#so did this give anyone whiplash or | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thecoochiefairy · 5 months ago

Text

xxx. suguru.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 6.4K word count. blackfem!reader, drabble, roleplay, non-consensual consent, rough sex/rough play, dominant suguru, black woman, vaginal penetration, hair pulling, creaming, squirting, choking, knife play, oral [f] [m], praising, size kink, overstimulation, degrading, LOTS of dirty talk, riding, doggy style, condomless sex, kissing, spanking, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ this may not be everyone’s tea. for sure one of the hottest things i wrote in my book of eroticas. enjoy, cause i did. dedicated to my mocha, @st4rbwrry ,she asked me to do this for her once.

nasty links, ya nasty— bounce. take it like a good girl. ooh, you’re so good for me.

SCARY MOVIES WEREN’T YOUR THING. They were simply a morbid curiosity, especially in your household. Your father was an extremely Christian man, anything seemingly too creepy or Halloween affiliated was the work of the devil. A god-fearing man, yes—But nothing was more terrifying than your boyfriend.

Suguru Getou. It was like a hushed name within the night, calling him three times like CandyMan, even a cross wouldn’t keep him away from you. You were a Christian woman as well, but not as harshly as your father. You had your own questions, moralities, beliefs. You didn’t judge anyone based on their views—you never judged him.

Meeting him within the bookstore as you went to pick up a pink Bible, your cheeks went warm as you accidentally dropped the book in your hand on the way out—he then noticed the second one you clutched to your chest, never noticing it was a deeply egregious erotica. His tattooed hand gripped the object off of the ground, veiny and large as he handed it back to you. You were a beauty to him.

Freckles along your cheeks, button nose and slender eyes with bohemian goddess braids, flyaways sticking to your round face. He caught sight of the golden cross that sat in between your breasts, the dark inked skull tattooed along your neck giving him whiplash. When you bent down to reach for the book, he caught back dermals just above the yoga pants you wear, long sleeve top clinging to your frame. Your voice was sweet, the blush of your cheeks delineated innocence, even if the sight of you didn’t. You were pure to him.

At least…he thought you were.

You were sitting along your bed, the sheer white canopy atop of it paired with champagne lights hung all around the ceiling. Your background played SCREAM, one of your favorite horror movies that Suguru had introduced you to, as you were a little afraid to watch them by yourself—but he was busy tonight, and you figured you’d face your fears.

Your glasses hung on the tip of your nose as you were more hyper-focused in your book, the sexual endeavors of the characters making your thighs rub together a bit, a highlighter in between your plump lips as you wanted to remember all the best parts. Your attention was pulled away as you heard rustling coming from your open window along the second floor of the house, enjoying the cool air of the night. You frown, lowering your book. You listen.

Nothing comes in return, so you go back to your book. The rustle happens again. You narrow your eyes, standing from the bed as you go towards your window in preparation to just close it. That’s when a knock comes on your door, and your heart nearly jumps out of your chest. You were always jumpy.

You go towards the door, tightening the robe you wear, pushing your glasses upon your nose as you open it. It’s your father.

Giving him a warm smile, you greet, “Hi, Daddy. All packed up for your trip?”

“Yup. All packed up and ready to go, sweetie. Did you remember everything?”

A gentle yet stern tone comes from him. One you were used to hearing by now. The tall, strong yet slender man gave a soft smile before speaking once more.

“You’ all right? You seem a bit startled.”

You sigh, “Been watching scary movies again—it’s only the first ten minutes where the girl gets a weird phone call. I thought I could handle watching it alone—unfortunately, I’m a wuss. Are you heading out to the airport now?”

Your father let out a soft chuckle.The first ten minutes always got to you somehow. To his dismay, this was why you had Suguru at your side to comfort you when you needed it. But he wasn’t here tonight.

“I’m about to head out now. I was hoping I would be able to see you one more time before I get on the plane.”

“You’re such a big teddy bear,” you poke fun, “I’ll walk you to the door,” you offer, pushing on your bunny slippers as you follow behind him downstairs. You lived in a big house, taking ages to get anywhere whether it was a bedroom or bathroom.

The man rolled his eyes though he couldn’t help a soft smile, amused from the way you teased him. He loved you, all too much.

Once you both get downstairs, you go to the front door where your father picks up his bags and checks to see if he had everything. He spoke again, a frown appearing once more.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright in the house by yourself? I know you’re not always fond of being alone at night.”

“I think I’ll survive,” you give him a warm smile, wrapping your arms around his neck as you sigh, “I love you, okay? Be safe.”

He wraps his strong arms around your frame, hugging you close to his form as he kisses your forehead. He loved you more than words could describe. You were his little girl, after all.

“I love you too. I’ll call you once I get to the hotel, alright?”

You give him a final wave as he makes it out to his taxi, blowing a kiss as the vehicle pulls off. You were relieved to get some alone time, and now you could fully dive into your book. You search the pantry as you grab for your sour gummy bears, plopping one into your mouth as you make your way back upstairs. You could hear the sound of screams, knowing the movie was still faintly playing on your TV. But as you enter your bedroom, you notice something.

Your window was…closed?

You frown. You were certain that you had left the window open, but yet, it was closed. You shake your head, telling yourself that it was nothing and you’d forgotten to close it.

You release a breath as you mutter, “Girl. Don’t be scaring yourself now.”

With that, you decide to cut off the movie, turning on some soothing music to calm your nerves. You return to your bed soon after, setting your gummy bears down beside you. You’re back to reading—but you can’t shake the raised awareness in the back of your mind.

As you continue to read, you can hear the house's landline going off downstairs. You sigh, pausing your music. You’re quickly making your way downstairs before the call hangs up, pulling the phone to your ear as you speak, “Hello?”

You expected it to be your father, telling you that he had left something behind, or maybe a friend of yours. It would’ve been normal for either. However, you were only greeted with silence for a moment.

But then, you soon hear the sound of a deep voice, an…unfamiliar tone.

“Hello, ❤︎.”

You blink at the voice knowing your name, placing your hand along the table as you speak, “Um—hi. Who is this?”

The voice was deep and alluring. But that didn’t make his familiarity any less uncomfortable. It’s a tone you’ve never heard. It sent chills down your spine.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that. Let’s keep that a secret for now.”

“Well if it’s a secret, then we don’t need to be talking,” you say, quickly hanging up the phone.

You frown, wondering if you should call your father. Or Suguru. You didn’t want to worry him as he was on the way to the airport, and his flight would be soon. On top of that, your boyfriend was at work. You decide on grabbing a bottle of water, going to make your way back upstairs—

But that’s when the phone rings again.

Your breathing picks up a little. No, you shouldn’t answer it. You hope it’s a simple prank. Your mind goes back to the movie earlier. You should just ignore the call, or maybe you’re just scaring yourself over something so simple.

You take the phone back into your hand, answering as you say, “Hello?” More impatient this time.

Once again, the same deep voice is heard on the other line, though the tone had a hint of annoyance. You could practically feel a sinister smile through the phone.

“Why so impatient now, sweetheart?”

His tone was taunting, almost as if they were making fun of you. It was starting to get under your skin.

“Because you’re playing on my phone. Who is this?” You question again, eyes warily looking around your kitchen. You then make your way over to your front door, unlocking and relocking it for your own security.

There’s a soft, airy chuckle that comes before the voice replies, his tone still playful. Like this was some sort of game to him.

“You’re awfully stubborn, aren’t you? Do you always have this much trouble listening?”

The line goes silent for a moment, though you can still hear faint breaths. Chills run over your body again. You could feel eyes on you. Like someone was watching you at this very moment.

You grip the phone tighter in your hand. You then say, “Suguru, I know this is you. Quit fucking with me because I told you what I was watching earlier. It’s not funny.”

“It’s unfortunate for you that I’m not your boyfriend.”

It’s like all the small hairs on your body prick up. Your heart begins to stammer in your chest, your eyes blinking. You feel like you’re in a dream.

“…What?”

The tone is no longer playful, instead becoming more…disturbing. But, there’s also a hint of amusement. Like they’re enjoying this. Enjoying you getting frightened.

“I said— I’m not your boyfriend.”

A pause, your heart beating faster. All of this felt so… wrong. Then, the voice continues—

“Though, I wish I was. You look good as fuck in that robe.”

That sentence was chilling. Your entire body went cold, and you felt frozen in your spot. You joked about watching this type of situation in the media. What you would do, how you’d never be as stupid as the character in this scenario. But here you were, unable to move, your heart pounding in your chest.

The voice on the other line chuckles again, his walk heavy as you can hear his steps. Though, he can’t help but become intrigued that he had struck such a nerve in you. You were such a…fascinating little thing. He knew you were shaking.

“Now tell me, ❤︎. Did locking your door make you feel safe?”

You didn’t know if anymore fear could strike through your veins, but you felt paralyzed.

You try to keep yourself calm as you lie, “My boyfriends gonna be here soon. So I suggest you get the fuck off of my property before he kills you.”

“I don’t like being lied to.”

The line goes silent again, but your heart still pounds in your chest. Where could he be at this very moment?

“My next suggestion would be that if you’re gonna lock your door…at least check if your window was actually closed.”

From your eyesight, you can see your bedroom. But you can only see the light coming from it, and your heart stops. You don’t have time to be afraid. You just needed to leave.

You slowly back your way towards your front door, continuously watching the outline of your bedroom, as if you were just waiting to see a figure pop out. As soon as your hand reaches the lock, you slowly turn it, reaching for the handle.

The sound of your window within your room slams shut.

You yank the front door open, going to make a desperate run for the neighbors—

But that’s when a figure is already in front of the door, and as you trip back, you freeze.

A GhostFace mask appears in your sight, the person wearing it tall, broad. The dark shirt clinging to his olive complexion, tattoos scathing along his large arms, holding a chrome Bowie knife.

Your scream pierces through the door frame as your instincts make you step back, thinking quickly as you take off back into your house.

Letting out a chuckle at your attempt to escape, he steps into the doorway, slamming the door closed as you try to run off. His footsteps were loud and heavy, like he was taking his sweet time, knowing that you were only tiring yourself further.

You eventually find yourself ducking into the next hallway, finding yourself in your father’s cigar room. You find the closet within it, rushing inside as you close the door, holding it towards yourself. Tears want to brim your eyes as your entire body vibrates from the fear, and you clutch your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from crying, hearing as his footsteps become closer.

Your breathing goes ragged and labored, your chest tightening as you try your best to muffle the sound of your hyperventilating. You then hear the footsteps get closer and closer. That’s when they stop right outside of the closet.

At this moment, you stop breathing. You close your eyes, awaiting for the next few moments. Nothing.

Instead, you hear the footsteps begin to echo away, up until you don’t hear them at all. You wait for a moment, wishing you had a phone to call someone. Anyone. But you couldn’t stay in this closet forever.

This was your opportunity to escape. You give it a couple more seconds as you gently push the door open, sliding yourself through the small opening to not cause any noise. You peek down the hallway, seeing nothing again. Yet you hear the sound of footsteps from above, meaning he was checking to see if you’d hidden yourself upstairs.

You bolt down the hallway and back towards your front door, going to throw it open as you see that large, veiny palm raise over your head, slamming the door shut. Your scream rips from your throat, ducking under the figure, trapped as their hand clasps along your throat, thumb along your jaw.

All you can see is that mask, your eyes wide as they lock down to the blade coming at your throat, lightly connecting to the skin of it.

He was much bigger than you, broad with a toned muscular body. He could easily have you in a death grip if he wanted. You could feel his hot breath coming from under the mask, staring down at you.

“Please don’t hurt me…” you’re desperate, unable to know what else to say at this moment.

He doesn’t answer for a moment, though he can’t help a soft laugh as he’s just realized something. And it makes him…furious. But he keeps his cool, tightening his grip on you ever so slightly.

Leaning down, he brings his covered face so close to your ear that it makes your skin tingle. He speaks in a low tone. It’s almost a growl.

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t…I didn’t lie…” you say, “…I don’t know what you’re talking about…” your eyes roam back and forth, hand pressed along his stomach. It’s hard.

His frame is solid, all muscle and toned. He doesn’t buy your excuse for a second. But he continues to take you in. Your face, your body. Your scent. It’s a mixture of amber and vanilla. He could feel how you trembled in his grip, though a part of him wished he was gripping by your chin, making you look him in the eye. But he was enjoying this. The fear on your face.

“You told me your boyfriend was coming.”

Shit, you did say that.

You can’t come up with a quick enough excuse. You say, “I’m sorry.”

“You will be.”

He has a grip on your wrist, dragging you up the stairs as you try to pull away, yet the knife in his other hand keeps you from fighting more than you wanted to. He slams the door of your bedroom, your fearful frame stepping back as you’re trapped inside with him, glancing back over to your window.

At this moment, he has you trapped alone in your bedroom with no one to help you. Yet, you could see his eyes studying you through the mask. Taking in every slight movement of your body. Every shake, every shiver. He was enjoying the sight of you being afraid. It was thrilling.

It felt stupid to plead your case. But you didn’t know what to do. Your brain runs amuck, and you can’t stop yourself as you stupidly say—

“Please don’t hurt me,” you repeat, “I’ll do…I’ll do anything.”

He can’t help the wicked smirk that appears across his features under the mask as he tilts his head, taking a single step closer to you. Like a predator closing in on its prey. The way his eyes remained on you was entrancing.

