. "Understandable."
"Understandable?!"
"Don't beat yourself up, (l/n). Not everyone's perfect," he leans back. "Not even me. I mean, I'm just being humble. But yeah, not everyone."
"I hate you," you take your paper off his desk.
"Flattered. Really, really flattered. Thank you for hating me, actually. I feel so honored to be hated." He puts his headphones back on and places his elbows on his desk, his chin resting on his joint fists. Tsukishima smiles at you again.
God, his smile is infuriating.
Tsukishima was someone you'd go to great lengths to defeat. He never bothered for your existence when first year began. He didn't even know your name; Didn't even look at your direction. He'd only known it a month later when you were paired to be partners and he decided to be such a condescending brat when he pointed out your handwriting.
At first you ignored it, took it by heart and started organizing your writings on your notes. Then he decided to put all his self-hatred on you and started to discreetly judge you.
Maybe he wasn't even judging you. Maybe he was just staring at your paper, scoffed to himself, shook his head and laughed because you got a better score than him and he was berating himself. But no, he laughed because he thought you were a tryhard and he was a prodigy.
Obviously none of those were confirmed. But he's a man and a man hates it when a woman's happy.
When he smirks you have the urge to rip his lips to pieces.
You walk away from him and sit on your desk, which was actually beside him.
His scent follows your flaring nostrils as you carefully shove your paper between the notebooks in your bag. Tsukishima looks out the window, hiding his smirk, his foot tapping lightly but never making sound. So you put your own headphones over your ears, in hopes to drown out his deafening aura.
🏐 —
"Shit!"
Tsukishima's knees bends the wrong way and almost falls onto his back as he lands on the ground. The ball echoes across the court as it ricochets off the floor. You laugh loudly, and everyone looks at you.
"You're too advanced for the block, idiot!" You say loudly. Yamaguchi giggles.
He rolls his eyes at you as he chases for the ball. Kageyama sits beside you.
"You know he plays horribly when you're here."
"Oh?" You raise a brow. "Is he not used to a girl looking at her?"
Kageyama scratches his nose. "Probably 'cause he hates you."
You laugh lightly. "Kinda nice that I'm here. I get to see him fuck up."
Kageyama snorts. "He feels pressured 'cuz you're here."
"Oh? He said that?"
"No. But I can hear him think."
You laugh and wipe your sweat off. "I'd play with you guys, but his remarks could piss me off and I might, uh, shove that ball up his ass."
When Kageyama laughs again, quite loudly, Tsukishima's head snaps at the bench where you're sitting. Heat rises to his head, his stance losing its usual strength, his arms weakening as he watches you—
Laughing, at some joke you said or Tobio said. Laughing heartily like someone just made the best joke in the world. The way your lips almost reach the wrinkles beneath your eyes. Oh, that's so funny Tobio. You're so funny you should quit volleyball and be a stand up comedian!
He knows you're talking shit about him, too. Idiot. Brat. Showoff.
He had the right to show off. He was better than you.
He was the better thinker; the better scorer.
Tsukishima is better than you.
I'm better than you—
The ball hits the side of his face, his glasses flailing to the side.
The first thing that reaches his ears—your sickening laugh. That monstrous, sadistic guffaw. Tanaka yells from the other side of the court and dives beneath the net to take a look at his face. Nishinoya hovers, hands on his knees, laughing.
"Pay attention, dumbass!" You cuff your hands over your mouth. "Stop daydreaming! It's embarrassing."
He bends to pick his glasses up. Alive, no cracks, frame not broken. He puts it on the bridge of his nose so that he could see your face clearly.
Hideously alluring.
"Do you think of scheming as daydreaming, (l/n)?" his voice, full of disdain, though hidden through feigned sweetness. "Like a child as always. Go back to middle school?"
"Do better at volleyball?"
"I ought to kick the both of you out this court," Daichi says loudly. "Oh wait I can't speak to (l/n) like that. S-sorry!"
Tsukishima sneers, his lips frowning. He approaches the rolling ball, watching as it hits the wall and propells back towards his awaiting feet. When he picks it up, he steals another glance at you talking to Kageyama.
The King and the Brat. The most annoying combination in the entirety of Karasuno campus.
Somehow, seeing you next to Kageyama and being given the nickname as if the two of you were a pair sends a tight rope around his chest that causes it to ache a little. Tsukishima huffs it out, an unsettling in his bones.
Please don't look at me.
The ball flies into the air, and his palm raises just in time to make contact with the ball.
He sees you watch from the corner of his eye, a blurried silhouette, but your figure was familiar enough for him to recognize you. His heart beats a little louder.
🏐 —
No.
Shit. Fuck. No
God damnit. 74.
Tsukishima stares at his paper in horror. In his entire life, he has always gotten two digits on his scores. However, they had always been ninety onwards. Never in the line of sevens. He doesn't know if his horror is displayed across his face. He prays it doesn't—he would die if you saw his expression.
He leans sideways to the right, his eye darting towards the side to peak at your paper.
98.
The english language was something that was easy to learn but never easy in exams. This—despite boasting that english was the easiest subject—was his weakness.
You're too preoccupied to notice his existence. Good.
He turns around to look at the green haired boy.
"Yamaguchi." He whisper-yelled. "Tadashi."
Yamaguchi looks up. "Yes?"
This was it. Years of built up pride, intelligence, boosted ego— down the drain. As soon as he'd ask him the question, it would forever alter the image of himself towards his friend. Tsukishima was no longer the brainy four-eyes of the Karasuno Volleyball Club.
He would now be Tsukishima, the idiot four-eyes.
Maybe I'm overreacting.
He stands up and sits beside the empty chair next to Yamaguchi.
"How- What's your score?"
Yamaguchi looks puzzled as he glances at his paper. "E-eighty eight."
God, this is depressing.
"Um," Tsukishima scratches the back of his neck. "Could you help me with English?"
There it is. His face says it all.
"Don't you even—"
"You, Tsukishima Kei, asking for my help?" He laughs incredulously. "Are you sure? What's your score?"
"Don't want to talk about it."
"Aw, c'mon Tsukki." He pouts playfully like comforting a weeping baby. "I'm sure it's not that bad."
Tsukishima tells him in a low voice. He never thought he could hate Yamaguchi's laugh. But he did, right after he laughed at his score. It wasn't even a failing grade.
"You know who should tutor you though?" He puts his paper in his bag. "(l/n). She's good, y'know. I heard her speak english once. I thought she was from, uh, some foreign country or something."
"She's not even that good." Tsukishima takes off his glasses and wipes it with the corner of his uniform. "She's good with memory but she forgets it right after the quiz like a ditz."
Yamaguchi snorts. "She's the one who got the best score out of all of us."
"Yeah, no thanks. I'd never let her teach me."
"I think you're forgetting I'm right here in front of you." You turn around, placing your elbow and forearm on the back of your chair and look at Tsukishima. "I can teach you."
Tsukishima scoffs. "No thanks. I'd rather repeat freshman year."
"Are you sure?" you pout, placing your chin on the back of your hand. "I can teach you, little Tsukishima."
"I'm not little."
"Yeah but your brain is."
"Yamaguchi, help me out here."
He can't ask for your help. Never ever. Never will he ever ask for your help. Tsukishima can study this himself. He's always studied by himself. He's never needed anyone, and certainly not you. He was independent, cunning as everyone says. Tsukishima does not need tutors.
Up until now.
"Please help Tsukishima study," Yamaguchi looks at you. "He's too prideful to ask but he really needs your help."
Tsukishima stammers. "T-that's not what I meant!"
"Aw, is this true?" You're taunting him. He feels like a child.
"I can study by myself. Fuck off."
You smile at him. In a way that he can't read. It was soft, almost kind, like you wanted to help him wholeheartedly and wanted his english to improve. Then he looked into your eyes and all the kindness in your smile had been washed away by this pity in your eyes that you enjoyed. Tsukishima huffs.
"No need to be shy about asking for help, little Tsukki," you coo. "We'll study in the locker room while everyone else plays. You're skipping practice today."
Tsukishima zips his bag and stands up. He towers over you, covering the sun that blinds you through the glass window. He looks down at your eyes—teasing, condescending eyes. His lips are turned to a frown, which makes you smile even more.
"I'm not skipping practice."
"Too bad. You are. You know, if you let me help you, you'd stop having that distraught face everytime you get your english paper." You take a step closer, neck bent backwards to look up at him. "Yeah, I saw your face."
Yamaguchi nudges his arm. "C'mon, Kei. Ask for her help. You know you need it. Don't be so prideful."
Tsukishima growls. He doesn't say anything yet, all the confidence in him washed away by a score that wasn't even a failing grade. His palm rubs the space between his eyebrows and mumbles:
"Help me."
You lean in, ear towards him. "Couldn't hear that. Sorry?"
"Help me study."
"Are you commanding me or asking?"
"Please help me study."
"Don't mumble, Tsukishima."
"Damn it!" He groans. "Please help me, dearest (l/n)." His voice drips in sarcasm, peering at you through his scratched lenses. "Help me get a better grade at english. Help me stop myself from strangling you! Idiot!"
You lean back, the bottom of your spine resting on your table as your left hand props you up. Tsukishima is almost seething, his eyes widened a little as his anger seethes through his nostrils. You hum, pretend to think, then slap his right cheek twice lightly.
"How kind of you to ask, little Tsukki." You wrinkle your nose at him, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "See you at the locker room."
When you leave, his head turns to Yamaguchi who smiles innocently. Tsukishima almost strangles him instead.
🏐—
The boys are thirty minutes late to practice. Including Daichi.
"It's the sequence of the words, Tsukishima," you point your pen at his test paper. "The spelling's no problem. You're good at it. It's just with how you've formed them together."
They all sit behind the two of you, watching silently. Tsukishima is red from embarrassment as he ignores them.
"What's so wrong about this sequence? It sounds correct."
"Just because it sounds correct doesn't mean that it is correct."
Hinata snorts. Tsukishima's head snaps at it. "Don't snort, dumbass. Last time I checked you got a twenty at your exam."
"You hit a nerve there, Shoyo," Kageyama giggles.
You sigh and slap your hands at your thighs. "Sawamura-san, why are you guys even here?"
He stammers, his back straightening as he fixes his bag on his left shoulder. "Jus–Just wanted to make sure you two will be fine. Let's go guys."
When they leave, Tsukishima relaxes in relief. He stares intensely at his notebook, figuring out the correct answer. You try not to laugh at him, but the sight was entertaining; seeing him suffer brought your heart at ease.
"Figured it out, moron?" You bring your own notebook out, flipping it to the last page you'd written on. "It's really not that hard."
"Shut up, (l/n.)" he says. You make a small sound, similar to "okay!" As you begin to write down on a blank page.
And you're like that for a few hours.
Tsukishima answers the questions you've written for him, and when he asks you for help, you cordially help him without telling him the answers. Then you both go back to formidable silence, doing your own perspective works.
