#simple hand tattoos for girls

[strangerboykamal]

[topboylikesully]

[rayveneyed]

sukuna ryomen is somewhat of an infamous bachelor.

it’s not surprising to see him with a new beau every few months, if not weeks — almost trope-like in their frequency, his image bouncing between playboy and manwhore. he doesn’t take it personally, and he makes sure to let people know: he’s young and sexy and he has two oscars, for fuck’s sake, so he thinks the world can cut him some slack when he wants to mess around. and mess around he does.

between obvious paparazzi shots of panties tucked badly into his back pocket, and instagram posts with fellow actors and models pressed tightly against his chest, most are divided between thinking it’s either damn good pr, or a simple man living a life most would wish for. regardless, nobody is surprised when sukuna arrives alone at the mugler show for paris fashion week, and leaves with someone on his arm.

the only thing that came as a bolt from the blue was that it was you hanging from him.

the photos are undeniable, a story in parts; sukuna finding his seat in the front row, you on one side and kendall jenner on his other. his eyes drifting from the models to your face, as if taking a clandestine peek. you, meeting his underhanded gaze with a smile as sweet as spun sugar — and, gasp, sukuna returning it. the display is so out of character for him it feels almost voyeuristic to see it plastered all over twitter.

you, with your vintage, girl-next-door-esque image, big hair and big eyes and demure, calf-length hems, a voice that evokes the memory of helen forrest or ella fitzgerald. him, with his smudged eyeliner and tattoos and all-black attire, persistently typecasted as the panty-dropping bad-boy or devil-smiled brute. it shouldn’t work. for all intents and purposes, he should be spotted with a new supermodel the next week, leaving you in the dust of his philandering. most expect it, wait for the other boot to drop — expect an album of heartbreak from you, but—

a month passes. and another, and another. and suddenly sukuna ryomen, notorious rake, is photographed backstage at your shows. suddenly there’s an anklet hanging from your ankle, his initials in garnet. it’s early morning paparazzi pictures of you both in sweatpants and hoodies — yours, suspiciously oversized — one of his hands engulfing yours, the other holding a bag of takeout from a local breakfast spot, a lit cigarette in his mouth. hickies on your neck and a shit-eating grin on sukuna’s face. candid snaps taken at intimately sized parties, with his chin hooked over your shoulder and his large hands cupping your stomach. tiktoks of you both on the red carpet in the background of somebody else’s interview, sukuna leaning in close to brush an eyelash from your cheek.

neither of you confirm anything, but then — you don’t need to, do you?

[watchmegetobsessed]

MAKE HER REGRET IT

A/N: i was really in the mood for some smut and the neighbors trope popped into my head, so here we are!

WORD COUNT: 4.1k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: Harry, your freshly divorced, insanely hot neighbor needs your help: you have to pretend to be his new girlfriend when his ex-wife comes over, however your little stunt outdoes your expectations in a lot of ways.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

It's a basic instinct for you at this point to look up at the balcony whenever you’re approaching your apartment building. However you’re not looking at yours, but the one next to yours that belongs to one hot, freshly divorced guy who moved in next door about two months ago. 

You remember the morning the moving truck appeared and you knew someone was taking the vacant apartment beside yours. You just arrived back from your morning run and you jumped right into guesses about who it will be. Maybe someone your age? A girl you can go to yoga with? Or a sweet old lady you can have tea with on warm afternoons? Hopefully not a noisy family, because the walls are way too thin to endure the screaming of a child. 

Then you saw him. Carrying a heavy looking box up the stairs, a simple white shirt stretching on his torso, tattooed arms flexing under the weight of the box, you knew you were fucked the first time you saw Harry Styles. 

It took you no time to lurk over the next day and introduce yourself as his neighbor. 

“If you need suggestions for coffee spots around the neighborhood, I’m your person,” you smiled at him charmingly as he stood in his doorway in gray sweats and a black t-shirt, hair messy but so delicious, it was screaming for your fingers to run through his locks. 

“I will definitely keep that in mind. I can offer to fix anything around your apartment, I’m kind of a handyman,” he chuckled and your knees almost buckled hearing his creamy british accent. 

Fate played on your hand, because you kept running into each other so it didn’t take long for you to go out for a coffee run together and it was smooth sailing from then. You learned about how he just got divorced, his wife cheated on him and he found out on their second anniversary, tragic story and you still can’t quite understand how any woman could cheat on a man like him. You practically drool every time you catch a glimpse of him arriving back from a run in nothing but a pair of shorts, his tanned skin glistening from sweat. You definitely love to move out to the balcony around the time he can be expected to appear in the late afternoon, you watch him stretch and breathe heavily and the sight alone makes you break a sweat as well, but for a whole different reason. 

You’ve been trying to flirt with him every possible occasion, but you also make sure you don’t come off too pushy. After all he just got out of a marriage, it must be hard on him to recover from being cheated on. There’s also a slight age difference between the two of you, not that dramatic, but that eight years could easily be a deal breaker for him, so you’ve been playing it safe. 

When you’re lying in bed late at night and sleep is not coming to you, you can’t help but think of how he is on the other side of the wall, you imagine him sleeping without a shirt, maybe thinking about you the way you like to think of him… But it’s all just a fantasy, one you fancy very much. 

The door to his balcony is open so you know he is home, but he is not out. You take your time walking up the stairs, your legs are definitely tired from the run you just had and just when you reach your floor Harry’s front door swings open and you stop, watching him walk over to your door. He didn’t notice you, so you stay still and watch him take a deep breath as he lifts his fist up to knock, but then it falls back to his side and he shakes his head, stepping backwards before returning to his spot on your doormat and that’s when you decide to put him out of his misery. 

“Are you out of sugar, neighbor?” you ask, slowly walking towards him. Harry spins around with a stunned expression. 

“Oh, I didn’t–I didn’t see you.” You catch his gaze running down your body and legs and you’re thankful you decided to wear your shortest shorts. 

Playing with your keys in your hands, you finally reach him. 

“What’s up?”

“Um… I have a bit of a situation on my hands and you might be able to help me.”

Unlocking the door you push it in and gesture for him to follow you inside. 

“Do tell me.”

Rounding your way into the kitchen you step to the fridge to grab some water. Harry hesitantly follows you and stops by the kitchen counter. 

“So, I talked to Rory this morning,” he starts. You’ve heard enough about Rory, his ex wife to know that if she’s involved, it’s for sure something messy. “You know that painting in my living room?” You nod. “Well, she insists it’s hers, because a friend of hers painted it, but I was the one who paid for it. Whatever. She’s been trying to get me to give it to her and honestly I’m over it so I gave in. She is picking it up today.”

“When will the part where I can help come?”

“Right here,” he chuckles nervously. “We got into a fight, no surprise. She screamed at me over the phone and told me I’ll die alone because no one can put up with my shit.”

You need to force yourself to swallow the bitterness in your mouth. That woman sounds very much like the spawn of the devil, because who would say that to anyone? Especially to Harry? Aside from being insanely hot you’ve also learned just how kind, passionate and funny he is, basically the whole deal. Rory is the biggest loser in history for letting go of a man like him. 

“One thing followed the other and I just… Um, I told her that I have someone.”

The light bulb switches on in your mind, because you already know where this is heading. And you like it, very much. 

“I don’t know what got into me, but I told her she can meet my alleged girlfriend when she picks up the painting so she can see herself that I’m not the loser she thinks I am. And… as you might now, I do not have anyone…”

“You want me to be your fake girlfriend,” you finish for him, saving him from having to say it out loud. You can see just how awkward he is, having to ask you for such a thing. 

“Basically, yeah. Only if you don’t mind being part of this shitshow. I understand if you find it weird and I don’t expect you to–”

“When should I be over at yours?” you simply ask and watch his eyes go wide. 

“Y-You will do it?”

“Sure, sounds fun. Besides, I’m curious to see the stupidest woman on earth,” you add smirking and he finally lets out a relieved laugh as well. 

“Thank you so much, Y/N. Really, I owe you big time. She’ll be here in about two hours.”

“Perfect. I’ll be there.”

For the next two hours, you do everything you can to bring out the hottest version of yourself. Hair, makeup, dress, everything is on spot when you step out of your apartment and walk over to Harry’s door, ringing the bell. 

When the door swings open and Harry sees you his mouth hangs open, giving you that one last ego boost you need to be the best possible fake girlfriend ever. 

“Satisfied with your girlfriend?” you ask, tilting your head. 

“I-I uh–Yeah! I’m… yes.”

“Can I go inside then?” you ask with a chuckle and he steps aside in a hurry.

“Sorry, yeah come inside.”

“So what’s the plan?” you ask, walking into his living room and making yourself comfortable on the couch. Harry follows, but he takes the armchair across you and you can tell he is still struggling with not ogling you, especially your exposed legs and deep cleavage the dress teases him with. 

“I don’t… I have no idea, I have never done this before.”

“I have.”

“Really?”

“Just once, in college. One of my friends broke up with a girl who did not take it well and I was his fake girlfriend for a week to get her to stop harassing him. It worked.”

“Then… I trust you with anything.”

“What’s the goal?”

Harry opens his mouth, but then closes, as if he is embarrassed to say what’s on his mind. 

“Harry, say it. I’m happy to help with anything.”

“I want to make her regret it.”

“Regret what she said?”

“Regret everything,” he corrects and when he looks you in the eye a shiver runs down your spine from the determination that’s behind his green irises. 

“Consider it done,” you smile at him devilishly. 

At your suggestion you both take a shot to ease your nerves and make it easier to lie. It seems to loosen him just enough that he doesn’t look like he is about to attend an interrogation. 

And then the bell rings. 

“Show time,” you smile at him and as he walks over to the door you take your place on the couch again. 

You hear the door open and then a female voice mixes with Harry’s before the footsteps follow. Harry comes into view first, but then Rory steps out from behind him and you see the pure shock in her eyes when she finally spots you. 

“Oh, hi!” you smile at her almost disgustingly sweetly as you stand from the couch and walk closer. “You must be Rony. I’m Y/N.” You hold out a hand for her and watch as her mouth twitches when she hears you mess her name up. 

“Rory,” she sassily says and shakes your hand at last. “So you’re the… girlfriend.” The disgust in her tone is apparent, she is not even trying to hide it and it just makes it way more enjoyable. 

“Yes and you must be the cheating ex-wife.”

Harry coughs beside you, he was not expecting you to be this blunt, but the look on Rory’s face is priceless, because she can’t deny what she is. Moving closer to Harry you wrap an arm around his waist and though at first he freezes at your closeness, he is quick to recover and join in on the act, his arm finding your waist as well. 

“The painting is over there, just take it and let’s get over with it, alright?” Harry nods towards the painting he already took off the wall, now it’s leant against the console table that’s been underneath it. 

“You didn’t even wrap it?” she scoffs. How am I supposed to take it like this?”

“Rory, I’m not a fucking gallery. You wanted the painting, take it.”

“It’s gonna be ruined if I just put it into my car like this!” she argues. 

“That’s none of my business.”

“Harry, this is so not okay! I can’t–”

“Jesus, Rory fine! I think I have some bubble wrap,” he grunts, heading into his bedroom to find something to wrap the painting in, leaving the two of you alone.

Rory gives you another long, dirty look, as if you were the woman Harry cheated on her with when she is the culprit of this mess here. 

“So how long have you been together?” she then asks, pretending like she is just chit chatting, but you know she is eager to know everything about you.

“A little over a month now. You know, I wasn’t looking for anything serious, but Harry is just the perfect guy and I couldn’t stay away from him.”

“Oh, he is not that perfect, little girl.”

It’s obvious she tried to derogate you by calling you a little girl, she must be around the age of Harry, not more than thirty-six for sure, but she can’t find anything to use against you other than the fact that you’re clearly in your twenties. How mature. 

“I know. But everything he can give me makes it worth it. And the sex, ah!”

She gives you a puzzled look. You knew this would stir her up, Harry mentioned how distant they grew in the last few months and sex wasn’t the same anymore. Looking at the timeline she must have started her affair around that time and Harry couldn’t perform the way he otherwise could because she wasn’t open to him anymore. It was a vicious cycle, but you also know Rory is the kind of woman who must have humiliated him because of that. Harry never said, but you just feel that she criticized his sexual performance when she left him even if it all happened because of her. 

And now hearing that he is giving his all to another woman is definitely something that can drive her nuts. 

“Oh please, he sucks in bed,” she scoffs.

“Not with the right partner. He is so good, I honestly don’t know how you could let go of him.”

“He couldn’t make me cum for months!”

“That’s unfortunate. I get an orgasm basically after every meal. He is so good at it, honestly, it’s like he just wants to please me every possible moment. I mean, I can’t remember a morning when I didn’t wake up with his head between my legs, he loves quickies, I have to sanitize the kitchen counter like twice a day.” You let out a chuckle and just watch as her face grows redder while staring at the kitchen counter, raging jealousy swirling in her mind for sure. It’s clearer than daylight that she didn’t cheat on him because he wasn’t manly enough, this woman is simply a stupid loser who couldn’t appreciate what she had, maybe panicked that she can’t mess around with others and then simply chose to ruin everything. 

You’re more than happy to remind her what she lost. 

“Alright, this is all I got,” Harry emerges from the bedroom with some bubble wrap he probably had left from moving, but when he sees you and Rory staring each other down, he stops. But before he could speak up, you decide to push that knife into Rory’s chest as your final move. 

Stepping over to Harry you push yourself up against him, he drops the bubble wrap and his hands grab you by the waist instantly, though you see confusion in his eyes before you take his face in your hands and pull him closer, lips pressing against his hungrily. 

It’s not a sweet, shy first kiss. This is the perfect show off, messy, passionate, full of tongue and eagerness as you practically devour each other. For a bit you forget about the show you’re putting up and it’s your real desire you’ve been fighting for weeks now. Every time you try to pull back Harry just keeps demanding more and you happily give him what he wants. He bites into your bottom lip when one of his hands moves down to your ass, giving it a not-at-all shy squeeze, making you moan into the kiss. 

It feels like it takes forever for you to stop, when you open your eyes you’re met with Harry’s hungry eyes, his lips are slightly swollen and shiny from your kisses. 

And then you remember you’re not alone. 

“Oh, fuck you. Fuck you both!” Rory pops the bubble around you and when you turn to look at her, she is already grabbing the painting, not even bothering to wrap it. 

“It was nice to meet you!” you call after her.

“Fuck you!” she repeats, marching towards the door and you’re just smirking like an idiot, pleased with yourself for pissing her off so badly. 

Harry follows her to shut the door behind her and you let yourself bathe in the sweet victory you just earned. 

“This went amazing, right? She was so mad, oh my God!” you laugh, but your smile quickly disappears when you realize the serious look on Harry’s face as he is walking back towards you. 

Shit, maybe the kiss was too much. He didn’t want it and now he is pissed at you.

“Are you mad about the kiss? I-I’m sorry if it was too–”

The words die down on your lips when they crash against his again, his hand cupping the back of your head while the other returns straight to your ass, groping you so hard your whole body smashes against his. 

Your mouth opens in surprise and it gives him the chance to push his tongue against yours, he is demanding, rough and so much more raw than what you imagined him to be like. 

“What did you tell her?” he asks against your mouth, moving you around until the small of your back hits the kitchen counter. “What did you tell her that made her so pissed?” he demands, his hand already eagerly moving underneath your dress. He presses two fingers against your clothed clit, making your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

“I said, ah–I said I wake up every day with… your head between my legs, and… Oh fuck!” You’re losing your ability to speak your thoughts as his fingers start circling, the fabric of your underwear is so drenched, if you could think straight you might be embarrassed just how aroused he made you so fast. 

“And?” he urges you to continue, but at the same time he pushes your underwear to the side and pushes two fingers into you without warning, making you gasp so loud that people on the street must have heard it through the open balcony door. 

“A-and that you fuck me on the… the kitchen counter all the time.”

He curls his fingers inside you as he keeps talking.

“Then that’s what I’ll do to you now. Are you okay with that?” he asks and you nod eagerly as you hold onto his broad shoulders. 

The next moment he pulls his hand back and you whine, feeling empty all of a sudden, but then he lifts you up and makes you sit on the counter, he lowers himself and places your legs over his shoulders with careful, but confident moves. You grab onto his hair as he pushes his head between your thighs and his mouth meets your clit. 

“Oh, fuck! Harry!” you gasp out, tugging on his hair as he swirls his tongue against your swollen clit, his fingers teasing your hole again. Then they push into you and he sucks on your clit, making you see stars. 

You imagined him to be skilled, but whatever it is he is doing to you, it feels out of this world and now you know you weren’t wrong when you praised him that much to Rory before. 

You’re totally out of breath when he comes up, he kisses you and you can taste yourself on his tongue, your hands impatiently tug on his shirt to get rid of it. Soon the fabric lands on the tiled floor and you map out every inch of his hard chest with your palm and while you keep kissing like there’s no tomorrow, you faintly hear the zipper of his pants come undone. 

You look him in the eyes when you reach down and take his hard length into your hands and you can’t hold back a gasp when you realize just how big he is. 

“I know you can take it, baby,” he coos, kissing the corner of your mouth and you’re ready to take him right then and there, but he moves back, making you reach for him in panic. “Condom,” he says and you lean back onto your elbows with a sigh as you watch him disappear in his bedroom. You have just a few seconds you process that here you are, on top of Harry’s kitchen counter, with your dress bunched up around your waist, your drenched pussy on show, waiting to be fucked properly. You definitely did not expect this outcome when you woke up this morning, but you’re not complaining. 

Then Harry appears and he is walking over to you, completely naked, his dick in his hands as he rolls the condom on while moving and you bite into your bottom lip, hoping to remember this view until the end of time. 

When he reaches you again he simply curls his arms around your thighs and tugs on you so you get closer to the edge. His erection wedges between your wet folds and the tip pokes against your clit, making you clench around nothing. 

“I have to admit, I’ve been fantasizing about fucking you on this counter since the day I moved in and saw you for the first time.”

“Just on the counter?” you ask teasingly. 

“Every surface of this fucking apartment,” he admits with no remorse.

“Make a list then and I’m more than happy to do them all. But let’s tick the counter off first.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.”

He reaches down and circles his thumb against your clit a bit before grabbing his dick by the base and dragging it up and down your cunt a few times before pushing the head in first, letting you adjust to his thickness first. When you claw at his chest he takes it as a sign to go deeper and he keeps pushing until you take his whole length, feeling fuller than ever before. 

“I want to go hard,” he breathes out, staying still for now.

“Go hard then. I can take it,” you assure him, though you do have doubts feeling just how stretched out you are now. 

“Of course you can. You’re my good girl,” he praises you and before you could get a word out, he pulls back and slams into you hard. 

There are moments when you actually think you’re about to burst, Harry did not joke when he said he wants to go hard, his thrusts are fast and rough and he makes sure he buries his whole length into you every time he pushes into you. At one point he pulls your legs over his shoulders and it allows him to reach a point in you no one has before and it pushes you towards the edge rapidly. The counter is painfully hard underneath you, but you somehow forget about the pain and only focus on how hard Harry is railing into you. His stamina is incredible, your body already feels like goo and you’re not even doing the actual work. 

“Harry, I’m so close,” you moan and his fingers dig deeper into your thighs at your words. 

“Come around my cock, baby. I wanna feel you squeeze me.”

You cry out his name again, a tear rolling down your cheek, because you’re so desperate to let go. Harry moves a hand to where you meet and his thumb returns to your clit and that’s what throws you over the edge. 

Your back arches and you squeeze around him uncontrollably, gasping for air as he ruthlessly keeps fucking into you. 

“That’s it, baby. You look so fucking beautiful, coming on my cock.”

You can’t stop moaning as you ride out your orgasm. The last waves are washing over your body when his movements fall out of rhythm, he slams into you hard and he sucks on his breath before moaning out your name over and over again, pushing into you a few more times as he comes. He falls forward, his face burying into your heaving chest as he tries to catch his breath along with you. There’s a long minute of silent bliss, his cock is still inside you, his lips peppering soft kisses onto the skin that’s exposed on your chest while you’re mindlessly playing with his hair. 

When he straightens up he pulls out of you, the empty feeling hitting you again. He carefully helps you off the counter, but keeps his arms around you, because when your feet hit the floor you wobble. 

Nuzzling your nose against his chest you take the cross pendant on his necklace between your teeth and pull back, looking him in the eyes. 

“Don’t do that, or we’re moving to the next place on the list.”

Giggling you let go of it and push yourself up to steal a kiss. 

“Give me some time to recover, but I’m all in to check out another place.”

“Jesus, I knew you’d be the death of me the moment I saw you,” he breathes out, before his mouth claims yours hungrily. 

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[yuujispinkhair]

Tribe leader/Viking Sukuna headcanons

After seeing this fanart, a sweet anon sent me this prompt: "Imagine that you are a simple girl in another tribe who attracted the leader Sukuna who at that moment came to negotiate with the leader of your tribe, he became interested in you and decided to make you his wife and cooperate with your people. So you left with him and began to live with him and give birth to his heirs."

Thank you so much for sending me this! When I saw the art, I was thinking of something along those lines, too! The picture reminded me of the tv show Vikings, so the following headcanons take place in that time.

Pairing: Viking!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: Smut + fluff Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: 18+, smut, arranged/forced marriage, virginity loss, blood, breeding, pregnancy, slight lactation kink, having children, miscarriage (Sukuna comforts reader afterwards. He doesn't just want her because of the heirs she can give him), general mentions of violence and human sacrifices. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

There is art now for this fic by the lovely @sweetlandspos! Thank you so much Émilie, for bringing Viking!Sukuna to life! He's so beautiful!

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is feared for his ruthlessness in battle and his strength that seems almost god-like. All the other tribes try to stay on his good side and forge alliances with him instead of giving him a reason to burn down their towns.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who looks so intimidating when he comes to visit your settlement. Tall and broad-shouldered with all those buff muscles on display and the bones of his enemies decorating his clothes.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who you can't take your eyes off when you and the rest of your tribe gather in your leader's throne room and watch the negotiations. He sends shivers down your spine, but not just in a fear-inducing way, if you are honest. He is so enticing. Powerful and intelligent, and so attractive.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is such a beautiful man. His face is too pretty for a warrior. Not even his scars and tribal tattoos can hide his beauty. A smug smirk lifts the corners of his lips, and his voice is calm and confident. He moves gracefully like a big cat, beautiful but deadly. He is the most stunning man you have ever seen, and you hang on every word that falls from his lips as if he carries ancient magic in his voice.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose icy blue eyes scan the crowd slowly, glittering like two precious jewels in the firelight illuminating the crowded room. Your breath catches in your throat when that intense gaze lands on you. You feel like a small animal trapped in the gaze of its hunter. Should you lower your head to show him your respect? Or will he take affront if you dare to look at anything else but him?