“Anything?”

He repeats, his voice deep.

You clutch the material of your robe, nodding your head in response, your heart in your throat.

It’s like you’re trying to play detective, eyeing his tattoos, his muscular arms, trying to find a familiarity in his body. Nothing. His onyx shirt clings to him, which almost curves inwards from how fit he was. His ring clad fingers, veins traveling beneath as he clutched his weapon within his hand. A rush of…something else ran within your body.

What was wrong with you?

Yet, your fuzzy brain is pulled out of the clouds as you hear his low tone tell you to, “Take off your robe.”

You blink for a moment. You then give a soft nod, beginning to untie your robe, draping it off your shoulders, dropping it down along the floor. The air in the room hits your skin, the pale pink babydoll slip you wore, your brown nipples showing through the thin fabric. The sheer material glides down to the thong you wear, barely covering your ass, the small bow within the back attached to the lingerie.

Your body is revealed to him, his eyes gazing over your figure. Yet, he remains still. Though, you can see the rise and fall of his chest become slightly quicker. He just didn’t move, his expression almost unreadable behind the hard, white mask. Silence, all apart from the hammering of the heart that was stuck in your throat.

You can then hear him say, “On your knees. Crawl.”

And so, you listen. Your palms lead the way, your legs slightly dragging against the carpet as you make your way over to him, slender eyes feline, coaxing. You don’t know why you have the urge to give him a show, but you pause when you’re directly in front of him, politely sitting on the balls of your feet, knees pointed to the floor.

He towers over you, his large frame making you look so… tiny. Yet, he can’t help but become impressed at the way you had obeyed his request. His dark eyes don’t remove themselves from you for a single moment. Like he’s studying every movement you make.

He was being far gentler than what you expect. He tilts your head by the point of his knife, forcing you to look up at him as he looks down at you through that damn mask.

“You listen good as fuck, pretty.”

Your eyes blink at him, palms itching along your lap. He then takes his other hand as he runs it through your hair, lightly, as if you were delicate to the touch. Your body tenses as he then gets a grip on your hair, clutching the braids in between his fingers, tugging your head back to fully look at him.

And he likes it. He likes how you look right now. Your head pulled back, looking up at him. It’s like you were at his mercy. Like you were completely and utterly at his whim. Just how he wanted you.

“Open your mouth for me.”

Another slow flutter of your lashes surpass, and you part your Cupid’s bow lips, sticking your tongue out in the process.

A sinful grin makes its way across his face, even if you can’t tell.

He moves the knife's blade to your chin, tipping your jaw a little more up to see you better. His voice is still low as he tells you, “Wider.”

You open your mouth even more, breath hitching as you do so. Your eyes can only search the terrifying white expression, but when you glance down, his body…terrifying wasn’t the exact word you’d use.

He’s enjoying the way you’re submitting to him. It’s like something within him had woken up. You can see the rise and fall of his chest again, his breathing having picked up slightly. Like it was arousing him.

“All that fuckin’ mouth you had over the phone. Where’s that shit at now?”

You lightly dig your teeth into your lip, the tone of his voice through this mask. It’s doing something to you. You’re crazy. But this entire situation is.

Your voice is soft, your own words passing through your mouth before you could think about them.

“Put something in it, then.”

His fingers come along the side of your jaw, his thumb running over your lip, sliding against your tongue.

“You’ want it in your mouth?”

You nod your head, eyes glimmering beneath the lights of your room.

“Suck some fuckin’ dick, then.”

You’re already unbuckling his belt, reaching under his boxers as you pull his length from beneath the compressing fabric. It springs out as it’s already hard, pink tip glistening from the pre-cum, slapping along his belly button in freedom.

The veins along it make it look terrifying, heavy in your palms as you lean forward, taking in the scent of rum spice and cedar wood against his smooth skin. The olive tone of his complexion is covered by ink, even in the most intimate areas. You drag your tongue along his tip, raising your eyes up, lash extensions flickering like dark butterflies.

You can hear the grunt that comes from his mouth, tugging at your hair as you fully wrap your lips along his tip, swirling your tongue around, enveloping the clean taste of his flesh. You adjust yourself along your knees, arching yourself closer to him, moving your head slowly back and forth, allowing your mouth to collect more inches each time you take him deeper. His tip begins to caress against the roof of your mouth each time you move.

The warm walls of your cheeks hollow his dick, entrapping the heaviness of it as you moan softly, eyes fluttering shut as you wrap your small fingers along the base of him, rotating your palm around. Pulling his tip out of your mouth you then drop spit along the veiny flesh, beginning to revolve your hand around, almond brown vision flickering back up to the mask, your other hand running under his shirt, feeling the way his muscles flex within his abdomen.

His hand grips tighter in your hair, pulling you closer to him as you stroke faster. He lets out a low groan, hips bucking slightly, grinding his dick between your lips and hand. You can feel his pulse beating against your fingertips, throbbing with every pass through. He pulls your head back, smearing saliva across your jaw before shoving his tip back into your mouth, sliding all the way to the back of your throat. Your head nuzzles side to side, allowing it to shuffle even deeper, the walls of your throat flexing as you gag.

You hear his deep voice lowly drop, ”Fuuck...”

You pull your mouth back, cheeks warm on the outside, freckled and lightly hueing a red tint as you softly ask, “Does it feel good?” Slapping his dick along your tongue, kissing the tip in an almost polite way.

“Feels good as fuck,” He grunts, grabbing your chin firmly and tilting your head back, exposing your neck to him. "You’re so fuckin’ sexy. Pull your tit’s out. Go down until you’re rubbing your pussy, I know this shit’ is making you wet.”

He was right, it was. Each time his tip slammed against the back of your throat, your inner thighs became warm as you rubbed them together. You yank down the material of your babydoll slip, exposing your brown nipples, using one hand to lightly rub at the hardening skin, using the other to hold his dick in your hand, dragging your mouth back around the shaft of it. He twitches in your mouth as you start to suckle, slurping heavily, saliva spurting in between the space of your lips each time his balls slam along your jaw. He keeps a grip on your onyx hair tighter—you’re nasty with it, guiding your head up and down erotically.

You then slide your hands down your stomach and thigh, coming around to meet with the inner part of it, brushing your fingers against your clit that throbs along your thong. It almost makes you flinch.

He watches you with lust-filled eyes, the ghost mask seeming to leer as you touch yourself. He feels as you tense up, “Be a big fuckin’ girl and make yourself feel good.”

He guides your head faster, thrusting into your mouth with increasing force. His balls begin to slap loudly against your chin, precum leaking from the tip to coat your tongue.

“Call me baby,” you protest as you find the space to pull away, immediately going back to keeping your mouth full. You almost break, your voice feeble as you talk, “Want your fingers. Wanna squirt on them…” you can’t stop whining to him, moving your head back and forth, faster to meet the mean pace he gives.

“I know you fuckin’ heard what I said. Sink your fingers in,” he grunts to you, feeling the whimper around his dick, your fingers listening as you drag them down, nudging them at your opening. You can hear how wet you are, but your own aren’t enough. You need more.

Your other hand is still locked around him, keeping your mouth steady as he has one hand on the back of your head, the other on your jaw, pulling it open wider as he fucks your face.

“That’s fuckin’ good, baby. Listening good as fuck.”

You become frustrated as you pull back, pouting to him, “I can’t make myself cum…”

You spit against his tip, now focusing in as it seems to be sensitive. You protect your teeth with your lips, sucking inward as you bob your head up and down, using your throat as you muffle out hums to add to his stimulation, talented in pleasuring him.

He groans deeply, feeling your tongue continuously swirling around the tip, sending jolts straight to his entire body.

“Fuck,” he aggressively grunts, “Ooh, shit. Baby. Keep doing that," he growls, his hips jerking slightly as he loses control for a second, pushing deeper into your mouth. "Gonna fill that pretty ass throat up."

That’s when you become more defiant—The pressure in between your legs is almost painful. You need him. You pull yourself back, placing yourself along the bed, spreading your knees apart, arching your back as you press your stomach against the sheets. Your face is tilted backwards to watch him, taking your hands as you spread yourself apart.

“Fill up my pussy, baby,” you whine, pitiful, but you didn’t care.

His eyes darkened with lust as he saw you spread yourself open for him, your juices dripping onto the sheets below. You’re grinding your clit against the pink comforter, making it a darker shade as it becomes drenched. He stalks towards the bed, fully ripping off his clothes in haste, dragging you fully to the end of the bed as his palms locked around your ankles.

"Shit, look at that pretty ass pussy," he mutters, his gaze fixated on your glistening folds, “You want my cum, huh? Beg for it."

His words are demanding, but there's an underlying tone of pleasure and desire. He's eager to claim you.

But you’re even more eager.

You grip his arm, pulling him down to where his back is along the sheets, climbing atop of him. You don’t forget to lock your mouth around his tip for a moment, dropping your lips down to reach his abdomen, saliva dragging out of your mouth, dribbling along your chin as you pull back, seeing as his abs tighten, giggling as that makes him give you a harsh spank to your ass.

Your knees are on each side of him, already wrapping your fingers around his tip, guiding it as you rub it along your clit.

You whimper, “Wanna slide down on your dick, baby. Tell me I can…”

“Go ‘head. Drop down, slowly.”

You do as you're told, placing your hand along his stomach as you lean forward, sinking yourself down, his tip plunging in between your tight folds. He was like a monster, attempting to rip you in half. Your eyes lightly roll, your hips spazzing at the feeling. A baby gasp parts from your mouth as he roughly spanks you again, coaxing you to keep going. You sink yourself down farther, the heaviness of your ass sticking against his abdomen, his tip already kissing your cervix, it makes your face contort in an aching pleasure, so fucking horny as you already begin bouncing on him, your pussy squelching as you whimper from the slight pain.

It was like a soreness from a workout, a burn from a meal you couldn’t wait to cool down, you whine messily as you drive yourself wild, clapping your ass down against his thighs.

His eyes follow every movement of your hips, drinking in the sight of your ass slapping against his thighs. The lewd sounds of flesh meeting flesh fill the room, mingling with your desperate moans of pleasure. He grips your hips tightly, fingers digging around into the soft flesh of your ass as he begins dragging you to meet your own downward motions.

"Yeah? You’ gonna keep fucking me like that? Like you needed this fuckin’ dick?”

You’re looking back as the skin of your ass shaking in his palms, sobbing already, eyes rolling back as you pout heavily, nodding your head as it falls back, whimpering out messily, “Yes, baby. Been wanting to bounce on your dick just like this…”

You hiccup, your soft cry echoing along the walls, louder than your skin slapping against his, “So fuckin’ needy for you…”

His thumbs dig deeper into the supple cheeks of your skin, spreading them apart slightly as he watches himself disappear into you over and over.

"Pussy hungry as fuck, sucking my shit in…” He growls low in his throat, the vibrations sending tingles up your spine.

"Keep going, needy ass fuckin’ girl—fuck,” he lowly moans, head falling back against the bed, mask tilting upwards. His hands move to grip your waist, helping pull you down onto him with force, his thick shaft stretching you impossibly wide. The sensation borders on painful, but the pleasure far outweighs it, making you pathetically cry out in ecstasy.

With a guttural groan, he thrusts up into you hard, burying himself to the hilt. Your back arches, a sharp cry escaping your lips at the sudden depth. He holds you there, still and deep, letting you adjust to the overwhelming fullness before starting to move once more. His hand is on your shoulder, slamming you back down, sounds erotically implausible.

"You love this, don't you?" He growls, voice strained with pleasure. "Love being stuffed full of my dick,” His hands slide up your sides, fingers splaying across your ribs as he begins to piston in and out of you with relentless intensity.

He’s like a demon climbing out of hell for the first time. You keep up with him though, keeping your eyes locked on his as you groan, “Love it so fuckin’ much. Gonna’ cum in my tight pussy, baby?” You can hear the grunt he makes from that question, planting your feet along the bed as you raise your hips, dropping them down, “Hit my spot, baby. Wanna squirt all in your mouth soon.”

His grunts deepen into animalistic growls, the force of his thrusts growing harder, faster, more erratic. Sweat drips down from under his mask, tattooed muscles flexing beneath his skin.

“Nasty ass fuckin’ mouth. I hear you, baby. ‘Gonna' drench me," he rasps, one hand moving between your bodies to rub at your clit in time with his strokes.

His other hand grips your hip, using it as leverage to slam you down onto him, hitting that sensitive spot inside you with unrelenting precision. The wet squelching of your juices and the slap of skin on skin fills the air, punctuated by your high-pitched moans and his guttural sounds. He's close, you can tell, his movements becoming almost violent in their desperation.

“Fuck me from the back,” you beg, “Come fuck me, baby. That’s how I wanna cum,” you beg him, swirling your hips in circles, dragging your nails along his skin.

He flips you over onto your stomach without hesitation, looming over you with a predatory gleam in his masked gaze. One hand remains gripping your hip while the other moves around to grasp your throat, applying gentle pressure.

"You’ better be fuckin’ me back," he smacks his lips, “Keep asking for shit. Spoiled as fuck.”

With a sharp tug, he rubs his tip in between your folds, the sensitivity making you hiss a bit. But he does the opposite of what you expect, raising you up slightly to press your back against his chest, material of the mask pressed up against your face, almost to where you can feel his lips against your skin.