He almost enjoys this newfound environment created with you. Somehow, his body is more tranquil, but at the same time his mind is racing, because you're here. Tutoring him. Tsukishima has always believed that he was one step ahead of you, making sure you were unable to catch up with him. But now he's slipped from that step and you've caught up and you're deriding him.
Nonetheless, you're his only hope right now.
He looks at you.
Your hair is tucked behind your ears and your teeth are currently creating dents at the eraser of your pencil. You're concentrating, seeming like you've forgotten that he's sitting in front of you. And Tsukishima's eyes are extremely blurred, but when he looks at you through the gap between his glasses and forehead, your face was somehow clearer.
"Are you a dog?" he raises a brow. "Don't chew on your pencil."
You huff like you're being scold and place your pencil down. But the chewing didn't last a second as your bottom lip is now tucked between your teeth. Tsukishima rolls his eyes.
"Here," he flips his paper and shows it to you. "Did I do it correctly?"
You take the paper from him and read it. He hopes you're at least slightly impressed, that you're not arbitrating his answers nor think they're half-assed. When your red pen moves into a slant, the corner of his lip twitches upwards. But when you circle the number, he has this urge to shove that pen into your eye.
"Hm, not bad. But not enough." you flip the paper.
70.
Four points less.
"Damn it." You can tell he's disappointed at himself. "You suck at teaching."
"Excuse me?!" Your eyebrows furrow. "Hey, I've spent the past four hours teaching you here, stickhead. The sun's almost down!"
"Do you have to go home already?" He asks. You shrug. "Then we can stay here until they're done with practice."
"Tsukishima, I have freshly cooked doburi waiting for me at home. Do you know what donburi is? Do you know what it tastes like while it's still hot? Fucking donburi, Tsukishima." You whine. "Would you like to study at my place instead?"
You seem to not have processed what you've offered, but Tsukishima has. He's surprised at your comment, watching you look so desperate to get home and eat that "fucking donburi." He waits for a moment until you realize and you do, but it seemed like you didn't care when you lean back and raise a brow.
"Well?"
"Sure."
His quick, almost unhesitant compliance surprises you. Tsukishima adjusts his glasses and brings his headphones out as you both head out the door. You lock it behind you, with Tsukishima already walking ahead.
You pass by the gym. "Sawamura, everyone, we're heading out!"
Tsukishima appears beside you. "We're going."
"To where?" Yamaguchi approaches you both. "Are you going to eat out? Ooh, can you bring food back here?"
"We're going to her place to study." He answers. "We can't come back."
The others seem to hear what he said, because Hinata yells: "What kind of studying are you going to do, Stingyshima?"
"Something that your tiny shit-for-brains can't comprehend." He retorts. "Focus on your receives, squirt!"
You wave to everyone and catch a glimpse of Yamaguchi's smile. You roll your eyes at him and poke your tongue out.
🏐 —
The way home was quieter than you expected.
Mainly because Tsukishima had his headphones on and all you hear was your un synchronous footsteps on the stoned sidewalk. You take small looks at your peripherals to see what he's doing. And, well, he's walking... like every other normal person.
But you're walking side by side and there's this space between you that's so close but also so far away. You feel his heat touching the fabric of your shirt, his hand twitching and just barely grazing yours. Then he speaks:
"You walk like a penguin," he says. "Why are you like that?"
"Why are you so annoying?" you roll your eyes. "I don't point out how you walk."
"That's because there's nothing wrong with my walk," he puts his headphones down, hangs them around his neck. "What? Got a stick up your ass or something?"
"I'll stab you with that stick."
"Gross."
You turn a corner and he follows suit like it was normal for him to follow you around. When you stop in front of your gate and unlock it, he bore no unhestiance as he removed his shoes and entered your home.
There was no one else around. And as soon as Tsukishima entered, you disappeared in his vision. Although, he hears you yell from afar: "Set your bag wherever. Stay in the living room though!"
He assumes you're either changing your clothes, getting a bowl of donburi, or both. He obeys, sets his bag on the floor and sits cross legged on the carpet of your living room, taking his notes out. He sees the sun inching away behind the roofs of the houses near by, waiting for you patiently.
And then his eyes roam to picture frames.
Never would he think that a picture of you smiling would be so endearing. That smile of yours, painting you an angelic aura, like people would never expect that you'd be the devil's descendant. Nonetheless, you were still beautiful.
The picture was you in a ponytail, face doused in sweat; the background, although blurry and dark, looked familiar. But Tsukishima was more focused on your gleaming smile, the way your eyes are almost closed and your lips were pale and your teeth were shiny.
"Hey, douchebag," you sit beside him despite the free space on the opposite of the coffee table, setting down two bowls of donburi. And yes, you had changed your clothes into something comfier. "Let's eat and study."
He never expected that you'd get him a bowl, thought that he'd have to ask or drop hints of him wanting donburi. He takes it though, and it is freshly cooked. He now understood your eagerness to go home.
An hour passes by.
The bowls are empty and set aside. Tsukishima's notes are scattered, hair disheveled from him constantly running his fingers through them. That string of hatred between you has been put aside as you both seem to tolerate one another through this session.
"Tsukishima," you say, almost sternly, placing two cartons of strawberry milk on the table. "It's easy to determine an adverb in Japanese. It's no different in identifying it in English."
"I know that, dumbass. What are you, a consciousness?" He takes his box, taking the plastic off the straw and shoving it on the circular foil. "Gimme yours."
He takes your carton and shakes it before doing the same and handing it to you. You blush vehemently, murmuring your gratitude and wrapping your lips around the paper straw.
Tsukishima's eyes wander out of boredom, tracing every corner and every ridge of your home. Until his eyes land on the sliding door to your backyard and catch a glimpse of that familiar blue and yellow ball.
"You play volleyball?" he queries, both his eyebrows raising.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Back in middle school."
"Bet you were shit at it."
"I was a middle blocker."
Tsukishima's back straightens, staring at you in hidden surprise. "At that height?"
"I'm not that short! Asshole," you throw your pen at him. He catches it with ease, setting it beside his notebook.
"Why aren't you in the women's volleyball club, then?" his brow raises. "Too short? They didn't take you? Failed the tryouts?"
You look down at your fingers, covered in peeled up skin and charred fingernails. You feel embarrassed, avoiding his eager stare. You sense his want to know your reason, radiating off his eyes.
"Not saying," you push yourself up, now standing in front of him. Tsukishima's eyes follow you, trailing uo from your thighs up to your neck, his irises darkening until he meets your gaze. "Get up. Time to go home."
"Let's play."
You stammer. "W-what? It's late."
"And I want to see you play." Tsukishima stands, hovering over you. "It's only nine in the evening."
You purse your lips, arms going limp on either side of your tired body. Though despite being worn out, you walk towards the door and slide it open, being greeted by Miyagi's brumal air that raises the hairs on your body. Tsukishima tugs on the sleeves of his sweater, covering half of his fingers, before following you out.
Barefoot in the evening, with the moon casting a pearlescent glow on your enervated bodies, the thump of the leather ball is in sync with your beating heart; and at each thump, it seems to wake Tsukishima up more.
"Tell me why you're not in the women's volleyball club," he sets it towards your direction.
"No." Your wrists join, your right fingers placing themselves on top of your left fingers, both thumbs settled side by side as your wrist ricochet the ball towards him. "It's none of your business."
Tsukishima catches it with ease. "You're lame."
You scoff, returning the ball. "I am not."
The blue and yellow ball floats into the evening air, the bright colors darkened by the stygian sky, only luminated by the moon and the lights outside your backyard. Tsukishima sets it to you again. "Listen, I don't really care about whatever your reason is. I just want to know."
You huff. There's no harm in telling your enemy a secret of yours, right? It's not like he was popular enough to go on and tell people. And like he said, he didn't care.
The ball comes in contact with your wrists. "I got injured. Well, not seriously injured. I can still play but I'm not as good as I used to be." Tsukishima catches the ball and rests it on his hip, listening to you explain. "I actually got a surgery at my calf."
You lift your pajamas just below your knee, showing the healed scar at the back of your calf. "The bone got dislocated 'cause one of my teammates smashed onto my leg when she was trying to save the ball. She got injured too, actually."
"Obviously," he retorts, now staring at your calf. Something about Tsukishima staring at your scar seemed too intimate as it should be, staring at your bare skin. His blonde hair drapes over his forehead, glasses glinting in the moonlight. "So where do you struggle?"
"Blocking. I can't jump properly." You scratch the back of your neck. "I can set though. Just, it's not in my heart."
"It's just a club," he says. "Play whatever position you want." Tsukishima sets the ball to you again.
"Just a club, huh?" You smirk. "Why'd you fail your test?"
"Because I was thinking too much of what I was gonna do when I'm at court again."
"And it's just a club."
"What's it to you?" He snaps. "At least I'm in the Volleyball club. Have I taken your dream?"
"You're a child."
"Yeah yeah. Join the club or whatever. Don't care if you don't or you want to."
You set it back to him again. "I want to."
Tsukishima senses your melancholy longing for the sport, sees your disheartened look as you think about all the chances you've lost. His heart twinges just the slightest, holding the ball between his slender hands. He almost pities you.
"Tell you what," he sets it to you. "If I pass the retest tomorrow, I'll help you with your blocking. If not," he shrugs, catching your return, "good luck with your life."
"You sound like this is a once in a lifetime opportunity." You roll your eyes.
Tsukishima hopes he passes the retest tomorrow.
Mainly because it was import to him to ace it. Partly because he wanted to see you on court.
🏐 —
100.
You read Tsukishima's answers. In the fluorescent lights, his neat handwriting presents to you all the knowledge he's obtained from your chaotic teachings. He scoffs proudly, resting his lower back on the edge of his table.
"Not bad, nerd." You hand his paper to him. "And you beat me by two points."
"That's because you're an idiot," he sits down on his chair, though still facing you. "See you at the gym later."
Your brows furrow. "The gym's closed. Coach Ukai said today's rest day."
"But I'm not Coach Ukai," he fixes his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "It's just for today. And only today."
"Fine," you agree. You act like you're forced to say yes, but deep inside the vessels of your heart and every part of your brain, they throb with excitement.
So you meet Tsukishima outside the gym after class in a white shirt and gym shorts. He meets you there, clad in the same outfit, heat radiating off his body that warms your always cold flesh. For a moment he admires observes you, your attire unfamiliar but nevertheless appealing hideous.
When you enter, the court seemed bigger without the boys rousing around the court. It was quieter, no shoes squeaking, no balls slammed, no eager yelling. You set your bag down on the floor and see your untied shoe laces.
"Fuck," you mutter.
But before you could bend down, Tsukishima has already knelt in front of you.
His knee rests on the tip of your shoe, fingers ribboning the laces of your rubber shoes. Your eyes widen, body stiffening, and it felt like forever as he tied it (it was actually only 10 seconds).
"You're a dumbass for leaving your shoelaces untied." He makes no comment as to why he's decided to tie your laces, but you swear you see his ears turn a twinge of pink.