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who takes the decision away from you when he smirks at you and laughs softly before he turns his attention back to your leader.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who announces his conditions for a peace treaty in a confident, demanding tone. The voice of a man who is used to getting what he wants. A man who knows he is too powerful to get turned down.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who suddenly points a long tattoed finger at you and speaks the words that will flip your whole world upside down, "And I want her."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes your heart drop with his demand, but all you can do is stare at him in a mix of fear and excitement. A murmur runs through the crowd, and already, several hands are pressing against your back, shoving you towards Sukuna, making you stumble and screech as you are about to fall at his feet.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who catches you before you hit the ground, his muscular arms holding you easily, an amused smirk lighting up his handsome face, light blue eyes glittering in amusement as he drawls teasingly, "Aww, someone's eager to become my little wife, huh?"

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes you sit on his lap that evening when a big feast is held in his honor and to seal the peace treaty with your tribe. You barely dare breathe, full of fear as you sit on his strong, muscled thighs, gasping when one of his large hands wanders under your skirt to squeeze your thigh possessively.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who has two of his men stand guard in front of your door so no one will attack his future wife or maybe to prevent you from sneaking away. But you aren't even sure you want to run from him. Who are you here in your current tribe anyway? Just another orphan who grew up to help on one of the farms. Isn't this new role much more important? To be the bride of Ryomen Sukuna? To be a means that allows your tribe to prosper and ensures peace and trade with Sukuna?

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose large hand has a firm, unrelenting grip on your arm as he leads you to his horse the next morning. But he lets you say goodbye to all your loved ones, taking their blessings and well wishes with you before your future husband helps you onto his horse.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is such a rough man, but whose hands are surprisingly gentle when he lifts you onto the back of his giant horse. He sits behind you, his firm muscles pressing against your back, rippling with every move he makes. His muscular buff arms cage you in, keeping you captive or keeping you safe. You can't tell which one of the two it is.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes a conflict rage in your chest. On the one hand, you are scared of this dangerous big man who has the power to just demand to have you as if you are some cattle. On the other hand, you can't deny that small hidden part of you that feels excited that such a powerful and attractive man desires you enough to want to make you his wife.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes your pulse flutter nervously when you feel his strong arms around you and hear him order his men around with his low, velvety voice, telling them to find a good resting place for the night.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who kisses you roughly on that first night. His large hands that cup your face are calloused, but his lips are warm, and his tongue is soft and so skilled when he pries your mouth open and licks into it. It's nothing like the shy, clumsy kisses you shared with the boys in your settlement. Sukuna is a feared warrior, a powerful tribe leader, someone who people believe is actually the son of a god. And you can feel all that in his kiss. Deep and intense, making your head spin and your body brim with a desire you have never felt before.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who rides with you again the next day and trails teasing kisses down your neck to pass the time during the long ride. You are sure he is fully aware of what he is doing to you. How he makes your heart race and makes a mix of fear and arousal throb in your veins. Especially when he grabs your chin to tilt your face up and capture your lips in a heated, wet kiss, licking unashamedly into your mouth in front of his men, showing everyone that you are his.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who whispers in your ear, "Are you scared of me, my little wife?" and then breaks out in loud, barking laughter when you exhale shakily and tell him, "Only a fool wouldn't be scared of you... but maybe I am also flattered that you picked me, my lord."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who still chuckles while his tongue licks a lazy stripe up the side of your neck, and he huskily tells you, "I am not a lord. I am a god. And I saw a goddess right there in that shabby throne room. I had to take you with me. It was a sign from the gods. You will give me such strong and beautiful children. Together, we can conquer the whole world."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who forces himself to keep his hands off you before your wedding night as a show of respect to the gods, but who lets you feel his desire for you when he hugs you from behind and presses his hardness against you once you have moved into his house.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who has you dressed in the finest garments for your wedding day. A beautiful red dress lined with gorgeous white ermine fur that was specifically made for you. Your neck, wrists, and ears are decorated with glittering gold and precious gemstones.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes you squeal when he swoops you up into his muscular arms and carries you into the ceremony hall, accompanied by the loud cheers of his people. Your hand is shaking when you exchange wedding rings with him, but you stay brave, speaking your vows and taking Sukuna's heavy sword when he offers it to you as his promise to protect you.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who sacrifices several of his enemies to the gods to ask for their blessings for your marriage and your fertility. He looks scary with the pattern painted onto his face with fresh blood. But at the same time, it makes him look feral in a way that makes an unknown heat throb between your legs.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who shares his food and mead with you on the decadent feast held after the wedding ceremony, where you sit on the throne next to his. One of his strong arms stays wrapped around your waist the whole evening, and the deep glances he sends your way make your skin tingle with anticipation.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who takes your virginity that night, making you cry out in pain when his thick cock splits you open for the first time. But his lips silence your cry, and soon you make other noises. Loud moans of pleasure fall from your lips as your new husband moves inside you with deep and sure thrusts that hit a spot inside you that makes you scratch the broad muscles of his back and arch up against Sukuna's huge body. Your cunt throbs around his cock as you find the sweetest and most intense release you ever had.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who afterward pushes two of his long fingers into your used cunt to push his seed back into you, leaning down to kiss you savagely and murmuring in your ear that he wants to see your belly hard and swollen with his heirs.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who paints his clan symbols on your face with a mix of your virginal blood and his cum, telling you that you are his forever and that you are blessed by the gods now too after taking his seed into you.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is so proud when you show the first signs of pregnancy.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who becomes extremely protective and possessive now that you carry his heir. Who worships your body every night, cupping and kissing your swollen breasts, licking at the drops of milk that already spill from them, telling you it tastes like the nectar of the gods.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose large rough hands caress your swollen belly gently, who kisses it, and talks to your unborn child, telling his son, as he predicts, that he will be born under the blessing of the gods. That he will become a great leader and a god himself one day.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is triumphant when your first child is a boy with pink hair and a strong build and loud voice. A future leader just like his father. The first heir of many more to follow.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is feared by everyone but treats his wife and newborn child with a gentleness that surprises you. He asks you to let him hold your baby and carry him in his strong arms. And the way Sukuna looks at your child tells you that he doesn't just see little Yuuji as an heir but as someone who has Sukuna's heart.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose hungry and proud gaze follows you for days until he has you under him again, fucking you with hard, deep thrusts, moaning loudly, and pumping you full of his seed over and over again. "You gave me such a strong heir, my love. I know you'll give me so many more."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who rushes to your side when you have a miscarriage during your second pregnancy. Who hugs you to his broad chest, wipes the sweat and blood off you, and cradles you in his arms.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who kisses your tears away and reassures you when you are scared he will kick you out if you won't give him more heirs.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who shakes his head and tells you, "I mourn our unborn child, but I thank the gods for not taking my beloved wife away from me too. You are more to me than just a vessel that gives birth to my heirs. You are my wife, my companion, the one who the gods sent to me as my soulmate. I love you. Even if we have no more children, I will never take a new wife."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who you see in a new light after the reassurance and love he gave you on that day. And suddenly, you find yourself falling in love with your husband, too. You treat him more tenderly. You caress his soft hair when the two of you cuddle in your bed to keep each other warm. You kiss the tattoos on his face and smile at him, your heart fluttering when Sukuna smiles back at you and pulls you into a slow, tender kiss. You will never forget the happiness in his eyes when you tell him you love him too.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who fucks you thoroughly that night until the two of you are sweating and rolling around on top of the warm furs, kissing and caressing each other needily while he fills you with his hot seed until you are overflowing from it.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is delighted when you give birth to your second child, and that child looks like the perfect mix of the two of you. He grins at you and tells you that this is clearly a child of love, conceived on the night you confessed your love to him.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is actually a caring husband who truly treasures you. Who likes to spend his nights with you wrapped under the warm furs, making slow love while he kisses you deeply, rolling his hips with those slow, languid moves that make you sob his name and come undone so sweetly on his cock. 

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who likes to hold you in his strong arms afterward, with your head resting on his broad chest and your small fingers tracing the tattoos on his chest and abs. He loves to talk to you for hours every night, telling you all about his day, about his current worries and plans, about political things and battle tactics, trusting you with all his secrets.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose love fills you with warmth even on the coldest winter days. Your heart is held securely in his strong hands. And you know that no one will dare lay a hand on you or your children in fear of Sukuna's wrath. His strength and power make you feel safe here in your new home.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who teaches you how to enjoy sex to the fullest. Who teaches you how to ride his cock and his face. Who teaches you how to take from him too. Because he is your husband, and that means he belongs to you just as much as you belong to him.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who trusts you with ruling in his place during his absence. Who declares that anyone who disrespects you will get sacrificed to the gods.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who keeps you on his thick, strong cock all night before he has to leave for one of his various exploration trips or battles, savoring you to the fullest. Making sure to fuck you so good that you will still feel him for days after he set sail.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who pulls you into his arms one last time before he boards the ship, kissing you deep and long. And there is this burning love in his blue gaze when he tells you, "I will do anything in my power to come back to you, my love. I have the gods on my side. But if, for whatever reason, they should decide it is my time to enter Valhalla, then I want you to know that I will wait there until you join the afterlife, too, and I will come find you, no matter where you are."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who luckily doesn't go to Valhalla and always comes back to you with more scars on his gorgeous body but with the same love in his eyes.

AAAHHH I AM IN LOVE WITH HIM!!! This became much longer than I intended, but I really miss the show Vikings, and I love Viking!Sukuna to an insane amount, so it is what it is ;) This was, once again, very self-indulgent, but hopefully, some of my fellow Sukuna lovers will enjoy it too! Thank you so much to the nice anon who sent me that prompt!

Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

[rsepetals]

*looks around* so feral thinking about babydaddy! eren . . enjoy. nsfw, minors don’t interact or i will get you.

more, babydaddy!eren here ./づ~ 🍓

baby.

“Ughsnsfuck!” The devil himself, Eren Yeager has you in the tightest chokehold as he fucks you stupid. Strong tattooed bicep wrapped around your throat, eliciting the nastiest mewls from you. Your back is flushed to his sweaty chest, both of you covered in a thin sheen of perspiration, evidence of how long he's been fucking you.

The plan was simple. Drop off the twins and leave, but your babydaddy had other plans. Plans like pinning you against his mattress, dropping his pants and plunging into you. You weren't going to lie, you needed this. Needed Eren's cock buried deep in your pussy like it belonged there, filling you, stretching you. And you definitely needed his other hand gripping your chin, forcing you to watch him mound you in the mirror. Watch how pretty your face looks when it's fucked silly.

Your pussy throbs, aching from how long Eren's been abusing it with his dick, cum seeping down your legs. You’re a babbling mess. Drool escaping your mouth as he used you. All you could do was let him. “Trying to leave all fast and shit, hurtin’ my feelings.” He pouts. He's such an ass.

Eren's hips are slapping against your ass, the sound of your pussy squelching disgustingly around him filling the room. “S-shut up,” you breathe, trying your best to keep your composure. But you couldn't. Not when his balls were smacking against your clit, making you see stars. Your hands are gripping the comforter for dear life, Eren's grip around your neck tightening. You're suffocating, the lack of air going straight to your head. You feel drunk.

He chuckles at your reaction, slowing down his thrusts, teasing you. “You so pretty, I think the girls need a sibling.” The thought of you pregnant again, all swollen with his seed has his eyes rolling back. This man is gonna be the death of you.

𝑅𝒮𝐸𝒫𝐸𝒯𝒜𝐿𝒮 all rights reserved. comments, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated ︎ ♡︎

[satorena]

#INTRO2MUNCH101

summ. when suguru “eat it off the bone” geto actually turns out to be suguru “flaps the left lip until she calls it a night” geto, he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew about his skills. . . talk about a rude awakening.

cw. explicit content. foul language. fem!reader. college!au. eventual smut (but not in the way you think. . .) mild modern lingo. allusions to music artists. cunningulūs. male masturbation. reader has a belly piercing. she’s also depicted mean by the boys. gojo cameos bc i can’t not mention him. tattoo artist!geto. substance consumption. lowkeyyy self-indulgent reader. 10k wc.

rena's note. this is a spin-off to p power, so i’d suggest reading that first to understand the correlation!

suguru geto is a simple man.

your pleasure is his pleasure. he’s always prided himself on being a pro at the art of cunningulus. honest— he’s always left with swollen lips, a heavily sprayed face and a solid five star ratings at the end of his work. his jaw feels tired out, scalp burning from consistent hair tugs, and his breathing uneven from lack of oxygen. but at the feel of plush thighs squeezing his face and the repetition of his name flowing into the air before getting squirted on, he remembers it’s always worth it.

no pain no gain, right?

wrong.

because here he finds himself, a hefty hour in since he first dove in between your soft legs, and there’s been absolutely no development. sprawled on your back on his sheets, arm slung over your eyes, and your breathing even. you look fucking bored, and his heart is sinking to his ass.

geto will use every trick he has in the book. he’s noticed overtime that girls have different bodies, therefore he needs different tactics to stimulate those bodies. he nips at your puffy bud, sucking on your clit for external pleasure. no use. fine, then he’ll push your thighs up some more for a deeper penetration of his fingers in your cunt— still no use. the only sounds being produced are his mouth slipping against his own saliva at your pussy because he can’t even get you wet enough.

the pit in his stomach grows larger. he wonders if maybe you’re just the silent type? he’s come across those before.

he’s getting nervous out of his mind, so shaky and uncoordinated that his hand slips and meets your lips for the umpteenth time— and only then do you release a guttural groan, the very first sound you’ve made in a long ass time. wait—

“did. . . did you cum?” he pants, pulling his sticky lips away from yours. his face feels moist, blood rushing all in his head and he’s lightheaded. but still, he has to know.

you push yourself up to your elbows, annoyance clear as day. he’s yet to seen this look on a girl after pulling every card known on the table, “yeah. . . to the wrong fucking house.”

oh fuck.

☆ ☆ ☆

he first spotted you chatting it up with your friends on the school’s soccer field, on a random tuesday afternoon, and he’s been hooked on you ever since.

the universe played a funny game, and he realized university truly is a small ass world. amongst your friends, he noticed a familiar face. one he’s been hearing and seeing of one too many times lately, on multiple separate and traumatic occasions— gojo’s girlfriend. suguru found himself bonding with her due to their familiar point of interest— that being gojo— and believes he can now make of her a friend.

geto watches his best friend’s eyes shimmer and he flashes his infamous million dollar smile. he really is obsessed with his girlfriend and she doesn’t even know— and geto finds himself wishing he had somebody he’d be this ecstatic over. must be nice.

“i’m gonna go say hi to my girl real quick,” gojo taps at his shoulder, and geto nods. he’s cool on it, he’ll wait back here until he’s done, or can make his way to his next class depending on whatever gojo and his girlfriend arrange. “you comin’?”

“i’m probably gonna head to our next lecture.” geto voices out, pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. he feels gojo peeking over his shoulder, in which he assumes to verify if that would be necessary.

over forty-five minutes. damn it.

“that’s mad pointless, class doesn’t start till more than half an hour,” gojo says, and geto doesn’t see himself waiting around that long for a lecture. no way, “just come— her friends are chill.”

fuck it, he goes. naturally, gojo is all over his girl and her friends expect it. geto does give them a little wave when gojo introduces him. one of the girls mention having heard of him through a friend— something about a failed talking stage. mad federal, and the sheepish chuckle geto offers when you give him an unreadable look makes him want to crawl into a ditch.

so now you think he’s a whore. awesome.

and gojo’s smirk definitely doesn’t help him out. he doesn’t help out at all actually, so enamoured by his girlfriend that he leaves geto to fend for himself against a pack of wolves (read: nosy girls). he replies only when spoken to, nods when necessary and throws in a few “that’s crazy,” to which the girls fail to pick up he’s out of words to say.

well, everyone except you.

you’re quiet. in fact, the whole time, you haven’t said shit to him. you sit back and observe, occasionally typing on your macbook, or reapplying your lip combo. you didn’t have any words to say to him. even when your friends would talk to you, you gave them short answers and went back to listening to whatever was playing in your airpods. he could tell from that small interaction alone, you were the mean one out of your clique.

and fuck if that didn’t make him want you more. there was just something about mean women that made him want to break through their fake ass exteriors and watch them turn all soft and chummy for him.

blame it on his corruption kink.

gojo confirms his thoughts when they’re finally on their way to class. he kissed his girl goodbye and waved off her friends, to which they all (minus you) collectively cooed, “byeee gojooo!” which he found odd, but kept silent. he gave them a small nod before following his best friend.

they’re a few steps in the science building when the words slip before he can help it, ultimately cutting gojo’s rambling off, “yo, who was that girl?”

gojo glances at him before chuckling, “there was like seven of ‘em. which one?”

“the quiet one.”

it throws him off guard when gojo laughs hard. like, really hard. it attracts the attention of bystanders, who give him a crazy look but gojo ignores. as if they’d try to press him about his volume— the two were pretty adored around campus.

geto does find his reaction quite interesting, to which he cocks a brow and offers a chuckle of his own, “what?”

“oh, you definitely mean y/n,” when his laughter dies down, he finally answers. he lifts his shades to his hairline to swipe a tear. “she’s mean as fuck, bro.”

“right?!” geto laughs, tapping at gojo’s shoulder. it only charges gojo’s laughing fit back up, “i could tell from her vibe. she gives off those ‘men ain’t shit’ girlies on twitter. whole time, she’s probably laid up in bed with one.”

“you don’t even knowww,” gojo holds his shoulder and shakes him a bit. geto does in fact know, because he’s dealt with girls like her before. they’re always a good ass time. “she does men dirty. like, absolutely dogs them. heard one phone call too many.”

oh? even better than he expected. she’s probably the type that used to love hard before getting her heart trampled on and decided to seek revenge on all men. like, on some jennifer’s body shit. geto can’t help but smirk, “lemme see for myself. put me on.”

gojo falters in his step. his grip on geto’s shoulders loosen and his expression changes— not by much, but the once lighthearted smile switches to a skeptical one, “you serious?”

geto lets out a soft sigh, shrugging gojo’s hands off his shoulders. “don’t start asking too much. i did a favour for you and your girl, didn’t i?,” well, technically speaking it wasn’t like his comment had been the deciding factor for the two, but it did open gojo’s eyes. “you owe me one.”

“i don’t owe you shit,” gojo laughs, throwing his arm around geto anyways, “buuut you’re my boy and i’m not stingy. i’ll see what i can do, i know you’ve been getting a lil jealous of wifey and i.”

“shut the fuck up.” geto’s chuckles contradict his statement.

from that point on, it’s smooth sailing. gojo texts his girl asking if she’s seeing anybody. they have a little back and forth because his girlfriend assumes he’s asking for himself— which gojo gets all dramatic and throws geto under the bus for free. welp! it all worked out anyway since after he and gojo parted, you’d thought he was fine shyt. judging from your character, he doesn’t exactly take gojo’s words for what they are.

but he’ll take the opening, it’s as good as any.

time to plot.

☆ ☆ ☆

the second encounter was purely coincidental. and simultaneously embarrassing.

see, geto prides himself on his mysterious act— granted he was anything but. people see all that is gojo and automatically assume that geto has to be the cool one. it creates a perfect balance, no?

haven’t people heard of birds of a feather flock together?

so yes, he’s also a nerd. he typically enjoys spending his wednesday afternoons at dice board cafes because why not. it’s a chill, lowkey joint right off campus and not a lot of people gravitate towards, therefore the perfect spot to camp out before his evening lecture.

besides, his buddy choso works there and it gets him discounts. it isn’t the only reason he shows up, but it does help a lot on his pockets. being a student is awful, financially.

geto sips on his choco latte through a straw, browsing through the board games pamphlet as he decides what he’s going to play today. most of these games are pretty pointless if he doesn’t have an opponent, but he likes to think it helps develop his iq. he hears avenoir playing through the cafe and knows choso’s on aux.

who else could be playing this toxic ass shit?

he’s torn choosing between snakes and ladders or chess when he hears chimes at the front door, signalling somebody’s entered the establishment. he doesn’t think much of it, going on about minding his business when he hears choso say your name.

the latte enters the wrong tube and he chokes.

geto collects himself quickly, wiping any stray liquid past his mouth as his head snaps up. you’re propped up against the counter, and though he can’t see your face, he definitely recognizes your build. . . okay, yeah that sounds fucking pervy but if he stalked your page a few times, who’s business is it but his own? it’s not like you’d know. granted, he had got caught up liking one of your older photos but he took the like right back!

he debates on walking up to you. how would that even work without seeming desperate? you’ve been checking out all of his boxes so far— your face, body and attitude (question mark) are all tens. he does want to get to know you— at least be somebody in your life. but damn, why is he overthinking this? all he has to get up there and sweet talk you. he’s done this shit before.

“yo, suguru!”

shit.

purple orbs shift towards where his name was called, and lo and behold, there stands choso. and naturally, you look back to who was summoned, but god— social media does not do your face justice. he last seen you about a week ago, and had nothing but your instagram and his memory to rely on.

he makes his way to the counter and ignores you. doesn’t spare you a glance once— though he stands right at your side and watches you watching him through his peripheral. he nods at choso, “what’s up?”

choso, ever the genius, flicks his eyes between geto and you, before clearing his throat, “shoko just texted— somethin’ about a new client. how’s the studio looking?”

“booked all week,” geto answers truthfully, and he notices you’ve shifted your gaze, “little to no openings. why though?”

choso hums, jolting down online orders into a little notebook, “not even for a special friend?”

geto squints his eyes at that. there isn’t anybody he’d call a special friend that hasn’t already been booked or wouldn’t have his number to squeeze in an appointment. granted, he is a dnd warrior but even his friends know of that quirk of his, “depends. who’s the special friend?”

“me.” and he feels his heart skip a beat. fuck. he tilts his head over to the side, and good lord, your face card gave every girl on campus runs for their money. seriously, your facial features complimented you in a way that told aphrodite— the textbook definition of beauty— to go fuck herself, and hard.

“oh?” geto cocks a brow, and lets his eyes roam up and down your frame. shameless, yes, but he has a reputation to uphold. your rest in face makes his own look like child’s play, “didn’t realize we were on special friends basis.”

you click your tongue, “didn’t realize we were on lurking spam accounts but pretend we don’t exist the next day basis either,” you quip right back, picking at the white bow glued to your acrylics.

sassy. geto chuckles, now fully turning his body around to face you. you match his movements, and he toys with a ring on his middle finger, “guess you got me all figured out,” he pauses, shifting his gaze to choso, who’s already eyeing him. “sounds like you wanted me to reach out.”