You reach your hand behind yourself, holding him as he sinks himself in. You feel every inch as it goes in, sinking so deep it inflames your walls, your eyes rolling back as you gasp, “Oh, shit,” as you unexpectedly squirt, the fluid gushing out so harshly that it nearly pushes his dick out. Your thighs tremble as you shudder out in broken whines, his hand gripping tighter along your throat, hearing the arrogant chuckle in your ear.

He lets out a low, rumbling chuckle against your ear, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine even as your inner walls clench around him. His grip on your throat tightens fractionally, a subtle reminder of his dominance.

"Look at you, squirting like a fuckin’ faucet.”

You shriek as he spanks you, “So fuckin’ responsive for me. Love milking this pussy, baby. Goood fuckin’ girl,” he riles you up, withdrawing until just the tip remains inside, slamming back in, driving deep once more, making you squirt out again.

Your hands scrabble for purchase on the sheets, reaching behind helplessly as you try to halt his hips, feeling as he yanks your hand behind your back. You plead, “W—wait, baby. Wait. Wait. Ooh, shi—oh—fuck. Fuck. Fuuuck…”

Your whine is so pretty, your body relaxing as if you’ve given up at this point, back to pouting as you can’t. Stop. Squirting.

Tears well in your eyes, you’re crying at this point, your hips tensing, a soreness beginning to produce from your body pushing out so much energy. You’re moaning weakly as he coos behind you, “Yeah, baby. That’s good. Open up your pussy," his voice dripping with false sweetness. "I've got you."

With a sudden, brutal thrust, he buries himself inside you, grinding against your cervix. Your scream is muffled by his palm over your mouth as he holds you still, impaling you on his dick.

“Told you to fuck me back, your ass don’t fuckin’ listen,” he grunts, his hips beginning to piston in and out at a bullying pace. "Fuck, your pussy is perfect."

This is what you asked for. This is what you wanted—now you were paying for it. You’re sobbing in patterns, broken and repetitive, trapped as you can only whimper, “Please cum, baby. Cum in me. Fuckin’ fill me up, baby,” but this is your only way of escaping this depraved act.

He laughs cruelly, the sound echoing through the room as he continues to pound into you relentlessly. "You want my cum? Then fucking earn it, slutty ass fuckin’ girl. My slutty ass baby.”

His grip on your throat tightens, cutting off your air supply as he fucks you even harder, each thrust jarring your entire body. The pressure builds in your core, your orgasm just out of reach.

With the last bit of strength you have, you apologize, “So sorry, baby. Didn’t listen. Lemme’ be your good girl,” as you begin to throw your ass back, slamming it along his abdomen, it’s nearly too slippery to have the skin stick together. You’ve coated him with your arousal, you have nothing left to give him, “Cum for me, baby. Cum inside me, need your cum, pretty boy…”

At your pitiful plea, he releases your throat, gripping your hips instead as he pounds into you mercilessly. His breathing grows ragged, muscles straining as he chases his release, his helpless moans are sexy, even a light whimper slipping out— it was rare for him to have.

"Fuckin’ hell..." he grits out between clenched teeth, sweat beading on his forehead. "I’m about to bust, baby. Where you’ want it?”

“In me,” you whimper desperately, “Don’t be mean.”

The bastard. He chuckles, “Shut that shit up. I know.”

With one final, intense thrust, his dick pulses as he unleashes a torrent of cum deep inside you. He pulls himself out to replace his dick with his fingers, rubbing chaotically in between your opening and your clit, knowing how you’d react to that. Your entire body spazzes as you shout, groaning into a scream as you gush out more cum, causing him to rip the mask off, burying his face in between your legs, lapping up the final orgasm that completely drains you. You’re crying and shaking, nearly dropping forward along the bed as he’s there to catch you.

The familiar coconut scent of his dark hair rubs up against your cheek as he turns your face to kiss him, sloppily sinking his tongue into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself.

“That was good, baby,” Suguru grunts, both of you breathing heavily against one another, desire and passion filling the air.

“We need to watch scary shit more often,” he holds your throat, talking within your ear, the breathless giggle only being your response for a moment.

“Yeah, we do.”

#suguru getou x reader #Suguru Getou #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru x black female character #jjk suguru #getou suguru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen suguru #suguru x you #jujutsu suguru #suguru jjk #jjk #ghostface #Ghostface jjk #Suguru Ghostface #getou suguru ghostface

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mariasont · 11 months ago

Text

They Think I'm Pregnant - A.H

a/n: i feel like this is kind of shitty but alas here we are!

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: the team thinks you're pregnant and you decide to have a little fun with it

warnings: reader is not preggers promise!, honestly the team gossiping is so lol, suggestive content per usual

wc: 1.3k

"I mean she has been kind of moody lately."

The gasp that rose in your surprise was quickly smothered as you pressed yourself against the wall, pushing into it as if that would make you invisible somehow.

"Well, interestingly enough, there has been considerable growth in her chest area. It's due to elevated levels of estrogen and progesterone, which I've noticed with her." Spencer stopped abruptly, the sound of Morgan's muffled laughter in the background. "I'm not saying I make a habit of such observations. Okay, um, don't tell Hotch I said that."

Casting a skeptical eye down your shirt, your frown deepened. Sure, your boobs had grown, but that was a testament to a little happy relationship weight, not the fodder of their theories.

"Nice one, kid," came Rossi's voice, and you could almost see the smirk on his face.

"Oh my gosh, guys, this is like, the best news ever! A mini-agent in the making! Can you imagine how cute she's going to be? I'm going to get her the cutest outfits!"

"Garcia, how do you know it's going to be a girl? Did the baby send you a text?"

The baby? Was rational thought absent among them? It must be. You crossed your arms defensively.

"Okay, maybe we should pump the breaks everyone. Why do we even think she's pregnant in the first place?"

JJ—your voice of reason. You could kiss the ground she walked on.

"I'm just putting two and two together. She walked out, and there was a pregnancy test in the trash that wasn't there before."

Your eyebrows drew down, and the increasing shuffle from the room prompted you to make a beeline for Hotch's office before anyone saw you snooping. But in your defense, Emily snooped first.

The moment the door clicked shut, you lunged for the blinds, bypassing any attempt at a greeting with Aaron. The blinds clattered shut, so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

"Honey, what are you—?"

His words hung unfinished as you whirled around, pressing your pointer finger to your lips as if he were a kindergartner about to walk down the hall.

"They think I'm pregnant!" you hissed indignantly, jabbing a finger toward the door as if it were a portal to the rumor mill itself.

His face drained of color as his eyes darted from your face, down to your stomach, and finally rested on your tits. "Are you?"

You slapped his shoulder. "No!"

"Then why do they think that?"

You recounted every piece of evidence they had collected, giving special attention to Spencer's bodily hypothesis as a subtle form of retaliation.

"He said what?"

You laughed, draping your arms around his neck as you made yourself at home on his lap. He leaned back in his chair, arranging you so your legs were stretched out across his lap.

"Focus," you said desperately. "They think I'm pregnant."

"Sweetheart," he chuckled, his hands finding their way to your waist. "Does it really matter what they're assuming?"

Your lower lip jutted out, fingers threading through your hair as you mulled it over.

"You're a genius." Your arms were around him in an instant once again, leaving a big, messy kiss on his cheek as you hopped down from his lap and strode towards the door.

Who cares if that's what they think?

So, you devoted your day to your greatest talent: stirring the pot. If they were set on believing you were pregnant, why should you interfere? Better yet, why not enjoy their theories and have some fun along the way?

You pulled every trick in the book.

In the morning, you bolted from the briefing room with a hand clamped over your mouth, you later reappeared, ginger ale and crackers in tow--which you knew JJ would understand. No one said a word.

In the afternoon, you turned up your nose when Emily offered you coffee, which in turn caused her eyes to bulge out of her head, but still she said nothing.

In the evening, you staged a sudden craving for the strangest of snacks, convincing Spencer of your dire need for pickles dipped in peanut butter. You sent him on a wild goose chase for it, and he did it, no questions asked.

All of these, as some would say--childish antics, lead to a big pile of nothing because no one was brave enough to just ask you.

So now that you were all gathered around Rossi's living room, with the day's efforts in vain, you were forced to drastic measures.

The wine glass was mere inches from your lips when the whole lot of them were up in arms--a blabbering, spiraling mess.

Garcia, her mouth a perfect 'o' of scandalized red, was quick to wrestle it from your grasp, hoisting it just beyond reach as Morgan promptly confiscated it, placing it atop the tallest bookshelf, as if you were a child meddling with contraband.

"What are you thinking?"

"Are you crazy?"

"What are you doing?"

"Hotch, do you see this?"

Their words bombarded you all at once, a rapid-fire of overlapping sentences that was impossible to decipher. A giggle escaped you, hand instinctively rising to your lips. Sure, you had braced for a reaction, but this was beyond anything you had imagined.

You played dumb, your head canting to one side as your brows contracted. "What?"

You basked in Aaron's exasperated eye roll, his hands coming together as if in prayer while he let you revel in the moment. He was a good man.

"What do you mean what? I love you so much, but you have to be out of your mind," Garcia probed, her hands clutching on to her necklace as she looked side to side at the others.

You opened your mouth, ready to provoke her further, but Spencer beat you to it.

"Given the potential impact on blood volume and plasma osmolality, it's really not advised to drink alcohol, considering your condition," he said, fidgeting with his tie while nodding to your belly.

"What condition?"

"Oh, come on! We found your pregnancy test in the trash today!" This time it was Emily speaking, her hands on her hips as she gave you a knowing glance. She quickly muffled her exclamation. "Hold on, you've told Hotch, right? If not, I'm prepared to get on my hands and knees and beg for your forgiveness if necessary."

"You all are ridiculous!" you declared, rising from the couch and moving toward your abandoned wine. Aaron was quicker, offering the glass to you. "I'm not pregnant, and if you nosy nellies had bothered to ask rather than speculate, you'd know that.”

You took a large gulp of your wine. For emphasis. Your colleagues' mouth hung agape, all but Rossi, who smirked and toasted to the absurdity with his whiskey.

"You heard us?"

"Reid, let's just say, I'd appreciate if you would reserve those observational talents for the case files, not on my girlfriend's anatomy," Hotch suggested, the warmth of his hand seeping through the fabric at your back as he casually sipped his scotch.

You watched Reid's complexion turn a spectrum of pink hues, his apology barely above a whisper as laughter bubbled around us.

"Wait so then whose pregnancy test did I find?" Emily's words caused a collective breath to catch, glances shifting suspiciously around the room.

JJ's hand shot up, laughing as Garcia barreled into her side, arms wrapping around her before she could even get the admittance out. The room buzzed with congratulatory cheers, everyone sharing hugs and kisses as JJ told the story.

Aaron chose that instant to lift his hand to his neck, his lips meeting yours in a kiss so gentle it turned your insides to jelly. He eased back, his breath mingling with yours as he mumbled, "you know, the idea of you pregnant...it's not something I'm opposed to."

You let out a soft giggle, nestling your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart bleeding into your ear. Your gaze drifted to your friends, toasting with raised glasses--minus JJ--with laughter and chatter filling the air.

"Is that so? Cravings, mood, boobs and all?"

You felt the rumble of his chuckle through his chest, the sensation tingling against your cheek. "All of it."

Rising onto your toes, you reached up to cradle his ear, lips grazing lightly against it. "How about we head home and practice? And then if you put a ring on it, I’ll consider it.”

That was the first time you had Irish goodbye-d a party.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotcher fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff

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ggukivrse · 16 days ago

Text

the art of pretending – jjk | teaser

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.

but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, angst, fluff, (eventual) explicit sexual content, swearing, alcohol consumption, ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs, other chapter specific tags

word count: 1k

notes: right soo... this fic was not apart of the poll i put out BUT i did manage to finally write something so you can't say anything (writer's block has been kicking my ass lately, study break was just a result of my horniness loll). this is j a teaser so if we like this, i’ll prioritise it, if not, it’ll still get written, just a bit slower! enjoy reading my angels <333

ps. kiara is pronounced like tiara, just with a k

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The road stretches out ahead, long and quiet, humming under the tires. You lean into the car door, forehead pressed against the glass, fingers mindlessly tugging at the threads on the hem of your shorts.

Summer air seeps through the half-cracked open window, warm and heavy with the scent of trees and sun-baked asphalt.

You should be excited. Everyone else is.

A full week away — just your group, no classes, no work shifts, no group projects hanging over anyone’s head for the first time in four years. A final trip before the “real world” starts to pull everyone in different directions.

But your stomach’s been tight since the moment you packed your bag. And now, with every mile you put between yourself and home, it just gets worse.

“You’re really quiet,” Kiara says, glancing at you from the driver’s seat. She’s got one hand on the wheel, the other flipping the volume knob down on the music. “Like... unusually quiet. Do I need to be concerned?”

You shake your head without looking at her. “Nah. Just tired.”

Kiara makes a sound like she doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t press, and you're grateful for it.

You glance over at her. She’s in an oversized T-shirt, dark brown hair falling in curls past her shoulders, sunglasses balanced on top of her head instead of over her eyes.

“I thought you’d be in full DJ mode by now,” you say, nodding toward her phone. “Where’s the summer playlist?”

She smirks. “I’m easing you into it. Jimin says my music tastes give him whiplash.”

“He has a point.”

She scoffs. “Please. Hoseok says my music’s amazing.”