Tsukishima takes a ball and goes to the other side of the court. When you stand opposite from him, he rolls the ball to your direction.
"How long has it been since you've played?" he asks, loudly, voice echoing across the empty gymnasium.
"Uh, a year and a half." The ball bounces between your palm and the squeaky floor. "I'm a little rusty."
"You are rusty. Your receives were shit last night."
You growl at his tease.
"We're not gonna start with the blockings. We have to start from the beginning." Tsukishima positions himself, knees bent and apart, his hands on his knees. "Serve it."
So you do. You toss the ball into the air, your hand striking as it meets the ball, and it flies across the net. It goes outside.
"Idiot." Tsukishima laughs. "First, don't try to aim it to me. You don't want your opponents to save it. You have to aim it at an open spot inside the line. Second, don't serve too hard it goes outside."
"Okay!" You yell. And you serve again.
The ball grazes the net, but the momentum deems the ball to be inside the line. Tsukishima catches it and receives it back to your side.
Shit.
You race after the ball, joined wrists hitting it back to him. He dives, the back of his hand coming contact with the ball and it goes back to your court.
And it's high in the air, so you take the chance to bend your knees and jump, spiking it to his court.
Tsukishima blocks it.
He laughs. "You're horrible at this."
"I don't exactly have a libero to save it, don't I?" You retort.
Tsukishima smiles a little, laughing at your loss point. "Give me the ball." You roll it to his side. "I want you to try and block me."
"The net is higher than it is for girls, you know." You approach the net. "I'll have a hard time."
"The higher you jump, the better you can block the ball. And you'll even have an advantage against your enemies since you're practicing with a higher net, (y/n)." He dribbles the ball.
Tsukishima called you by your first name.
Not your surname, not some insulting nickname. Your first name.
Your knees weaken at the sound of his voice dropping the phonemes of your name.
But when he flings the ball upwards, you feel your body go rigid. And just before his incoming ball passes through the net, you jump, fingers stopping the ball.
But the ball doesn't go to his side, instead it falls down below the net, at your side. You land clumsily on your feet, ankle bending but not painfully.
"See, you got it. You just have to jump higher."
"Shut up, you stilt walking clown." Your leg throbs, shaking. "Hit it again."
"See this?" Tsukishima brings his hands in the air, his arms and hands bent inward. "You block like this. Don't straighten your arms. It sets the ball upwards and they get the point since you're last touch. Block me again."
You kick the ball to his direction. Tsukishima springs the ball into the air once more, his arm flinging back when he jumps and strikes the ball towards you.
Filled with adrenaline, you jump as high as you could, your chest as high as the edge of the net, arms and hands bent inward as you block the ball and ricochet it towards him.
He doesn't do anything and watches the ball roll outside the court. Tsukishima's eyes shoot up and look at you, the corner of his lips bent downwards in amusement.
"Not bad. Try harder though."
You snarl at him.
Hours pass and you're both drenched in sweat. His shirt sticks to his chest, his hair damp across his forehead. He's wiping his face with a towel and his glasses rest on top of his hair. You drink from your water bottle.
The sweat drips down the tip of his nose, golden eyes drowsy yet vigorous with adrenaline. His lips are parted to pant out tired breaths, his adam's apple bobbing, the veins of his arms protruding. And he's sitting at the same bench as yours.
You swallow the liquid in your mouth.
"One day of practice isn't enough to get me into the club, Tsukishima." you say, wiping your mouth. "Thanks for teaching me though."
Tsukishima sets his towel down. "It's whatever. Your receives are go-fine, anyway. And you're really not that tall enough to block. You're hopeless."
"I wish Hinata was here to say that so he could yell at you."
Hinata. Tsukishima feels something uncomfortable rise to his chest when you mention his name.
And it seems as though you have summoned that tiny tangerine devil.
"Oh, Kageyama! The lights are open, someone must be here," your head turns and see that Hinata's hair pokes out the door before his head fully goes in. His eyes roam around until they find you. "Oh! (y/l/n)-san!"
"Hinata," you smile kindly. "Why are you guys still here? There's no training today."
"Tanaka-san said we can train for as much as we want as long as we don't tell Sawamura." he hops inside, Kageyama following suit behind him, unzipping his jacket. "What are you doing here, Stingyshima?"
"None of your business." He replies, irritation dripping off his sharp tongue from the nickname. "What do you think we were doing? Playing kendama?"
"I wouldn't mind playing kendama," Hinata looks at Kageyama, who shrugs. "Can we join?"
"Hopeless child," Tsukishima rubs his face with his towel again. "It's getting late. We should go home."
His usage of plural rather than sigular denotes that his usual selfishness has been decreased due to your unwavering presence, having been spent multiple hours with you for the past two days than usual. Tsukishima has easily adapted to include you in whatever he was going to do next.
We should go home.
"Aw, well, can you leave us the keys?" Hinata asks you. Tsukishima shoves the keys in the small boy's hand. "Thank you, Stingyshima!"
Tsukishima slings his bag over his shoulder, approaching the exit. He looks at Kageyama. "Fix your sets, your Majesty. You wouldn't want to clip the wings of Karasuno now, would you?"
You can see the smirk formed in his face. Kageyama is fuming, his fists clenching. "You– I...– You piece of shi– Hnmgh– You dumbass! Hinata!"
"Why me?!"
Tsukishima walks away without waiting for you, although you follow suit behind him. And when you reach the school gates, he turns right rather than left—and his way home begins with him turning left.
Yours was to the right.
"You gonna walk me home?" You joke, finally catching up behind him. Your weary legs has made you walk slower, though enough to now keep up with Tsukishima's tired pace.
"Yes."
Tsukishima doesn't spare a glance at you. But you look at him in shock. Then you shoot him an upsidedown smile, humming.
"No longer Stingyshima, I see."
"I ought to leave you here and get kidnapped." He states bluntly, finally looking down at you through his peripherals.
"Why are you walking me home then?"
"Because I want to take a long walk."
"Yeah sure, whatever." Your hands meet behind you, hitting the top of your bottom at every step you take. "You wanted to take a long walk. Could've gone to the park, could've roamed around your street. But yeah, you're walking me home so you could have a long walk back to your home."
Tsukishima tuts, his arms crossing. "Are you implying something, (y/n)?"
Your first name. Again.
"Oh, I'm not implying anything!" Your eyebrows raise, looking fully at him. And Tsukishima turns his head and looks at you as he walks. "I'm just stating what I've observed, Tsukki."
"Don't call me that."
"Okay!" You turn to your gate. When you reach inside the small box and pull on the lever of your door, you sense that Tsukishima is still standing behind you wth his hands in his pockets, watching you intently. So you turn around when the gate unlocks. "Yes? Do you need to use my bathroom first? Want a carton of milk or something?"
"No." He says. "Get in already."
You rest your back at your gate. "Tell me the real reason why you walked me home."
"No."
"So you lied to me earlier?"
"N-no."
"So what is it?"
Tsukishima sighs. Then he takes a few steps, approaching you and bends down so that his face would be equal to yours.
His scent is sweet, like freshly picked strawberries. And his lips, though thin, was soft and pink. And the tip of his nose grazes just above yours. And his golden eyes narrow to gaze at every speck of your irises. The corner of his lip turns upwards.
"That shut you up." He says. You blush, and he seems to taunt you. "Still want to play volleyball?"
His breath is hot fanning over your cold face. You can't help but nod. You swallow thickly from the close proximity that Tsukishima has created.
"Okay. Well, I still need help with english. And you obviously still need help with volleyball. So you reap what you sow. We'll help each other."
Tsukishima says those words like they're a command. Like they're being read from sacred scriptures. An event waiting to be happened for a prophecy to be fulfilled. Tsukishima's tone was flat but his voice deemed importance.
"Okay," was all you managed to let out through a breath. "See you tomorrow?"
Tsukishima stands up, eyes you up and down. Then looks into your eyes again and you swear that his gaze softens.
"See you tomorrow."
🏐—
A few weeks pass by.
At mornings, Tsukishima has come to pick you up and you studied on the way to Karasuno. You spend your lunches together, along with Yamaguchi, as well as Hinata and Kageyama who—while also bickering like children—listen to whatever you teach Tsukishima.
After classes, you find yourself joining the boys at the volleyball club, with Tsukishima helping you practice your blocks and receives. Though you notice that the boys take their strengths down a notch, which you are somewhat grateful for — because they truly are strong, and you're not ready to catch up to their level yet.
And at nights, Tsukishima walks you home with a milk carton in hand and sharp remarks in his mouth.
There's still a thick smoke of hatred that covers the both of you, that string of annoyance wrapped around your fingers. Yet as days pass by, that smoke has been thinning at every civil interaction. Albeit that annoyance still lingered.
And until today, that smoke has turned into this very light fog, until you begin to question why you hated Tsukishima in the first place.
Your phone vibrates.
tsukishima. Where are you? 8:32am
you. almost there. forgot my bag at home. 8:33am
tsukishima. Hurry up. It's cold outside. 8:33am
you. will do. sorry :| Read at 8:34am
Tsukishima is standing outside the gates of Karasuno, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed as you quickened the pace of your walk.
"You're so slow it's annoying," his eyebrows furrow. "Why'd you forget your bag? Idiot."
"You pressure me, douchebag." You flick the bridge of his glasses. He yelps. "Hurry. I want to study already. We have a quiz at 9."
When you and Tsukishima sit on your respective seats, you quiz each other with lazily scribbled flash cards. He seems to have absorbed the passed on knowledge and had answered the questions with ease.
So after the quiz, he seemed content; confident.
"How well did you think you did, beanpole?" You zip your bag.
"Well enough to beat your ass," he replies. Then, he does something new.
He smiles at you.
It wasn't a bright smile. Not energetic, but radiates some kind of light happiness. Seemed like a smile of gratitude.
You feel your cheeks flare.
After classes, you meet outside the gym as always, both of you changed into training clothes. Then you spend hours and hours jumping and tiring your wrists out, squeaking your shoes off the floor.
By the time the sun has set, Tsukishima was waiting for you again.
"Let's study."
Your eyes widen and you look startled. Tsukishima looks bored. "I'm pretty sure you got yourself covered for the rest of the year, Tsukishima."
"And I don't think you can train by yourself in volleyball," he adjusts his bag. "Let's just study. Reap what you sow."
"You keep saying that."
He ignores you. "Let's study at my place."
"E-excuse me?"
Tsukishima begins to walk to his direction. And despite your reaction, you follow him either way. "Let's study at my place for a change. I'm sick of your living room."
He says it like he's spent years hanging out in your living room. Your feet runs on the cobblestone to catch up with him. "But- What else are we gonna study?"
"Whatever I want."
His house wasn't actually that far from the campus. When you've turned a corner, he opens the gate and lets you in. When you enter his home, it's warm and clean, so you set your shoes aside and walk in your socks.
No one's home.
Tsukishima could've led you to their living room. Instead, he goes directly to his bedroom. And when you don't move, he looks at you through the door with a raised brow, as if to say "well? why aren't you getting in?"
So you do.