“boy please,” you scoff, pausing your nail inspection. you let your hand hang, “you choked earlier because you heard my name. that corny nonchalant act isn’t the flex you’re thinking it is,” a huff escapes your lips, and geto feels blood rushing to his face. “your lurking ass was months deep into my page just a week ago— did you find any men ain’t shit vibes from the photo dump?”

choso stifles a laugh, and when geto looks at him, it dies into a cough. well damn, you really didn’t hold anything back. read him like a book actually— and it doesn’t help that gojo can’t keep his mouth shut for shit. it widens the grin on his face. he thinks he likes you.

“well,” geto smirks, “can’t say i have— means there’s still an opening.”

you furrow your brows, “oh? an opening to what exactly?”

“an appointment, of course,” he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. his locks are getting in his face, but the messy look always gets him compliments. might as well shoot his shot, “you know. . .” leaning his chin into the palm of his hand, “for a special friend.”

his double entendre definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you. he watches how, despite the mean mugging, there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes. you’re squinting just slightly, almost as if you were weighing out the pros and cons. geto won’t break the eye contact first— he’s on a mission. he hopes the tired eyes look will be on his side this time.

tattoo or dick appointment— he would one hundred percent make an opening for you. anything to get his hands on your body.

“are we still talking about the tattoo parlour or . . .”

both you and he turn to choso, who’s watching the situation unfold. just count on him to ruin the mood, whether the obliviousness was feigned or not. choso tightens his brows at the look geto shoots him, “what?”

“i’m gonna head out,” you grab at your handbag, hopping of the seat. nicely played choso. you gather your items and slip them in your purse, sliding a few bucks across the counter. choso grabs the bills and stick them in the tip jar, nodding at her. “catch you in poly sci?”

“if you don’t skip again.” choso snorts and you flip him off, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you turn on your heel and make your way towards the exit, ultimately dismissing geto. that doesn’t feel too nice, he should probably stop that bad habit.

he rises to his feet before he can help it. his hand grabs at your wrist and notices how much smaller it seems in comparaison to his, and he hates the next words that leave his mouth, “what about me?”

you glance down at his hold on you, before looking back up at him, “what about you?” your face says everything your lips haven’t— you’re getting the ick.

he wants to wince. okay, yeah that was corny, “when do i get to see you?”

you drag out a mini hum, your gaze dancing over his silver chain around his collarbone, “dunno. you have my socials so i assume in the next hour.”

he tilts his head to the side, and the pad of his thumb grazes over your smooth skin. he doesn’t fail to notice the way your hand stiffens under his touch, “so if i slide in your dms in the next hour, i can expect an answer?”

a snort leaves your chest, and he can’t tell if it’s a condescending one or an amused one. what he does know, however, is that he’s going to be seeing you sometime soon. you take your hand back into your possession before laying it in the dead centre of his chest, pushing him back just slightly, “i’ll see you around, geto.”

his eyes trail over your figure, every step you take out of the establishment, slightly starstruck by the entirety of you— your boldness. the thrill he was beginning to feel felt like a high. he hasn’t met anybody this entertaining in a while.

“you’re so fucking corny.” he thinks he hears choso insult him from behind. he doesn’t pay him any mind, despite the middle finger that tips towards the ceiling. partynextdoor blasts in the cafe, specifically freak in you, and he hates how he finds himself relating to the lyrics,

room full of beautiful women but he only wants one.

☆ ☆ ☆

“you stalking me, pretty?”

“sure,” you nod your head, raking through the items on the clothing rack. you don’t spare him a single glance, picking a top off the rack and inspecting it, “if stalking means visiting the busiest thrift store on the busiest hour in the busiest city.”

geto lets out a small laugh, shoving his hands in the pockets of his cargos. you make him feel like a nuisance, like he’s a pest wasting your time. ironic, seeing as he wasn’t that much of a bother just last night, when you’d been indulging him in your inbox, “of course you’re the thrifting type.”

you pause your actions, price tag in your fingers as you side eye him through locks of your hair, “and you’re not?”

“didn’t mean it in a bad way, sweetheart.” geto shrugs, pulling off a cropped baby tee and bringing towards you. it has sequins sewn in the material, the gems writing out juicy couture. “this would suit you— belly piercing and whatnot.”

the top is cute, there was no denying so. a pretty shade of pink that suited your complexion, but letting his ego inflate bigger than it already was out of the question. he could tell your thought process from the judgmental look you offered, “oh god—you’re one of those fake ass, streetwearing fashionistas, aren’t you?”

geto blinks a few times, before letting out a sincere laugh. he’s been called a multitude of things before, but that one was new, “you got all that from me suggesting you buy this juicy couture tee? don’t all girls fiend over this vintage shit?”

“it’s that corny ass personality of yours,” you grab the shirt, throwing it in your cart. he wants to make a comment on that, but you beat him to the chase, “the phoney nonchalant act, the streetwear, your insta aesthetic— you’re so scripted.”

“my insta aesthetic?” he repeats, and doesn’t miss a step to catch up to you. your hands are back on the handle of your shopping cart, and if the way his elbows bump into your shoulders bothers you, you don’t make point in commenting on it. “who’s the lurker now, hm?”

you roll your eyes, pushing the strolley ahead, “don’t let it get to your big ass head. your feed screams you’re those toxic ass brent faiyaz wannabes,” he watches your fingertips rake through more clothings that pass your way, before you shoot him a glance, “let me guess— he showed on your spotify wrapped.”

his silence speaks volumes, and you click your tongue, “see? scripted.”

“and what about you?” geto counters when you make a pit stop. you pull away from your cart when a denim skirt catches your eye. you lift the skirt up to your eyes, before looking over your shoulder, cocking a brow.

“what about me?”

“the tweet reposts, the song choices for your highlights, the whole spiritual baddie persona,” he presses behind you, his chest meeting your back. he rests his chin atop your head, purple eyes landing on the clothing article that’s lowering in your hold, “if my page gives brent then yours definitely gives jhene.”

you’re mute for a second, and you chuck the skirt into the cart. you pull away from beneath him, spinning on your feet to face him, and you’ve got a scowl on your lips, “what’s wrong with jhene?”

“and you call me the toxic one.” geto pokes at your cheek. you swipe his hand away, and he laughs, “don’t get me wrong though— she makes good music. but let’s not act like she’s all innocent either,” his gaze lowers to your glossy lips, the fullness of the pair hypnotic, “a real freak. should i call you my pussy fairy?”

“do not,” you reply, weaving around him to make your way back to your cart. geto laughs, snatching a few things of the racks before dumping them in your stuff. you give him a deadpanned look and he whistles it off, feigning ignorance. “jhene’s a lovergirl. thought i was part of the men ain’t shit community.”

“you’re not gonna let that go, are you?” geto sighs. he owes gojo another thump in the head.

you roll your eyes, “thank your homeboy for that.”

“two things can be true at once,” geto fiddles with the hem of his jacket. he’s back at walking step by step with you, and you haven’t told him to fuck off yet, so he’s going to milk the opportunity out. “you’re mean but a lovergirl. you hate men but a real freak with them. right or wrong?”

you halter in your steps, and geto’s now a few steps ahead of you, so he looks over his shoulder to meet your bored expression, “i know you’re not trying to read me in the middle of value village.”

“no better time than the present,” he smiles, one that creases a dimple in his cheeks. “come on up— what are you waiting for?”

you stare at him some more, inhaling sharply, “mind you, i never invited you to join me,” you shake your head but comply regardless. cute, looks like you’re enjoying his company more than you’re letting on.

so he graces you his presence some more. he shops along with you, sneaks clothes into your cart when you’re distracted and asks you stupid questions. it’s a good time— to him at least, being able to get to know you some more without interruptions. naturally, you feign that his company is the bane of your existence, but he doesn’t miss the twitch of your lips when he taps his card into the reader at the check out.

hell yeah he’s got money to spend and is willing to show off if it means getting on your good side.

it’s only after he helps you bag your shit into your car, that he realizes this is where the both of you part ways. it annoys him slightly, but he doesn’t need to overstep his boundaries. he closes your trunk and makes his way to the driver’s side, where you’re already buckled up.

he taps at your window and the glass rolls down all the way, to which he leans forward. he’s in your line of sight now and you sigh, tilting your head sideways, “what?”

“do i get a goodbye kiss?” geto teases, honest, the boyish smirk he offers accentuating the playful undertone. the last thing he expects is you shifting in your seat, pushing yourself up and peaking your head out the window.

his smirk drops, brows jumping to his hairline. you’re really fucking close now, and for a split second he thinks you’re actually going to do it. he can see the flecks of colours swimming in your orbs, the tip of your nose bumps into his and your breath fans his cupid’s bow.

fuck, you smell really good. he bets you taste even better. his mouth is running dry, mindlessly darting his tongue out to wet his own lips. he doesn’t realize he’s let himself lean into your space, eyes narrowing on your mouth parting over his.

he’s pulled out of his trance when two fingers press at his forehead and push. he blinks his lashes, snapping back to reality as you sit back into your seat. you look amused— as if you’d played the funniest game right in his face and he’d been the star player.

“i’ll see you around, geto.”

and you drive off.

☆ ☆ ☆

“come back in a few weeks for a checkup. we’ll make sure the healing process is running smoothly. i’ll catch you soon.”

he lets out a tired sigh when the door finally closes, slumping into his seat and shuts his eyes. he’s exhausted— having woken up early for lectures and labs to back to back appointments with clients. this time around, the parlour is always booked and busy. students find it the perfect timing to get tatted to let it heal before showing it off in the summer.

it’s smart for them but idiotic for him. midterms are up, and the only time he has to study is in between appointments. he slides off his gloves and drags his seat towards his desk, redirecting his attention focus towards the blinding screen.

he feels a headache building at his temple, sipping at his iced coffee to keep him energized. contradicting, sure, but you didn’t have the luxury to be a beggar and a chooser when you were a full time student. the parlour he ran resided in his loft apartment, on the second floor. he enjoyed the comfort of his own home, spacious room and wide windows compared to outside stores.

his cat, nanako, purrs at his feet and he feels his heart swell. if there was one weakness he had in this world, it’d be her. he picks her up from the floor, presses her at his rib cage and nuzzles his nose in her fur.

“hi baby,” geto coos, and nanako lets out a sound. he continues to coddle her, fluffing her fur and rubbing at her ears, “it’s been pretty lively in here, hasn’t it? i knowww,” he coos, and as if nanako understands his words, she makes a pitiful sound that slightly shatters his heart.

geto decides to place her on his lap, her company serving plenty of motivation as he rolls back to his desk. he grabs the remote to his built-in speakers, turning the volume higher, before locking back in. exams are full of crap, and words are starting to jumble on his screen— he’s beginning to contemplate if this education shit is even worth the stress.

he’s an hour deep in jolting notes down on his ipad when he hears a knock at his front door. he scrunches his brows and glances at his agenda— he isn’t due for an appointment until another few hours. he sits it out, starting to believe he’d maybe imagined the sound. he knows it isn’t gojo since he’s celebrating an anniversary with his girl, and any other friend would’ve called to let him know they’re outside.

probably some jehovah witness shit, he thinks to himself, fingers hovering over his speaker remote to crank the volume back up. he turns back to his laptop screen, petting nanako mindlessly when his ipad flashes an instagram notification.

yourstruly.yn: open up

he jumps to his feet, chair rolling back. nanako flies to his desk, landing on all fours as she hisses at him for his suddenness. geto grabs her and kisses her ear, “sorry baby,” before sitting her on the floor. she walks off to her mini bean bag right at the foot of his desk, and he senses an attitude coming from her.

damn, he’d forgotten he squeezed you in last night in the midst of his sweet talking. that was truly a stupid move, he was already behind on studying, and because he likes to think with his head instead of his actual head, he’d fall even further behind.

he checks around the flat— picks up stray wrappers and fixes throw pillows, arranges his sheets. he was a clean man for the most part— he had been so distracted with his studies that there wasn’t much to dirty in the first place. his candles had already been lit so he knew the place smelled fine. he’s pretty positive his loft is clean enough to leave a good first impression.

he fixes loose hairs and straightens out his hoodie and sweats. thank fuck he’d showered not too long ago— he’s beginning to understand why his mother was always so insistent on being clean in case of random pop ups.

when he does finally open the door, there you stood. it was pretty chilly outside this time around, so he wasn’t surprised by the harsh wind flowing in and the clutch of your coat in your hold. your nose began reddening, and you sniffled, scowling from the cold.

you’re so cute, he sends you a smile, “hey.”

“hi,” you replied, sniffling again. “you ever planning on letting me in?”

“dunno,” he crosses his arms over his chest. he leans against the doorframe, ignoring the way he was starting to feel the frosty wind setting in his bones, “maybe if you ask nicely.”

you shoot him a deadpanned look, “move.”

“no.” geto smiles, “try again.”

“move, now.” a small pout is starting to form on your lips. he really liked testing your patience, since it always seemed to run low. you must’ve met your match— because geto always had time to fuck around.

“close, but not quite.”

“oh my goddd,” you groan, and that’s when he decides to let up. it really is colder than a bitch outside and he’d already kept you waiting while tidying up. he lets out a chuckle when you turn to the side, “i’m leaving— too damn cold for this.”

“alright, i’m playing,” geto widens the door. you stop your movements and glare at him. he aims an arm towards the inside of his loft, “don’t go, come in.”

you grumble something beneath your breath but comply, walking right past him. he follows behind you, shutting the door close and is immediately greeted back with warmth. you slip your shoes off and place them on the rack, before stepping in further into his apartment.

he slides his hands into his sweatpants’ pockets, catching up to you in the living room. your head is tilted upwards as you inspect the place though you remain in place. he stands beside you, bumping his shoulder into your arm, “so? up to your standards?”

you’re quiet for a while, letting your eyes roam around as the words build in your mind, “it’s typical,” you shrug but don’t elaborate. you’ve been staring at an art piece he’d done first year when he was fried out of his mind. you shift your gaze back to him, “where do i put my shit?”

“you can leave it in my bedroom, if that’s fine.” geto suggests and you nod wordlessly, to which he leads you to the second floor. he’s walking up the stairs and prays he doesn’t fall flat on his face— his socks can be a real bitch sometimes.

you both make it to his bedroom, with you trailing a little behind. he grabs a hanger from his mobile clothing rack, stretching an arm out to you, “i’ll hang your jacket here.”

you slide off the coat from your frame and hand it to him, to which he hangs on the rack. you circle around his bedroom with your tote on your shoulder, while he makes his way back to next to his desk. it’s pretty quiet for the most part, besides the music playing gently in the background.

your gaze lands on the cluttered items on his desk, noticing the half empty cup of coffee, notebooks and ipad on display, “did i catch you at a bad time?”

“honestly? yeah,” geto shrugs, before motioning at your tote bag. you slip it off and hand it to him, to which he sits at his nightstand, “but it’s my fault anyway, i squeezed you in a busy time. you know how exam season gets.”

“i can always reschedule,” you offer, checking your phone screen for the date, “it’s not that deep.”

“i don’t want you to leave,” geto slumps back into his seat and heaves out a sigh. he spins the chair around to catch you giving him a flat look. he leans back in his seat and spreads his thighs, smirking, “would you stay?”

“depends. are you going to be studying?” you quip, crossing your arms back to your chest.

geto ponders on what to say next. it’s not like he doesn’t want to tatt you up, but he really is caught in a bind. he also doesn’t want you to leave— not when he’s been wanting to see you since the last time he’d seen you. does he prioritize his wants or his needs?

he hums, “i’ll do whatever you want me to.”

you roll your eyes, scoffing as you make your way to his nightstand. for a second, he thinks you’re getting ready to leave and a weird feeling of disappointment settles in his gut. instead, you grab the bag and sit on the edge of his bed, pulling out your macbook and crossing your legs.

he smiles at that, “attagirl.”

“corny.” you mumble, chewing on your bottom lip as you begin typing away.

there’s a comfortable silence that fills the room. he’s back to browsing through his lecture notes, noting down valuable information and memorizing terminology. you don’t say anything either, but the sound of your nails typing at your keyboard blends well with his r&b playlist playing. sounds like you’re writing down an essay or report, depending on whatever your major is.

about half an hour into the silence, does he decide to break it. he looks over his shoulder to where you’re settled on his bed, “you good?” he checks up on you, and you let out a burnt out sigh. he knows exactly how you’re feeling.

“i guess,” you huff, twirling your necklace. your eyes are stuck on your screen, brows creasing into a scowl, “this shit is frying my brain though.”

“what are you writing?” he indulges, dropping his apple pen back onto his desk and spins in his seat to face you. maybe he’s also in due of a break— he’d rather be talking to you anyway.

“this crim report,” you answer, picking at your nail, “it’s not exactly hard but mad lengthy. i have to write a ten page report based on this article and how it contradicts societal norms.”

“ten pages?” geto whistles, rubbing at his chin. he’s settled deeper in his seat, naturally manspreading. you’re much better than him, he would’ve given up before even starting— reports were not his thing, “how far are you in?”

“i started this morning,” you hum, “so i’m four pages in.”

geto nods, “and when is it due?”

“tomorrow night.” you push your laptop off your lap. you close the screen shut and stretch out your legs, releasing a breathy moan as you relax your thighs. “i’ll do this shit later— my head’s starting to hurt.”

geto swears he’s never been so in sync in thought. he dismisses the idea of studying the second you had closed your macbook. probably a bad idea but at the moment, he couldn’t care any less, “want some entertainment?”

you cock a brow, “don’t say no stupid shit.”

“twenty one questions,” geto speaks nonetheless and finds himself beaming brightly when you scoff, “can’t a guy want to get to know you better?”

you ease yourself on his bed, slumping into his sheets as you exhale. you shift onto your side— a sinful curve at your side— tucking your knees and lean your head into your palm, “oh fuck off,” a breathless laugh and nanako makes her presence known, hopping right by you in the space between your body and the edge of the bed, “didn’t know you had a cat. she’s cute.”

“how’d you know she was a she?” geto wonders, surprised just slightly by how welcoming nanako was around you. she purred when you stroke at her fur, nuzzling further into your chest. nanako hated everyone— especially gojo, who unironically visited the most.

“instinct,” you shrugged but there’s a faint smile on your lips. not directed towards him, but his baby, “i also have a cat— he’s a fucking menace though.”

that’s one thing in common already, “like mother like son,” geto grins lazily when you flip him off mindlessly, and when you raise nanako in both your hands, he’s ready to warn you she isn’t a big fan of sudden movements— but when she mewls, the same sound she makes when geto brings home a new toy, the words die down in his throat.

he observes you both silently. you cradle nana as if she were a newborn infant, adoring and loving yet simultaneously careful and steadily. you’re cooing, calling her a sweet girl and rubbing at her ear, and nanako accepts you rather easily— too easily.

“woah.” was this those non-sexual turn ons people spoke about? for somebody so mean, you were oddly gentle with pets. he liked that— really liked that, so much that he pulls his phone out and snaps a photo of you two. but of course, because the universe loves to see him fumble, the flash goes off.

your head snaps to the side and he freezes. you narrow your eyes at him, slowly lowering nanako, “did you just—”

“so!” geto cuts you off, chucking his phone back onto his desk. it makes a loud cluttering sound, damn near knocks his drink all over, but ignores it, “my turn. what’s your cat’s name?”

“milo. and don’t cut me off—”

“milo the menace,” he cuts you off regardless, not wanting to have to decipher just what exactly possessed him to do that. he’s never done so, and he wasn’t about to explain why he’d done it just now. deflecting king! “i need to see the little guy. got any pics?”

you huff, extending a hand behind you to find your phone. when you clutch onto the device, you swing your legs off the bedside, always careful with nanako clinging to your lap. you lay her down on the floor, much to her dismay, before making your way towards him.

his eyes are stuck on your body before his mind can tell him to stop. not like it mattered much, your own eyes glued to your phone screen as you searched for the pictures he’d asked. you’ve got a matching tracksuit on— though the hoodie is cropped, thus exposing your navel piercing. he’d always had a thing for those, the pretty good jewel dangling below the button.

it didn’t help that your thong straps sat atop your waist.

he spreads his legs further open, and you stop right in between. for a moment, you’re stuck on your phone, and geto really wants to get those thighs straddling him. you look delectable— he’d pin your knees to your damn ears, sprawled on your back, and eat you out until you pleaded him to stop.

your hair was pulled back into a bun, and from this angle, he spotted scripture at the column of your neck. there was wording inked in arabic, and he made a mental note to ask you what it meant later.

geto leans back into his seat when you fold forwards, and he gets a good whiff of your vanilla scented perfume, tingling his senses in the best way, “found it?”

you nod your head, swiping through your gallery, “yeah, my bad,” you have a folder named ‘mimi’ and as expected, was filled off candid photos of your cat. he pays attention as you slide your finger on your screen, selfies of you both in the morning passing by.

“cute,” he isn’t talking about the cat, and his gaze flicks from the screen to your face. there’s still a considerate amount of space between you both, but he can see your eye colour much clearer this close up. you blink your lashes at him and he smirks, “anything else you wanna show me?”

you sniff, “don’t be gross.”

“i meant of milo,” geto definitely didn’t mean of milo. you cock a brow skeptically, and he mirrors the look, though the smile on his face grows, “what a cute lil thing,” his voice lowers and his words trail off. there’s a beat of a pause for a while, and his gaze falls on the plumpness of your lips, “you gonna let me pet your kitty?”

another beat of silence. you’re staring at his lips, and he wonders what you’re thinking. he can tell you’ve picked up on what he’s laying down (hopefully you in the next few minutes) but he can’t tell what your next move will be.

“depends. . .” a soft whisper, and he feels your breath fanning over his cupid’s bow. you flick your eyes back at him, and he finally understands the whole siren eyes shit. through lidded eyes, your stare is intense— simultaneously pulling him in closer while pushing him back. you’re toying with him, and the hand he slides up from your thigh to your ass is enough fuel. “you any good?”

he brings a second hand to the other ass cheek, and urges you onto his lap. you comply, looping your arms at the back of his neck. he feels your nails grazing at his scalp and he holds back a lethal shudder. your weight feels amazing against him— his hard on poking and making its presence well aware.

“i’d like to think i am,” he knows he is, but playing humble always goes a long way. he lets his hands run over the cup of your ass, trails back up to your hips, and slides a finger beneath the thong strap. when he snaps the material at your skin, your back arches and you press your chest against his own.