“He says that about everything you do," you say with a smile.

She shrugs, casual. “He’s not wrong.”

It’s adorable how hopelessly smitten they are. Even after a year together, Hoseok still looks at Kiara like she hung the stars.

You remember when they finally got together, after years of dancing around it. Everyone in the friend group had seen it coming — everyone except them.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Kiara laughs, and you can’t help but join in. For a second, the knot in your chest loosens. Just a little.

"Speaking of Hoseok," you start, glancing over at her. “How come he's not coming with you?”

She sighs. “Shift at work. He tried to switch but his manager’s being a dick. He’ll drive up tomorrow morning.”

You nod. “That sucks.”

She hums in agreement, but you’re already half-lost in your thoughts.

As much as you feel bad for Hoseok, you're quietly grateful Kiara asked you to come with her. The idea of doing this drive alone — just you, a quiet car, and way too much time to sit with everything you haven’t let yourself feel — would’ve made the weight in your chest unbearable.

She hasn’t said much, but she’s always had good timing. Maybe she didn’t even realise how much you needed the company. Or maybe she did.

“Lucky me, I got upgraded,” you say lightly.

She grins. “Damn right you did.”

The playlist switches songs, something soft and nostalgic. You stare out the window again, at the lazy sway of trees and the occasional flicker of a passing car.

“I can’t believe we actually pulled this trip off,” Kiara says, after a beat. “Twelve people committing to anything at the same time? Miracle.”

You nod. “Taehyung’s been talking about it since first year.”

“Yeah, and threatening to disown us if anyone bailed.”

You huff out a small laugh.

Back when this trip was just an idea tossed around during late-night study sessions and half-finished group projects, you'd been genuinely excited — borderline giddy, even. The promise of a full week at a fancy resort with your closest friends had felt like the perfect reward after years of deadlines, breakdowns, and pulling all-nighters on cheap coffee and instant noodles.

It was one of those plans that didn’t feel real at first — the kind of thing you talk about just to survive the semester — but then slowly, it started taking shape. Rooms were booked. Deposits paid. Group chats flooded with outfit ideas and packing lists.

You remember counting down the months, then the weeks. You’d imagined bonfires and inside jokes, sunsets by the water, slow mornings in a warm bed.

Back then, this trip had felt like the light at the end of a very long tunnel. Something to look forward to. Something certain.

Now, you can barely keep the dread from crawling up your throat.

“You sure you’re good?” Kiara asks again, gentler this time.

You blink, pulled back to the present. “Yeah. Just... a lot on my mind.”

Again, she doesn’t push. Just gives you a side glance and says, “Well, don’t overthink it. We’ve got a whole week of sun, overpriced cocktails, and probably at least one group fight. You’ll be fine.”

You offer a small smile. “Yeah, you're right. I’ll be fine.”

But your stomach’s still a mess, and the name you’ve been avoiding thinking about drags itself right back to the front of your mind.

Jungkook.

You haven’t seen him in a month.

Not since it ended.

And in about an hour, you’re going to be standing under the same roof as him — spending an entire week in the same space, breathing the same air, pretending it doesn’t feel like your insides are still bruised from the last time you spoke.

A small, irrational part of you hopes he won’t show. That something will come up. That he’ll decide it’s not worth it.

But you know him. He’ll be there.

Of course he will.

Kiara says something — probably teasing, probably meant to distract you — and you laugh on instinct. Keep the smile on your face, even as dread pools low in your gut.

This was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime.

You glance out the window again, the road narrowing in the distance.

Now, a part of you can't stop looking for the nearest exit.

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taglist | click here to join: @thegreatdepressionme

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tender-rosiey · 2 years ago

Text

pretty babies – gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: idk about yall but I love me some drunk gojo

satoru never drinks, but when he does, ohoho, you’re in for quite the ride.

today was one of the days when he was less of a chaotic handful but more of an emotional mess who apparently can’t even remember his own wife. you sip on your drink, ignoring the drunk satoru leaning on the bar.

he slurs his words as he tries to flirt, “you’re sooo pretty, y’know that?”

you nod with a hum and give him no further reaction. in situations like these, you figured out that letting him go all out until he is tired and sleepy is the best solution. it really is like treating a baby.

thankfully, after many years of being in the presence of one gojo satoru, you’ve built up some patience.

he rests his head on the counter and he looks up at you, eyes wide and in awe, “I bet,” he hiccups and it is followed by a silly little giggle, “we’d make superrrr cute babies! like all round and chubby and we’d much on their cheeks like…mochi! yes! mochi…now I am hungry.”

a smirk makes an appearance on your face as you glance at satoru who is blabbering about building a family with you and spoiling you rotten.

a little teasing won’t harm anyone. so you quip, “you know,” and his attention is already on you, “you already gave me three super cute babies.”

his mouth is wide open in disbelief as he sits up, “no way!”

“yup! and they’re waiting at home for us.”

his eyes crinkle because of his wide grin, “really?!” he pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, “you got photos?! please tell me that you do!” and he switches to a pout so quickly, it gives you whiplash.

however, you gladly pull out your phone and show him the multitude of photos you have.

ones ranging from him being in a crib to help the youngest one sleep to ones with two of the three kids ganging up on him and him desperately calling for your help. satoru goes through every single photo, head on your shoulder and cheek squished.

he is silent throughout it all and when he is done, he looks up at you, “so that means that you’re my wife?”

you nod and your fingers, naturally, find their place on his head. he feels a little shiver of satisfaction before he smiles, one lovesick and silly smile, “I really hit the jackpot.”

you laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “I guess you did.”

so you take him back home where the kids are already asleep. satoru crashes on the bed right away, steady breaths filling the room. slowly, you take your place beside him and you feel his arms wrap around you.

he pulls you closer and buries his face in your hair. and you close your eyes, letting yourself be lulled to the land of dreams.

when you do wake up, you’re greeted by satoru literally on top of you and deep in sleep. you would like to let him sleep more especially since he looks so comfortable, but you’re going to suffocate at this rate. so you pat his back lightly, “satoru, honey, wake up.”

he groans and buries his face in the crook of your neck, grumbling something along the lines of ‘five more minutes’.

not budging? then fine, you decide. you take as deep of a breath as you can then call for your kids, “who will help mama?!”

it’s quiet and you can feel satoru smirking against your skin. it looks like he won, but then a bunch of footsteps are heard and it’s your turn to smirk.

your husband lifts his head to glare at you—of course, not without sporting one of his famous pouts.

the door is then slammed open and your eldest son is there, “WHO DARES HURT OUR MAMA?!”

he gasps, very dramatically like a certain someone, and points at his dad, “PAPA?! you’re suffocating mama!”

“again?!” your daughter pops up from behind her brother, staring at her dad in disbelief.

they both stand beside your bed glaring at him and he glares back, the three of them forgetting why you called for your kids in the first place. so you do them a favor and remind them, “satoru…I AM GOING TO DIE LIKE THIS!”

satoru is pulled back by his shirt and your kids take turns in—trying—to beat him up. you get up, greedily breathing air till you’re satisfied. you ignore the screams of your husband until you’re done with your morning routine.

luckily enough, when you got out of the bathroom, you found no one except your husband.

laying on the ground.

presumably dead.

with a bunch of drawings on his face and his hair contained with multiple hair bands.

you snap a picture of him very quickly then you sit on the ground next to his corpse. you poke his butt and he groans, making you giggle, “what happened to the strongest sorcerer?”

he turns towards you with a small frown, “his pretty wife didn’t kiss him good morning so he had no energy to fight,” his head snaps towards the two tiny figures giggling behind the door, “these monsters.”

they squeal and run away once again before he catches them.

you gently take the hair bands off, “you’re lucky that our youngest devil is still asleep,” you then smooth down his hair and pat his head, “I love the smiley faces on your cheeks.”

he whines and rests his head on your shoulder, “stop bullying me!”

you hum and stroke his hair, “you know, you did something pretty cute yesterday.”

“I am always cute; what’re you talking about?”

“you flirted with me, your wife, and said we would make ‘super cute!’ babies,” you reveal and satoru seems unbothered. in fact, he seems proud and very happy with himself so you continue, “so I had to remind you of our three little devils and then I showed you pictures.”

he stands up, posing all confidently, “what can I say? I excel at everything even being cute—“

“then you cried like a little baby when I showed you my picture post labor and kept apologizing.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @jisbizarre @kunikida-simp @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @wemma67 @nothisispatrick300

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

#gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo imagine #jjk x you #gojo x you #jjk imagines #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #jjk gojo x reader #jjk gojo x you #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru fluff #gojo fluff #jjk x y/n #jjk gojo x y/n

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ratatoilett · 1 month ago

Text

episode title : the one where she suggests marriage (again)

nylu's note : excited to make this a mundane cutesy series of they're shenanigans omg!

tags : @toniiiiiireads @cuntyji @nakiich @rriwyu @your-mum3000 @lulunx @heiejdhdh @oracle014 @sukubusss @noooo-onee @sanestsanstan @minasuniverse @muli-wam @bearchermer @younjunie

series masterlist

INT. SUKUNA'S APARTMENT - TUESDAY - 11:00 AM

at this point, sukuna has accepted that you are an unavoidable disaster in his life.

like an earthquake. or a tornado. or a really persistent telemarketer that keeps calling even when he explicitly tells them to stop.

he doesn't know when it happened. one day, you showed up. the next, you never left.

and the worst part? he let's you.

not without protest, of course. plenty of "get out before i throw you out," and "touch my stuff and you lose a hand," and "if you breathe near me while i'm eating, i will make sure you regret it."

none of which work.

because here you are, again, sitting on his couch, eating his chips, watching his TV—wearing his hoodie (at this point he doesn't even care how you got that in the first place).

you're kicked back, feet on the coffee table, and way too damn comfortable for someone who has been explicitly told to leave at least 500 times.

sukuna scowls.

"okay", you announce, popping another chip into your mouth. "new plan."

he doesn't even look up from his phone. "no."

"you didn't even hear it yet!"

"and yet, i already know it's gonna be fucking stupid."

you ignore him, as always. "hypothetically speaking, what if we got married?"

his head snaps up so fast you think he might've given himself whiplash.

"the hell did you just say?"

"i said—"

"i heard what you said," he growls, tossing his phone onto the coffee table. "the question is, why do you insist on making me suffer?"

you tilt your head, lips curling into a grin. "oh, so you admit the thought of being my husband affects you?"

"i admit that the thought makes me want to set myself on fire."

you hum, unbothered. "well, that's not a no."

sukuna pinches the bridge of his nose. "explain. now."

"well," you begin, dramatically tossing a chip into your mouth, "if we got married, i'd finally have a legal excuse to annoy you forever."

"you don't need a legal excuse. you're already doing it."

you ignore that. "plus, think about it! you, me, joint bank accounts—"

"absolutely fucking not."

"—matching outfits—"

"i will end you."

"—and cute little pet names! i'd call you 'suku-bear'."

sukuna glares. "i will throw you off my balcony."

"come on! you'd have cute nicknames for me too."

he smirks, and for a second, you think you might've won.

then—

"yeah. it's 'nuisance.'"

you gasp, pressing a hand to your chest. "how dare you? i was going to give you my last name, and this is how you treat me?"

sukuna levels you with a flat look. "you break into my apartment on a daily basis. you eat my food. you talk too much. you leave your crap everywhere. i should be charging you rent."

"that's actually a great idea! hypothetically speaking, what if i just moved in permanently?"

sukuna exhales so hard you think he might combust. "get. out."

"but i brought dinner," you chirps, holding up a takeout bag. "your favorite."

silence.

a long, long, long silence.

"fine. you can stay."

you grin in victory, setting the food down on the table. "that's what i thought."

sukuna rolls his eyes, snatching the takeout bag like you might change your mind and steal it back. "for the record, i still hate you."

"for the record, you love me," you counter plopping down beside him. "and someday, hypothetically speaking, you'll admit it."

sukuna doesn't respond, too busy stuffing food into his mouth.

but later, when he thinks you're not looking, you catch it—

the way his eyes linger on you, soft in a way they never are with anyone else.

the way his finger twitch, like he wants to pull you closer but refuses to give in.

the way his lips curl just slightly at your stupid jokes, even as he scowls at you.

the way, when you eventually fall asleep on his couch (again), he doesn't wake you up.

he just sighs.

long. heavy. defeated.

then he grabs the blanket off the back of the couch and tosses it over to you.

not gently, of course. that would be admitting things.

but he lingers. just for a second.

and when you mumble something in your sleep—something ridiculous, something about hypothetically marrying him—he just shakes his head.

because someday—someday—he's going to give in.

he already knows it.

and, damn you, so do you.

#nyluhaswritten!#ryoumen sukuna #jjk sukuna #jujutsu sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna drabble #sukuna fluff #sukuna x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk drabbles #jjk scenarios

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writeriguess · 3 days ago

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can i request a bakugou x reader. the reader is in a relationship with him for a few months now. they just never told anyone about it. their friends (bakusquad) are surprised when they suddenly cuddle up during movie night.

Close Quarters and Closer Hearts

The living room hums with the comforting buzz of conversation and the scent of freshly popped popcorn. The Bakusquad lounges around, the flickering glow of the TV casting soft shadows over everyone’s faces. Kaminari’s sprawled out on the floor, a bowl of popcorn perched dangerously on his chest. Mina has claimed the comfiest corner of the couch, curled up with a blanket, while Sero and Kirishima share the remaining cushions, elbows already digging into ribs over the best seat.