You sit on the edge of his bed, watching him unzip his jacket and set it aside. You decide to stop acting so wary and let you back fall to his bed, taking your phone out.
"So when are your tryouts?"
You look at him, placing your phone on your chest. "Next week. Michimiya was nice enough to let me try this late into the school year."
"I'll be there." He sits down on the other side of his bed.
"Oh," you're stunned. "Okay. Um, what do you want to study?"
You pull yourself up until your whole body is on his bed, sitting up and resting your back at his headboard. Tsukishima brings his legs to the bed, resting them beside your socked feet.
"Chemistry." This is new. "Can you run me through it?"
And you do. You take your notebook our and run him by all the lessons discussed for the past week. Tsukishima's pretends to listen but he actually doesn't.
Instead he's staring at your scar at your leg, up and down your very exposed thigh, but mostly at your scar.
You notice this immediately. "Tsukishima, why are you staring at my scar?"
"It's Kei," he looks at you, his hand resting just beside your calf, index finger twitching to trace the ridges of your scar. "Call me Kei."
Kei.
"Okay, Kei."
Your voice, filled with dulcets, his name sounding mellifluous as it rolls of your tongue. Tsukishima's heart beats wildly, and has decided to come with the terms that he hates you— because he likes you.
"Your scar looks... cool..." his index finger finally sets on the soft skin of your healed wound. You shiver at his featherlight touch.
And he's so near you now. As near as that time he walked you home and bent down to your height. And gods, he was so handsome. Even with his scratched glasses. Your mouth gapes the slightest, shaking hands reaching to remove the spectacles off his nose.
Tsukishima lets you. You see sweetness of his stare, all that hatred you used to see seemed to have melted and dripped from his sweat. This kind of Tsukishima is new– foreign, yet seemed right. Seemed destined to happen.
"Kei," you murmur. "What are you doing?"
"Is your skull too thick to process your environment?" his laugh leaves him in a huff, smirking.
"You're so eager for me to teach you something you're already good at so you could keep training me," your brows meet in the middle the slightest, a crease on your forehead that Tsukishima wants to wipe away. "Why?"
"Because you're good, (y/n)." He declares. "Your injury isn't stopping you to perform your best. You're just scared."
"Then why not just train me without me having to tutor you?"
"Because I don't want to lose these kind of moments." he whispers. "Jesus, (y/n), I like you. It's why I brought you here, for fuck's sake."
His lips are warm compared to his cold hands.
You gasp, though eyes fluttering shut, and your eyelashes tickle his soft cheeks. Your fingers wrap around his wrist as he holds your delicate face in the palm of his hands, careful not to hurt you as his lips remain planted on yours.
When Tsukishima pulls away, he's not far from you. His lips hover over yours, breathing your air, his forehead resting just slightly on yours. Your fingers come up to tangle themselves on his silky hair.
"Lose moments like what, make out with me?" you giggle. "If you wanted to make out, Kei, just tell me."
"You never shut up, do you?"
His lips meet yours again in an open mouthed kiss, his tongue unabashed to graze your shy muscle. You hum in surprise, feeling yourself fall backwards when he gently cradles your head to rest on his sweet-scented pillow.
Somehow, you did meet up with your end of the bargain, only with something better.
Something better– like his hips slanted against yours as his mouth spreads shameless ardor across your body.
Something better– like how he whispers your name against your lips like a sacred prayer before he kisses you again carefully.
Something better– like a newfound relationship with Tsukishima Kei, someone you swore was your enemy, but now was someone you could spend your days with in his bed getting warm in ways fire couldn't.
Tsukishima looks into your eyes, tells you his secrets through his dilating pupils. His calloused fingers push your hair behind your ears, and then he kisses your forehead, followed by silk petal kisses on the plump of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and then your lips.
His hands wander beneath your shirt, palms no longer cold as they're heated by the fervor of your body.
"You're so pretty."
"What a sap." you tease. "You're in love with me."
"I am." His nose rubs against yours lightly. "I so am. I'm in love with a dumbass. My ego has exploded."
You hit his face with a pillow.
reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!
#tsukishima kei x reader#haikyuu#tsukishima x reader#tsukishima fluff#kei tsukishima x reader#tsukishima haikyu#tsukishima kei#haikyu x reader#haikyu fluff#haikyuu tsukishima#kei tsukishima#tsukishima x you#tsukishima x y/n#hq tsukishima
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school spirit and all! - soccer!frat!rafe cameron blurb (+18)
warnings: future smut. paring: smart!reader x himbo!rafe; ps: this is just for fun cause someone asked me to post it (it was just a draft😬)
you’ve never been one for academic sports spirit.
what’s the point? okay, your school has incredible athletes, that’s good, but why the fuck would you kiss and praise the ground they walk on? you’re a fantastic student and no one gives a shit. why do they get all the glory while brainiacs get zilch?
the double standards piss you off. somehow academics always take the backseat to sports. maybe that explained your dislike towards jocks like rafe cameron.
up until sophomore year, you’d only heard about him, saw him occasionally around school. it was understandable why people talked about him so often. he looked like he’d just been ripped off a page of an abercrombie and fitch catalog, and apparently – you’d never attended a game to check – he was the best player on the team, playing forward. but, unlike many, you didn’t form an opinion about him until you met him.
the verdict? total pain in your fucking ass.
ever since you two were paired in a class project together, an annual class at that, he suddenly took an interest in you, like you were some sort of exotic animal he’d never encountered in his life, only because you wouldn’t flirt with him.
outrageous, never done before.
for the first four months, it was just him laying on the cheesy pickup lines and you rolling your eyes so hard you thought they'd pop out of your head. eventually, rafe dialed it down and you were able to be civil, perhaps friends. if you could call it that.
wich is why, as his friend, you’re starting to lose your fucking patience. the season was not going well for his team. at all. there’s little to no chance they’re going to be able to win the championship.
not that you care, but apparently the whole school does. everyone seems to be on the verge of a meltdown.
“i swear to god if they lose to standford next week–“
“pope, will you kindly shut the fuck up? it’s just soccer.”
“just soccer?”
you let out an exasperated sigh, glancing over at pope who looks at you like you’ve just shot someone, “can we study? peacefully?”
"it’s not just soccer! it's about school spirit, camaraderie, y’know?"
you raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "camaraderie? please. more like a bunch of testosterone-fueled egos chasing after a ball," you retort, disdain evident in your tone.
“you don't know what you're talking about. and i'm being dead serious, cameron’s been on edge lately. never seen him like this."
you lean back in your chair, crossing your arms. "yeah, well, losing does that to people. don't why you're complaining soooo much" you sigh, "i’m the one who has to put up with all the brooding and pouting.”
pope’s quiet. too quiet. you can picture the gears turning in his brain as he blankly stares at you. nothing good ever comes out of that.
“what?” you press, wondering if you have to break the school spirit out of him.
“you should fuck him. after or before, don't care. but you should."
you recoil, nearly tumbling out of your chair at pope's suggestion.
your eyes widen in disbelief, your mind struggling to process what he just said. for a moment, the room spins around you, and you feel like you’ve been thrust into some surreal alternate universe.
“what?! pope?" you finally manage to sputter, acting like you're about to go into cardiac arrest, "the fuck's wrong with you?"
“don’t look at me like that,” he merely shrugs, “that man is depressed. he needs to get laid if he’s going to win something.“
you hardly think a guy like rafe is not getting laid every other day, but that’s irrelevant. your jaw drops, stunned by his audacity. "are you kidding me? you don’t even like him!”
“but i like winning!” he whines, all but pushing his books aside to place in his elbows on the table, “and he’s so obsessed with you it hurts watching. he’s like one of those little crusty white dogs always running after you.”
you shake your head in disbelief, "he does it to be funny, okay? he’s not actually interested.. t's just a joke”
your best friend only laughs, a raucous, almost maniacal sound that echoes through the room. he clutches his stomach, "just joking?" pope gasps out, his laughter still bubbling to the surface. "oh man. you're hilarious, honestly, wow."
you stare at him, lips set in a straight line, feeling like you missed the entire joke. "what's so funny?"
pope wipes away a fake tear, trying to compose himself. "he almost ripped a new one to jj after he pulled that stunt last semester.”
your eyebrows knit together in skepticism. “and? i still don’t follow.”
rafe and jj couldn’t stand each other. both are incredible athletes and everyone always gushes about how great they are together on the field. outside, however? not so much. they don't mix. ever.
“and?! why do you think jj randomly talked about you in the locker room?”
“because he’s a horny creep and got a kink for fist fights with undressed men?”
you love jj. really, you do. but sometimes he’d win a lot more if he just kept his mouth shut or thought before speaking. you've lost count of how many times that boy has been suspended.
pope leans in, his tone low and conspiratorial, “cameron practically threatened to rearrange jj's face if he ever mentioned you again.”
you narrow your eyes, “nop. you’re making that up.”
pope shakes his head, a grin playing on his lips. "nah, i'm dead serious.”
your mind races, trying to piece it all together. while your brain always clicks instantly in class, feelings...emotions are a little more complicated to grasp sometimes.
"wait, so you're saying he actually cares about me?"
he nods, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "yep.”
“seriously?”
pope chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "head over heels. you’re our school’s only hope.”
your brain's on overdrive trying to process pope's bombshell revelation. rafe cameron, the big-shot jock, actually giving a fuck about you? it's like some twisted plot line from a teen drama. you didn’t see this one coming. but then again, you hardly pay attention to anything outside academics.
“so what? ’m supposed to fuck the mediocrity out of him?”
he grins, clapping you on the shoulder, “there’s that school spirit!”
you slap his hand away, “oh fuck off. ‘m being serious.”
he’s still grinning like he just cracked the code to life. "come on, hear me out. it's like a strategic move, y’ know? boost his morale, boost the team's performance. win-win."
you roll your eyes, not buying into his scheme. "yeah, because my sex habilities are definitely the key to winning soccer games."
he shrugs, undeterred. "it's not like you'd be doing it for him. it's all about the greater good."
you scoff, rearranging your notes for the millionth time, "this isn't some feel-good sports movie."
it’s not like you never thought about rafe. sure, he's a yapping idiot around you most of the time, but every time you need help or an extra hand, he’s always the first one to offer. that has to count for something, right?