“well,” you exhale when he noses into the crook of your neck, right above your tattoo. he’s littering wet kisses at your hot skin, your taste ever so sweet against his tongue. god, you must taste divine. at your jugular, he’s able to imprint your perfume into his mind. “only one way to find out.”

geto hums at that, relishing in the way you moan at a particular suck, and focus on nibbling at that spot once more. you’re tilting your head for easier access, hips grinding against his own for better friction. your hands are soft and cautious— they trail from his nape down to his chest, and further down to his waistband.

he’s on go, ready for whatever timing you’re on. though, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out by the way your fingertip traces right above his pelvis, that you’re both on the same page. he drags his lips from the column of your neck up to your jaw, and stops right above your parted lips.

he has another cocky remark on the tip of his tongue, in typical suguru fashion, but you beat him to the chase, glossy lips pressing against his. the kiss is short and definitely leaves him wanting more when you pull back as soon as you’d leaned in— but you’re a mere centimetre away.

you whisper, not before another kiss, “don’t disappoint me, suguru.”

and he’s never ran into bed so fast.

☆ ☆ ☆

the door slams shut.

he’s left with a painfully hard reminder in his sweats that he fucked up bad. he thinks he dissociated a little between the labia flapping to the coat zipping. it’s only when he notices that instead of hearing lip smacking sounds, he hears bryson tiller’s lame ass (no shade, his ego is simply wounded), that you really left.

fuck.

geto rushes back to his bedroom, the walk of shame up the steps enough to make him want to jump off— as he takes out his phone, immediately goes through his contact list and presses on the name. it rings twice before the call gets picked up.

“yooo!”

“you still busy?” geto asks, voice hoarse as he flops down on the edge of the bed— his now empty bed. damn.

“nah, just dropped off wifey,” gojo replies. he hears music playing faintly in the back, as well as the sounds of honking. he must still be in the car, “why, what’s up?”

“i fucked up.” geto sighs, running a hand over his face.

“oh?” he isn’t surprised to find out gojo’s surprised. he’s still surprised by how the events turned out and it’s barely been ten minutes, let alone five. “say no more, i’m on my way.”

geto hangs up. he throws the phone away, before falling flat onto his bed. he picks up your scent on his sheets, your warmth slowly disappearing— another painful reminder he messed up. where he’s expecting a wet patch of anything on his duvets, he finds nothing. zip. nada.

his eyes fall shut, “shit.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“and that’s pretty much the gist of it all.”

he exhales a cloud of smoke. more silence. geto’s starting to get sick of all this silence. it was radio silence with you and now even more radio silence from gojo. his hand never stops to rub at nanako, who’s been serving as a cuddling partner in this grand moment of crisis. the only person to ever have his back.

so, geto knew that confiding in his best friend this secret of his would be risky for a multitude of reasons. for starters, geto never fucks up. this would be ultimate blackmail content for him, and geto honestly doesn’t blame him. for two, he was just giving gojo shit about never having eaten pussy. that’s just downright humiliating. and for three, he has a girlfriend who he doesn’t keep anything from. on top of that— his girlfriend is friends with the main culprit here.

overall a bad idea. he does it nonetheless, because satoru is his best friend despite it all. he isn’t too shocked when the silence is filled with bellyaching laughter, though.

“wait— i’m cryinggg,” more laughter. gojo’s now kicked his feet off the couch and is doubling forward. his shades bounce off his head and hit the leg of the coffee table. he doesn’t pause his laughing fit one bit, not even when geto throws a throw pillow his way.

it bounces off his big head and geto scoffs, bringing the joint back to his lips, “oh fuck off.”

“my fault man,” gojo apologizes though he doesn’t sound apologetic. he’s leaning forward to grab his shades back, and he’s back to swiping stray tears. “that was a good laugh— shit.”

geto hums at that, extending the blunt towards him,“glad to hear my misery has brought you entertainment.”

“see, you get it!” gojo jokes, welcoming the joint. seems like he got cocky, however, his laughing mood not quite over as he inhales. he quickly chokes on the smoke, which fades back into cackling, “oh shit—”

geto sneers, annoyance quickly rising, “quit fucking around or pass it back.” he was being pissy, yes, but his pride had been curb stomped. and it hadn’t even been an hour ago!

“nah, nah, i’m good,” gojo waves him off, despite his free hand tapping at his chest. he collects himself soon enough, and takes another hit. this time it’s successful. geto lowkey hoped it would get caught in his throat again.

“sooo,” gojo drags out, melting into the couch, “what now.”

“what now?” geto parrots.

“what’s the next move?” gojo elaborates, fingertip tapping at the blunt, and ashes fall into the tray. the end of the stick crumbles in the same way geto’s ego had earlier. “you’re gonna keep letting her think you suck at giving head?”

geto throws his head back and sighs tiredly, “what else is there to do?” he hears the sound of sizzling in the background, “i fumbled bad, bro. you don’t think she already posted about me in her girls’ private story?” more sizzling and exhaling, “i’m the storytime of the day!”

he feels gojo nudge his thigh with his foot. he looks back and the joint is presented to him. he gladly accepts it.

“what even happened?” gojo wonders. and oh boy, if that isn’t the question of the day. geto is still trying to find the answer to that. had it been out of nervousness? had he gotten too cocky? had it been her?

“i honestly wish i could answer that,” geto slips the roach into his mouth. “i didn’t feel nervous until after i realized she wasn’t fazed,” he drags out a hit and ghost inhales, “maybe it was a sign from above— to shut the fuck up sometimes.”

“maybe,” gojo snorts, throwing his legs over geto’s lap. nanako hisses at the intrusion, but the white haired man ignores her, “don’t let yourself go out sad like this. hit her back up— whatever happened to loving challenges?”

“what kind of fucked up ass challenge is this?” geto mumbles, mainly to himself.

“if i was in your shoes— which i’d never be,” because he’s gojo, he feels the need to add, “i’d put my pride aside and talk to her. like no homo shit, but you’re a great eater— yeah, no, i’m taking that back instantly.”

geto looks as horrified as he feels, “quickly, even.”

of course, gojo laughs but proceeds, “the point is, you know you’re good at it. everybody fucks up once in a while— don’t let it define you though. think of it as a minor setback for a major comeback— if you care enough, you’ll put your pride aside and do something about it. if you’re this down about it, then it must mean something to you.”

geto can’t tell anymore whether gojo’s talking about the failed pussy eating attempt or you. regardless, he knows there’s truth to his words. has to be the weed talking.

“and who made you the pussy connoisseur?” geto snorts, pressing the bud of his joint in the tray. it sizzles weakly as he kills it, starting to feel that high course through his veins.

gojo sighs dreamily, “why my lovely lady, of course.”

“looks like she taught you well,” geto relaxes himself into the tight space of the couch, settling nanako on his chest. it’s now his turn to nudge gojo with his foot, his sock-cladded toe digging at his jaw. “woulda never expected this from a rookie just a few months ago.”

“well duh,” gojo swipes his foot away, “i aced that course. got my phD in cunningulusophy and all. even won valedictorian.”

geto laughs, resting his lids. he was starting to feel sleepy, indica will do that to you, “enroll me in whatever class you took— i may need to slut myself out for extra credit. my prof’s a tough nut to bust.”

“intro to munch 101,” gojo nods his head, shutting his eyes close as well. there’s a comfortable silence that fills the air for a while. and despite the fact that his sight manipulated, he could hear the smirk dripping off his tone, “if you ever need a letter of recommendation, i got you— alumni’s honour.”

“oh fuck off,” a mixed harmony of laughter and vibrating chests.

☆ ☆ ☆

fun fact: suguru geto loves showers.

the aroma of cleanliness enhanced by thick fog. the scorching water droplets trickling down his skin, the vulnerability of his nakedness inside these four walls. he strangely feels most at ease, most raw in this moment of solitude.

he’s able to gather himself too. there isn’t much to accomplish in a shower once you’ve gotten rid of the day’s dirt. so, he likes to take the opportunity to think. to think deep and hard.

his mind’s all scrambled up. it’s been about three days since you were last in his apartment, two days since he’d thought about it, and a day since he last seen you (granted it’d been on your story, virtually, but still).

this has been the biggest feat he’s faced in a while. if he recaps it, this is what’s he gotten: he invited you over. you came the next day. he didn’t cater to you the sole reason you came. you didn’t mind. you both studied for a bit. he asked about your cat. you ended up on his lap. he ended up in bed with you. you ended up leaving with a chunk of his dignity.

that didn’t explain shit, but it did remind him of his failure. it reminded him that he’d finally met his match. it reminded him he needs to start backing his shit up. it reminded him of how good you smelled and tasted down there. it reminded him of how pretty you looked.

his cock twitches and he glances down. it also reminds him he never ended up cumming, too engrossed in his anxiety to jerk one out.

he feels as though the glass doors of his shower protect him from reality. he’s hard, though mortified, but still hard. he’d spent a long time (two days) suppressing the memory away, but there was no way to mistaken your taste on his tongue. how sweet you smelled. how soft you felt—

geto fists at his dick before he can help it. his free hand plants at the wall before him, and he works his wrist. he twists at his shaft slowly and closes his eyes— behind his lids are photographic memories of you on his lap. memories of you on his bed. memories of the scent of your panties. memories of your tits in his mouth.

sure, you’d made more sounds off the foreplay for the foreplay— but that didn’t take away how turned on he’d been. how his dick twitched in his boxers. how he’d humped the mattress. how he’d moan in your cunt.

“y/n,” geto moans your name, sinful yet hushed, his hand working faster. his thumb grazes his over slit and his gut drowns in heat. he wants a redo. he deserves a redo— you deserved a redo. “fuckkkk,”

next time, he’ll get it right. and if he doesn’t, then he’ll want to try again and again and again— until it ends with your cunt clenching around his tongue and his face sprayed vigorously in your essence. until your thighs tremble around his face, your hand clawing at his hair and your back arched off his bed. until his name bounces off his walls and echoes so loudly his neighbours complain.

he wants a redo.

he jerks back as he paints the tiles white. the joints in his hand ache, the water from the shower head getting colder. geto pants heavily, chest heaving as his load is released from him. his cum drips from the wall and into the drain at his feet— but his dick is far from well spent. if he spends another hour in the shower, it’s nobody’s business but his own.

suguru geto loves showers.

☆ ☆ ☆

“oh. you actually showed.”

“redo,” geto pants, having sprinted from his apartment. he’d spent the next three days after his shower incident wallowing some more— at some point, it just annoyed him. though slightly underwhelming, he was on his phone in bed a few minutes ago, going through his camera roll when he’d seen that picture he took of you and nanako. his feet guided him to his car before he could help it. choso helped him out with the address.

“redo?” you parrot his words, leaning against your doorframe. you crossed your arms over your chest, and it’s only then he noticed your appearance— flimsy camisole and pink lace panties. fuck, he wants a redo now.

“i want a redo.” geto repeats, but is quickly hit with a gust of wind. he hadn’t brought a jacket with him in the midst of his impulse, and goosebumps were beginning to form at his skin. he shoots his shot, “you ever planning on letting me in?” talk about deja vu.

“dunno,” you play along, eyes narrowing. “maybe if you ask nicely.”

swallow your pride, he hears gojo somewhere in the back of his mind. he shakes that thought off quickly. this desperation had to be bigger than a pride issue— he was ready to get on his knees and beg her to let him in. pride? that had been drained to the sewers the second he busted all over his shower days ago.

“lemme in and i’ll make it up to you,” geto tries instead, taking a step closer, “please?”

that seemed to be the correct answer as you push open the door to your apartment further. you turn your back and geto lets himself drink up your backside— he hadn’t seen it last time but you had dimples sitting right above your perky ass. he watches your hips sway left and right, and even tilt your head back, a smirk etched on your face, “you comin’?”

you will be, “cute.” his lips twitch into a small smile, and closes the door behind him.

☆ ☆ ☆

fool him once? shame on him.

geto doesn’t allow himself to make the same mistakes twice. if one fuck up is enough to tear him down for a week straight then why the hell would he do it again?

you’re sprawled on your back, legs spread with enough space to fit his body in between. his hands plant on either side of your face, his bulge pushed up against your core. he feels your warmth through these layers of clothes, and he rolls his hips greedily, feeling himself already grow addicted. your chin is raised high, lids blown open as you stare at him all doe-eyed.

his brows pinch in the centre of his forehead. that faux look of innocence you’re offering is doing wonders to his dick. your tits sit beautifully beneath your top, arms back on him as you pull him in closer, and he lets himself fall prey to you. for a moment, the tip of his nose bumps into yours, lips ghosting over the other, hips colliding to meet yours.

“mhm, that’s it.” you let out a sigh, throwing your head back into your pillows. there’s an opening to your neck calling his name, and geto wastes no time to latch his lips there. he slips a hand beneath your tank top, fingernails grazing over your skin to creep up to your mounds. he flicks a thumb over the bud and you sigh blissfully again— he then cups the flesh.

he loves the way you squirm when he kisses down your body, “i got you, pretty,” stripped from your cami, his lips leave open mouthed marks all over your skin. from the column of your neck, to your breasts, down your torso and past your navel, “let me take care of you.” the lower he gets, the more intense your rawness reeks— and it’s a damned good smell.

he lands right above your clothed pelvis, and he inhales sharply. he won’t make the same mistake this time, he can feel it. there’s something lingering in the air, something indescribable— but he’s confident he won’t. because when he skips your cunt in favour to pamper your inner thighs, dragging his wet tongue all over erogenous zones, he spots dampening right where your clit would be.

bingo.

your hand cradles his hair, and the other props your body up by the elbow. he glances up at you, cock throbbing against your mattress. your beauty still renders him speechless— runs his throat dry and makes his tongue feel heavy. he doesn’t want to decipher what this means either, and decides to conclude he’s simply thirsty for you.

“suguru,” you call at him. he blinks and the hand in his hair snakes down his neck, and pushes him deeper. his nose nudges at your throbbing clit, and his tongue peeks out of his mouth to lick at the damp material before he can help it. two fingers hook at your panties and push them to the side, revealing glistening folds. your slick drips between your crack and stains your sheets. he thinks he hears his stomach growl a little.

another swipe of his tongue, this time in contact with the raw you, and a breathless moan rips from you, “don’t disappoint me this time.”

and he feasts.

☆ ☆ ☆

gojo’s woken up to a notification from his phone.

it’s still pretty late— or maybe early, and his pretty girlfriend is miles away in lalaland. she snores softly, cuddling into his side, and gojo’s ready to cuss out whoever dares potentially meddle with his girl’s sleep. he’s starting to get grumpy.

when his phone undergoes face recognition, he lowers the brightness immediately. he swipes through his notification center and notices an attachment sent by geto.

now that peeks his interest. he presses on the message.

suguboo: [1 attachment]

suguboo: passed intro2munch101 with an A+ 🫡

gojo can’t help the laugh that leaves him, though is quickly quieted down when he feels stirring at his side.

“well i’ll be damned.”

yes, gojo is obsessed with his girlfriend. also 10k words on geto???

[luveline]

𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡? | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

you finally work up the courage to kiss Eddie for the first time and he can’t cope (even if he claims he can). 2k words. requested here

cw fem!reserved/shy!reader, first kiss, heavy kissing, mutual pining, eddie being a hot dork

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Some people (Steve) call Eddie your loser boyfriend, while other people (the girls at work) call him the rockstar. 

You see both sides of him now. 

“Sweetheart!” he calls, the passenger seat window rolled down, his voice strong where he shouts behind the wheel. The van bumps the curve, leaving a sanguine line of rust in its wake and a creak to make everybody on the sidewalk wince. 

“Hello,” you call back. 

The van hums. You wait for him to be at a definite stop before you approach, hands on the open window, leaning up so as to see him best. It’s not just a usual date night tonight, Eddie’s taking you to Indianapolis for a rock show, and he’s dressed the part. “Woah, you look cool,” you say, bravely, wondering if that’s the right thing to say. It’s undoubtedly true —he’s slicked his curls with mousse to define them and leave them pitch black in accordance with his eyeshadow, dark and tapped into his lash line. The top he wears is incredibly tight, carving the softer lines of his abs for anyone to see, and his black jacket is ripped in places to expose the ink of his tattoos. “Are they multiplying?” 

“What?” he asks, grinning at you. “Are you getting in? It’s freezing!” 

“Your tattoos,” you explain, opening the door and popping up into the van with one shoe on the step. 

“Shit, you wanna see?” 

You’re not scared of Eddie, you just like him. He doesn’t worry you, doesn’t pressure you, nothing nefarious about him. He’s pretty, he’s considerate, and he does stuff like this, peeling out of his jacket to flex his arm at you and show you the Saran wrapping around his bicep. “Like that one?” he asks.

He has nice arms, and they’re all the better for his painful obsession. His newest one is difficult to see well under the wrapping. He notices you squinting and moves it up, tape pulling his skin. 

“Another bat?” you ask. 

“Not cool?” 

“So cool,” you disagree. This bat is unlike the others on his arm, which are small and simple in comparison. This one is heavily detailed and very dark, fangs in small triangles bared. The eyes aglow. The skin around it is red. “Did you get that today?” 

“On a whim. Still wanna date me, or is it getting to be too much?” 

You can’t answer him, and he knows that. You’re not very good at navigating intimate conversation or circumstance, though you like him, and he must know that too. Or he must really like you. Your dates have been chaste. Only last time could you work up the courage to take his hand, but when you had, he rewarded your courage with a drove of tenderness, fingers rubbing your knuckles and squeezing soft patterns for hours at the back of the movie theatre. 

The drive to Indianapolis takes near enough an hour. Eddie puts you on map duty but doesn’t use it, ignoring your offer of directions on the insistence that he knows a shortcut and then rerouting when you get too lost. He tells you there are snacks for you in the centre console and laughs, endeared, when you pop the lid and smile at it all. You talk about the show, a band you’d never heard of but had wanted to see on the grounds of sharing his interests. That’s what couples do, right? They try to do things together. You have to put yourself out of your comfort zone, and you’re happy to try if it means you can do it with him. 

“You nervous?” he asks, pulling into the parking garage outside of the venue, a towering, multi-story fiasco crammed with cars and motorbikes. 

“No,” you say, not quite mumbling as you look down at your hands. 

“Good, don’t be. I’m gonna look after you, we’re gonna have a great time. And then we can get takeout after?” You look up. He stretches his arm out to glance at his watch. “I would’ve taken you before, but good old Indianapolis keeps getting further away.” He smiles apologetically. 

You laugh without meaning to. His smile ramps up a notch. 

“I love when you laugh. You have such a cute laugh,” he says. 

“I know you’re lying,” you say, still laughing anyways. 

“I’m not lying, I love the way you laugh!” He shakes his head, curls falling away from his face as he flicks on the light on the car roof. “We have half an hour till doors open.”

“You don’t wanna line up?” 

“It’s kind of overwhelming and I figured we’d stay near the back of the crowd for your first gig here, it gets pretty rowdy.” He says ‘pretty rowdy’ like a drag, nodding gently, eyes lit with mirth. You love it when he talks like that. 

“We can go now, get further in. I can handle it.” 

“It’s not about handling it, I want you to have a good time. Plus, they could ruin your nice dress.” 

You meet his gaze all smiles like he is, but heat flickers in your chest and in your stomach, and you have to look away. It’s an impulse you’ve always given into. You’re reserved in the feelings department but trying not to be, Eddie deserves reciprocation, but it’s hard. Either way, he seems to understand this about you, and he hasn’t complained. 

Still, a bedraggled silence falls. Nearly awkward, unsure of how to tread, you sit together in your separate seats listening to cars parking and doors opening, closing on either side of you, the headlights of the cars driving past glaringly bright, white flashing over your screwed palms. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

You’re sure Eddie wants to kiss you. Three nights ago at the movies, after an hour of languid hand holding, he’d looked at your lips no less than three times as he said good night. He told you he’d had an amazing time, and that he couldn’t wait to see you again. You’d said the same in earnest, and then he’d just walked away. All those stolen glances and he hadn’t made a move. 

“Eddie… why…” You poke your tongue into your bottom lip momentarily, chewing it over. “Why haven’t we kissed yet?” 

“Um–” He lets out a nervous giggle before roughly clearing his throat. You peek at him, watching intently as he takes his hair away from his face with two hands. “I’m just waiting on you, sweetheart. No pressure.” He laughs as he talks, a picture of panic, “You’re sort of shy about that stuff, you know? I didn’t wanna surprise you.” 

“But you do want to kiss me?” you ask unsurely.

He puts his hand on your knee, the space between you suddenly smaller and warmer, the light like white glaze on his pupils, illuminating his finer details. He has a mole nestled under his eyelashes too small to see until now; it catches your attention. You stare at him too long. 

“Of course I do,” he says, eyebrows pinching together in concern. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I met you.” 

You nod and snap your head back to your lap. Why does he have to be so nice? You wish you’d listened to Steve, even if he was joking, you shouldn’t have ever said yes to Eddie, because now you’re terrified you can’t kiss him and you’ll ruin everything…

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m not waiting for anything. You can take your time or you could never kiss me, and I won’t care. I swear. I mean, I really want you to kiss me but I’ll find a way to cope, I’m sure.” He takes his hand from your leg softly. “Do you want my jacket? It’s cold out, n’ we should probably start walking.” 

You pull your head up slowly. 

He reads your hesitant expression. “I’m in no rush,” he promises, head ever so slightly ducked to yours. 

Okay, you think. Okay, I can do this. You hold your breath and start to lean in. He falters, a millisecond of misunderstanding, before he recognises what you’re doing and smiles. He reaches for your waist with enough care to give you a chance to change your mind, and when you’re close enough to feel his breath, his lashes shutter. 

You follow suit, blind, with nothing but your intuition as you press your lips to his. 

With a feeling like the hum of the engine under your hands, you bring your fingers to his soft cheek and hold him still. He breathes in harshly, touches you far from it, his palm slipping behind your back to pull you in. You lean into it; it feels natural to give in, to turn your head one way and part your lips, to have him kiss back with heat and surprising sweetness.

You feel unlike yourself in a good way, falling back to kiss forward again, a third time, trying to chase the lulling bliss of his lips. The stomach aching want. Your hand chases across his cheek and into the curls behind his ear, needing him closer but not expecting the sound it elicits. He sighs into your lips and you flinch back, startled by the sensation. 

Eddie rubs your back with his index finger, unjudging as you drop your head to catch your breath. 

“You okay?” he asks quietly. You can hear his affection. It’s palpable. 

You nod, a dizzy weight collected in your forehead, thankful when his free hand catches your cheek and he turns your face gently to the side. “I got too hot,” you confess, only half of the truth. 

“It was pretty hot.” He smiles at you like you’re the only person in the world, like you’ve a secret only he knows. “Want me to turn on the A/C?” 

“No, I–” want to kiss you again, you think. You might even tell him so, but he starts to blow on your face, disrupting any thoughts you’d had earlier. He purses his lips and blows cold breath on your cheek, a tenderness in his gaze and the tip of his thumb where it rests just under your eye. “Oh.” 