You’re hovering awkwardly near the doorway, trying to decide the best place to sit. When your eyes meet Bakugou’s, he arches a brow, lips twitching in a smirk. He’s settled himself at the end of the couch, legs spread in that relaxed but commanding posture. He jerks his chin, wordlessly beckoning you over.

“Oi, finally done loitering?” he grumbles when you hesitate. “Get over here.”

The others are too caught up in a debate about which horror movie to watch—Mina votes for something gory, Kaminari wants comedy—to notice as you cross the room. Your heart races as you sink down beside him. You keep a polite distance at first, until his arm slides around your shoulders, tugging you against his side.

Your pulse jumps, but Bakugou just scoffs. “What, you scared or something?”

You give him a playful glare, cheeks warming. “No, just didn’t know you were so clingy.”

“Shut up.” He squeezes your shoulder and mutters, “You’re the clingy one.”

The couch creaks as the others pile on. Kaminari flops down on the floor at your feet, groaning dramatically. “If I die of boredom, it’s Mina’s fault. Just saying.”

She sticks her tongue out. “You have the attention span of a goldfish.”

“I do not—oh hey, snacks!” He reaches for the popcorn but gets smacked away by Mina’s foot.

The banter continues, but you can’t focus. Bakugou’s arm is still draped casually over your shoulders, his thumb tracing light patterns. It’s subtle, but it feels incredibly intimate. You’re hyper-aware of every breath he takes, the warmth radiating from his body.

It’s not until the movie starts—a classic slasher—that Mina glances over, her eyes narrowing. “Wait a second.”

You freeze, but Bakugou only sighs, muttering, “Great.”

Mina’s eyes bounce from you to him and back again. “Are you two... cuddling?”

The room falls silent. Kaminari’s head whips around so fast you’re surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. Kirishima’s brows shoot up. Sero’s eyes widen.

“No way,” Kaminari blurts out, gaping. “You’re dating Bakugou?”

Your cheeks flame, but Bakugou just clicks his tongue. “No shit, dunce face.”

Kirishima’s mouth drops open before he grins wide. “Bro, when did this happen?”

“A few months ago,” you admit, fidgeting under the sudden scrutiny.

“A few months?” Mina yelps. “And you didn’t tell us?!”

“Would you have believed me?” you counter.

Kaminari snorts. “Uh, no. You’d have to show me proof—like, make out or something.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Keep talking, and you’ll eat a fist.”

“Jeez, okay, chill!” Kaminari laughs, unfazed. “Just saying, I would’ve bet money you’d stay single forever.”

Bakugou smirks. “Guess you’d be broke, idiot.”

Mina’s outrage shifts into a smirk of her own. “Okay, but like... how did this even start?”

“We just clicked,” you say.

Bakugou scoffs. “Took you forever to admit you liked me.”

“Oh, please,” you shoot back. “You were the one dragging me out on ‘not-dates’ every week.”

Kirishima laughs. “Man, you really have a type. Explosive and stubborn.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You done interrogating us?”

“Never,” Mina singsongs, but she relents. The conversation shifts back to the movie, but the teasing glances continue.

Eventually, Bakugou pulls you closer, his hand warm on your shoulder. “Ignore ‘em,” he mutters. “You’re mine, not theirs.”

You smile, leaning into his touch. “Oh, possessive now?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, lips twitching. But he doesn’t pull away, and neither do you.

The movie plays on, forgotten as the Bakusquad starts bickering about plot holes. You’re nestled against Bakugou’s side, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your arm. And despite the teasing and gawking, you can’t help but feel incredibly lucky.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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wonderjanga · 6 months ago

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I Want My Money.

Billy likes money, he’s said this before, but nearly all the time, money is tight. So, it’s rare when he’ll lend someone a buck or two, and when he lends them a buck, he expects that buck paid back in full.

Marvel: “Ah, Flash! You haven’t paid me back yet. I kinda need my money.” *all kind and nice*

Flash: “Huh? Oh yeah. Don’t worry, man. I got ya.”

Later…

Marvel: *a little more impatiently* “Flash? My twenty? You uh still haven’t gotten it for me.”

Flash: “Yeah dude. I’ll get it to you.”

Even more later…

Marvel: *annoyed* “Flash.” *speaking through grit teeth* “Flash get me my twenty dollars. Now.” *hands on Flash’s shoulders*

Flash: *kinda scared cause he hasn’t seen Marvel ever really show anger* “Dude, I said I’d get it for you.”

Marvel: “Yeah, now. Get it for me now. Please.”

Flash: “I- uh- I’ll be right back.” *zooms off and comes back with a twenty* “Here, man.”

Marvel: *super smiley and normal again* “Thanks, Flash.” *takes the money and walks off like nothing happened*

Flash: “No problem…” *whiplashed at the sudden change*

Wally had like no idea what to make of this interaction. The man was so generous. He didn’t think he’d be this pressed about twenty dollars. Like for example, they found space rock that could’ve been sold for millions apparently and he just gave it all to Wally like it was nothing. (Billy had no idea where to sell it. Bros never heard of eBay, not that he has an electronic device to use it on) But twenty dollars? Wow. Wally didn’t know if Marvel needed his priorities straight or what. All the speedster knew was that he was never gonna cross Marvel about money again. It’s honestly his bad anyways.

Then there was the one time Adam owed him five dollars. Don’t ask him why he lent him the money. Billy now recognizes it was a moment of weakness.

Black Adam and Marvel: *fighting*

Marvel: *stops fighting* “Dude, are you going to pay me back my money?”

Black Adam: *also stops fighting* “What are you talking about? What money?”

Marvel: “My money? Y’know, the five dollars I lent you?”

Black Adam: “Five dollars- I’m not paying you back for that!”

Marvel: “That’s common courtesy, man!”

Black Adam: “I don’t care! I’d rather die than repay you for anything!”

Black Adam didn’t really expect for this to backfire on him. As a result of not paying back a measly five dollars, Adam was met with Marvel appearing in his palace at the ass crack of dawn, demanding his money.

Black Adam: *honestly a little surprised Marvel came to Kahndaq because he’s never really came to the country before* “You do realize you’re breaching my country’s national security-”

Marvel: “I DON’T CARE. Teth, give me my money.”

Black Adam: “You’re willing to risk my country dissolving into war with your country over five dollars?”

Marvel: “Yes? Money. Now.” *makes grabby hands*

Black Adam: “Bumbling idiot…” *massages temples* “I’m not paying you back! How difficult is it to get that through your thick skull?!”

Billy did not like that answer. So now, the Justice League and everyone who had the pleasure of being online the day after this incident were met with a video of Marvel beating on Adam harsher than they, or anyone else for that matter had even seen before.

Marvel: “JUST GIVE ME MY MONEY!”

Black Adam: “NO!”

In the end, Billy still didn’t get his money. And this actually wasn’t because Adam didn’t want to pay, but rather Adam’s country doesn’t use American dollars so he went there, beat up their leader, and basically did it all for nothing. Honestly looking back at it, Billy didn’t really know what he was expecting. Neither his nor Adam suits have pockets, so he kind of doubts that he had a wallet to hold money in the first place. He was honestly just glad Adam, for whatever reason, didn’t follow through on his promise to go to war with America.

So yeah… in conclusion, Billy Batson can, and will crash out over five dollars.

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #captain marvel dc #fawcett city #fawcett #fawcett comics #black adam #teth adam #the flash #wally west

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musashi · 8 months ago

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aai2's english translation has done an amazing thing in furthering franziska's juvenile tendency to address people she's close with like she's a child.

here are some facts about franziska:

she addresses nearly every single person she meets aggressively formally and professionally. firstname lastname. sometimes, mr. or ms. firstname lastname. other characters point this out. it's weird, clunky, and a quirk specific to her.

franziska is obsessed with appearing more grown up and professional than she is.

despite her dedication to this facade, she cannot break the INCREDIBLY JUVENILE habit of calling her murderous, long-dead father "papa."

(it pisses me off when people erase this about her. she only ever calls him "my father," twice in canon. he is almost ALWAYS "papa")

to the contrary, franziska does not seem ashamed/embarrassed about this tendency at all, even though she seems very embarrassed about other childlike things she thinks/feels/does.

until aai2 this was exclusive to manfred... but it is now canon that she does it to anyone she considers family, or close to family.

in the fan translation, blaise teases her about being a little girl and calling him "unky boo boo" once upon a time. in the official translation, franziska still calls him uncle in the present day. her first inclination is to call him uncle winner, wholly informal, absolute (pun) whiplash.

okay, cute, but probably not worth noting... AND THEN SHE'S OUT HERE CALLING HILDA "GRAMMA" AS WELL. one thing about me is that when i was TODAY i learned about her having some optional dialogue that alludes to the two of them knowing each other.

(i could go ON about how manfred must have loved her so much more than we see in canon--how often did she insist upon coming along with hm? how often did he find himself unable to say no to her big sparkling eyes? hilda does not say "that's franziska" hilda says "that's von karma's little girl!" which means hilda knows her through manfred. every single person who spent any amount of time around manfred von karma in his heyday knows franziska, which means that she was following her papa around like a little duckling, and he loved her enough to make space for her at his back)

my fave thing they do with franziska is the little hints that her facade is just that. too many of them spoil the subtlety, of course, but they are there--the flavour text about her shaking and looking scared the two times she's a victim of gun violence and thinks no one's looking. the hints here and there that she has a terrible sweet tooth she's trying to control. the meltdown at the end of JFA. and "papa." these are all little ways that the writing nudges us and says franziska is a professional, but she's also quite young, and never really let herself be a kid. she does a great job at hiding most of it, but these little tendencies leak out here and there.

by giving her two more people in life she does this to, it's no longer just that papa is Special Enough that he gets the same treatment from a 3 year old franziska as a 30 year old franziska. no, she does that to everyone she grew up looking up to, any odd work friend that manfred brought around or let her pester.

adorable. absolutely adorable.

#wordy wendy #franziska von karma #pwaa #ace attorney #manfred von karma #blaise debeste #excelsius winner #bonnie young #hilda hertz #aai #aaic #aaic spoilers #aai2 spoilers #aai2 #wendy rambles

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ch33z3grits · 21 days ago

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Crimson Obsessions | A Terry Richmond Vampire Series

pairing: Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond x Justine Skye as Camille DeWaterson

warnings: 18+ mdni, dark romance, obsessiveness/possessiveness, smut (fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, dominant/submissive dynamics, squ*rting, cr*am p*e, Daddy k*nk, worship, pet names (baby girl, princess), overst*mulation), parental issues, description of panic attacks, manipulation, mentions of arson, implied cheating

*author's note at the end!

word count: 9,321

Camille's song: Kiss it Better-Rihanna | Terry's song: Skin-Mac Miller

Pt. Nine

Camille

Camille paced back and forth in Kali’s bedroom, nearly tripping over her maxi dress as she worried over her missing phone. She was sure she left it with her clutch in the back of Terry’s black car last night. If she hadn’t been so eager to put her thighs on his shoulders while he ate her like she was his last meal, she would’ve remembered to grab it.

Last night…

God…

It was the most alive she had felt in years. From being able to be so vulnerable and release years of emotional tension to being able to tap into the sexual fantasies that had been tormenting her for months, last night felt like an otherworldly dream. But now, Camille was back in reality. How was she supposed to face Terry, or anyone from the firm, after everything that had happened? The chaotic scene they had all witnessed... it wasn’t just embarrassing, it was career-suicide.

In a perfect world, she’d just type up a vague resignation email, hit send, and vanish. Take a vacation during her last two weeks, then turn into a ghost. No goodbyes, no explanations. She would just be the distant figure forever remembered as the fringe connection to the man who had a complete meltdown at one of the most prestigious events of the year. The unlucky fiancé.

But this, unfortunately, was not a perfect world. And Camille, lost in a love-drunk daze, had completely forgotten about her clutch. Which meant her phone. And her cards. And her ID. And she couldn’t leave those behind no matter what. Which meant she had to face Terry for, hopefully, the final time. Her boss who had her folded in the back of a sleek Suburban like a pretzel.

Sure, he had been kind. And so very gentle. He had walked her back to Kali’s apartment like a gentleman, wrapped her up in his expensive suit jacket, and called her soft, intimate things like baby in a tone that made her heart clench. And in those quiet hours of the night, wrapped in what felt dangerously close to affection, she had let herself believe there might have been something real in that moment. That maybe he felt it, too.

But Camille wasn’t naive. Not anymore. They were swept up in adrenaline and vulnerability and the craziness of Aston’s outburst. She knew how easy it was to mistake emotional whiplash for connection. She wouldn’t let herself hope. Wouldn’t let herself open her heart to him.

She couldn’t let him in. Even if all she really wanted was to run away with him and never look back. Never think about this twisted, exhausting, fucked-up life again.

“I think you should at least shoot him an email,” Kali said gently, perched cross-legged on the edge of her bed as she watched Camille with quiet concern. “I’m sure he found it. Or the driver did! He’s probably just waiting to hear from you to give it back.”

Camille let out a weary sigh, her shoulders sagging as she paused mid-step. She shook her head, not even trying to hide her nervous energy.

“The last thing I should be doing right now is seeing him face to face,” she muttered. “You know how awkward that would be?”