“the ball’s in your court.”
yeah it is.
truth to be told, you’ve been sick and tired of rafe acting like a loser over soccer. what was the point in whining about it if he wasn’t going to try and do better? god, you'd never seen him like this before and it's been irking you to beyond. even more now that pope mentioned it again.
at this point, you just want to march up to him, shake him and make it come to his senses. you can’t even remember that last time he tried to hit on you. that’s how bad it is! the memory is buried under the weight of his brooding.
so maybe….maybe pope's onto something, y'know? maybe there's more to it than just you and rafe. and yeah, okay, you're not exactly thrilled about the idea of hopping into bed with him, but only because you’d hate the attention that comes along with his name.
but...a part of you is weirdly intrigued. not because you're dying to be his next conquest, but because you're just done with watching him drown in his own misery. maybe this could be the wake-up call he needs. a swift kick in the ass to snap him out of his funk.
you wouldn’t be doing out of selfish reasons! school spirit and all. you’d be doing everyone a favor. and you wouldn't need to blame it on yourself if things went downhill.
you had pope for that.
which is why you’re standing in front of rafe's room in his frat.
a jock and a frat boy? charming. you’ve certainly hit the jackass lottery. but you’ve been here before. he always saved the day when the library was packed or when your roommate was too busy fucking her boyfriend in your dorm room. this was weirdly your safe place to work.
taking a deep breath, you rap your knuckles against the door, trying to ignore the butterflies doing somersaults in your stomach. it's not about you! get a grip.
the door swings open, and there's the fucker, all brooding and rugged, like he just walked off the set of a sports movie. you roll your eyes at the cliché, but there's something weird about the way he looks at you. or maybe the tight wife-beater is doing a number on you.
you still notice the bags underneath his swollen eyes.
there's a flicker of surprise in him, like he wasn't expecting to see you, out of everyone in this school, standing there and you can't blame him; after all, you're not exactly a regular visitor to the frat house, only when your academic needs force you to.
“hey?”
“you look like shit, cameron.”
rafe's eyebrows raise in surprise at your blunt remark, “uh, what?”
you roll your eyes resisting the urge to scoff. "can i come in or are you going to stand there looking like an idiot all day?”
rafe chuckles, stepping aside to let you into his room, “come on in.”
you step inside, taking in the cluttered room with a mixture of amusement and mild disgust. it was never this bad before, you know rafe’s a clean freak and this? this is not him. but it is exactly how you imagined a frat boy's room would look like—dirty.
there’s laundry strewn across the floor, empty beer cans littering the desk, and a distinct musky smell lingering in the air. you shake your head in disbelief, shooting rafe a disapproving look.
"what are you? a divorced forty-five-year-old man?”
rafe laughs at your comment, though there's a hint of embarrassment in his expression as he scratches the back of his neck. "yeah, i know. sorry about that."
he’s doing worse than what you realized and it tugs a little at your heartstrings.
you raise an eyebrow, unconvinced by his apology. "sorry doesn't cut it, cameron. you should be ashamed of yourself.”
"okay, fair point. i'll clean up, promise."
“not just your stupid room. i mean your whole attitude. you've been moping around like a loser!”
rafe's expression shifts, defensiveness crossing his features. "hey, ‘m not—"
"don't even try to deny it," you interrupt, not backing down. "everyone’s noticed. you’re pissing me off.”
you don’t know why you’re suddenly so tempted to give him the scolding of a lifetime, but there’s just something about seeing someone with so much potential and drive wasting it all away without a fight. it’s not like him.
and by the kicked-puppy look on his face, you can tell he's not used to being called out so openly. but you're dead set on breaking through to him, no matter how awkward it gets.
“see! you’re just staring at me like—like, a fucking idiot!”, you fire off, frustration lacing your tone. the irony of the situation isn't lost on you. “will you speak for gods sake? for more than five seconds? i spent months trying to get you to shut up and now you do?”
rafe's stunned expression makes you second guess your approach for a moment, but you push the feeling aside, knowing you can't afford to let sympathy cloud your purpose here.
“why are you mad at me?”
you can't believe he's still clueless after all this time.
"why am i mad at you?" you repeat incredulously, feeling the irritation rising your my chest. "seriously, rafe? have you even looked in the mirror lately?"
he blinks at you, his confusion evident, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.
"you've been moping around like the world's about to end.”
rafe's brows furrow even further, and for a moment, you wonder if he's playing dumb or if he genuinely has no idea what you’re talking about. "i don't—uh, i don't understand," he finally stammers out, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
that’s it.
you’re gonna pull the feelings card and hope it doesn’t backfire.
“do you like me?” you blurt out, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.
rafe snorts as he lifts his finger to scratch his face, “course i do. pretty obvious.”
for a second you get a glimpse of the real rafe and it soothes you inside.
“and you want to fuck me?”
you’ve never seen him look so gobsmacked in his life, you’d laugh in his face if it wasn’t such a serious matter.
“what?” he stammers, his cheeks flushing slightly. you can’t believe the rafe cameron is blushing. over you.
you let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair. "do you want to fuck me? do i need to spell it out for you?”
he opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out, and you can't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at finally catching him off guard, “’m sorry? is this—are you…is this for punk’d?”
"punk'd? seriously, rafe?" you snap, incredulous that he would think this is some sort of prank, “it’s 2024.”
rafe's cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red, and he stammers again "no, i mean— i just...didn't expect you to— uhh”
“yes or no.”
rafe blinks at you before breathing out, “yes.”
“okay. so win your next match and you will.”
he looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, exhaling through his nose, trying to keep his agitation to a minimum. “what?”
“i’m sick and tired of this version of you. i need you to win, and if this” you gesture to the both of you with your hand, “is your motivation, then we’re doing it.”
"y’serious?" he takes a step closer, his demeanor suddenly more serious, “me and you?”
you nod firmly, crossing your arms over your chest as you tilt your head up to look at his features, “dead serious. and it’s not just you and me. it’s for the team, and for the school spirit or whatever nonsense pope keeps going on about."
rafe lets out a small chuckle, a hint of his usual cocky confident demeanor returning. "is that so? can't say no to that kind of motivation."
“i figured.”
he reaches out a hand, his fingers lightly grazing the strands of your hair, eyes fixed on your lips. "are there any rules?”
you swallow hard, feeling your heart race at his touch. “no, just win.”
rafe's lips curl into a playful smirk— the money-making smirk that makes you want to punch him and kiss him, not necessarily in that order — as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear.
"never would've guessed you'd be the one to offer yourself as my motivation, though," he murmurs, his voice sending a shiver down your spine, "i'm surprised."
you try to maintain your composure, but his proximity is making it increasingly difficult to think straight. "just doing what needs to be done," you manage to stammer out, trying to sound perfectly unaffected by his words.
rafe chuckles softly, his hand still lingering in your hair as he leans back slightly to look at you. "my pretty prize, huh?" he says, his tone teasing as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face.
you feel a flush spread across your features at his boldness. you blame him entirely for this side of you. without thinking, you reach up to brush your fingers against his cheek, tips pressings against his skin lightly.
“just win the fucking match, cameron."
rafe's nasty smirk widens into a heart-stopping, soul-gripping grin as he leans in closer, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours.
"consider it done."
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron au#rafe x reader#rafe cameron fluff#rafe fic#rafe imagine#bimbo!rafe#smart!reader#soccer!rafe#frat!rafe#rafe blurb
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HE'S GOT A RING ON HIS FINGER
GOJO さとる + fem!reader
A married dilf Gojo wants you to have his babies! He might not be married for much longer though
Warnings : 🔞 minors do not read/interact : smut/18+ content : infidelity, dilf!Gojo, cheating kink, reader cheating on bf, breeding kink, unprotected sex, daddy kink, dirty talk
Gojo Satoru has a ring on his finger.
You're reminded of all the shit his wife has said to you when you feel the cool metal of his ring against your skin... as he's pinning your wrists together above your head and stuffing his nasty, cheating cock into you from behind while his wife is god knows where and his kids are at a friend's sleepover.
His friends like you. His kids like you. His marriage is falling apart. Gojo wants to have another baby but his wife doesn't, and he happened to come across you — who has a filthy breeding kink, who he met at some soccer event long ago and now has snaked into his home to become a close family friend.
"Y'know my kids love it when you visit. Wanna be their mommy? Yeah? How about you gimme 'nother one... let me knock you up." and he's saying this before he's inside you, his words turn filthier when his fat cock is getting milked by your pussy.
His cockhead is stroking at your G-spot when he says, "Please... jus'... j-jus' take my fucking seed like a good girl, yeah? Let me get that cheatin' pussy pregnant."
He grunts and keeps pounding away at your cunt like he's a starved man, while you're babbling about how good it feels but at the same time he needs to hurry up, because your boyfriend is texting you asking where the hell you are.
So he grabs your phone and tosses it out of sight so you can't see your boy's notifications anymore. It pissed Gojo off, how dare he interrupt you and him? How dare you bother returning to him when you know no one fills your pussy quite like a man who's already fucked babies into another one. As if your boyfriend could compete.
Gojo's face turns sour, he glares at the place where you two connect; your sloppy, squelching little pussy. He's got that kitty creaming and freaking out on his cock.
"You know your boyfriend could never fuck you like I do... you n-need an older man to treat you right, don't you? F-fuck... ah, god baby you're squeezing my cock so perfectly... you're gonna milk out my cum. Fuck. Stay right there and let me fill you. You want daddies babies, don't you? Tell me... tell me you want it. Tell me you want my babies."
As if you could squirm when he's fucked you out on his bed for well over two hours now.
All he needs to tip over the edge is for you to say, "Yes daddy! Gimme your babies!"
And then he's groaning loudly, rolling his eyes back and feeling his whole body shudder as he dumps a fat, sticky load of baby batter deep inside your quivering hole. He stuffs himself as deep as he possibly can so that you feel every inch of that nasty, cheating cock. The skin at the base wrinkles up as his balls squish against your clit.
He's heaving and panting and gasping with you. You're thinking about how his cock is so much bigger than your boyfriend's, and he's thinking about how much tighter your pussy is than his wife's.
Gojo's gone silent, smirkingly admiring how good you look with that afterglow on your face. He's imagining how you'll look with that pregnancy glow one day.
You're gonna look so pretty when you're pregnant with my kids.
He slides his cock out, kisses your shoulder and massages your numb legs.
Gojo's phone goes off, and you ask who it is. He takes one look at the caller ID, and a look at his seed bubbling and spilling out your pussy hole, and says;
"Oh. It's just my future ex-wife."
© arminsumi
I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.
This is fictional work.
#mdni#smut#gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#gojo x reader smut#gojo satoru x reader smut#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x reader smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader smut#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#jjk x reader#gojo#gojo satoru#jjk gojo#jujutsu gojo#gojo saturo#satoru#jujustu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen#tw: smut
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Hii first of all i love your work, i have a request can you do a smut with chris and matt, like a threesome
PURE ECSTASY (part two)
read part one here
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bf!dom!matt, pervert!dom!chris x reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve been feeling guilty for what you did, but you don’t have the balls to tell matt. one night, he shows up at your house… and he’s not alone.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: PURE FILTH, THREESOME, swearing, oral (female and male receiving), A LOT of degrading, some praising, p in v, cuck matt lol, spanking, daddy kink, sex tape, unprotected sex (nope!), hair gripping, ROUGH
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2,080
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: chris and matt are cocky asf in this and they’re a little mean🫣
honorable note: happy birthday @whatrulookingat11 🤭
arguing bounces off the walls in the living room, the three boys bickering back and forth with each other. well, it’s mostly chris and matt.
there’s a high chance they don’t even know what the argument is about anymore because this has been going on for minutes.