This might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for you. Your face feels precious in his careful hand, pretty under his longing look. You’re not scared when he encourages you back to his lips, your eyes quick to close, your hands across the gap of your seats to gather his shirt between tight fingers. 

His kiss is a reflection of him. Loser, rockstar, he’s eager and his hands start to betray that, his kissing melty hot and addictive as the tip of his nose presses hard to yours. You turn your face to accommodate him better and that small action drives him crazy. He’s pulling you in, smiling into your mouth, making breathy sounds that’ll stick around in your head ten times as long as the tingles filling your chest as just kisses and kisses and doesn’t stop. 

“M’sorry,” he says, pulling away, and then stealing another heavy, soft kiss like he couldn’t wait. “Sorry,” he apologises again, stroking the skin beside your eye to encourage you into opening them. “I’m not trying to get carried away. Just can’t believe you just kissed me.” 

“No, it’s okay, I– I really wanted to.” 

He kisses your cheek. You aren’t expecting it and you don’t know how to deal with it. It’s like kissing him has invigorated him, you’re a shot he knocked back, his excitement catching as he begs, “Close your eyes again, sweetheart, just one more–”

You raise your chin and he practically gasps, immediately pressing a last chaste kiss to your burning lips. 

“I’m not always like this,” he promises, leaning away, his fingertips falling from your face to trace down your neck, your shoulder. “You’re just so fucking pretty I lost my mind. I’m on best behaviour from now on, swears.” 

He raises his hand up in a scout’s honour. 

You breathe out happily. “Thank you.” 

“Oh my god. Quick, we better get out of this van before I lose my mind.” He shakes his head. “You’re insane. I have such a crush on you, holy fuck,” —he turns away from you and gets out of the van— “Jesus.” 

You pull down the sun visor to check your reflection in the mirror. You look thoroughly kissed, eyes aglow with it. 

“Fuck!” Eddie swears. You beam at yourself as he wraps on the window. “Come on, sweetheart! I have a concert to pretend to pay attention to.” 

You slink out of your seat, brave enough to try for another kiss so long as it doesn’t kill him dead right here in the parking lot. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed! I love knowing what you think and it means so much to me/ inspires me to write even more!!! <3 but of course I hope you enjoyed reading regardless :D 

[jj-one]

9:20 AM.

Jungkook (your boyfriend) knew exactly how to make you feel good, only he knew how to please your body.

pairing: bf!Jungkook x gf!reader genre/tags: smut, fluff, teasing, dom!jungkook x sub!reader, marking, jungkook has a tongue piercing, fingering, oral (f. receiving), mentions of crying (from pleasure), female orgasm words: 1.2k

**old repost from my deleted blog

You were excited for your boyfriend to come back home from his morning jog. You woke up after he did and he left the cutest little handwritten note on the refrigerator. It said on the note that he went out for his morning jog and is heading to the market after to pick a few things up for tonight’s dinner. You smile at his note and thought it was so sweet how he could’ve just sent a simple text but wanted to go the extra mile by handwriting a note for you. Deciding to do your own thing while he’s gone, you pick a romantic comedy movie to watch on Netflix to pass the time. Patiently waiting for Jungkook to arrive back home, you heard the door suddenly unlock and hurry to get up to go leave out of your room.

“JUNGKOOK!” You shout eagerly, almost pouncing on him once he gets through the door.

“Y/n, my baby girl,” He greets you back with a doting smile, wrapping his arms around your waist, encasing himself into you.

You wasted no time to start kissing him, immediately going in to grab his pretty face with both of your hands, crashing your lips into his. He must’ve been thinking about doing this all day because once you two start making out, he carries you straight into both of your guy’s bedroom and places you gently onto the bed.

Jungkook knew exactly how to make you feel good, only he knew how to please your body. He’d begin by peppering your jaw and neck with a plethora of kisses, leaving a faint trail of hickies behind. He’d also be rubbing your inner thigh with his large hands that always turn you on every time you look at them. The prominent veins on his hands and arms when he flexes just a teensy bit is enough to make you cum in your panties.

“I love you so much,” Jungkook murmurs against your skin, still kissing and sucking on your neck as if he’s a vampire.

“Love you too koo— fuck…” Your response was interrupted by what he was doing to you next. Jungkook’s tattooed hand makes its way down to the tight shorts you were wearing. The shorts were pink and had a cute hello kitty design on them, Jungkook was the one who bought them for you actually. He’s always loved seeing you in the clothes he bought for you over the years, acting like a little kid on Christmas.

Jungkook is rubbing you over your shorts and the friction is driving you absolutely insane. You can just feel how wet you’re becoming, the juices from your heat start to overflow; seeping through your panties and he feels you throbbing on his fingers. He’s got a sinister look on his face and you already know that means you’re in for something amazing to make your morning.

“Sheesh baby, look how wet your pussy’s getting…” Jungkook looks in awe, hissing at the sight of a giant wet spot forming in your panties after he took off your tight skimpy shorts.

Jungkook begins caressing, kissing, and licking your lower body, touching every curve and crevice of you, not missing a single spot. His touch is so gentle, so warm, so inviting. His tongue rolls along the inside of your thigh, the steel metal of his tongue piercing feels cold but the sensation tingles down your spine. Flinching from the action he performed, he notices straight away, eyebrows raised in a sudden stir of confusion.

“You okay baby?” He asks softly before continuing, wanting to make sure nothing he did hurt you.

“Y-yes, just feeling a little sensitive that’s all…” You say quietly.

You feel him smile against your soft flesh, planting more wet kisses against yours thighs and laid his head there for a while to feel your warmth.

“I could be like this all day y’know?” He basks in your presence, speaking in a mumbled tone, half his face still buried in your thighs.

“I know koo.”

Jungkook raises his head a tiny bit just to face your clothed pussy again. He couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot, bringing his face—specifically his nose, closer to you to get a whiff of your sweet aroma. He practically buries his nose into your panties and drags it down your slit.

“You smell so good..” He was intoxicated by your scent, loving the natural, but fragrant essence.

He licks a stripe to your clothed core, making you moan out loud and bring your hand to latch onto his fluffy hair. You love to play with it and make it a mess of his hair after he’s done giving you the best head of your life.

“You taste really good too babe,” Jungkook couldn’t get enough of you, he was literally drunk off your pussy.

You were so desperate for him to take your panties off as you were starting to make more of a sticky mess in them but he seemed to be enjoying it more that way. He wanted to prolong the action of coming into contact with your bare pussy. He wanted to tease you so much until you were begging for him to touch your clit. You wanted nothing but his tongue against your wet folds right now.

“J-jungkook…” You mutter so lowly, he almost couldn’t hear you.

“Hmm, what’s my name baby?” He asks while still teasing your entrance, now sliding one of his fingers inside your floral panties.

“Jungkook!” You moan louder this time, feeling somewhat better that you’re almost getting to where you want to be.

“Want you to scream my name for hours, can you do that for me babydoll?” He asks in a serious tone, pushing his finger in and out of your soaked cunt.

You nod submissively, “o-okay daddy..” arching your back against the bed from the amazing feeling, Jungkook knows exactly how to use his fingers on you.

He kept fingering you harder and deeper until you look him in the eyes and visibly start to tear up from all the pleasure he’s giving you. It’s so good but so unbearable at the same time. He made you feel like you were in heaven, crying out his name, just saying “Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook” on repeat whilst he’s finger fucking you. He’s scissoring your tight hole from the inside out and your juices were now running so far down your legs. You were super close to your orgasm and he could tell by the contorted face you were making.

“Jungkook… Jungkook.. fuck I’m gonna cum!” You scream for him, eyes rolling to the back of your head and your vision was going insanely blurry.

“Yeah baby that’s it, just relax…cum for daddy,” Jungkook coaxes you through it, encouraging you to reach your high but still adding slight pressure to your clit. You couldn’t take it anymore, just letting go and being in eternal bliss as you reached your climax. You moaned his name a couple more times and he called you his good girl for cumming when he told you to. You went back to making out and he was now massaging your boobs.

“You’re really horny today, huh?” You ask Jungkook, stifling a giggle at his overly naughty behavior.

“The real question should be when am I not horny whenever I’m with you y/n..” Jungkook shamelessly admits, grabbing your face once again to kiss you harder.

At least you can say you don’t have issues with satisfying your man in the bedroom !

[hawkinsbnbg]

Soulmates au where Steve's soulmate is a man of culture.

ao3

Steve got Good boy inscribed on his butt, just on the right cheek.

It would be funny if it was a tattoo Steve had gotten one time when he was too drunk and on a dare.

Except it wasn't a tattoo. At all.

Even though it kind of looked like one.

It was the first words his soulmate would say to him.

When Steve first got it, his friends had given him odd looks in the locker room.

Tommy would use many excuses to touch and even Billy wouldn't shut up about it.

As for Carol, she just cackled her head off when he showed it to her.

Still, whenever Steve was alone, he would look at the words in the mirror and feel kinda giddy about the whole thing.

Who would call someone they had just met "good boy"? What if they were far older than him?

And what would his words be for them? "Yes sir"? "Hello sir"?

Soon, he found his answer when he learned about the BDSM world, which Robin had jokingly mentioned one time.

And Steve sort of fell down the rabbit hole since then.

He met many men and women who would call him "good boy", and occasionally "good girl".

But none of them felt right.

Until he heard about Kas.

Who was known to be an experienced dom and knew how to treat his subs right.

Most of the subs in Steve's circle put the man on a pedestal. They practically worshipped the ground he walked on.

And Steve had become curious enough to seek him out.

A quick text over the phone and Steve already had a date with Kas at a hotel on Friday night.

Once the day arrived, he dolled himself up a little, knowing many doms liked how rosy cheeks and pouty lips he was.

He even wore lipgloss and mascara just for good luck.

His outfit was simple enough to take off, but cute nonetheless.

A yellow and pink graffitied black sweater that was a little baggy on him, a tiny pearl choker, silver bracelets, a pair of jeans shorts, and baby pink sneakers.

He looked like a twink, all things considered.

It wasn't his first time dressing like this and it wouldn't be the last time, either.

Steve just..

Well, he just wanted to make sure if he stumbled on his soulmate who happened to be a dom, he wouldn't disappoint them too badly.

It had been years since his word first appeared. So he had the right to be a little bit desperate.

Steve didn't know why, but by the time he got to the hotel, he was a puddle of nerves.

He figured that maybe it was the "Kas' effect" that many people had told him about.

When the door opened to let Kas into the room, Steve just knew this man was going to rock his world.

Kas was attractive and tall. Easily having a couple of inches on him.

With long curly hair, big brown eyes, and plump lips, the man looked surprisingly intimidating.

He wore a burgundy shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, showing his tattoos and chunky silver rings.

His pants and heavy boots were made of leather, which Steve suddenly wanted to rub himself on.

He seemed to be a lanky type, but Steve knew better than to assume anything.

As Kas languidly made his way to the bed, Steve unconsciously slid down to the floor and got on his knees, waiting for his order.

Yeah, he was a good boy like that.

There was a reason why many doms had asked to keep him despite knowing he only let his soulmate own him.

Kas wasn't any different.

The man smiled at him, dimpled and warm, making Steve woozy a bit at being praised even wordlessly.

Once Kas sat down, he spread his thighs slightly and patted a hand on his lap.

Understanding the silent command immediately, Steve climbed up on it without being told twice.

He blushed and giggled a bit when strong arms wrapped around his waist securely.

"Good boy," said Kas huskily, smelling of cigarettes and something spicy. "What do you want for your reward, sweetheart?"

Steve felt his breath hitched at that. He knew the chance wasn't high but–

"Can I kiss you, sir?" He asked coyly, playing his role to perfection.

This time, it was Kas who took a sharp intake.

Surprise, disbelief, uncertainty, hope, and finally, joy settled on the man's handsome features.

Kas smiled at him again, more genuine and hopeful.

"Baby boy, do you know that I have those words written on my left ribs my entire life?"

"Show me," Steve demanded, unable to keep up the act when he was so close to finding his soulmate.

Without protest, Kas unbuttoned his shirt and there it was, scribbled on the man's pale skin was Can I kiss you, sir? in his handwriting.

Smiling fondly, Steve traced his fingers on those words.

They sounded so sweet. And yet concerning if being put into the wrong context.

What a pair they made.

"Can you show me yours, sweetheart?" Kas asked tentatively, looking unsure despite having been so confident just a few minutes ago.

"Yeah, sure, of course," Steve scrambled up from the man's lap and blushed as he turned around to unzip and pull down his shorts.

Hearing Kas curse quietly behind him was, perhaps, the most flattering moment in his life.

He could see what kind of an image he made with his baggy sweater bunching up around his waist, white thong, and Good boy being inked on his tanned buttcheek.

Some would call it hot, sexy, or erotic.

But Steve knew how obscene he looked with those words on him.

Especially when he was face down and ass up, waiting to be fucked into oblivion.

Not that he had let anyone fuck him, yet. But he wouldn't mind if Kas did it tonight.

Steve shuddered slightly as calloused fingers brushed on his cool skin, and let out a moan when hot lips placed a tender kiss on his cheek.

Then without pausing, strong hands grabbed his hips before sharp teeth sank into his flesh, eliciting a yelp from him.

It wasn't painful. It just made Steve want to ask for more. So he turned around to do exactly that.

"Kas–"

"Call me Eddie," the man tugged him back into his lap.

"Eddie," he breathed out as he straddled the man's thighs.

"Yes, my sunshine?" Eddie smiled adoringly at him.

"Can I kiss you now?" Steve braced his hands on the broad shoulders with a raised eyebrow.

Tightening the arms around his waist, Eddie pecked him on his chin, sweet and loving.

"How about I let you kiss me for the rest of our lives, my pretty angel?"

"And I'll be yours for as long as we live?" Steve murmured against those plump lips.

"Yeah, gonna treat you right, my good boy," Eddie chuckled before drawing him into a fervent kiss.

Steve was so going to thank that Chrissy girl who had sold him her mascara and lipgloss later.

[foreingersgod]

Let’s Stay Home . EE

pairing: emily engstler x reader

synopsis: just a small fic about how your girl is absolutely infatuated with you

A/N: this was a request, but i accidentally deleted it! so if you requested emily x girly!reader, this was meant for you love!

“baby, our reservation is in like 35 minutes” emily called from her seat at the edge of your shared bed “we gotta go!”

“i know, i know! im hurrying” you called back, voice muffled behind the connecting bathrooms door.

you were stowed away in the bathroom still trying to make sure your makeup and hair were flawless all while trying to pull up your dress past your thighs. it was your 2 year anniversary with emily tonight and she had made plans to take you out to a nice dinner to celebrate, but now you were about to be late because of this damn dress. it was a stunning thing, a deep blue calf length gown that hugged you just right. the neckline was a bit revealing for your taste, but was partially covered by a strip of satin that crossed the top of your breasts and cascaded off your right shoulder. it’s only downside was the stupid zipper that wouldn’t budge.

“emily can you help me get this up? and maybe help me put this necklace on? i can’t do it” you huffed, stumbling out the door as you tried to slip on your heels. a simple necklace dangled from between your fingers as you latched the strap of your shoe.

“YN” she had said, standing but not moving, biting her lip.

“what?” you pouted upon seeing her expression “is it too much? ugh, i knew i should have gone with a different dress”

“no, baby” she finally walked over to stand behind you, tattooed hands finding the zipper of the dress “you look stunning”

you smiled, relieved that she had liked it after all. “thank you”

without a response, she pulled the zipper up to the top making sure it was secure. you handed her the necklace, giving her those eyes you knew she couldn’t resist. but you didn’t have to. she would do anything you asked no matter how silly it was. emily draped the gem studded necklace around your neck, clasping it with ease.

her hands lingered on you to keep you in place. they wandered from the back of your neck to your shoulders, moving painfully slow. her touch sent shivers throughout your body. calloused hands roamed any bare spot of skin making you close your eyes in contentment. she was your weakness.

“what happened to hurrying up?” you remarked as her head dipped down, lips connecting with the skin her hands once graced.

she placed wet kisses along your soft skin, hands now falling to your torso. her finger tips teased at dangerous territory, just along the undersides of your breasts. your dressed bunched up around your hips as she grabbed at you desperately.

“mmm” she sighed, pulling you against her forcing your backside to mold into her perfectly “maybe we should stay home”

yea, let’s stay home you wanted to say. but you had been waiting for this night all week and you just wanted to spend some (rare) quality time with your girl.

“no, i really want to go” you said, forcing yourself to turn in her arms so you could face her. “you went through all that trouble for the reservation and i wanna spend time with you!”

she squeezed her eyes shut, throwing her head back dramatically. all you could muster was an eye roll as you clutched her biceps.

“plus,” you purred, making her look down at you curiously “the surprise i had for tonight would be ruined”

“surprise?” her eyebrow quirked.

you placed your hands over hers, nodding your head in conformation. she let you take full control of her as you dragged her hands down the sides of your body over the blue satin, fingers trailing over the seams. you could sense her breathe hitch in her throat when she realized. hands reaching the plump of your rear, feeling the outline of lace underwear underneath your gown.

“don’t want to spoil it do you?” you leaned in to whisper in her ear, nipping at the lobe.

“no” she croaked out, cheeks going warm with a deep scarlet “no, you’re right, let’s go”

you smiled in satisfaction, proud of your little stunt. she found the small of your back to guide you out of your room and to the car. it was easy to tell by the way she held you that she wasn’t going to end the night without that surprise.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

A/N: yay!! my first emily fic!! feedback is much appreciated :)

[marvellous1917]

Icarus

(Part 1)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x tattoo artist!reader

Summary: you come home from work, only to find a mob boss in your house looking for your roommate.

Warnings: mentions of a gun, mentions of arms and drug trafficking, murder, kidnapping, torture, swearing, tattoos, gambling, think that’s it

A/n: I’m a simple girl. Mob!Bucky makes my brain go whurrrrrr. This is pure self service because I have this tattoo lol. Been along time guys what’s up?

————

“Late night?” The deep voice came from the dark.

“Holy-” fear spiked through your heart from the unfamiliar sound, your arms dropping the bags and your back crashing into the closed front door, “-who.. who are you?” You asked the unfamiliar voice. Turning slightly you see the long haired, leather covered man sat in the dining room. His left arm rested on the table, the prosthetic shining, the light from the street lamp outside shining through the window. His face was half shrouded in darkness, the other half showed his eyes, a little confused but also amused.

“You’re not Caleb.” He replied, sitting back in the chair, tilting his head to the side and moving something that looked suspiciously pistol shaped off of the table and into the inside pocket of his jacket, you reached up and flipped on the light.

“N-no no, I’m not. I’m his roommate.” You said, finally registering who you were talking to. The now fully visible metal arm was a pretty big giveaway, if nothing else. ‘There is a mob boss sat in my kitchen, what the fuck’.

“What do you want with Caleb? Does he owe you something?” The thought was out of your mouth before you could stop it. “Oh god no sorry forget I asked. Sorry... sir? I don’t-”

“I’m assuming from that reaction you know who I am,” He said, smirk on his face as he stood and moved closer, your back pressing flatter against the wall beside the door with every step he took.

“Of..of course I do, everyone in New York knows who you are..Sir” You replied.

“Hmm, I’m gonna take that as a compliment doll,”

“It is! Sorry! Congrats on all the… mafia shit.” Did I just say ‘mafia shit’ to a gangster.

The silence is awkward, his face blank and all you can think is ‘Oh my god I’m gonna die.’ His face twists into a …smile.. you think, y’know its hard to tell, fear has your vision all fuzzy.

He then starts to..laugh. He’s laughing? He’s actually laughing.

“Is this something you do before you kill people? You laugh, give them a false sense of security then shoot them?” You ramble quietly, confused at what’s happening.

He moved his left hand to rest on his stomach, the metal catching the light, shining right in you eye and it fully registered that, holy shit, James fucking Barnes, The Winter goddamn Soldier is in my house. This man is literally wanted by every law enforcement agent in the country, he’s in control of one of the most ruthless organisations in the world, they traffic arms and drugs and gun down anyone that gets in the way. Apparently, at least that’s what the news said. The stories about him though, way more upsetting.

The rumor was that after he left the special forces, he was captured by an organisation that wanted him to work for them. When he tried to escape the first time, they took his arm, and he was stuck working for them for a decade. The story goes that after he finally escaped, he tracked down everyone that was a part of it and killed them all, by himself. Alone. Just him. On his own. Then he took over their supply and demand and built his empire from the ground up.

“Oh god.. ‘congrats on all the mafia shit’, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while…” he pushed out while chuckling. “I’m gonna get that shit tattooed, I swear,” he said.

“I could do that for you,” it was out of your mouth before you could stop it. ‘Oh my god, shut up Y/N’ you thought to yourself.

“What?” He asked, eyes flitting over to yours, his piercing stare causing all sorts of feeling to rise inside your chest; fear, confusion, attraction. Attraction? What? Damn him and his pretty face. He’s a killer Y/N, remember that?

“Nothing, sorry” you answered, looking down at your feet.

“No what did you say Y/n?” He asked again, his voice more stern than before. If you weren’t so scared, you would have questioned how he knew your name.

“I said that I could give you that tattoo, sorry, just slipped out” you replied, unsure what his response would be to your completely unnecessary comment.

“Stop apologising would’ya doll, there’s no need.” He said, sort of sweetly, a small comforting smile on his face, the pet name causing all sorts of lovely feelings inside.

“Sor.. yes Sir,” you corrected yourself.

“And stop calling me Sir darlin, only my employees call me that,” he said, “well my employees and some others..” he said with a dirty smirk, causing your eyebrows to raise sky high.

“Sorry Sir,” you said quickly, not even thinking. “…shit.”

“Seriously doll, you don’t need to be so scared of me,” he stated, his right hand reaching out and landing on your shoulder, your muscles tensing for a second then relaxing when you saw the look in his eye, he was telling the truth

“Ok.. then can I ask why you are here?” You ask, some fear creeping it’s way into your voice despite his reassurance. He kept his face carefully still and he looked you up and down, the feeling of being examined was strong, like he was trying to decide if you were worthy of knowing his business.

“You got it right earlier, your roommate owes me something, and I came to get it from him,” he removes his hand from your arm as he spoke after a tense silence. He was being purposely vague, trying to gage your reaction, to see if you were really clueless or you were playing with him.

“It’s money right, I mean it has to be, what else could he owe you. I told him to stop freaking borrowing money I swear I tried to stop him, but he never listened to me..l”

“You’re rambling darlin, you realise that?” He cuts you off with a smirk on his face.