Kali rolled her eyes, a gesture that was more fond than frustrated. But then she straightened, her tone shifting.

“Camille.”

Camille froze, her heart skipping a beat. Kali never used her government name unless she was being deadly serious.

“Please,” Kali said, her voice softening. “Why are you running from this man? Why are you running from how you feel?”

Camille’s jaw clenched, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She didn’t answer right away. How could she? The truth was just too heavy.

She knew why she was running. Everything about this felt too good to be true. The man she’d tried so hard not to fall for had crept into her heart anyway and now it was too late. She was head over heels, and the terrifying part was, it seemed like he might feel the same. But how could that be?

Men like him didn’t stay. Not with girls like her.

He’d go back to New Orleans soon, to his flashy club and his dangerous charm and the whirlwind of distractions that followed him everywhere. Eventually, he’d find someone else, someone new and shiny to chase. And when he did, it would crush her. Leave her broken.

And then… there was Aston. Her engagement still hung in limbo. What did it even mean now? Would the wedding still move forward, ticking along on that suffocating 60-day countdown? Or had Aston’s very public meltdown pushed everything off course?

Aston…

Despite everything, she still hoped he was okay. Yes, he had humiliated her, confessing his love to another woman in front of half the firm, in the most dramatic way possible. Yes, he had made a complete mess of everything. But still… that wasn’t the Aston she knew. Not the one she’d known all these years. Something inside him must be terribly wrong for him to act like that.

And she had just… left. Let that whole mess burn and walked away. That guilt gnawed at her.

She was so cruel for not checking on him after. She needed to see how he was doing. Once, she got her phone…

“Kali, last night… we were just caught up in the moment,” Camille said, her voice soft and almost pleading, as if trying to convince herself more than her friend. She wrapped her arms around her torso, trying to find comfort. “I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.”

Kali, who was rarely at a loss for words, simply shook her head. She didn’t argue, didn’t tease, didn’t offer one of her usual sarcastic remarks. Instead, she gave Camille a long, sad look that rooted her to the spot.

“I just don’t know how you can’t see it, Cammie,” Kali said quietly. “That man looks at you like you made the sun and the stars all by yourself. That kind of look… that’s gotta mean something.”

“Kali,” Camille sighed, running her fingers through her hair in exasperation. “He’s a young, handsome, rich attorney who runs nightclubs in his spare time. He’s already slept with someone else at the firm. You really think I’m crazy for hesitating?”

Kali dragged a hand down her face, then threw both arms up in surrender. “Okay, fine, fine. I get it. On paper, the red flags are bright fucking red. But if you look past that Cammie, hasn’t he shown you who he is through how he treats you?”

Camille couldn’t deny it.

Because the truth was... yes. He had.

He’d been patient. Gentle. Curious about her in ways no one had been in years. With Aston, she’d always felt like she had to mold herself into the version of Camille that fit—poised, supportive, quiet when needed, impressive when expected. But with Terry, she could breathe. He asked her questions and actually listened. He remembered small things she said in passing, followed up without making her feel watched. There was something disarmingly tender about him that unsettled her more than any flirtation ever could.

He saw her.

“Yes,” Camille murmured under her breath. “He cares about me.”

Kali's face softened instantly, her expression shifting from exasperated to smug.

“So why would he do anything to hurt you, babe?” she said, one brow raised.

Camille looked away, her throat tightening. That was the question, wasn’t it?

Because if she let herself believe this was real… and it wasn’t? That would hurt worse than anything.

Camille opened her mouth to respond, ready to defend her guarded heart once again. But she was cut off by a sudden, firm knock on Kali’s apartment door. Her brows pinched in confusion. But Kali didn’t flinch. In fact, she moved with suspicious eagerness, springing from her bed and nearly tripping over her fuzzy socks as she beelined for the door like she’d been waiting for that knock. Camille trailed after her, a confused chuckle bubbling from her lips.

“Are you expecting someone?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Kali didn’t answer. Instead, she peeked through the peephole, then turned back with a sly smirk. Without a single word, she undid the lock and swung the door open.

There, standing casually in the hallway was Terry, one hand casually in his pocket, the other holding Camille’s clutch.

Camille’s breath caught in her throat.

Heat flooded her cheeks as her stomach flipped in a chaotic mix of panic and giddiness.

“Hey, Terry,” Kali cooed, tossing Camille a sideways glance. “Oh look! You brought her clutch. How thoughtful!” The tone of her voice was unmistakable. It screamed, ‘Yes, we were absolutely talking about you.’

Camille wished the earth would open up and swallow her whole.

Terry smirked. “Yes ma’am,” he said smoothly, his voice dipped in charm. “Figured I couldn’t let her go a full day without her phone.”

His eyes found Camille’s, and the teasing glint in them made her knees feel weak.

“Thanks, Terry,” Camille mumbled, forcing a sheepish smile as she reached for the clutch, her fingers brushing against his accidentally.

Kali backed away from the door. “Well, don’t mind me!” she sang, giggling as she disappeared into the kitchen, pleased as punch. “Y’all take your time!”

Camille stood frozen, staring up at Terry as her heart thundered against her ribcage. For a moment, she couldn’t find her voice. But then, she pulled herself together, determined to keep this interaction brief and as painless as possible.

“Sorry you had to come all the way out here,” she said quietly, her voice shy but steady, eyes dropping to the clutch in her hands. “I really should’ve been paying more attention.”

Terry chuckled, the sound low and easy. “No worries,” he replied with a casual shrug. “Gave me an excuse to come see you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. To see me? Her fingers tightened around the clutch, trying to keep her expression neutral, but inside, her heart turned into butterflies.

“Besides,” he added, “your phone’s been blowing up. Thought it might be something urgent.”

Camille’s brows knit together as she let out a surprised, barely audible, 'Oh?' Her phone was usually so dry, it might as well have been a desert. With a small frown, she flipped open her clutch and pulled out her phone as the screen lit up:

4 missed calls – Maybe: Houston Fire Department

2 missed calls – The Echelon Apartments

16 missed calls – Mother

14 messages – Mother

8 missed calls – Father

Her heart sank.

A sick feeling bloomed in her gut, tight and urgent. Something was wrong. Really wrong. Why would the fire department and her apartment building be calling her? Unless…

“I need to go check on my apartment,” she said abruptly, her voice tight and tinged with rising panic.

Terry’s brow furrowed, concern flashing across his face. “Everything alright?”

Camille looked up, forcing a nervous laugh, though her insides felt like unraveling thread. “Umm… I’m not sure?” she admitted, the end of the sentence lilting upward like a question. Her voice betrayed her, on the verge of cracking. It had been a long, unforgiving weekend, and this felt like the final blow.

Terry stepped forward, his voice gentle. “I can take you there, if you want.”

She looked at him—at the kindness in his eyes—and her heart ached. He was just so… sweet.

She gave him a soft, apologetic smile. “Thank you, Terry. Really. But I’ve already taken up too much of your time this weekend.”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes steady on hers. “Come on, Camille. I promise, I don’t mind. Besides…” His voice dipped, more serious now. “We need to talk anyway.”

She swallowed hard. That conversation. The one she hoped she could avoid. But he looked at her so earnestly, like he could see through every excuse she was building in real-time. And she knew, deep down, she wouldn’t say no. Not to him.

“Well… alright,” she murmured, barely above a whisper.

He smiled as she turned to call a quick goodbye to Kali, who peeked her head out from the kitchen doorway with a smirk. Camille rolled her eyes, grabbed her sandals, and slipped them on without a word.

And then, she found herself walking out the door beside Terry… not knowing what to expect from their journey.

Camille was grateful for the calm that settled between them during the ride. The cabin of the car was hushed, save for the soft hum of the radio. No forced conversation. No questions. Just stillness, something she hadn’t felt in days.

Today, Terry had forgone the sleek black SUV and professional driver, instead driving in his usual striking Lamborghini Urus. Effortlessly powerful, unapologetically bold. Just like the man behind the wheel. Once she’d given him the address to her apartment, the silence gave her space to think. And her mind, starved of rest, devoured the opportunity.

Was her apartment alright? Did she lose everything she left behind? If so, where would she go after this? She couldn’t stay at Kali’s forever.

Her thoughts spiraled until a sudden warmth pulled her back. A large, comforting hand swept gently over the top of her head, his fingers lingering. Her breath caught.

“Camille?” Terry’s voice wrapped around her. “You okay?”

She blinked, realizing they were parked in her parking garage.

She forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah… sorry,” she murmured, quickly unclicking her seatbelt. “Thanks again for driving me.”

Terry glanced over at her, his expression unreadable. “You mind if I come up?” he asked casually, though his eyes said something different. It wasn’t really a question.

Camille hesitated, but decided she might need some support. “Not at all,” she breathed, praying silently that whatever was waiting upstairs wouldn’t break her.

The walk from the parking garage was uneventful, their footsteps echoing against the concrete as they made their way toward the elevator. But where the car ride had been peaceful, this silence felt… heavier. Dread curled in her chest, coiling tighter with every passing floor.

She fiddled with her keys in her pocket, trying not to fidget, trying not to let the worst-case scenarios take over. The elevator chimed softly as they reached her floor. And then, her stomach dropped. A distinct smell hit her the second the doors parted. Thick and smoky. Her legs felt like jelly.

Camille’s steps were unsteady as she made her way down the hallway, the smell hitting her harder with every step. Her chest tightened with each breath, and her stomach twisted into knots. The door to her apartment, usually shut tight, now hung slightly ajar. Low voices murmured on the other side, indistinct but urgent. Terry stayed close, his presence a quiet pillar she could mentally lean on.

She reached out with trembling fingers and slowly pushed the door open. The moment it gave way, a gasp tore from her lips, her hand flying to her mouth

Everything, everything, was scorched.

The once-cozy luxury apartment was now a bleak, depressing space. Charred walls, blackened from smoke and soot. Hardwood floors slick with ash and water residue. Particles floating in the air, catching what little sunlight filtered in through shattered windows at the far end of the room.

Her art, her plants, the delicate little touches Aston had allowed her to contribute to make the apartment a little more hers…all destroyed, consumed by what had clearly been an out-of-control blaze. The living room was unrecognizable. Picture frames were melted and warped on the floor. The kitchen island, once spotless and bright, was now covered in debris.

“Oh my God…” she choked out, voice cracking.

Three figures turned sharply at the sound.

Her father. Her mother. And Rachael, the property manager.

“Oh, Camille, I’m so sorry this happened,” Rachael said, rushing forward with genuine concern painted across her face. “We tried to reach you and Aston, but… no one was answering. I’m just glad your parents were able to get here.”

Camille could barely look at them. Her eyes were still moving, frantically scanning the wreckage. She swallowed hard, forcing her voice through the knot in her throat.

“What… what even happened?”

Rachael exhaled slowly, her voice gentle. “The fire department says it was electrical. They think it started from a hair straightener left plugged in.” She hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “But… I know you haven’t been here the past few days.”

Camille didn’t miss the hint. There was another woman. Someone else had been here while she was away. And her and Aston’s carelessness had nearly burned everything she owned to the ground. Camille didn't flinch. She didn’t even look surprised. Her face remained eerily calm as the pieces fell into place. She gave Rachael a slow, silent nod, acknowledging the unsaid.

“I-I have to return to the front office,” Rachael said awkwardly, clearly unsure of what else to say. “But please, don’t hesitate to stop by. We’ll do whatever we can to help you through this.”

Camille could hardly process her words, but she nodded anyway, her gaze still fixed on the remnants of her life.

“Thanks, Rachael,” she said. Rachael gave her a tight, apologetic smile before slipping past Terry and out the door.

“Camille,” her mother’s voice called out. “Let’s talk, sweetheart.”

Camille nodded reluctantly. She turned slightly towards Terry, who stood quietly off to the side, watching her with concern.

“Can you give us a minute?” she asked. He nodded, his gaze intense. “Of course,” he said softly, stepping out into the hallway and easing the door mostly closed behind him, giving her and her parents privacy.

Camille turned back toward her parents, slowly approaching them. Her mother’s face was a tight mask of worry, eyes red-rimmed, lips pressed together as if holding back tears. But her father’s expression was an entirely different story. Nothing but anger.

“Sweetheart, where have you been?” her mother said, reaching out and clasping Camille’s hand in both of hers. “We’ve been trying to reach you…”

“I lost my phone last night—” Camille started, but the explanation was cut short by a sharp scoff from her father.

“Maybe if you weren’t out with that man, playing his little slut, we would’ve been able to reach you,” her father snapped, his voice rising with every syllable. Camille flinched, her breath catching in her throat.

“Colin!” her mother gasped, but it didn’t stop him.

He shot her a dismissive look before locking eyes with Camille again. “This is all your fault, you know,” he muttered bitterly. Camille’s stomach twisted. She’d heard his criticisms a thousand times before, but this time they landed differently. He wasn’t just disappointed. He was blaming her for something beyond her control. And it hurt.

“H-How could you even say that?” Camille said, voice cracking. “I wasn’t even here!”

“Exactly!” he bellowed, taking a step forward. “If you hadn’t run off, if you had just stayed put, none of this would’ve happened! But no, you had to be selfish. You just had to throw a tantrum and disappear. What do you think Aston’s going to say when he gets out of the hospital, huh? Are you going to explain to him why he’s homeless now?”