“you’re so infuriating.” matt says sternly to chris, who’s scrolling on his phone with no care in the world.
“then don’t piss me off and i won’t be,” he replies, not bothering to look at his brother.
“you guys give me such a fucking headache.” nick butts it, getting up from the couch. “i’m going to go to my room and edit. don’t murder each other while i’m gone.”
he walks out, matt still ranting as chris blocks his voice out.
he opens his hidden album, tapping on the video of you and him. he smirks, cutting his brother off. “want to see something cool?”
matt’s words are cut off, and he stares blankly at chris. “what?”
“come look at this.”
he’s hesitant, but slowly lowers himself down next to his brother. chris sighs, turning his hand away from his face so he can show matt. he makes sure the volume is high, but not so high that nick can hear.
matt’s face turns to disgust, because why the fuck could chris be possibly showing him a sex tape. “why the fuck are you showing me this?”
chris smiles menacingly. “you’ll see.”
the video portrays chris’s point of view railing into you, your moans and squeals coming out of the phone speaker. then, the camera moves to a face. your face.
you’re completely wanton, his hand gripped tightly on the top of your head. “say hi to matt, ma.”
“mm— h-hi, matt,”
matt rips the phone out of chris’ hand, taking a closer look at if what he’s seeing isn’t a hallucination. chris loves the thrill of seeing matt’s face change from confusion to shock in a matter of milliseconds.
“this pussy’s fucking incredible. thanks for letting me use her, man.”
there’s no way he can watch the whole thing, so he throws the phone onto chris’s lap.
matt’s weirdly calm, emotionless even. “what… the hell did you do?”
“i fucked your bitch.”
he wasn’t kidding when he said that if matt pisses him off he’ll show him the video. chris always keeps his word.
placing your now empty bowl from dinner down, there’s a knock at your door. you look at the time, and it’s pretty late on a weekday.
you get up anyway, walking over to the front door and seeing none other than matt and chris standing there. “hey?” you question, feeling intimidated.
“can we come in?” matt asks, as chris just casually walks inside and makes himself at home.
matt shrugs, closing the door. you walk back to the living room, chris scanning his surroundings while matt takes a seat in the sofa chair.
he extends an arm, indicating for you to come sit on his lap.
“so, uh… what’s up?” you ask nervously, sitting down on him. chris walks in front of you guys, glancing up at matt.
“did you fuck chris?” he asks, getting straight to the point. your eyes widen.
shit.
“n-no.” you stammer. “why do you ask? that’s crazy.”
his hand travels down your body, lightly squeezing your breast before putting his hand down your pajama shorts. he pinches your clit, making you yelp.
“i’m going to ask you again.” he says, just as chris starts to get on his knees. “did. you. fuck. chris?”
“no!” you protest, chris slowly pulling down your shorts and panties.
“we got ourselves a liar,” he smirks.
“i-i didn’t—“ you get distracted once he starts to kiss your inner thighs.
he chuckles, his breath hitting your folds. “she’s wet already.”
matt starts to rub at your clit and you pout. “you’re going to make this way worse for yourself, baby. just admit it.” he tuts. “or maybe i need to show you instead.”
“i think you should.” chris sighs.
taking his phone out of his pocket, he opens his messages with chris and presses on the video. he dangles the phone in your face. “ringing any bells? this was you a week ago.”
when matt says that, the man between your legs flattens his tongue on your pussy before licking strands.
you whine, turning your head before a hand grips your jaw. “look at it. look at how much of a slut you are.”
“i-i’m sorry.” you apologize, tears brimming your eyes. “i’m sorry, matt.”
he takes the hand on your jaw and brings it back to your clit, rubbing on it hard as chris inserts his muscle into your hole. “you don’t seem that sorry, since my brother is tongue-fucking you and you seem to be enjoying it.”
you moan once chris digs deeper, squirming on your boyfriend’s lap. “if you’re gonna act like a slut you’re going to be treated like one.”
you squeeze your eyes tight as matt rubs circles and chris eats you out like a madman. the video still plays, and you’re starting to replay that night in your head.
“daddy! g-gonna cum, daddy.” the speakers of the phone boom.
the mixture of chris’ filthy words he said to you last week and your sounds make you even more aroused, your legs shaking and squeezing his head.
“gonna cum nice and deep in ya, so you’ll be walking around for days with a swollen belly full of it. this is exactly how sluts like you should be treated. isn’t that right?”
“ngh— y-yes, daddy. cum in m-me, please.”
a string of moans falls from your lips before you cum all over chris’ face. he removes himself, giving you time to breathe.
he starts unbuckling his belt. it’s a little difficult being that he’s still on the floor, but now he’s sitting.
matt removes his hand, putting his phone away as well. chris grabs your arms and yanks you to the floor so you’re straddling him. “what-what are you—” you’re cut off by the stretch of him, pulling you down on his dick.
you look around with glassy eyes, matt now unbuckling his belt right by your head. “you already fucked him once. i’m sure you can do it again.”
chris thrusts from below you, your eyes immediately rolling back and moaning so desperately. the phone comes out once again and he leans back pressing record at how you look on top of him.
“f-fuck. chris—” his hand makes contact with your ass.
“try again.”
“d-daddy…”
“sorry, what did you say? i don’t think he heard you.” he smirks, looking at matt who’s rolling his eyes. “say it, ma. what do you call me?”
he spanks you again, and you cry out from the pain. “daddy!”
“that’s right, and who makes you feel this way?”
what a douchebag matt thinks, springing his dick from his pants and wrapping his hand around it. he’s looking at how pathetic you look, your mewls of pleasure turning him on. he pumps his hand, moaning lowly.
your sounds get drastically higher once your g-spot is hit, but he smacks your asscheek again. “i will spank you until your ass is numb if you keep ignoring me.” again… and again. “who makes you feel this way?”
you grip onto his biceps, scratching at them. “y-you, daddy. only you— shit!” you drag on, starting to bounce to the rhythm of his thrusts. you’re so fucking close.
matt whimpers from next to you, biting the collar of his shirt as he grabs your jaw to forcefully look at him. the way his hand is pumping and the muffle of his moans are wanting to send you over the edge.
chris moves his phone to the side to get a better view, trying hard not to get matt’s face in frame. to him, it’ll ruin the moment if he sees his brother in the sex tape. this is only for you and him.
“o-open.” matt stutters, his shirt falling from his teeth. you open your mouth, and his cum lands on your tongue. “swallow… good girl.”
he continues, “did you see that, chris? the slut listens to whatever a man says. do you just let random men fuck you? ‘cause it seems that way.”
tears leak from your eyes, shaking your head with a whine. “i’m gonna cum.” you whisper, matt’s grip on your jaw firmer.
“do it. cum on my brother’s cock like the whore you are.”
whimpering, you quiver and spread your fluid down his base. chris moves his phone to where you’re conjoined, your orgasm slowly dripping around him.
chris moans, his thrust becoming sloppy. “don’t you dare cum inside her.” matt warns.
“wouldn’t be the first time.” he thrusts up faster to get to his orgasm, the most shit-eating grin on his face. “or the second.”
matt snarls, but chris sighs. “fine.”
he lifts you off of him, shooting his release onto your stomach.
matt lifts you to bend you over the chair. you rut your hips back, not even noticing you did it until he hums of approval from behind you. “i think she’s needy for more.”
chris smirks. “i think so, too.”
you wince once he starts to push into you, adjusting to his size rather than chris’. he starts slow but gradually gets faster. your arousal drips from your pussy, and moans escape from your open mouth.
“fu-uck, baby. please don’t s-stop.” you whimper.
your moans turn to yelps the deeper he goes, your walls closing tight around him. in the middle of your moaning mess, a cock fills your mouth.
chris’ hand grips your hair, him now thrusting into your mouth at the same fast speed matt’s doing. “you’re getting too loud, ma. don’t want the neighbors to hear.”
matt’s hands grip onto your hips, grunting each time you clench. the vibration from your moans flows through chris’ body, making sure to capture what you look like taking two dicks at once on his phone.
“sweet thing just wants to be used.” he fake pouts. “am i right?”
he’s being a cocky mother fucker, being that he knows you can’t respond. you try to respond, but it’s only a gag and gulp.
they know your response anyway, which is: yes.
“i’d say that’s a yes.” matt says.
drool hangs from your chin, the noises of you sucking chris’ dick getting more intense. “she’s close.” matt points out. “squeezing me like she’s going to break me in half.”
“i think we’re overstimulating her.” chris grins, taking a piece of your hair and tucking it behind your ear.
each time matt thrusts into you, you choke on chris. you’ve never done something like this, but it feels so good. you cross your eyes, cumming down matt’s shaft.
it makes a mess on his and your thighs, the sound of wet skin on wet skin rubs you the right way.
“just a little more, baby. taking me so well.” matt praises, and you hum at the compliment.
chris tenses in your mouth, pushing your head further down to deepthroat him. “shit.” he curses under his breath. you gag, feeling his cum go down your throat.
some of it spills from the sides of your mouth and he pulls out. your spit mixed with his orgasm dangles on your face. you inhale sharply and cough, but it turns into a soft moan since matt is still fucking into you.
oh, and chris made sure to capture all of that, too.
he lets go of your head, saving the video, and casually picks up his clothes off the floor. your cheek falls to the arm of the couch, the way matt feels making your mind fuzzy.
he groans, leaning so his head rests on your shoulder as he peppers kisses on the bare skin. “i fucking love you.” he says through gritted teeth, pounding himself into you harder.
you whimper. “i love mm— you too.”
he exhales before painting your walls white, making sure you take it all. you sigh in relief and he pulls out, making sure to clean you up.
you roll over, smiling wide because of the pure ecstasy you just felt yet again. “are you kidding?” matt asks, looking in the direction of the kitchen. you squint your eyes at the figure.
chris is there, fridge open as his finger taps on his chin. “do you have anything good to eat? i’m always hungry after sex.”
𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!
@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @braindead4l @whoreforchrissturniolo @r4iyaa @sturniolotriplettoplover @mattybswife @freshsturns
#chris sturniolo#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo smut#✎ ⤾ haleigh’s requests!
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Still thinking about the Social Worker Jazz concept that @gilbirda posted about and it's slowly turning into a full Anger Management fic send help
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Jason at length - much longer than it really should have taken really - set the resume down.
The new Social Worker’s resume. Because she was there, in his office, trying to convince him to hire her as a member of his criminal organization.
Crime Alley’s new social worker. A bright eyed Midwestern transplant from some tiny speck of a place that only qualified as a city because there was nothing bigger in a hundred miles in any direction to claim otherwise. The new social worker who had a Psy D. and three masters degrees and who had graduated Valedictorian. The one that had high paying private gigs lined up all over the country with the offering companies fighting over her.
The one who had, apparently, decided to take a shit job in Gotham’s shoddy social services department instead. The one that got kicked to Crime Alley - which was its own division despite technically being a small neighborhood in the grand scheme of things - within her first month. Supposedly for the sole purpose of scaring her off or getting her killed for all the questions she was asking and secret dealings she was sticking her nose into.