“I’ve been told I do that when I’m nervous. I don’t know how much Caleb owes you and I don’t know what the situation is but.. if you.. I mean..”

“What doll? What are you trying to say. I won’t be mad, I swear,” Barnes responds, one side of his lips tugging upwards at your mumbling.

“Could you give him some more time?”

He was not expecting that. ‘Brave little thing’ he thought.

“I mean I don’t know how long he’s owed you for but he’s getting back on track I swear, he’s getting better, he is, in-fact he’s at a gamblers anonymous meeting right now, and he has a job interview tomorrow so he can pay rent and pay back people he owes money to.” You rush out, trying to help your friend, “Of course he never told me that he owes money to a mobster but that besides the point” you add quieter, more to yourself than anything but Barnes still heard it. He chuckled and ran his flesh hand through his hair, pushing back the long strands out of his face.

“He does owe money to a mobster, quite a lot in fact so I’m gonna have to say no to that request darlin, I’ve given him long enough.” He responds, his tone dripping with authority, the Brooklyn drawl on the pet name he threw out made your heart beat faster.

“Please. Please just think about it Sir.. uh Mr Barnes.. Sir. Caleb’s had a rough go of it lately, he lost his father not too long ago and he’s been a mess ever since, if you could just give..”

“I already said no once doll, I don’t like repeating myself.” His tone was final, and even though his words were not that intense, the threat in his voice hung in the air like poison gas before slamming into your chest, the fear that had previously been quelled came racing back, sitting on your shoulders like a lead coat.

The silence stayed for longer this time, you eyes firmly fixed to the floor to a sound even the possibility of upsetting the man that had broken into your home.

“So you’re a tattoo artist huh? He asked, his low voice calming you some. Huh he’s trying to make me less afraid of him, what kind of ruthless criminal is he?

“Yes..um I am,” you answer, incredibly aware of the position you were in, better to go along with whatever he did.

“You got a flash book?” He questioned, genuinely interested.

“Uh yeah I do.” You reply awkwardly, not sure where this new line of conversation was coming from.

“Can I see it?”

“…sure,” the word came out as a question.

He nodded at you, and you took it as a sign that you were good to move. Turning slowly and moving away from the wall to your bag on the floor, you reach down and grab your flash sketchbook and hand it to him.

“Are all of these available?” He asked, flipping through the pages, taking in each design.

Seeing him like this, calmly looking through the sketchbook makes it very easy to forget who he was, a ruthless calculating Mob Boss, wanted for almost every crime under the sun.

“The ones with the X’s over them have been done before but could be repeated if someone really wanted it,” you answered, slightly more confident in yourself as you were talking about something you loved.

“This is Latin, right, what does it mean?” He asked, moving to stand next to you pointing to a design in the book, an alien inside a bottle of wine.

“‘In Vino Veritas’, it means ‘In wine, there is truth’” you say, “ I though it was funny, y’know.. ‘the truth is out there’..aliens..” you trailed off, not sure how to explain that design

He let out an quiet amused sound, his shoulder brushing yours, sending a trail of chills down your spine.

“This one is beautiful,” he said, pointing to a different design on the next page.

“Thank you, it’s Icarus, I have it tattooed on me, it was hard as hell doing it on my own leg,” you say, proud of the design you created.

“Icarus, what’s his story? I can’t quite remember, ” he asks.

“It’s a Greek myth y’know, Icarus and his father were held captive by King Minos in a tower, his father created wax wings so they could fly away from their captors. The father warned Icarus from flying too high or too low, but he ignored his fathers warnings and flew too close to the sun and his wings melted. It’s a moral story to warn against the dangers of complacency and hubris, but to me it’s just a tragedy.” You say, turning to face him, making eye contact with the man. He listened intently to the story, his face unreadable but you thought you saw a flash of something in his eyes, maybe he related to the myth, a man that was once held captive, now with everything in his hands, in danger of losing it all if he flew too close to the sun himself.

“A tragedy huh? I don’t think there’s anything tragic about it. He was warned not to do something dangerous and he went and did it anyway, it’s his own damn fault,” he stated, something slightly argumentative in his tone.

He looked straight at you while speaking and you couldn’t help but feel as if he was looking into your soul, like his statement was some kind of test.

“I agree with the idea that he got what he deserved, but I meant it as a tragedy for his father. Creating something so pure for you and your child to escape from captivity, only for your child to ignore your warnings and pay the ultimate price for it. His father probably spent the rest of his life regretting escaping his prison because that was the action that ultimately lead to his sons death. It’s heartbreaking if you see it from a different perspective,” you say back, not really expecting him to engage you in a philosophical debate.

“Hmm.. that’s an interesting way to see it, I’m not really one for looking at different perspectives, mine suits me just fine,” he answered, the fact that this man was dangerous came screaming back to you with the look on his face, blank like he was devout of all emotion at that moment. You got the feeling he wasn’t speaking metaphorically anymore.

The tension was palpable, you not knowing what to say next and him deciding he was done talking for the time being. He placed the book down on a side table, and turned back to you. “Y’know what, I want it.” He said, confusing flooding your brain.

“Want what?” You ask calmly, not wanting to push your luck with the man.

“That tattoo, the Icarus one, I want it.” He answers, leaning back against the side of the table he was sat at earlier. His crossed his arms, which should have been intimidating, but for some reason the only thought floating through your head was Damn his arms are bigger than my head. Gimmie.

“You want the Icarus?” You ask, somewhat stupidly and he had just said that.

“Yes I do,” he answered simply, “Are you free tomorrow?” He asks, smile on his face.

“Umm not really, I have a few appointments tomo..”

“Move them, hell cancel them. Block out a spot long enough for me to get this tattoo.” He states, cutting of your sentence.

“I can’t do that, it’s too short notice and I could loose..”

“I’ll pay what ever you lose for cancelling the appointments. I’m getting this done, tomorrow.” He cuts you off again, a finality in his tone that warns you it would be pointless and probably rather stupid to argue.

“Uh..ok” you respond, shaking your head a little, still trying to figure out what just happened.

“Great.” He clapped his hands together and the sound made you jump. Barnes either didn’t notice it or just didn’t care. “Give me your phone.”

“Huh? Why do you want my phone?” You question.

Barnes just rolled his eyes, walked forward until he was stood right infront of you, toe to toe, staring down at you with a semi amused look on his face.

“How am I supposed to find out where your shop is if you don’t text me the location?” He said sarcastically.

Literally a million different ways, google it for starters, get one of your goons to find it, stalk me and follow me there.. c’mon man think. Obviously you kept these thoughts to yourself but Barnes smirked as if he could hear them anyway. Pulling out your phone and handing it to him you ask, “What time do you want to come in for?”

“Around 1-ish doll, that ok?” He asked, knowing that it is, as he’s already told you to move/cancel your other appointments.

“That’s fine by me Bar..Mr Barnes” you answer, slipping up, almost forgetting the level of respect you should probably show to the gangster in your home.

He calls his phone from yours, adding the new number to contacts in both phones, “there, now you can let me know the address of your shop.”

“I’ll sent it to you tomorrow.. unless you want me to send it now?” You asked he hands your phone back , uncertain of what he wanted

“Tomorrows fine” he answers, walking backwards towards the front door, “I’ll see ya in the afternoon doll,” he says while opening the door and mostly leaving until he pauses completely, slowly turning back towards you.

This is it, he’s been messing with me this whole time and now he’s going to shoot me.

“Tell Caleb he has 6 weeks to get my money back to me or I’ll be paying him another visit, ok doll.” He says, no question in his voice. He waits until you answer with a “Yes, Mr Barnes,” and disappears into the hallway outside your apartment.

It takes about 5 minutes for the shock to fully wear off, and it causes you to stagger over to the couch, fall backwards onto it an ask into the empty room, “What the actual fuck just happened?”

As soon as the question was out of your mouth , your phone buzzed in your hand.

James:

Don’t ever call me Mr Barnes again Y/n.

It makes me feel ancient.

I hate that.

[tan1shere]

Use Me

Billie Eilish x female reader !

A/n: thanks @iluvapplesxh for inspiring this I hope you ALL enjoy

Summary: billies stressed, she needs to let off steam and you're the perfect stress reliever.

Warnings: smut, mirror sex, missionary - i think that's about it !!

Masterlist

Night time was the time to wind down, whether it was a simple or stressful day you adored getting into bed and just scrolling on your phone. When the door opens, your head looks up at Billie. "Hi baby." She grabs her shirt from the back, with one hand and pulls it over her head. You were a little taken aback, ofcourse staring at her tits.

Her hair becoming messy, making you stare. "Rough day?" You say softly. "Yup." She then gets on the bed, getting ontop of you. How could you stop it she looked so good. Her lips crash onto yours with such passion. "Wanna fuck you." She breathes against them. You sigh out. "Please do." Your voice was laced with a whiney need.

And without further warning she was already entering you. Your back arching instinctively at her slow strokes. Her forearms on either side of your upper body, leaning down to kiss your lips. Everything about this was passionate. Your eyes dart up to the mirror that was above you on the ceiling. Getting a perfect view of her tattoo. You moan as she bottoms out completely. "F-fuck!" You breathe, both of you feeling your pussy suck in more of her. Her mind eases, letting out a content sigh.

Face to face with one another, you close your eyes. Feeling embarrassed at her gaze. But her hand makes effort in grabbing your jaw. "Look at me baby, eye contact. Come on." Your heartbeat speeds up, along with her powerful thrusts. Head spinning just as fast. "Bills.." you breathe, looking into those blue eyes. That are seemingly darkening the more she fucks you. You were like her drug, one of the best feelings in the world. Whether that be sexual or not you were her everything. She adored this position so so much. "There you go sweet girl." She smirks a little as your cheeks grow red.

"You're just so cute." That caused you wriggle just a bit, feeling flustered again. Her head dips down going into your neck, kissing. Sucking on that spot that had you moaning into her ear for. Moaning so loudly. It was her favorite sound in the whole world. She's even put it quietly in the back of one of her songs before.

Enough for her ears to pick up on, but silent for listeners, fans. Unless they knew or really listened in on the background. Her thrusts become more forceful. Her back tenses as she keeps her weight up above you. Arm muscles on display. God she looked so good.

Your eyes wander back at the ceiling, her whole silhouette toned, her back muscles. The tattoo. Your hands move over her back watching it in the mirror. Your heart pumps still, just like the fake dick was inside you. "You feel so good baby." She knew exactly how to get you. What words to say, what touches. And this was only bringing you closer. "F-faster please.." Knowing she was holding back just a little. You knew what she was capable of.

"So greedy, hm?" You don't reply, not thinking you needed to, but when she grabs your face again. With more force, you regret not doing so. "You gunna answer me baby girl? Or is my dick distracting you, too deep?" If anything she wasn't deep enough. But you get distracted again. Her fucking back. "Focus mama, what're you so fixated on.."

Her head moves, causing her movements to still in the process. An annoyed whine escaping you. Her eyes look up and at the mirror. "Ah. Now I get it." Her face shifts back right infront of your own. Tilted and taunting. You wriggle yet again.

"You're staring at my tat huh? Cute, cute. Cute." You clench hungrily around her getting closer and closer. She feels it, she feels it all. "Keep eye contact yeah?" You nod, feeling her basically doing a push up above you, moving her lower half faster than she had been, you moan continuously. Trying insanely hard to keep that eye contact. It was approaching quicker. "Bills- Fuck!" You wanted to keep eye contact you really did, but it was so tricky.

Her relentless thrusts making your mind go crazy. Not to mention you so desperately wanted to look at her tattoo again. That beautiful long tatto, that covered her spine.

You loved it, it was so hot. And your eyes did for a split second. Noticing just how toned she was in the new position she was in. All the gym visits paying off, and paying off well. She looked incredible, and the fact she was keeping herself up with no struggle. Was attractive in itself. "Im-"

You begin but moan as she hits the right spot inside you. "Fuckfuckfuck." Her eyes never leave your face, wanting to watch you unfold all over her. "That's a good girl. Keep looking at me, know you can."

And before you know it you cum, all over the sheets and her cock. Her movements not stilling, helping you get to the delicious high and come down from it. She slows down noticing you're getting overstimulated.

Pulling out gently, trying so hard to not hurt you. "Thanks angel. Just what I needed today." You smile tiredly. "You're welcome Bills, anything to help." She caresses your face. Admiring you. "You're beautiful. Let's get some rest yeah?" You nod in reply, cuddling up to one another. Warm, and in such comfort.

[astralnymphh]

carpenter!ellie 😩😩

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒. ♱

content: ignoring the fact that this request is a tad old, let me indulge in you some headcanons for her! smut, mdni, reader has a child, dork!ellie content, loser!ellie content, general storyline outline, fingering(r!receiving), oral(r!recerving), dom!ellie, rough-handling, mama petname, hint of breeding kink, fluff intertwined. this took a hot minute, sorry for the wait. (2.4k wc)

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆:

She was a shiny object of secular occupation. Glinted skin, tinted lips, pools of sweat in plaid, and hair like mahogany. It was eye-catching the first time. Stepping through the wide workshop door, the screeches of saws drowned everything out: the thoughts, the plans, the mental image of those kitchen cabinets you wanted done, but she drew everything back in.

Unfortunately, she wasn't the one that pulled you aside to chat about your renovation project. It took a rustic couple of days of contracting and working out blueprints before she was introduced first and foremost. Woodcraft of Wyoming makes customer-supplier relationships their top priority—and Joel made sure to put in nothing but good words.

“Hey.” She had specks of sawdust dusted across her cheeks, and a voice fit for an angel. Even held out her hand to you. “New girl on Goldpine?” Fallen straight to your knees, you were. Gorgeous girls in labor-intense jobs are the fucking sweethearts, and sweet-looking. Your opening thought was to chuckle—for no reason; there was a nervous weight on your chest. “Yeah..” It was airy and soft in the pit of your throat. “That would be me.”

And neither one of you knew how to continue threading the seam after; secluding hands in pockets, avoiding eye contact. Back then, you were simple strangers, so you had no clue that she was a virgin to regular conversations—with girls like you, at least. She communed with older folk, more often. Girls within her dating range are so damn confusing!

Not to mention, the unmentionables: Are you single? Are you gay too? Do you even like girls like her, big heart and small tits? Round eyes and long tears? Forest eyes, or ocean ones? Greyhounds, or tabbies? Do you hate coffee? Do you like video games? If you could bring one thing to a stranded, desolate island in the sea, what would it be—and why? Have you ever skipped town? Would you, if shit went south? This shit is the standard procedure for a girl heartbroken twice-over!

But you—you are the least confusing, and most wanting.

God, and she smells only of wood.

Woodlands, and processed bodies of wood. Something you expect from a girl of her plaid-wearing, converse-pairing type.

Oh, and has about every off-hand item linked to a sage carabiner in her belt loops. Rejects the idea of a purse or a backpack; pockets and loops are the way to go, apparently.

When she discarded her gloves in front of you for the first time, it was a pleasant discovery. They covered her tattoos: graceful, rebellious little things you are sure procured a lecture from her dad, Joel, who owns the place.

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄:

So, it came. Day utero, a week later: the day she had to go against the odds in her gut. So, let's say you're the cute girl on the block she wants to buy you a drink in the potential, rather near future? Forget it. You barely know each other and she was there on the clock, not to flirt with the client in her own damn house! She was the one responsible for getting your renovation project off the ground—well, deeper in it. That comes first. She had to accommodate every little need you spoke into the autumn air, every little direction.

Her heart did swing, however. She was in your world, and your voice was there too. She escaped into it, and ended up hours further in eveningtide with multiple cuts on her fingertips from lacking focus; your beauty the edge of a sharp saw. There would be a “Fuck!” or an even stronger “Motherfucker!” from her that pierced through the halls.

Again, and again, and again. The first-aid kit sees her face more than anyone else.

Soft memories of you seeped under the band-aids. Memories you think nobody will remember.

It was tedious work. It wore her and everyone involved thin, so that is exactly where you popped in. Pretty outfits and impossibly prettier artisinal platters in your hands, turning heads over the sounds of sawdust. Sunlight seemed to rain in even harder once you sauntered inside.

On her breaks, a camera would be taken out for recreation. Beyond the surrounding green belt of silence stands the backwoods; a cacophonic mural of birdsongs. Birdwatching opportunites. From the sink window, you could spot her. Each chirp that sounded, she took a polaroid camera to a perfect line of sight and snapped a photo, crinkling up her flecked nostrils. Then, you knew she understood the unspoken language of the woods.

She also never engaged much during them, reading the lips of everyone in the room—lingering on one pair the most. Yeah, yours. All the carpenters aiding you had at least something to start a conversation about: whether it be the area, who lives with you, what job you work. Humdrum things that come without thought or genuine intrigue.

But she watched. When it wasn't birds, it was you. She never meant to lurk on the sides. Sure as hell, she longed to say something—anything, but in the same chorus, not just anything.

She wanted to be the special one out of the bunch.

So, she studied you. Studied herself, next to your existence. Turns out you have more in common—and more chemistry, than a glorified hour of rubbing elbows and licking lips in a bar would provoke or reveal. Thank goodness she chose the route less traveled by.

“You go to museums quite often?” she spoke as she slid up the counter edge, sacrum leaning on the ridge. Convinced your ears were crafting speech from quiet air, you did not notice her. Whatever words she etched into the walls of her throat, practiced in the mirror a ritualistic amount of times, came out too soft. She repeated herself with a nudge, and a satin ribbon on the ends of her last words. Something you notice. “With 'ur son?” It lightened your eyes. “Oh, yeah.” It also lightened the numbed spots in your brain; she is a breath of fresh air. You wore unworn smiles for her. “He loves dinosaurs with his whole damn heart. Well, as he would say—with his whole butt, or whichever weird denominator he uses.” You get her to such an egregious level of delusion, she begins to consider marriage. With anybody, to be clear! Totally isn't limiting her options to you only. She coughs up a laugh. “Tch—he's just got an imaginative word bank. Don't knock'em, mama.” Defending the honor of your capricious son—whose humor is made up entirely of fart jokes—but she slipped in that sly nickname. You assumed she meant no lust, and no love by dropping it, an anxious pause breathing between it, but it sent a shiver right down your spine, and settled in the small of your back. Fucking romanticist.

You already thought she was perfect then.

But somehow, there was a whole lot more packaged perfection sat alone, and unwanted, inside this strange girl with doe eyes. If there was a mountain of boxes to carry in, she wouldn't even let your hands grace the edge of one.

She has an innate sensualism to her. When she did work, and when you did an admissable nothing, she enveloped the eye of your mind. Those little, lustful pit stains drooping from her shirt everytime she lifted her arms, were attractive. The swipes from the backs of her hands across her forehead, or even the covert decisions to unclothe her skin of those sweat-dried graphic shirts and fashioning them into facecloths and raveling back inside them before anyone could glimpse, made you lustful; sweating from the sight. Sunlight was upon her like a heliograph, yet you were the true bitch in heat.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓:

You only ever got together in the late autumn wrap-up of your project. Every prosaic interaction boiled to a point, and for both reaching, yearning hearts, it became too hot to handle. One had bent under the pressure and paltered for courage you couldn't even pry from stone: Ellie, baby-blue plaid and ripped-jeaned on your doorstep—with a bouquet.

Getting you to come to her place was the be-all and end-all to this relationship, and you are fucking glad it is. Learning more about the girl who already ticked all the boxes on being the perfect hitch to your perfect trailer, is exhilarating. Turns out, the endless commodities of nature fit into the palms of her callused hands, are weld into more than only houses. While a handful of you—including some co-workers who freeload on an average—had your fills of old, Texan-style dishes, Joel brought up punctual beats about his daughter, which she cringed at. Wrinkled faces passed around the room.

“C'mon, Ellie. Why don't you run up there and grab yer' guitar you made? Entertain your guest with a song?” Ellie sneered, silverware in her pinch clattering. “Uh—first off Joel, she's not a guest. She's my—” Though complaining, she could barely writhe her words out. The craven, cringing look on her face suggested this was her first time hosting a special guest ever. The words ghost the press of her lips, and only make it out in quiet mumbles. “Date. She is.. my date.”

All the sentient sound in the room died after. Sure made it easier for Ellie to decide that a family gathering was not her style, regardless if you knew everyone, essentially. She was none the wiser, and wiped her plate clean in record time just to gallop her autumn valentine up to her room with sweet and silken things alike crawling in her mind.

Her whispers are lithe on skin. “Think you're like the best fuckin' thing that's ever happened to me.” She had you kneeling into her love; sat in-between her barely-crossed legs, on the bed, close in a huddle and breathing into your neck. Telling you soft devotionals as if you're a bird born in shrouds that she gets to hold; her fingers trying to tangle with yours so that you may never leave. Capturing the memory like she captures a photograph. You spoke even softer. “Yeah?” The confirmation making her smile stupid in your neck. She replaces her teeth with a single, pulse-point kiss, smushing her nose. Everything is a no-brainer now that she has you to herself, for herself.

Of all trees in the forest: you are her one to carve. Ellie—the buried lover, the Ellie she kept swallowing inside, has crawled out at loathing last. This one is all-loving, eating the empty spaces that cling to your body: under the warming ears, in the pearl-shaped dip of your throat, each word that comes out. She creates little shavings of your body with the blades of her tongue, and is humming at the taste. Cleaning you, wetting your untouched skin, creating excuses for your clothes to come off.

Soon, her body is sweating upon yours; two lovers melting into each other. She drags you roughly into her mouth, arousing the bud of your nipple to stand to her lips. It hits her tongue, again and again, and is left with a wet shine. God, that fucking sight alone makes you cross your legs, and hope she does something about the uncomfortable nectar dripping down there.

She palms you about it.

“Fuck.”

In the most heavenless regions is where she shines. Literally, and figuratively. Shoving her face into the drenched secret of your spread thighs gets her soaked more than you predicted, or pictured. So when she opens her legs and pushes against you, it presses a premature moan out.

But it would not be alone. When her fingers snag and puncture in your hips, and her cunt—thick with an auburn bush—is smushing against yours, litanies of sounds spill out.

“Goddamn babe,” she huffs into a grunt, pouring all the attention solely on you. Her pussy is just lathering yours—pornographic, visual filth and more; the sounds are all you hear. “This is just what you needed, huh?” She hunches over your handled sillhouette, panting and wiping the thin hairs stuck to her lips. Her rosy face is afflcited by warmth, and shine, stare sleepy and soft. “Fuck—you look so pretty right now.” She said that, and it sounded like a revelation. With her lips curling, teeth showing, hips stilling and fingers trailing on you like you are a treasure, above and below the sea. You end up sharing the toothy smile with her. Then, her breath cuddles in closer. “Don't wanna hurt you,” She kisses your sensitive neck with a promise, unfolding the love letters in her heart. Quietly devouring your neck with wet mouthings and hot words that vibrate into your pounding one. She sucks in a sibilant breath before she continues. “But it's fucking hard not to go insane when you're so fuckin—” She stifles, and her lips pinch your skin; her intentions to mark you so obvious. She could finish you with this alone. “Mhh, so pretty babe.” How she handles you makes you feel pretty.