Camille’s jaw clenched. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. She glanced at her mother, silently pleading for some sort of intervention, some pushback. A single word. A look. Anything. But her mom just looked away. Avoided her gaze. And in that moment, Camille understood exactly where she stood. Alone. She let out a humorless laugh. “Of course,” she whispered to herself. “Of course I’m the villain here.”

“Are you even listening to me, Camille?” her father barked, voice sharp as a whip. “You ungrateful–”

“Can you just shut the fuck up!” Camille exploded. Her parents recoiled, their eyes wide in stunned disbelief. Her mother’s lips parted in shock, one hand fluttering instinctively to her chest, while her father actually took a step back, blinking as if he’d been slapped. They looked at her like they didn’t recognize her.

“Do you…” her father began, his voice loud and disbelieving, as though he was still trying to process what had just happened. “Do you think you can just raise your voice at me–”

“Enough.” A guttural growl shook the room like a low thunderclap, vibrating in Camille’s bones, silencing everyone.

All eyes turned toward the doorway, where Terry stood, his broad frame filling the entrance. An unnatural stillness radiated from him, quiet and cold. Her father gulped audibly, the only sound in the smothering silence.

“I don’t know what this is about,” Terry began, voice cool and measured, yet predatory. “And I really don’t care. But I’ll be damned if I stand here and let either of you speak to Camille like that.”

He took a slow step forward, making everyone take a step back. “You’re done here,” he said with finality. “Both of you. Now get out.” No yelling, no theatrics, just authority. Undeniable, inescapable and dangerous. It was the kind of voice you didn’t argue with. The kind of voice that made your instincts whisper, ‘Run.’

Camille stood rooted in place, watching him with wide eyes. Terry, who had always been patient and warm, seemed possessed by something else entirely. Something lethal.

Her father tried to summon some control. “Y-you can’t t-tell us what to d-do!” he stammered, his voice trembling.

“Don’t make me fucking repeat myself,” Terry said, low and dark, every syllable laced with something Camille couldn’t name. His eyes glinted. Not with rage, but something more primal. And she found it terrifying.

In that instant, Camille wasn’t looking at the man who she shared an office with, or who brought her clutch back with a soft smile. She was staring into the eyes of something barely restrained. A monster. A protector. She wasn’t sure which.

Her father clamped his mouth shut, visibly shaken. Her mother took a trembling step back, grasping at his arm to steady herself. Neither of them dared to argue. Camille couldn’t breathe. And yet, even with fear crawling up her spine like ice, she felt something else: safety. The safety that could only come from something sinister. A demon. A sexy, dominating, mouth-watering demon.

Her mother reached out and gently tugged at her father’s sleeve, her voice low and shaky. “Come on, Colin. We obviously aren’t welcome here.”

She shivered as Terry’s gaze remained locked on them. Colin DeWaterson looked like he wanted to protest, his jaw working in angry silence. But even he wasn’t bold enough to stand against whatever power he just felt in Terry’s presence. His eyes flicked to Camille, then back to Terry, then down at the floor before he finally moved towards the door, his movements stiff with pride and resentment.

Camille’s mother followed him, avoiding Terry as much as she could, picking a careful path over charred marble and fallen debris until she and her husband passed through the door.

And then, as if a switch had flipped, Terry turned back to her.

Gone was his fury, the commanding presence that had silenced her father with a single look. His eyes were soft. He was back to himself, the version she knew. Without a word, Terry crossed the ruined room, each stride silent and sure despite the rubble beneath his feet. When he reached her, he didn’t hesitate. He simply wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in.

She stood still at first, her body stiff, her breathing shallow. Then she sank into him.

Her forehead pressed against his chest. She sniffled once, twice. But her eyes remained dry. The tears wouldn’t come. There weren’t any left.

Terry’s hand moved slowly, threading through her hair with care. He leaned down, his voice low and close to her ear. “Can I take you to my place? Let me help you figure all this out. You shouldn’t be alone right now.” His tone was almost desperate but quiet, like he didn’t want to spook her. Like a man who knew just how fragile she was at this moment.

Her mind told her no. Said she wasn’t ready to trust him. Told her it could only lead to heartbreak. But her heart? It jumped at the opportunity. Ready to seize a moment of softness. And when would she get the chance to listen to her heart again?

She nodded against his chest. “Okay,” she whispered.

Terry

Terry hid his satisfaction beneath a mask of concern. Genuine, warm, protective. The perfect facade. But inside? He was more than pleased. His plan had worked exactly as he intended.

The fire had been contained just enough to avoid suspicion, but devastating enough to leave Camille with nowhere else to go. Now, here she was, fragile and disoriented in his home. Right where he needed her to be. Where he could keep her safe… keep her close.

“I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with all my drama this weekend, Terry,” Camille said softly, cradling the mug of earl grey he had placed gently into her hands.

Terry looked down at her from his place in front of the couch, watching the steam curl into the air between them. She was curled into the corner of his sectional, legs tucked underneath her.

God, she looked perfect. Vulnerable. Grateful. His.

She brought the mug to her lips and took a tentative sip, sighing as the warmth soothed her. Her eyes closed briefly, lashes brushing her cheeks.

He eased into a cushion next to her, close enough that their legs brushed. His hand moved without hesitation, possessively resting on her thigh.

“Camille,” he said, her name rolling off his tongue like a caress. “Nothing that happened this weekend was your drama.” He used air quotes around the word 'drama'. “You were just caught up in a bunch of unfortunate events.”

She gave him a weak smile, the corners of her mouth twitching, but her eyes still looked ashamed. He hated that she saw herself as a burden when it came to him. It made something rumble in his chest. Not pity. Not guilt. Frustration. Hadn’t he been clear enough? Hadn’t he shown that he would do anything for her?

He exhaled slowly, controlling the flicker of irritation threatening to surface. His thumb grazed her thigh gently, a soothing motion that masked his growing hunger. For control.

She looked away, sipping again from the mug, unaware of the storm brewing in him.

“Still… I’m sorry. For everything,” Camille whispered. Her eyes stayed locked on the mug in her lap. “I–I shouldn’t have crossed that line and kissed you…”

Terry’s jaw ticked. He watched her for a beat longer, then slowly leaned forward, placing a single knuckle beneath her chin. His touch was light, but the message was clear: Look at me.

Reluctantly, she let him tilt her face up, her eyes meeting his.

“Camille,” he murmured, his voice low. “I’ve been very patient with you. I've been gentle. I've given you space. And despite all that, I’ve been more than clear about how I feel.”

He paused, eyes darkening as his thumb brushed just beneath her lip.

“I want you. Far more than you want me. So you can apologize all you want for what you thought was wrong. But I won’t let you sit here and act like I don’t want you. Like I haven’t always wanted you.”

Camille’s eyes widened, stunned by his directness.

“T-Terry… I didn’t think–”

“What?” he interrupted, the edge in his tone unmistakable now. “You don’t take me seriously?” He knew she respected him, but he had to push her. Needed to push her. Make her understand in a way she could never deny again.

She stammered, shaking her head quickly. “I-I do, Terry! I just… I just don’t think I’m what you really want–”

He let out a dark laugh, low and humorless. “Camille, I made my decision about you months ago.” His voice dropped to a growl, fingers twitching as he kept the darkest parts of himself down. “Watching you with Aston every day…it drove me fucking insane.”

She didn’t say anything. Just stared at him with those beautiful brown eyes, jaw slightly slackened.

He leaned back slowly, stretching his arms out and lacing his fingers behind his head, his muscles flexing beneath his fitted shirt. His legs spread slightly, lazy but dominant. Unmistakably in control.

“I don’t like being doubted, Camille,” he murmured. She said nothing, too stunned. “So now,” he drawled, each word slow and deliberate as his gaze swept over her, “you’re going to come over here…”

He let the silence stretch. Then added, voice low and commanding, “…and give me a proper apology.”

Camille’s teeth sank into her bottom lip. Her gaze dropped for a moment, staring into the swirl of tea still inside of her mug. Her fingers flexed, then relaxed. Then she set the mug aside and rose slowly to her feet, moving to stand between his parted legs. Her eyes trailed up and down his body before she met his eyes again, giving him a shy glance. His eyes narrowed as he tilted his head slightly.

“Go ‘head,” he said. He wasn’t suggesting.

She nervously hiked her long dress up to her mid thighs, Terry’s eyes following the reveal of her smooth brown skin. Carefully, she climbed on top of him to settle in his lap. She gasped as her covered pussy brushed against his very hard length, which twitched with impatience.

Camille’s fingers hovered slightly before she let them settle on his shoulders. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just watched her. Her eyes searched his momentarily. Then, slowly, she leaned in. Her lips brushed his. It was too soft, he wouldn’t even call it a kiss. She pulled back just barely. “I’m sorry,” she breathed out.

Terry almost cracked. Almost. The softness in her voice, the way her lips trembled just after brushing his…the delicate vulnerability in her eyes, wide and unsure like a startled doe. It nearly unraveled him as his irritation dulled. She didn’t even realize the kind of power she held over him. That breathy little 'I’m sorry' was enough to bring him to his knees. But he couldn’t succumb to her charm. He had to make her understand that he wasn’t playing any games.

“Nah,” he groaned, bringing his hands down to her hips, grinding her against him ever so slightly. He let out a low hiss as he took in the friction. “I don’t think you mean it. Try again, baby girl.”

She wasted no time listening to his command. She pressed a deep, wet kiss against his lips. It lingered much longer than the previous one. Then she moved to his jaw. Then his neck. His breath grew shallower with each touch. He balled his hands into fists as he attempted to hold onto his control. And he did…until she reached his ear. The soft, moist feeling against his ear lobe made everything in him snap. Immediately turned him into the predator he knew he was.

His hand slid up to her neck, pulling her face back to his before his lips crashed against hers, giving her harsh, consuming kisses. She whimpered as she attempted to keep up with him as he continued, but he had no plan on slowing down. He wanted her mind cloudy. The only thing getting through the haze of it all should be how good he was making her feel.

Terry slid his arms beneath Camille’s thighs, lifting her effortlessly. The kiss never broke, only deepened as her arms instinctively looped around his neck. His grip was secure as he moved through the apartment toward his bedroom. He walked the path to his room without thought, his focus entirely on her and the way she tasted, her lips stained with earl gray tea and honey.

This time, his room was safe. Nothing out of place, nothing that might raise a single question. The altar, a physical manifestation of his obsession with her, was no longer in eyesight. He had moved it as soon as he came home that morning, tucking it away behind a reinforced door, locked with both steel and spell, where no wandering eyes would ever find it. Especially hers.

He shoved his door wider as he reached it, crossing the threshold like a dragon returning to its castle…holding its most prized treasure. He pulled away only to toss her on the bed. She landed with a soft whimper, watching him as he began to strip.

“Take off everything,” he growled as he pulled his shirt over his head. “I want you completely bare.”

Obediently, she pulled the rest of her dress off and cast it to the side. She was left in nothing else but a pink thong, which she eagerly hooked her thumbs through to pull them down. Terry watched her as he kicked off his pants and boxers. He fisted his dick as he slowly stalked towards his bed. The way she laid against it… hair wild, lips puffy, eyes hooded. It was as if she was a siren being served to him on a silver platter. Silently calling out to him, begging to be tamed. Her smooth skin glistened as she rubbed her thighs against each other, lust swirling in her eyes and throughout her aura.

Terry grasped one of her ankles and dragged her until her ass sat on the edge of the bed. With his eyes still on hers, he sank to his knees and parted her legs. He licked his lips as he stared at her dripping wet center, her fragrance making his cock throb.

A well deserved offering she was.

He leaned forward to take in more of her scent, a deep rumble coming from him. Then, his tongue darted out, a slow, long lick separating her folds. Camille yelped, her back arching off his bed. He chuckled, loving the way she responded to his touch. He took another lick, this one much more slow and teasing.

“Terryyyyyy,” she moaned. He growled again, her taste making him nearly feral. He pried her legs even further, giving him better access to his pussy.

“Fuck you taste so good. So fucking good.” He couldn’t hold back anymore. He needed this just as much as she did. His lips latched around her clit, licking and sucking simultaneously, speeding up as her screams grew louder and louder. He dragged one of his hands from her thigh down to her pussy, slowly pushing in two thick fingers.

“Ohmygodddddd,” Camille shouted, as her walls spasmed around his digits. He hummed, watching her twist and thrash against his bed, curses pouring from her like a faucet. He sped up his pace, curling his fingers slightly to graze the spot he knew would drive her crazy. She let out an agonized whimper, beginning to scoot back from his touch.

Terry pulled away, furious. “You runnin’?” he gritted. “Daddy don’t like all that runnin’ shit.” He reached out and yanked her back towards him, his mouth latching back onto her pussy once more. This time, he was much more brutal.

Sucking.

Slurping.

Lapping.

He did it all. And he didn’t stop. Not when her legs began to twitch. Not even when she begged for mercy. It wasn’t until her juices splashed across his mouth and chin did he pull away from her, somewhat satisfied.

He rose slowly from his knees, beating his dick as he watched the little thing try to reorient herself. He couldn’t have that though, could he? He needed her dick-dumb, her mind consumed by only him and what he was doing to her. He grabbed her waist and slid her body further up the bed towards his headboard. His hand found her neck once again, giving it a squeeze, beckoning her to focus on him.

She blinked up at him as she panted, fat tears staining her pretty face. He gave her a crooked smile.