That social worker.
“I’m gonna need you to run this by me again.” Jason said, never so grateful for the voice modulator in his helmet as he was in that moment. It stripped out the bewilderment that had bled through into his words and made him sound stoic instead.
“I’d like to work for you.” The social worker - one Dr. Jasmine Nightingale - repeated primly. Back straight, clothes neat - if skewing more on the librarian side of professional - expression confident and hopeful. Completely and utterly oblivious of how fucking insane she sounded. “I was told that you’re the person in charge of Crime Alley.”
He resisted the urge to scrub at his face. It’d just look weird with his helmet on and not do anything to actually settle him in that moment anyway. “I understood that part.”
“Look, Doc,” She earned a doctorate and she was crazy enough to waltz into the office of one of Gotham’s most powerful Crime Lords, he’d be respectful about using her proper title at least, even if he suspected she was ten pounds of crazy in a five pound bag. “You’re going to have to tell me why. I was under the impression the only reason you ended up dumped on our end of the city ws because you wouldn’t play ball. But now you want to sign up for my crew?”
Nightingale frowned a little at that.
“Is that what people are saying?”
“What else are they gonna say?” Jason answered, leaning back in his seat, “Head of the department only dumps Crime Alley on folks he don’t like. And everyone knows he doesn’t like anyone that can’t or won’t play his game by his rules.”
“Alright, well. I’ll give you that.” Nightingale conceded, “Payne doesn’t like me. The feeling’s mutual. But for the record,” She added giving him a wry smile, as if sharing wry smiles with Red Hood was just something people did, “I asked to be assigned to the Park Row and Bowery neighborhoods.”
“You wanted to work here.”
“Yes.”
“Bullshit.”
Nightingale laughed. It was a bright sound. Not especially clear or pretty, but warm and welcoming in a way that carefully calculated giggles or overdone guffaws couldn’t be. Something with real and honest amusement in it, that encouraged those nearby to laugh along. Not the kind of involuntary, nervous chuckling people tended to slip into when they thought they had pissed someone that scared them off.
She just wasn’t intimidated by him at all, was she?
Behind his helmet, Jason found himself smiling. Just a bit.
“I’m serious.” She assured, blue-green eyes meeting the dark stare of his helmet without a moment of hesitation. He watched as she brushed a lock of her bright red hair behind her ear and out of the way. She’d woven it all into a practical, neat braid but a few sly pieces had snuck out to bounce around her. Gilding her quiet professionalism with a playful charm that worked well with her academia but make it cottagecore kindergarten teacher aesthetic.
“I’ll admit, Gotham wasn’t part of my plan when I first graduated. Time and choices take you funny places sometimes.” She plucked an invisible bit of lint off her soft blue cardigan, not nervous but absent as her gaze went distant for a moment. Thinking back on the events that had led her to his fine city. In a blink, those sharp eyes were back to focusing entirely on him. “But Gotham is where I am now, and I want to help.”
She looked at him, a serious, determined expression settling easily on her face. “The city as a whole has so much chaos and crime breaking out all the time.” No censure or horror in her voice, just a neutral fact to be observed. “But where the rest of the city has millions of dollars poured into it by various foundations or charities run by the Waynes, Park Row is largely ignored.”
Jason watched as steeliness sharpened her gaze, the blue-green shifting from the shine of a bird’s wing to the warning hue of something poisonous and deadly. “No one deserves that. No one.” Her chin tilted up, proud but not imperious. “So yes, I want to work here. There are people in Park Row and the Bowery who need help and I refuse to let any of them feel like they are going to be ignored.”
Jason considered her.
Really looked at her. Pealing back his initial off handed impression of her as some clueless transplant in over her head with no idea of what she was doing or what she was poking her nose into to find the real woman beneath. Her confident poise, her clear unshakable belief, her unflinching willingness to look danger in the eye and not blink. The tense curve of her frown, the lines of pain at the corners of her eyes, the simmering anger beneath it all. There was an edge to her, too. Something sharp and dangerously well hidden by the cardigan and folksy charm of her accent.
It was personal for the woman before him, Jason realized. Maybe not Crime Alley specifically, but something about the whole situation. The treatment the neighborhood and its residents received from the city at large, from those even beyond it.
Crime Alley wasn’t a place that received much in the way of charitable thought. The average joe with their house in Somerset and job at some corporate shithole hating every second of their life but thinking at least I don’t live in Crime Alley. Those asshole hoity-toites in city hall throwing money around equally between shit that’d get them re-elected and their off-shore slush funds in the Caymens doing their damn level best to pretend the black mark on the other end of the city just didn’t exist. Bruce, flooding the entire city with charitable programs and carefully constructed infrastructures shying away from the manifested grief and trauma that was the place he watched his parents get murdered.
For the most part no one from outside of the Alley gave a shit about the Alley other than as a place to avoid at all costs. And most of the time those natives that manages to claw their way out into better and brighter lives didn’t ever turn to glance back. Orpheus could have learned a thing or to from an ex-Alley Kid who managed to eek out a steady 9-to-5 and move to Burnley.
And something about that seemed to piss Dr. Jasmine Nightingale Psy. D right the fuck off.
He could see why Bill said he liked her enough to let her in.
“Alright.” He said, tilting his head, watching the woman seated across from him carefully, “Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here. Why you’re trying to get on my payroll.”
“I’m not trying to get on your payroll.” She said, some of the glinting edge softening, but the steel remaining. Strong and unyielding. “I’m trying to get into your community outreach program.”
Jason thanked god and all the saints once again for the gift of his helmet. That baby had saved his ass more times than he could count both by keeping his head in one piece and keeping his stupefied expressions wrapped up and hidden from view. Dr. Nightingale was one hell of a woman to make him have to rely on that fact twice in one conversation.
“Wasn’t aware that was something I had.”
Nightingale, not fortunate enough to have a full face covering helmet of her own, had nothing to hide her stupefied expression behind. Jason had a feeling she might have removed it to make sure he saw even if she did though. She looked like she had caught him eating glue like it was a cheese stick.
“Yes you do.” She said, sounding deeply confused but unshakable confident in what she was saying. “I’ve seen it. The soup kitchens, the shelters, the collection boxes for donating old clothes, the after school day care.” Nightingale ticked off on her fingers, “I’ve lived here for less than two weeks and I’ve lost count of all the things I’ve seen setup to help people struggling in the area that I’ve been very reliably informed you and your organization are behind.”
Oh.
Those.
“Those aren’t part of some community outreach program.” He said, “We are simply locals offering services for our neighbors.”
He watched as her caught-him-eating-glue expression shifted into one that said she’d stumbled upon him licking electrical sockets for a mid-day pick-me-up instead. He had to give it to her, the woman was not afraid to let one of the most dangerous men in the city know she thought he was a fucking idiot.
“Let me see if I understand this right.” She said, and he appreciated that there wasn’t any kind of condescension in her voice, even though she very clearly thought he’d been dropped on his head as a baby. Possibly from the top of a three story building. “You have a large group of people working together to plan, organize and execute multiple services in your area - your community, if you will - that provide aid and support to those that otherwise would not receive it. Reaching out with your available time and resources to offer these services, that you provide. For free.”
Alright, Jason got it. He had stumbled ass backwards into creating a community outreach program. But he wasn’t just going to let her think she won this one. He was Red Hood, he had a reputation to uphold here.
“What makes you think any of that is free?” He tilted his head at just the right angle, the one that cast shadows across the planes of his helmet and made him look hell-touched and terrifying. “Just because we don’t charge money, doesn’t mean there isn’t a price to pay.”
Dr. Nightingale, dressed like a damn kindergarten teacher, laughed at him.
#dpxdc#jazz fen#jason todd#social worker jazz#social worker jazz fenton#anger management ship#anger management#pre anger management#jason todd x jazz fenton#i don't know why i keep writing scenes where Jazz writes resumes to apply to work for crime bosses but it just feels right in my soul okay#the real reason Jason wears a full face helmet is so people can't tell when he utterly fails to hide his emotions about something#the idea of social worker jazz working in crime alley has completely consumed me mind body and soul
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I crave a good fluffy fic with wolverine, his wife is a badass and when someone threatens him she loses her shit and kicks their ass🫡 with so much disrespect.
hey baby, I'm so sorry for taking so long! I hope you enjoy what I did, it's a bit more violent than you probably wanted.
summary - a dumb 'bad guy' lures you and your husband out, things take an escalated turn when he threatens your husband.
warning - SUPER violent, like extreme level probably, swearing, mentions of sex, dude talks of touching what's his but nothing triggering, dick and balls suffer rip.
18+ only please, the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips
You couldn’t believe this guy, he was really threatening your husband right in front of you. Thinking he was all tough because he could throw fire or some shit? You didn’t know what he could do, except talk a lot of shit. That was probably his power. What was his name again? Captain Talks Shit? Shits A lot? Little Fucker? Who cares, all you care about right now is that he’s threatening your man.
You walk out of the shadows, having heard enough because honestly. Why do the bad guys always talk for so long? Have none of them realised or picked up from past bad guys mistakes? It was tiring and a waste of your time because you and Logan could’ve been gone by now, screwing each other silly, probably somewhere extremely risky. But, noooo. You had to listen to this jackass.
“Listen, dick licker. If you don’t stop threatening my fucking husband. I’m going to rip your arm off and beat you with it.” You growl, moving to stand in front of Logan. (Sure, he would have protected himself and it may look weak to the other guy that a woman is standing in front of an extremely large man, in more ways than one, wink wink. But you happen to know that this turns your husband on and who are you to deny him his fantasies?)
“Is that a threat?” Captain Dipshit sneers.
“Did it sound like a fucking compliment, Princess?” You watch as he eyes you, sizing you up and in his mind he’s probably thinking ‘yeah, I can take this chick.’ You hope his ego deflates before you kill him.
“Listen, Babe. This is between us men, now why don’t you run along and go make us a sandwich or something. Maybe put on some cute lingerie and wait for me in the bedroom ‘cause once I’m done with your husband here. You’ll be creamin’ around me.”
Logan shakes his head, stepping way back. He remembered when he accidentally said something similar and he was in a coma for a whole month, not even his fast healing could help him.
It was like a switch turning on, the beast that lived within you had been released from its cage and not even God could save this man now. You stalked towards him, he still smirked thinking he was safe. You jump, wrapping your legs around his neck and twisting, bringing him down using a move your good friend Natasha had taught you. You move swiftly while he is down, sending a harsh kick to his face, hearing the satisfying crack of his nose and possibly jaw breaking. You grab him by his hair and lift him, a large grin covering your face as you bring him eye level with you.
“You wanna repeat that, Princess?” You bring him closer, whispering in his ear. “How bout you go make me a sandwich, put on a cute set and I’ll bash your dick in with a baseball bat. How do ya like the sound of that? Cause I love it.”
He struggles within your grip, trying to swing at you but with your other hand that isn’t gripping his hair. You snap his arms, relishing in the sound of bones breaking. His screams echo the warehouse, dumbarse had lured us in here without a backup plan or backup.