Customer relationships being the priority makes your pleasure her priority—in a determined tussle. When she manhandled you into some debased position; face down, ass up, you never expected her subsequent decision to put herself at a low level, too. She sits behind you, and the hand once so delicate in practice upon your face is pushing your thigh to make room for herself.

You could say she was the one being debased on her own accord. Her tongue took long, starving strokes of you, licking your pussy from behind. It drips off her tongue, down her chin, gets inside her nostrils. She whispers how much she loves it after doing it, chanting it.

Spanking is also a no-brainer. Something about the impulse gets her going. She whacks her palm across and immediately sinks her fingers in until it soothes, laughing like a fucked-out, pussydrunk maniac when your muscles shiver—her favorite part.

Will finger you if it means showing off those spire tattoos; she knows how bad you keel for them.

“God, she's just swallowin' em up.” The heads of her fingers push in, ease in and ease out. She slides out, and paints your entrance with the arousal coating her intricate digits in circles, intending to be as unapologetic as possible with it, and the sounds. She proudly chuckles when you whine. “Yeah, hear that?” “Mhm.” She made you infatuated with them, if anything.

She would give you another child, and compose all the needed furniture from scratch—if she could.

[satorena]

✮⋆˙ PUSSY FAIRY ON THE WAY !?

featuring. g. suguru x fem!reader

warnings. explicit content, mutual masturbation, lots of dirty talk, fwb!reader, phone sex, fingering, squirting, reader has a vagina and tattoos on her fingers.

rena’s note. based off the line “i touch myself just thinking about you” 🌬️

11:45pm: *2 photo attachments*

11:45pm: missin’ my pretty girl

it was almost painfully embarrassing how easily aroused two simple pictures could get you. it didn’t take much for your cotton panties beneath your oversized tee to get damp with slick, squeezing your thighs together to stimulate some sort of friction.

you stared for god knows how long at your phone screen, the bright light illuminating a mean and girthy dick you’re all too well accustomed to. its brown tip raging red and leaking pre come you’d familiarize yourself with. the bulging veins on the underside of his shaft peeked through sensitive skin, mimicking the veins on the owner’s hands and wrists.

simple details on the man, such as rings and bracelets and beauty marks and an oozing tip, had you licking the tip of your fingers before slipping them past your panties, meeting your bare pussy, flinching at the contact and chilly breeze of your bedroom.

“fuck,” you sighed, head thrown back into the pillow. you performed circles at your clit, teasing yourself with your light touches.

this was exactly how suguru had his way with you. he took his time—though he preferred using his tongue but that wasn’t exactly an option as of right now— by thumbing at your clit and watching you unravel and crumble at his touch.

you mimicked your thoughts, the attention at your bundle of nerves sending blissful shockwaves throughout your limbs. your thighs squeezed together from the pleasure, and you recalled that suguru would have forced them open and made you take it like the good girl you are.

your hole clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled with what couldn’t be provided at the moment. soft whines came out your throat while you ground your hips up, subconsciously chasing your own hand in need of more pressure.

so lost in yourself, your screen dimmed, noting it would soon shut off, before pinging once more at a newer notification.

11:49pm: left on read huh…

11:50pm: don’t tell me you’ve started without me mama?

you don’t even bother trying to reply, knowing he would ring up your line in a few. good, you could use his voice in your ears while getting off, after all— suguru had officially ruined you for anybody else.

as expected, your phone buzzed in your hand and you swiped the call eagerly, pressing it on speaker before resting it on your chest.

“suguuu,” you greet him, bottom lip stuck in between your teeth. your other hand goes to slip under your tee, and grasp at your bare chest, groping firmly at the tender mound.

“you kept me waiting,” he chuckles, though you notice it’s breathy, as if forcing it out. you hear shuffling, and he heaves out a sigh, “missed you, pretty.”

“mhmm, missed you more,” you intensify the pace on your clit, fuzzy sock-cladded toes curling from the building pleasure. “need you here, sugu,”

you mewl his name, the nickname rolling off your pink tongue and into your phone speaker. the neediness behind your tone had him groaning, cursing out a ‘fuck’ and suddenly the sound of fapping grew consistent.

“oh yeah?” he tries, tries, to come off cocky but he’s just as needy as you are. perhaps even more, as the hold on his cock tightens. “tell me more baby. what else?”

you figure it’s finally time to focus your attention on your folds, which had soaked up your cunt and sheets beneath you the minute he called. your index and middle finger graze at your lips, and you whine at the sensitivity.

“want you here,” you moan, rubbing figure eights at your your folds. you stimulate your cunt in a familiar pattern, the same way suguru always worked on you. “w-want your fingers deep in my pussy, fuckin’ me open and—hah, making a mess outta me—need it suguru!”

“shit baby,” he chuckles, though muffled, as you fail to notice he’s got the hem of his wife beater tucked in between his teeth. “want me to tell you what i’d do to you if we were together?”

“yes!” you beg, unashamed as your back arches off the surface of your bed. your limbs felt liquified and there was something about his voice that had your pussy glistening terribly.

“mm, well,” he begins, his thumb grazing over his slit as he pictured you doing a million times. “i’d start off with kisses at your thighs. y’love it whenever i bite, dont’cha? love it when i mark you as mine, hm?”

you nod your head, despite the fact he can’t see. “always sugu, feels so good!”

“and when i get sick of teasing myself, i’d push your panties to the side and kiss your pretty clit,” geto sighs, almost in a trance by his own words. they roll of his tongue so naturally, stomach clenching as he imagines the things he’d do to you if he was able to.

“kiss your pretty clit before playing with it. i know it drives you—fuck—crazy. yeah, it drives you crazy and you love to act like you hate being teased, but baby, your pussy tells me otherwise,”

he spoke so sinfully in your ears, soft voice being a major contrast to the intense words that left his mouth. it churned deep in your guts, sending butterflies with a mix of straight arousal.

“i do— fuckin’ love it—” you cut yourself off, the hand on your breast tweaking with the stiff bud, twisting and pinching at it.

“you fingering yourself yet?” he asks you, and you shake your head, humming a soft ‘uhn uhn’, he continues, upping the pace of his own jerking, “good girl—get your tatted fingers in f’me, wanna hear your pretty pussy speak to me.”

“o-okay” you comply to his order, easing the void of emptiness by sliding your middle and ring finger inside your clenching pussy.

you moan loudly at the intrusion, the stretch nothing close to suguru’s fingers, but still enough to satisfy you for the time being. you feel your soft walls clench around your digits, begging for more. at the wet squelch of your cunt, you hear geto chuckle through the phone, “there we go, my favorite language.”

“wish you were here sugu—hnng, need you here and—and takin’ care of me!” you voice out your thoughts, your fingers gradually picking up their pace and plowing in your insides.

“sugu’s being mean, isn’t he? ‘m sorry baby, for not doin’ my—shit—job,” geto apologizes, the sound of his lubricated cock being jerked resonating in the depths of your ear drums.

“match my rhythm, mama,” he instructs you to follow, and despite you being so deep in your own thoughts and moans, you focus on the faint sound of his fist chafing his dick.

and so, your fingers plunge in and out your wet core, pussy gushing slickness, just to please geto.

“that’s it—my good girl, mmh, always doin’ so perfect.”

his praises did wonders to your body, as you felt an oncoming orgasm approach. your gut heated and tightened into a familiar coil, and your thighs threatened to close in on your hands.

“sugu, baby, ‘m getting close!” you warn him, now roughly grabbing at your other boob that lacked attention.

“me too, pretty girl—me too,” he grunts, the pace of his jerking increasing greatly. he works up and down his length with two hands and purpose, breathing heavily and watching his abdomen contracting tightly.

“play with your clit,” suguru breathes out, a whine escaping his throat momentarily. you moan at the unexpected sound, and he continues, “please baby—play with your clit f’me”

he begged and fuck, you’d never felt yourself be so attracted to his voice the way you did right now.

“feels’good” you slur, drool pooling at the corner of your parted lips. you multitasked with toying at your puffy clit with scissoring your cave, the drag of your fingers and stimulation of your bundle of nerves opening the dam.

“cummin’ sugu—hnng, fuck, oh fuck!” you cry out, far too loud as you release on your hand. your juices spill and you drip down to the crack of your ass, down to the sheets, soaking up your panties and mattress.

you continue to fuck yourself as best as you could despite your body jerking at the sensitivity, thighs quaking and back arched off the bed.

“r-right behind ya princess—oh fuck y/n” you hear his voice break as he shoots his load onto himself, his pretty moans all in your ears. he sounded melodic, your name belonging on his tongue as it sends tingles all over your nerves.

after a few minutes, your high comes down, and you slowly pull your fingers out of your pussy, wincing at the contact. geto’s gone quiet, safe for the panting on the other side of the phone, most likely attempting to ground himself from his own orgasm.

you clench your thighs and jolt at the sensitivity. your skin felt clammy and sticky with your arousal, and your bedroom now smelled of your sex. you miss suguru’s scent, and how much differently your sheets would’ve smelt with him in it.

“taste yourself for me,” suguru speaks up, breathless.

you do as he says, bringing your fingers up and wrapping your plump lips around your digits. you moan softly, before giggling cutely when you hear the man groaning in desperation.

“quit makin’ me jealous,” he sighs, the words almost coming out like a whine. “nothin’ gets sweeter than your pussy, swear on everything.”

you can only think of a simple solution for his complaints. you shrug, popping your lips off your soaked hand, “pull up on me then.”

the line goes quiet for a bit, and you can practically hear the arrogant smirk on his face, which only makes your lips tug into a similar smile.

“your fine ass better be ready for me in ten.”

mind you this is a canon moment between me & him 🫦

[sigilslvt]

HOW DEEP • SUGURU GETO

☣︎ Summary: It’s rush week at your college and your boyfriend chooses to put his prospective fraternity above your relationship. When you find out, you’re left devastated and, well… in need of a SERIOUS cover-up considering you’d gotten his name tattooed on your ass just two months ago. Good thing famed tattooist, Suguru Geto, has a shop by campus.

Pairing: Tattoist Geto Suguru x Fem Reader

Tags: modern au, pierced geto, tattooed geto, smut, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v, cam sex, squirting, creampie, marking

WC: 7.6k

Art: yoroz_roz on Twitter!

A/N: This was a lot longer than I intended, you’re welcome!

Rush week. You’d prepared yourself for this week to be stressful given the fact that you’re in a new state, far away from your family and friends for the first time in your life. You had decided to commit to the same university as your long-time boyfriend, Ryōmen, and so far, you guys have kept to yourselves and relished in the lack of parental hovering. The problem is, since rush week started, Ryōmen’s been busy with all things fraternity related and you’ve been stuck trying to figure out college life on your own.

Normally being away from him wouldn’t be so bad, it was always as simple as hanging out with friends from home or just cruising around your home state, but you’ve got no friends here and no idea where to go to keep busy. Hence the dilemma at hand and the reason you’re in sweats and a sweater sitting cross legged on your bed in your dorm on a Friday night, of all nights. Your music plays loudly in your headphones, a soft vibration playing against your skull every time the bass thumps just right, your body idly bouncing with the beat. You don’t even notice a voice sounding out until you feel a firm nudge against your shoulder, which makes you look to your side in surprise to see your roommate, Yuki, sitting next to you and waving to get your attention. Your fingers find the pause button on your phone and you slide your headphones down to wrap around your neck.

“Damn, girl, I was beginning to think you were in some sort of trance while praising the devil, jeez. What kind of music is that, anyways!?” She asks, her brows knitting together in both confusion and amusement as she looks at the song cover on your phone, shaking her head.

“S-sorry, sometimes I just need to drown the world out, y’know?” You sheepishly respond, chuckling and flipping your phone around, a bit insecure. Normally, you wouldn’t be so nervous— back home, you had your clique and your tastes aligned perfectly. There was never a worry about being an outsider when in a group of a bunch of goth-grunge addicted teens. But, this was different. You’re in California, now, and there’s nothing but sun, bright colors, preppy girls all around you. You were the odd one out, now.

“Girl!” Yuki snaps in front of your face, making you realize you’d drifted off in thought while she was talking to you.

“Sorry, sorry! What were you saying?” You ask, shaking yourself out of it and rolling your shoulders back, showing her you’re actively listening to whatever it is that she’s trying to say.

“I was saying that you CLEARLY need to get out and what kind of roomie would I be if I didn’t help you get what you need, hm? Get up. There’s a party at Phi Gamma tonight and you, my sweet shut-in, will be coming. No questions asked.” She tells you, already standing and grabbing your hand, dragging you to your closet and planting you there while she opens it.

One thing you’ve learned since getting here and meeting Yuki? Arguing with her is futile. If she doesn’t convince you to do something she thinks is for your own good the first go around, you bet your ass she’s gonna take you by the neck and make you do it. It’s sort of endearing, because you know she means well, it’s just not the type of personality you’re used to.

“Alright. Let’s see what you’ve go— oh? You’ve been holding out on me, I see! What’s with the constant sweats and sweaters when you’ve got style like this!?” She asks after opening your closet, her eyes wide as she sees the amount of clothes, most being pre-made outfits, you have in there. You’re grateful she doesn’t mention the amount of black in your wardrobe that’s only separated by bits of white and grey. “Here, this should be great, go shower and get ready. We leave in forty-five!” You feel the outfit being shoved against your chest before you even see it, making you chuckle at her eagerness before you head to the bathroom.

Thirty minutes later and you’ve showered, done your hair, and perfected your makeup. You’re wearing a black and grey striped sweater that stops mid-rib, dark denim shorts with torn fishnets beneath them, and Gaya 10-Eye Alt Doc Martens— your favorites. You layered some chains, a choker, and a long belt atop your outfit to top it off and switch your two nose studs and septum piercing to silver jewelry to complement the outfit. You do the same with your earrings, nearly forgetting to. Your makeup is dark and sultry, as per usual, a black lip paired with black eyeshadow and liner save for a pop of dark purple in the center of your lids and your under eye. Your hair is down, a black bandana keeping it back save for two strands of hair you keep out in front of your face.

You make your way out of the bathroom and Yuki turns to you, her mouth falling open at the sight of you. “What… the… fuck? Ok I see why your boyfie kept you cooped up here for two weeks after move-in. You’re hot, bitch! And these tattoos? They fuck. Hard.” She compliments you, making you chuckle. She gets closer to trace the cybersigilism tattoo that dawns your neck and collarbones, all the way down to the start of your cleavage. You raise your brow, a bit awkward given how comfortable she is, which she seems to realize, prompting her to step away. “Sorry! I’ve just never seen tats like that before! The ones on your legs are insane, I’d never cover up if I were you.” She shakes her head.

You shake your head and chuckle, but it does prompt a nagging voice in the back of your head asking you why exactly it is that you’ve been covering up head to toe. Was it because you’re scared of being an outcast? Is the weather too hot? No, that’s not it. You think back to a conversation you had with Ryō about being more tame while you were sat on your bed in your dorm. Something about not wanting to seem like the average college e-girl who gets around freshman year. You frown at the memory and shrug at Yuki. “Just haven’t had a reason to get dressed up yet.” You reason, making her shake her head, eyes still wide as she looks you over.

She stops ogling you to finish her own makeup, popping some lip gloss on before clapping once, turning to you. “‘Kay, let’s go!”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The walk to Phi Gamma isn’t bad in the least and you’re grateful for the California heat persisting through the night. If you were back in Washington, you’d have icicles dripping down your nose right now given it’s ten at night in the beginning of October.

You walk into the frat house with Yuki and you’re immediately suffocated with the smell of hookah smoke, ear-ruining loud music, and so many people. Too many to fit in the house, that’s for sure, but that’s never mattered when it came to parties.

“C’mon, let’s get you loosened up, first!” Yuki screams close to your ear so you hear her over the music, taking your hand to lead you to the kitchen. She pours you a cup of something dark before grabbing a coke and moving to pour that as well, but you hold your hand up to stop her.

“‘M okay, I don’t like mixers or chasers.” You tell her, making her raise her brows and hold her arms up as if to tell you to suit yourself, making you smile widely. You both down your drinks at the same time and she pours another with you both downing them again. With that, she leans close to your ear, speaking loudly enough for you to hear over the music.

“I’m gonna go see if I can find some weed, you smoke?” She asks and you shake your head.

“Not weed.” You respond, reaching in your pocket to show her your pack of Marlboros, scrunching your own face up in disgust and shame. You’re slowly quitting, though, so you give yourself props for that.

She shrugs and heads off, leaving you to yourself. You look around, trying to find a good spot to hang out in before you head to it only to be stopped by a soft pair of hands. “Hey! You’re in my Neurophilosophy class!” You hear the girl say, making you shrug with a nod. “I didn’t think I’d see you here! Didn’t seem like the type to like frat parties! I’m Utahime.” She shouts, clearly a little tipsy judging by the red tint of her cheeks.

You offer her a kind smile and your name before you start heading toward the spot you’d sought out, but she catches your hand and stops you. “Wait! Wanna dance? It’s just that… you’re the only one here I know besides my dumbass friend who’s probably off somewhere bragging about being ‘The Honored One’ because he caught the Phi Gamma chicken for initiation. Apparently that warrants a parade in his name or something.” She says, rolling her eyes at said friend’s antics. When you raise your brow in confusion, she chuckles. “Every year during rush week, Phi Gamma lets out this cursed looking demon chicken from Hell for their pledges to catch. They say it never gets caught before making it back to its coop, but leave it to him to do it. First time in seven years. It’s silly, really.” She explains, waving the conversation away. “So, will you?”

You don’t know if it’s the alcohol, you pitying her situation, or just the fact that you’re happy to meet someone else who actively wants to hang out, but you find yourself saying yes and following her into the crowd of unbelievably sweaty frat boys and sorority girls doused in pink. Literally. Body paint everywhere. You’re sure to avoid stains as you dance with Utahime, chucking as she does the robot to get you to crack a smile. As time passes, you find yourself dancing so close to her that you’re sure you’ll merge into one being soon.

You let a bit more time pass before you decide on another drink, leaning forward to shout in her ear so she hears you. “I’m gonna get another drink, want one?” You ask, earning a head shake from her. Shrugging, you push through the crowd and find yourself in the kitchen again, pouring yourself another red solo cup full of alcohol. You sip on it, smiling to yourself because even though you miss Ryo, you’re still having a better time than you thought you would. That’s when you hear it.

“Bro, have you seen this shit!? No fuckin’ way did Zeta Nu initiate their pledges like this!” A guy shouts to his friend, your ears tuning into the sound of your beloved boyfriend’s frat name. You turn to see him showing his friend a video on his phone and you smile to yourself, happy the initiation is over and looking forward to being told whatever silly thing they had Ryo do.

“I fuckin’ WISH Phi Gamma would make us bang some sorority thot to get in! You think it was to count out whoever came first? Damn, look at bro with the pink hair going in like his life depends on this shit!” You hear the other voice speak up and your heart drops. A knot forms in your stomach and your hand gets clammy around your cup. Of course your mind is going toward the worst case scenario and before you can even think, your feet have carried you to the two guys, your other hand reaching for the phone the first one is holding.

“Lemme see this.” You say, the douche saying something about adding your number while you’re at it, but it’s drowned out into the background noise because you’re zoned in on one thing. Your boyfriend banging a sorority girl and smiling at the camera while flexing his fucking bicep. Flexing. He’s fucking living for this.

You feel bile creeping up your throat and you shove the phone against the guy’s chest, making your way to the door. The second you get outside, you hunch over and puke in the bushes, sobering up by the second. Your hand grasps at your chest and you feel it hammering so hard as though it’s trying to escape. Your other fishes your phone out of your pocket and you flinch seeing Ryōmen has texted you.

Him: I love you <3

You fight the urge to throw up again, your fingers typing back quickly.

You: I love you so much, Ryo. Miss you and wanna see you. May have drank a bit too much, hehe :3 Can I come see you?

You hit send, not even bothering to wait for an answer before you push yourself to head to his dorm, ready to use the excuse that you’re drunk and wanted to see him when you show up. Your phone pings and you open it faster than you thought humanly possible to see another text from him.

Him: Come to me, baby.

Before you know it, you’re at his door, knocking rather hard, if you were being honest, but you don’t care. Not seconds later, he opens it and pulls you into him, immediately moving to kiss your neck, which makes you want to shed your skin. When he doesn’t feel you reciprocate, he pulls away and frowns, eyes searching yours. “What’s the matter, hm?” He asks, head wobbling as the smell of alcohol hits your face. He’s drunk.

You walk into his room with an annoyed sigh, closing the door behind you and pacing for a moment before stopping in front of him. “Ryōm–”

“Y’look so hot, baby. Why were you out drinking looking this hot without me?” He asks with a frown, making you scoff unexpectedly.

“You really don’t wanna bark up that tree right now, Ryo. I need t–” You start, but he interrupts you again.

“And why d’you keep using my name?” He asks.

“Jesus fuck, Ryo. Let me talk!” You shout, your hands flailing for a second. He nods, mocking you with a stupid look on his face silently, making you seethe. “Tell me it isn’t true.” You say, earning a confused look from him. “Tell me you didn’t fuck some random girl to get into a fucking FRATERNITY, Ryo. Tell me you’re not that fucking insane.Tell me you didn’t just throw away YEARS with me after I came all this way to be with you.” You say, your voice firm. You surprise yourself with the fact that no tears have formed in your eyes just yet, the anger far more overwhelming than sadness.

His look of confusion turns to pure shock and it’s like a cold pitcher of water has just been flung in his face. “Who told y– babe. Babe, it was just a stupid fucking initiation thing, it’s not like I actually cheated. You’re my girlfriend, you should be happy, I’m in! I made it because I did what it took and that shows drive. Why the fuck are you even upset right now?” He asks and you have to do a double take to confirm what you thought you saw in his face. He’s genuinely pissed and confused that you’re upset right now.

That does it for you. “Are you saying… you didn’t cheat… because it was for an initiation? You want me to be HAPPY that you stuck your dick in someone that isn’t me? Fuck you, Ryōmen. I don’t know you at all. The boy I fell in love with would have been a man and turned the stupid fucking initiation down. This frat? Would have only mattered while here. Us? We were supposed to be together until death. Fuck you for choosing something so stupidly temporary. We’re done.” You spit out, rage bubbling in your core like you’re made from it. He grabs your wrist as you make your way out of his room, but you tear it away, every part of you in utter disbelief that you ever let a man like him touch you at all.