You let go of your grip on his hair, immediately switching to gripping his throat instead. “You don’t like my plan, Princess? Rethinking the whole thing? Cause ya already pissed me off by threatening the man I love, but then you had the balls to say THAT? Tell me, Princess. Just between us girls. Did mummy not give you any hugs as a kid? Cause how did you think this was gonna go? You could’ve ‘killed’ the Wolverine, but he wouldn’t have stayed dead. No. But if he heard you touching me, touching what’s HIS. He would’ve torn you to shreds, but slowly. Very slowly. It’s what makes me love him.” You pat the man’s cheek, grinning as he winces.
“How bout an apology and I won’t kill you.”
“F–fuck you.” He spits at you, SPITS. Not even clear fucking spit, this shit has blood in it. You lift your hand, wiping the spit with the back of it and then onto his clothes.
Your face screwed up. “Well, that was stupid.” With quick movements, you throw him, watching him crash into a wall so hard that it leaves a dent. Your hand reaches out and a bat flies into it. “You’re not wearing that cute set and I don’t have a sandwich, but this will do.” He tries to shuffle away, his eyes wide. You stalk toward him and swing, smashing his dick and balls with one hit. Think Superman merged with Hulk strength, how do you think his twig and berries did?
A scream rips out of his mouth before his eyes roll back and he falls backwards. You frown and poke him with your bat. “Hey mista, you dead?” You look at Logan, “Bitch passed out.” He shakes his head at the pout on your lips.
He walks over and places a kiss on your head, “C’mon, let’s go home now or better yet. You ready to do something real risky, Sweets.” Your eyes light up.
“Do you mean…?!”
Logan nods, smirking. “I’ll finally let you fuck me while I drive.” Your squeals escape as you jump into his arms, smothering his face with kisses.
“OH THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! You’re the best husband a woman could ask for!” And with that, Logan carries you out as you stare at him dreamily.
thank you for reading!
feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.
#imyourbratzdollasks#sweetshifterask#imyourbratzdollwork#logan#logan howlett#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett imagine#wolverine#logan howlett fanfiction#logan howlett fandom#logan howlett fic#logan howlett fanfic#logan howlett imagines#logan howlett angst#logan howlett fluff#logan howlett oneshot#logan howlett one shot#logan howlett x female reader#logan howlett x fem!reader#xmen
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rafe spiraling at the house party because you’re there with your new bf and he’s jealous and he’s all like “if you wanna whisper some bullshit behind my back why don’t you just say it to my face” and he hates that smug look on your face it infuriates him. the fact that you’re able to move on from him and his blood boils just thinking about it
a/n: im think of making a pt.2 where he begs to get you back but idk🤭 thank you for sending a request!!
the music’s pounding in your chest, the low hum of conversation filling the air as you laugh at something your boyfriend just said. you feel a bit lighter tonight, like you can breathe, finally moving on from all the chaos rafe brought into your life. but as you glance across the room, you lock eyes with him, and all that ease disappears.
rafe is leaning against the kitchen counter, jaw tight, eyes dark. he’s been staring at you for the longest, barely blinking, his grip so tight on the cup in his hand you’re surprised it hasn’t shattered. he looks furious, like he can barely keep it together.
"fuckin’ knew she was gonna be here," you hear him mutter to topper, his voice slurred with alcohol and anger. topper shakes his head, tries to calm him down, but rafe’s already in his head, spiraling.
you can see the storm brewing from across the room, but you don’t care. at least, you tell yourself you don’t. you stand a little closer to your boyfriend, let your hand brush his arm, all while keeping an eye on rafe. you know what he’s like when he’s pissed off, and tonight’s no exception.
suddenly, rafe pushes off the counter, stumbling forward until he’s in the middle of the room. his eyes never leave you. the noise of the party dulls, or maybe it’s just that all your attention is on him now, the way he’s zeroed in on you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this moment.
he doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of you, his chest heaving like he’s holding back every insult he’s been dying to spit out.
"if you wanna whisper some bullshit behind my back, why don’t you just say it to my face?" he growls, slapping his cheek. his voice is venomous, dripping with jealousy, and his eyes flick from you to your boyfriend, barely concealing the rage underneath.
your boyfriend stands a little taller, his arm shifting like he’s about to say something, but you place a hand on his chest, stopping him before he gets involved. this isn’t his fight.
“what’s your problem, rafe?” you ask calmly, that smug smile already tugging at your lips because you know exactly what’s driving him insane. you can see it, feel it radiating off him—he can’t stand seeing you with someone else.
rafe steps closer, the scent of alcohol strong on his breath. “my problem?” he scoffs, taking another step forward until he’s right in your face. “my fuckin’ problem is you, princess. standing here with the punk like it doesn’t even fuckin’ matter.”
topper’s behind him, pulling at his shoulder, whispering something in his ear, but rafe shrugs him off like he doesn’t even feel it. “get the fuck off me,” he snaps, brushing topper’s hand away. “i’m not done.”
you stay rooted in place, meeting his gaze without flinching. he hates that, how unfazed you seem, like you’re not even bothered by his presence.
“you don’t scare me anymore, rafe,” you say, voice steady but laced with a bitterness that matches his anger. “you don’t get to control me.”
“control?” rafe’s eyes narrow. “i wasn’t tryin’ to control shit. i was tryin’ to fuckin’ love you, and you—” he stops himself, jaw clenching, his fists balling at his sides as he grits out, “you just threw it all away.”
the smugness in your smile only grows. “i threw it away?” you laugh under your breath, stepping closer to him, closing the gap so it’s just you and him in this moment. you lean in, your lips brushing his ear as you whisper, “you should’ve treated me right when you had me.”
rafe stiffens at your words, his breath catching in his throat as you pull back, locking eyes with him. he doesn’t say anything for a second, just stares at you like he’s trying to figure out what to do with all the emotions flooding his system. his blood is boiling, you can practically see it in the way his skin flushes, the way his hands tremble.
“fuck you,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. his eyes flash with something dark, something dangerous. “you’ll come back. you always do.”
topper’s back at his side now, grabbing him with more force, dragging him away from you before things get any worse. rafe fights it for a second, his eyes still locked on you, but eventually, he stumbles back, letting topper pull him out of the room.
but even as he’s led away, you can feel the intensity of his gaze on you. his world is spiraling, crashing down, and all because of you.
taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0
#rafe obx#rafe imagine#rafe cameron#rafe x reader#rafe x you#outerbanks rafe#rafe fic#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron x reader#rafe#obx fic#obx 4#obx 4 spoilers#obx season 4#outer banks#obx
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18+ Domestic violence, toxic!Rafe, slight smut (not cute), manipulation
⋆ ★The first time Toxic!Rafe put his hands on you.
"Baby--" Rafe hands had tried to graze your tear-soaked face, but your body had flinched away from it, causing your boyfriend to grit his teeth in saturated anger.
"Baby, look, I made a mistake--I was angry--"
"And that makes it okay?" you sniffed, cradled in a ball in the same spot where, not too long ago, your boyfriend's ring-clad hand met the skin of your plush cheek.
Though moments had passed, you'd still felt the sting from when the metallic of his Signet Ring pierced your skin, and if you weren't so ashamed to look yourself in the mirror right now, you could tell if the thick metal had left a mark.
But it's not like you needed a mirror to see if Rafe had left a mark; you felt it when you brought your shaky fingers to your cheek and felt a crescent-like shape indented into your skin.
"Baby, please look at me." Rafe cooed, his fingers forcefully cradling your jaw to look at him, and because you were scared he might hurt you again, you let him.
But you didn't give him all the satisfaction, as you didn't make eye contact with him--as you were scared you would start to see him differently.
"Baby, you have to realize that you have as much part in this as I do." He said, causing you to look him in the eyes finally.
You'd realized that Rafe had been teary-eyed as well--his cerulean eyes glossy like a baby kitten--as if it were he who'd been slapped and not you.
"W-what?" you croaked.
"I mean, you, you were the one that kept calling me crazy." He said, picking up your limp body in bridal style and placing you on his lap on the edge of his bed.
And in the moment, it only felt right for you to wrap your arm behind his shoulder--for support--while he held onto your waist.
"You--you kept saying that it was something wrong with me and that--that it was 'no since in arguing with a crazy person.' That's what you said."
Rafe repeated your words from earlier, his pointer finger digging into your chest.
Well, you thought.
You did tell Rafe that he was crazy, intentionally knowing that he suspected something may have been wrong with him in the past.
"Do you remember what else you said to me?" Rafe asked you, adjusting your body to where you were closer to his face.
You nodded your head--ashamed--just as Rafe went to repeat your words.
"You also said that--that I was fucked in the head, and that's the reason why Ward wants nothing to do with me. Do you remember when you said that, Y/N?"
You nodded again, covering your teary eyes with your hands, but Rafe pried your hands away--it's almost like he found joy in humiliating you.
But you hit me, said the small voice in your head.
No matter what you had said to Rafe, it was never worth putting his hands on you. Ever.
In the heat of the moment, you and Rafe had both sought to hurt one another, but the difference was that Rafe had intentionally sought to make you hurt physically.
"You know shit like that always get me worked up--it's like my biggest--whats that word?" He thinks.
"Insecurity?" You asked.
Rafe snaps. "Yeah, that! It's my biggest insecurity."
But on the other hand, you did know at the moment that mentioning Ward's name would piss off Rafe. Otherwise, you wouldn't have said anything.
You brought your head to Rafe's shoulder, letting his muscular body engulf your shape.
"Lemme see your cheek."
Rafe brought the palm of his hand to your cheek once more to examine your slightly bruised skin, this time handling you with much more care than before.
"Does it hurt, baby?" He asked, eyeing the skin.
"t'stings" you groaned, and Rafe brought his plush lips to the area where your cheek had been indented and pecked it.
"We'll get you some Naproxen--make the pain and swelling go away." He said all the while his hand was swiping the meat of your thigh.
He kisses your cheek again. "I know one thing though, my girl's a champ for taking a hit like that, I don't think I would've been able to take a hit like that on my first time--even now--and I've taken a shit ton of hits."
Another thing to add is that you knew that Rafe was no stranger to getting hit as punishment- his father was the one to introduce him to this system. Could you really blame Rafe for reacting in a way that was all he had known?
At this point, Rafe's hand had been snaking its way underneath your skirt, his fingers tempting the hem of your panties.
"My girl so tough." Rafe praised.
The context had been fucked up, but his overall wording and his tone had undeniably made your clit twitch--that, and his fingers peeling into your underwear and his palm cupping your cunt.
"My girl forgives me, right?" Rafe asked you, looking at you with those love-sick puppy dog eyes as he slipped one of his digits into your tight hole.
And just as he added a second finger inside of you and started slowly pumping in and out of you--your forgiveness for Rafe had been caught in a moan.
But Rafe already knew you had forgiven him, his proof being your sweet releases that coated his fingers and lap.
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