You make your way outside, your phone pinging again and again, no doubt messages from him trying to gaslight you into believing he did what he had to do for his future. You ignore them, sucking in the fresh air like your life depends on it and taking in your surroundings, still hoping in the back of your mind that they’ll all melt away and you’ll wake up from this nightmare. You, someone who’s always been mindful of your future and who has always taken care to do what’s best for you, are now in a new state so far from everyone you love all alone because of a boy. A fucking boy.

You take off the promise ring he gave you for your five year anniversary and toss it as far as you can, hating the idea of having a symbol of what you thought was true love with him on your body… and then you roll your eyes as you facepalm. Your fucking tattoo. Against the advice of literally everyone you know, you’d gotten a tattoo of his name on the top of your ass. “Fuck me…” You mutter to yourself, immediately googling a tattoo studio near you.

“Cursed Ink Studios…” You read the top result out loud, seeing it’s only a thirteen minute walk from here. With an annoyed shrug, you start making your way there, silently cursing yourself for assuming it’d stay warm all night. The cold nips at your practically exposed thighs and your nose turns its familiar shade of red quickly. You pick up the pace, hoping to find warmth in the studio.

A cigarette and a half later, you find yourself in front of the studio, snubbing out the last half of your cigarette and flicking it into the trash can. The bell above the door chimes as you make your way in and you’re greeted by a brunette woman who looks… worn down, to say the least. No doubt from the loads of drunken college students who’ve wandered in here tonight.

“Welcome to Cursed Ink Studios, my name’s Shoko. How can we help you tonight, babe?” She asks, leaning forward on the reception desk. You appreciate the fact that she doesn’t comment on the fact that you’ve thoroughly been done in by the cold wind that’s whipped your hair in every direction and kissed your nose until it’s red.

You shift on your feet, scratching your head. “I, uhh… I need a cover-up done.” You say, making her sigh as though she feels sorry for you.

“I’m sorry, babe, but cover-ups need an appointment ahead of time.” She says, earning a face palm from you. You nod and turn to head out, but a voice stops you.

“Wait. It’s fine, Shoko. I have time.” A smooth, deep voice sounds out from deeper within the studio and you turn toward it to see quite possibly the hottest man you’ve ever laid eyes on. His skin is like cream, hair half tied up letting the rest fall down his back and shoulders, his eyebrow is adorned with a piercing, and gauges are sported on his ear lobes. He’s wearing a black tank top that hangs loose on him, his arms both covered in tattoos, the most notable one being a large dragon on his right arm. He’s carrying keys, which lets you know he was likely about to head home and you feel guilt pooling in your stomach.

You can’t help but clam up at the sight of him and you gulp before shaking your head. “N-No, it’s okay, really, it’s late and I should have known I’d need an appointment. Y-You probably wanna get home, seriously, it’s okay.” You say, trying desperately to keep your voice steady. He chuckles, eyes closing as he shakes his head and you look to Shoko, who gives him a knowing look, rolling her eyes.

“Nah, you’re good. What’re you needing covered up, angel?” He asks you, making your heart flutter. You don’t know if it’s the alcohol in your system making you so flustered, but it’s a welcome feeling compared to the anger you feel when thinking of Ryōmen. Which reminds you…

“So, and I’m prepared for all the judgment you’re probably gonna throw my way, I got my boyf— EX boyfriend’s name tattooed on my ass cheek a couple months back. Turns out he’s a cheating dickhead, so I need to get it covered up. Preferably with something similar to my current tattoos. Maybe… uhh… maybe a—“ He chuckles and interrupts you.

“I got you. And I’ll spare the criticism of your choice to tattoo his name. Just fill out the forms with Shoko and I’ll go get set up in my room. I’ll sketch something out, too. Cybersigilism, huh?” He asks, smirking as he nods at you while walking backward to give you a once over before he heads to his station.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

After filling out the forms, you slowly walk to the room you saw the man head to and you find him working on an iPad, drawing. “You can sit down, angel, I’m just finishing up.” He says, gesturing to his tattoo bed. You take the opportunity to look around his room, gawking at all of the drawings and photos of tattoos he has splayed on his walls. The decor matches your tastes, goth-grunge styling everywhere. It looks like he specializes in cybersigilism and neo tribal tattoos, which helps to reinforce your confidence in him.

“Geto Suguru, by the way.” He says, suddenly towering above you. You hadn’t even noticed he stood up and looking up at him from this angle makes your heart race. You tell him your name and his face takes on a look that you can only assume is curiousness, but he quickly changes his expression to a smirk. “So, here’s what I’ve got. Noticed the hearts you’ve got around your knees and the eyes you’ve got on your neck, so I decided I’d go with a sword. Figured it’d be fitting.” He chuckles as he shows you the iPad, which manages to draw a quick laugh from you.

“Fitting is exactly the word I’d use. I love it. Let’s do it.” You say, genuinely surprised he could even come up with something so quickly.

“Alright, I’m just gonna need you to take those shorts and fishnets off, angel. You can leave your underwear on, I’ll just keep them out of the way with some paper towels. Stay standing after so I can put the stencil on, ‘kay?” He asks. You know it’s what he needs you to do in order to do the tattoo, but your face heats up at the thought of being half naked with him. He closes the door to his room and turns away to prepare the stencil, leaving you to do as asked.

Slowly and tentatively, you take off your shoes and then undo your shorts, pulling them down and stepping out of them carefully. Next is your fishnets, you’re careful not to rip them when you take them off and lay them on top of your shorts. You’re thankful you wore a thong tonight, knowing it won’t get in the way of the tattooing.

He turns around, eyeing you as though just trying to see where he needs to put the stencil, but you can see something else in his eye. Maybe he pities you? You sure fucking hope not.

“Alright, ‘m gonna place the stencil and then I’ll need you to just stand for a bit while it dries.” He says and you nod. He’s methodical in stepping forward, disinfecting, shaving the area, and then placing the stencil on you, being sure to perfect the alignment so the sword covers Ryōmen’s name entirely. His long fingers press down for just a second before he removes the paper and steps back to see the alignment from afar. “Fuckin’ perfect.” He hisses under his breath, but you hear. You tell yourself he’s just proud of his work and try not to acknowledge the pooling between your thighs. “How’s it look, angel? Don’t be afraid to let me know if you want anything changed.” He tells you.

You move to step in front of the mirror, turning to your side so you can see your ass better. It plumps up as you flex and you nod at the placement before looking up to see him with his eyes shut and his head up at the ceiling. “Y’know, you really don’t have to do this if you’re tired, I can make an appointment.” You say, feeling bad.

“Trust me, I’m very much awake. Made me question if I was dreaming when you walked in, angel, but I’m awake.” He says, your eyes going wide and your mouth falling open, but just as casually as he said that, he moves on. “Alright, ‘m gonna have you lay on your side facing away from me. Just poke your,” he grunts “poke your ass out toward me and I’ll get started.”

You do as told, your body hot and exposed and your mind reeling from how casually he’d just said that. Surely it must be for tips, you can’t imagine he’d want you. Not just because he’s built like a God, but he must be taken, right? There’s no way on Earth someone like him could be single.

“Ready?” He asks and you nod, breaking from your thoughts. With your confirmation, he smirks and leans forward, beginning to tattoo you. Him being so close to your ass makes you want to tense up, but you steel yourself and rip your eyes away from him so you can attempt to stop the wetness pooling between your folds like a bitch in heat.

“So. ‘M guessing this was recent, hm? The whole cheating thing. Not trying to pry, just curious. We don’t have to talk about it.” He says as he focuses on the tattoo, dipping the needle into the black ink he’d set up.

“Mhm. Couple of hours ago. Ran a train on a sorority girl as some fucking frat initiation. Piece of shit.” You spit, hearing him scoff and looking to see him shake his head.

“Ouch. Yeah, he’s a fucking idiot, to say the least.” He responds and you bite your lower lip, blushing and looking forward again, at the mirror.

“I’m the idiot. I moved from Washington all the way here with him so we could go to the same college and I had no idea he was capable of this. Now I’m away from family and friends and just… stuck here.” You roll your eyes, huffing.

“We can be friends. I mean, it’s contingent on you coming around more often, though. Think you can do that, angel?” He says, an undertone you can’t quite discern in his voice that makes your mouth go dry.

“Y-yeah. I mean, I plan to get more tattoos. If you do a good job, I mean.” You respond, nearly choking on your words because of that damned pet name he keeps calling you.

“Mmm, trust me, I’ll do you right.” He says and this time the undertone in his voice is so painfully clear that you feel yourself clenching around nothing, your eyes fluttering closed for just a moment. You decide not to respond, scared your voice will come out shakier than intended.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The next few hours go by in the same fashion. Small talk with him lacing in subtle compliments or flirtations. That goddamned pet name falling from his perfect lips. By the end, you were sure he’d feel the way your body was pulsing with need for him, all thoughts of Ryōmen out the fucking window.

“All done, angel. Tell me how you feel about it. If it’s good, and it looks damn good, I’ll put on some second skin and cash you out.” He says, standing up from his chair and stretching. Your eyes don’t miss his v line peeking out from his lifted shirt and you have to tear them away to instead look at your tattoo.

“Fuck, it’s perfect. God, yeah, I love it! Lemme just take a picture so I can post it and piss this asshole off before you wrap it.” You say and he chuckles.

“Mind if I take a few, too?” He asks.

Before you even realize what you’re saying, you respond, “What? For your spank bank?” By the end of the question, your eyes go wide and you mentally curse yourself out, about to apologize when he gives you a genuine laugh.

“No, angel, I won’t need a picture to remember an ass like that.” He quips back and you almost lose your breath. Without missing a beat, he picks up his phone and motions for you to take your picture before he takes his.

Once you do, you open your Lightroom app as he moves to take his pictures. It opens to a nude you’d put a filter on and you suck in a sharp breath, trying to exit quickly before he notices to no avail. He whistles and sucks his teeth and you immediately start to explain. “Sorry, I just like aesthe—“ He cuts you off.

“He’s definitely missing a few brain cells. You’re as good as it fuckin’ gets, angel.” He says, making your heart clench and stomach knot. “Y’know…” He leans forward. “There’s another way you can make him upset. I’m sure that picture’ll do the job, but don’t you wanna go above and beyond? I can help with that.” He says. You don’t miss his hand coming down to rest on the apple of your ass, making your core throb.

“I— how?” You ask, surprised your voice made it’s way out at all with how dry your mouth and throat are.

“Atta girl. First, you can let me bury my face between those pretty thighs of yours so you can take a picture, if you can even hold your phone steady, that is. Then, if you can think straight enough to still be thinking about him, I’ll make sure you can only think about how good I feel inside you. Maybe I’ll even record so you can send that, too. How’s that sound, angel?” He asks, thumb gently brushing the skin of your ass, voice smooth and sultry. You’re sure that with his voice alone, he could run a cult of people who’d do his bidding with no questions asked. And you’d be in it.

You nod at his suggestion, biting your lower lip and looking up at him through your lashes. He chuckles and leans forward, face inches from yours. “I don’t speak nod, pretty girl. Y’r gonna have to tell me out loud.” He says, his hand moving from your ass to grip your chin firmly enough to keep you looking up at him.

God, that statement alone makes your stomach do flips and, yet again, you’re breathless. “Yes, please yes.” You manage to get out, squeezing your thighs to try to alleviate the pressure between them.

“Good girl, using your manners.” He purrs before his lips mash against yours, earning a choked moan from you instantly. He tastes of cigarettes and mint, a flavor you find yourself more addicted to by the second. You feel his tongue flick against yours for just a moment before he pulls away and chuckles. “Been wanting to do that since you walked in. Been wanting to taste you, more, though.” He says, so you move to lay on your back, but he stops you. “Mm mm, don’t fuck my work up. All fours, angel. All fours.” He says, the command emphasized by him patting his hand on your thigh twice.

Doing as told, you rest your stomach against the cold leather and prop your ass up for him, your hands holding onto either sides of the chair. Your embarrassment at the knowledge that your thong is most definitely soaked is washed away when you turn your head to look back at Geto, seeing a prominent bulge straining against his jeans.

His large, ring-adorned fingers splay across your ass cheeks as he squeezes them, grunting. “Such a pretty ass.” He hisses, moving one hand to thumb at where he knows your hole is beneath your thong, pressing in just slightly to tease you, making you mewl out. “Shh, sweetheart. Unless y’want everyone outside to hear you, hmm?” He warns and you pull your bottom lip between your teeth to shut yourself up.

His fingers curl around the waistband of your thongs and he slowly peels them from your sopping wet pussy, leaving them down by your knees. The cold air hits your core and your eyelids flutter closed as you try to stop yourself from shuddering. “So fuckin’ pretty. You this wet already, angel? All for me?” He asks, chuckling as he slips a finger between your folds, teasing you as he soaks his it in your syrupy slick.

“Mmph, yes… fuck…” You moan out, feeling the pad of his finger press against your clit, rubbing in small teasing circles. Your eyes open and you look back to see him palming himself over his jeans. Your brows knit together in a needy frown and you pout. “Suguru, please!” You whine, needing more from him.

“Please what, angel? Please taste you? Please fuck you? Please finger you? Gotta tell me what y’want.” He murmurs and the look on his face tells you he loves this. Loves playing with you like a toy. To your surprise, you love it, too. He smirks at you and circles your achingly empty hole when you take too long to answer. “Hmm?” He hums.

You try to push back on his fingers, hungry for more, but he withdraws them, instead sucking your slick from his fingers, his eyes rolling back into his head at the taste. “Oh fuck, w-want all of tha— hnngh!” You cry out when he plunges a thick, ringed finger into your waiting hole. He shushes you and clicks his tongue, reminding you to keep your voice down. Nodding in response, you press back into his finger.

“Greedy girl. You’re gonna regret that later.” He says, beginning to pump his finger in and out of your cunt as he bends over and kisses all over one of your ass cheeks, then moves to get on his knees behind you. You can feel his breath on your slick folds and you want desperately to feel his tongue, your clit throbbing in need of attention. As though he reads your mind, he presses one quick kiss to it, grunting as your slick coats his lips. One swipe of his pierced tongue through your folds is all he needs to know he wants more. Much more.

You’re about to beg for it, too, but you feel his finger slip from your hole, being replaced by his long tongue, the muscle curving up and down and then swirling as if he’s trying to consume all of the slick you have to offer. Your fingers tighten on the chair, the leather squeaking in response. “Oh my God, S-Suguru!” You moan out, body shuddering in pleasure.

He pulls his tongue out to spit messily on your pussy, moving to finger you again, but this time adding two fingers. “M’gonna need to get you ready for me, ‘kay pretty girl?” He murmurs against your clit, earning a drawn out moan from you. You feel him remove his fingers and he replaces his lips with a harsh smack to your pussy that feels like pure electric pleasure. “Use your words.” He orders.

“Y-Yes! Fuck, yes…” You speak up immediately, eyes rolling back when he plunges his fingers back into you. You hear him hum in approval before his lips surround your clit again, sucking it into his mouth and caressing it with his tongue. He eats you out like a man starved and the sight combined with the pleasure makes your core tighten. His moans are muffled by you pushing back against his tongue. “S-Suguru, m’gonna—“

“Mm mm, baby, take that picture first. Gotta stay on task.” He tells you after breaking away from your clit to press sloppy open mouthed kisses on your thighs. You cry out a whine while your trembling fingers find your phone, lifting it to point it toward his mirror. You make sure to catch his face buried in your cunt when you snap the picture, making him grunt at the sound of the camera shutter. “That’s it, pretty, c’mon, cum… you can do that for me, right?” He coos and you feel him quicken his fingers inside you, the noises coming from your pussy absolutely fucking dirty as he does. His tongue starts flicking against your clit and the knot in your stomach snaps, your orgasm being clawed from you by this greedy man who pulls his fingers from your twitching hole to bury his tongue in it, lapping up your release.

You’re left panting when he finishes, eyes closed to stop the room from spinning around you. You feel his hands rub from the bottoms of your thighs up to your ass and he groans. “Fuck it, fuck the tattoo, need to see that pretty face while I’m inside you.” He grunts, flipping you around roughly and pulling your thongs off the rest of the way, tossing them to the side, making you yelp.

You open your eyes to watch as his deft fingers unbutton and unzip his pants, his other hand finding your mouth, pushing between your lips. “Taste.” He tells you and you suck the slick off his fingers happily as he pulls his cock out, your eyes widening at the sight. Suguru’s long and thick. Your expression is obvious to him and he winks, pulling his fingers from your lipstick ruined lips to grab you by the chin. “You can take it, right? You’re a big girl.” He taunts you by running his length between your folds, his tip nudging your clit deliciously.

“F-Fuck I… I can take it.” You say, lying, but knowing he’ll make you take it. Thanks to your orgasm, his tip is coated in your slick and he presses it against your entrance, making you wince. His free hand grabs one of yours and he intertwines his fingers with your smaller ones, pinning your hand above your head while he kisses you hungrily, tasting of you. At the same time, his tip slowly pushes past the first ring of muscles inside of you, a shaky moan coming from your lips and flowing into his mouth.

He grunts as he invades your cunt inch by torturously thick inch until he bottoms out, your legs shaking in response. He moves to kiss your neck before bringing his lips to your ear. “That’s my fucking girl, so goddamn tight. Gonna fuck you so good angel, be good f’me, okay?” He whispers in your ear before he sucks on your earlobe, withdrawing his cock to the tip before his hips snap forward in one sharp movement, making your mouth fall open in a silent cry.

He sets an unforgiving pace, his free hand holding one of your thighs up so he gets in at a better angle, his tip bullying your sweet spot with each thrust. Good was a fucking understatement, he was making you see stars. “Please don’t stop, ohmyfuckinggodddd!” You moan out, your bodies connecting violently, plap, plap, plaps echoing through his room.

His movements are so hungry, like he’ll never get enough of you as he moans at the feeling of your cunt trying to suck his soul from him. You feel him pull his fingers from yours and he stands straight, not letting up on his thrusts. You notice your phone now in his hand and the video capture sound plays, your face reddening. You can’t stop the way your pussy flutters knowing he’s recording now and he doesn’t miss it. “Such a slutty fuckin’ pussy, fuck! You like being on camera, don’t you, angel?” He asks, and you hide your face, nodding. That earns you one harsh thrust before he stills. “Mm mm, what’d I say about nodding. Thought y’were gonna be a good girl f’me?” He asks, making you whimper.

“Fuck, y-yes I like being on camera! Please keep going, please don’t stop, please don’t fucking stop!” You beg, snaking a hand down to try and relieve the feeling between your legs by rubbing your clit, but he smacks your hand away with the one that was holding your thigh before resuming his punishing pace.

“There you go, pretty, there you fuckin’ go. God, that ex is a fuckin’ lunatic, you’re SO. FUCKIN’. TIGHT.” He praises you, the last three words being delivered with snaps of his hips that push his cock so impossibly deep inside you that you were sure he’d rupture an organ. “Loo— ngh look, pretty girl. Look at me bulging you out like this.” He instructs, his hand moving to point at the spot below your navel that juts out every time his length is fully sheathed inside you.

You look down to see and your head immediately falls back at the sight, eyes rolling back, back arching off the seat. He rewards you by moving his hand back down to your clit, using the whole of his fingers to play with it in harsh motions back and forth and back and forth. “Mmm’fuck! Sugu, gonna cum, gonna c-cum!” You warn him, no longer giving a flying fuck if anyone hears you, you were too fucked out to think about it at all.

“Right behind you, angel. Where d’you want it, hmm?” He asks, earning a look of confusion on your dazed, fucked out face. “My cum. Where. Do. You. Want it?” He asks, accentuating the words with thrusts.

“H-hah! In-Inside! Please fucking cum in me, I’m cumming!” You moan, arms flying up to grip the head of the seat as your cunt clamps down onto his cock, loud squelches sounding out as you squirt all over him, making him groan and throw your phone on his counter, not bothering to end the video.

“Fuckin’ hell, m’gonna fill you up so good, shit!” He hisses, leaning forward and propping himself up on body fists, rolling his hips into you sloppily as his orgasm hits him and he shoots cum spurt after spurt into your greedy pussy that continues to spasm and milk him for everything he’s got. You notice strands of his hair have come free of his half bun and they tickle your face as he hovers above you, sweat beading on his forehead. “Fuuuck…” He groans, pulling out after a while of being buried inside you. It leaves you feeling painfully empty.

He watches as his cum starts to spill from your swollen cunt with a smirk, moving to finger it back inside of you, making you whine. He chuckles and grabs your thongs, bringing your legs back together so he can slide them back on you, patting your pussy when he’s done. “So you have something to remember me by on your way home. Actually… you trust me?” He asks and you’re too far into your mind to say anything but yes.

Before you know it, you hear him wash his hands and put on gloves before his tattoo gun buzzes to life. “M’gonna mark you so you don’t forget how deep I get. That okay, angel?” He asks and you almost nod until you remember his earlier commands.

“Mhm…” You hum out, earning a smile from him as he bends forward between your spread legs, tattooing a thick line under your navel with the initials ‘G.S.’ Next to it. You shake your head, still too blissed out to even realize that you traded your ex boyfriend’s name for a stranger’s initials. He wipes it clean and puts second skin on it, too, before he stands straight.

“Think you can stand well enough to get dressed?” He asks and you scoff, rolling your eyes. You stand from the chair, wobbly and definitely sore, but capable enough to put your fishnets, shorts, and Doc Martens back on. He marvels at you while you do so. Once you’re done, he grabs your phone and ends the video, going to your contacts and adding his number. He hands you your phone back with a grin.

You take it and follow him when he opens his studio door, suddenly feeling all of the eyes in the shop on you. You recognize a face there, now. Utahime’s standing, mouth agape, with Shoko and some white-haired drunk guy who’s also staring at you two with his piercing blue eyes. You find yourself hiding a bit more behind Geto as you walk to the cash register.

“Ring her up for seventy-five percent off. She already paid for the rest.” He tells Shoko as he winks at you. With that, he starts to walk away, but not before he turns to you one last time. “Remember, angel. We’re friends, now.” He smirks before heading back into his room, leaving you to pay.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The next morning, you wake up hungover. You’re wearing your favorite Kuromi pajamas— a crop top and booty shorts. You walk into the bathroom, scrolling on your phone and starting to brush your teeth when you see a text to Ryōmen with three attachments. A picture of Geto eating you out, the video of him fucking you, and lastly… the new tattoo. You look at yourself in the mirror to see the line with his initials and your memory becomes clearer as you look at yourself in disbelief. “What… the fuck?”