“Raw?” He asked. He wanted to feel her against him, nothing being between them. But he wanted her comfortable more than anything. But to his surprise, she nodded, still trying to catch air as she swallowed.

“Yes please,” she moaned, the words sounding so needy. So fucking pathetic. He chuckled sinisterly. Yes, please? Oh, he was going to put her straight through this damn mattress. Slowly, he fed her the tip of his cock. His eyes rolled back, ascending to euphoria as her entrance tightened around his tip. “Ahhhh,” she winced, wiggling slightly, trying her best to accommodate him.

“Breathe, princess, breathe,” he cooed, his hand moving from her neck down to her nipple. He brushed the nub softly, coaxing her to relax. “You can take it, pretty girl. I know you can.”

After a few pants, he felt Camille relax around him, making him smile. He pushed a few more inches into her before pulling out completely, watching her face to make sure she was good. It didn’t take long for the pained expression to melt away, leaving only her eyes rolled back and her mouth fallen open.

“That’s my girl,” he moaned, picking up his pace. He couldn’t help the vulgar things that fell out of his mouth as he thrusted in and out of her. Her pussy was beyond perfect. Tight and gushy, filling the room up with the most erotic sounds. This had to be what heaven felt like. No, it was beyond that. It was mind numbing and earth shattering being in Camille’s temple. And he would worship there until the day he fucking died.

Terry almost got lost in her warmth, his release threatening to come too early. He almost let himself get carried away on the high. But he remembered that, above all, this was her punishment. A lesson on trusting him, his words, and his actions. She wouldn’t learn if he failed to drag this out.

Camille needed to believe him. Completely. She thought he was just playing. That this… that they were some temporary, heat-of-the-moment fling. But she was wrong. Terry had to make her see. Make her understand. Not with words, because he had said enough. But with deep, pleasure-filled strokes that communicated better than any words ever could.

Letting her know that she was safe with him. That she was treasured. Every move, every touch, every lingering kiss would be a vow she couldn’t ignore. He would claim every inch of her. Until the doubt fell away. Until she looked at him and acknowledged what he had known all along: She didn’t belong to anyone else. Only him.

Beads of sweat dripped down from his face as he watched her face contort, unable to do anything but take his dick.

Good, he thought. Now would be a perfect time for a domination spell... right in the middle of me ruining her.

“Tell me, baby. Tell me you’re all mine. You belong to me don’t you?”

All she had to do was say those words. And she would be his. He slowed down slightly, allowing her to focus on what he was saying. But she didn’t speak. Just nodded weakly before her head lolled to the side. Terry tsked. That just wouldn’t do.

“Come on Camille, just tell me. You can do it,” he purred, amused by how cock-drunk she looked. His lips crashed into hers, his hips rolling to a stop. “Say it, baby,” he encouraged as he pulled away from her slightly.

She gulped. “I’m yours,” she croaked, voice nearly gone. He cocked his eyebrow.

“And?” He shoved his cock to the base, forcing a whimper from her. She sniffled, obviously fighting the overstimulation. “I-I belong to you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Terry let out a laugh, unhinged, almost psychotic as he continued digging her out. She said it. She actually said it! The words rang in his ears like a sweet hymn. All of his careful planning, every whispered manipulation, every hidden ritual, every drop of blood he spilled…had led to this moment. To her.

His chosen Indulgence, who seemed to have him gripped in the deepest obsession, in his bed and in his arms.

And for that… for giving him exactly what he craved…her trust, her surrender, her heart…he had to reward her with pleasure beyond anything she could comprehend. And Terry, in all his dark devotion, would make sure she felt it. Deep in her skin and in her soul. Because Terry always took care of what was his.

He reached down, his thumb expertly playing with her clit, giving it the right amount of pressure to push her into her next orgasm.

He watched as her chest heaved up and down before she paused for the slightest moment, eyes glazing over.

And then, she shattered.

Her spine arched, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Every nerve lit up. Every feeling surged through her, all tangled together and bursting through her at once. Her body trembled as she gave in, no longer able to contain what he had so methodically unraveled.

Her eyes fluttered closed, her lips parted, and she pressed herself against him like she didn’t know where she ended and he began. Exactly how he wanted her.

“Terryyyyyyyy!” She sobbed.

“That’s my girl,” he chuckled, enjoying the pulse of her pussy as it gripped his cock, nearly milking out his release. He watched as her body lightly convulsed as her orgasm continued to rip through her. Sweet, soft whimpers escaping her, making his cock jump.

He was grateful for her submission. But her punishment was far from over. He was still irritated that she couldn’t see his love for her. So he would make sure she got the message.

And he would be rough. Passionate. And barely restrained.

As if he was possessed by some feral monster, he grabbed her hips and flipped her onto her stomach, snatching her hips into the air and pressing her head into the pillows.

“I’m tired of you running from me, baby girl. Running from us. So I gotta make sure we’re crystal clear,” he groaned, placing feathery soft kisses up her spine. He noticed how her arch faltered with each press of his lips. With a smirk, he dragged his tongue up her spine, watching her lose her arch all together. But he just propped her right back up, just how he liked it.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” He asked, as he ran his tip up and down her slit, giving her entrance extra attention. She only nodded eagerly as she gripped the sheets to prepare herself. He frowned, displeased by her lack of words. He planted a heavy smack on her full ass, the ripple momentarily hypnotizing him. She cried out, arching even further. “Words, Princess.” He gritted.

“Y-Yes, I’ll be a good girl–” Another slap pulled another cry from her. He gripped her hair, pulling her head back slightly. His lips kissed along the shell of her ear.

“Yes what?” Terry asked, nuzzling the side of her face with his. He licked his lips slowly, still savoring her juices on his mouth and tongue.

“Yes, Daddy,” she moaned, trying to press herself into him. He smirked. Greedy little thing, he thought as he pressed her face back into the pillow. She had no idea what she just unleashed with those words. Hopefully, she’ll be able to walk after he was done with her.

With one kiss to her shoulder blade, Terry thrust his full length into her weeping hole. He let out a guttural moan as the breath in her throat caught.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered as she fluttered around him. “You can take all of me.”

Terry showed her no mercy as he pummeled in and out of her with deep, torturous strokes, soaking up every moan that went past her pretty ass lips. But he knew his love could do better than that. She could be a bit more vocal. He reached around her front, sliding his fingers into her folds to caress the pearl-like bundle of nerves between her legs.

“Ooooo, shittt Daddy,” she shouted, her legs beginning to quiver. Terry smirked, slowing his strokes down to match the pace the tips of his fingers used to circle her clit. Again, she fluttered around him, making his hips almost stutter. He smacked her ass again.

“You gonna let me take care of you, princess?” He asked. She nodded once more, gripping his sheets even harder. “Yes sir,” she croaked, voice hoarse. He smacked her round flesh again.

“You gonna let me handle all this shit you got going on?”

“Yes, oh fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!!!” Her orgasm was close. He wished he could see her eyes. Were they rolling back? Were they clenched tight? He was dying to know. But her ass was just as beautiful of a sight.

A deep, evil chuckle left his mouth. He could make her do anything right now. She was like putty. He couldn’t wait to reshape her. Not with his hands, but with his presence, his words. Not into someone new, but into someone real. Her most authentic and free self. The version of Camille that the world had tried to bury, but that he saw so clearly, even when she didn’t.

He pressed his full weight into her, flattening her into his bed. His mouth hovered over her ear. “This my pussy now, right?” He teased, grasping her hands as he brought her closer to exaltation.

She closed her eyes tightly. “O-Only your pussy, Daddy! No one else’s!”

He let out a satisfied hum. There she was. The vulgar little temptress he knew she could be. “Yeah? So I should nut in my pussy right? Fill you up until you stuffed?”

“Please, Daddy,” she begged. “I-I-I want to feel full.” How could Terry deny such a humble request?

He leaned back and placed one foot on the bed, giving him the leverage to drill one particular spot in the goddess beneath him. She deserved it. Her moans and cries became sharp breaths as her pussy quivered around him. Terry was almost there. Just a few more strokes…

“Fuckkkkkkk!” Camille slurred, knees buckling as she splashed his sheets with her release. The sight of it pushed him over the edge. “Shitttt!” Terry hissed, tears pricking the sides of his eyes, the world crumbling around him, leaving nothing but him and Camille. His hips sputtered as his balls contracted, his cock shooting thick ropes of cum into his woman, painting her walls white.

He collapsed on top of her, careful not to smush her but enough to lock her into place. For a while, they didn’t move. Just breathed heavily as their climaxes subsided. As their souls untangled themselves from each other. Although he wanted to, Terry knew he couldn’t just lay there. He pushed her, probably further than she had ever been pushed before. If he wanted to keep her grounded, he had to give Camille her much needed aftercare.

He sat up slowly, balancing on his knees as he looked down at where they were still connected. She still spasmed around him, adding to the thick, creamy ring that formed at the base of his dick. A perfect mix of their pleasure. Of course, Terry hardened again, and he cursed lowly as he pulled out of her. His mouth watered as he watched his cum spill out of her, dropping onto the soaked, dark sheets below her.

God, she was a sight.

His dick twitched once more, begging to return to its new, warm home. But he knew she had given him all she could. For now. She was right where she needed to be. But he couldn’t keep her there forever.

He gently kissed her shoulder before he flipped her over tenderly. Shallow breaths still fell from her lips, her eyes glassy and her gaze far away.

Terry reached up slowly, reverently, his fingertips brushing along her jaw before cupping her face. She leaned into his touch without hesitation, her eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment. His thumb stroked along her cheekbone.

“I love you, Camille,” he whispered, tone nothing but sincere.

Her eyes finally refocused. They locked onto his in a way that made his breath catch. For a heartbeat, she said nothing. Then, a soft, warm giggle escaped her lips. A single tear slipped down her cheek, catching the light as it fell, and she smiled.

“I love you too, Terry,” she whispered, the words trembling as they left her. He smiled back.

“Good to hear, baby girl,” he murmured. He brushed his thumb across the tear still clinging to her skin. “Now, let me get you cleaned up.” He stood, tugging her into a bridal style hold, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he made his way to his bathroom.

Stephanie

Stephanie walked down the stark hallway of the hospital’s psychiatric wing, the harsh fluorescent lights overhead casting a sterile glow across the scuffed floor. Her heels clicked softly beneath her, muffled by the hum of machines and the distant murmurs drifting from behind closed doors. She adjusted her oversized sunglasses with a practiced flick of her wrist, despite the fact that they barely masked the exhaustion and fury simmering just beneath her polished exterior.

This was the fourth hospital she had visited today. But this time, she finally found who she was looking for.

A nurse at the front desk had bought the concerned-girlfriend routine without hesitation, directing her with a sympathetic nod and giving her a printed visitor sticker. Stephanie hadn’t even needed to fake the tremble in her voice. Her nerves were still frayed from this morning’s… incident with Terry.

Her stomach turned at the scent of industrial cleaner. The quiet, occasional thuds or groans behind doors creeped her out but she pressed forward, undeterred.

She was on a mission after all.

This morning’s altercation with Terry had been a disaster. She had miscalculated, overplayed her hand. Threatening to expose him, flashing the truth of what he really was, only earned her a choking hand around her throat. And while it was beyond sexy, it was a reminder of what he was capable of. He didn’t fear her. And why would he? Who would believe that the beloved Terry Richmond was a vampire? She wouldn’t have believed it had she not seen it with her own eyes.

But where her threat had failed… she’d discovered something else she could use to get him to bend to her will.

Camille.

Stephanie had been so blind. She was so focused on Camille’s infatuation with Terry that she didn’t even notice his infatuation with her.

But now she understood.

Camille DeWaterson was Terry’s weakness, the key to Stephanie getting everything she wanted. And she would gladly use that slut against him.

Stephanie halted mid-stride as she reached Room 718, the number the nurse had whispered with that oh-so-reassuring smile. She tilted her head, peering through the narrow window in the door, where the blinds had been left slightly ajar.

Inside, the room was dim but not empty.

Aston sat upright in the hospital bed, wrists bound tight in restraints, fingers twitching. He stared at the ceiling. His mouth hung slightly open, lips dry, his pupils wide and unfocused. Heavily medicated, Stephanie noted. The cocktail they had him on must’ve been strong.

Her gaze shifted to the older couple hovering near the bed’s edge. A man and woman, seated on either side with identical blank expressions. The woman’s elegant updo had started to fall, and the man’s suit jacket was wrinkled at the elbows. But even disheveled, they reeked of money. She recognized them instantly from the night before.

Mr. and Mrs. McCoy. Texas oil money, she thought, lips twitching into a slight smirk.

She let her eyes linger on their outfits, clearly what they had worn the previous night. No doubt, they hadn’t left their son’s side since then.

Stephanie didn’t hesitate.

She pushed open the door and stepped inside like she owned the place, the scent of antiseptic rushing up to greet her. Instantly, all three heads turned in her direction.

Aston’s dull eyes flickered, as if he was coming back to life. He tugged against the restraints with new energy, his voice cracking as it spilled out in surprise. “Stephanie! Baby, I’ve missed you so much!”

He tugged at the straps like a child reaching for a toy just out of reach, his frown deepening when the restraints held firm.

“Somebody get these fucking things off me!” Aston's voice cracked as he strained against the restraints, his eyes wild with a mix of panic and desperation.

His parents sprang to their feet, their movements hurried as they attempted to soothe their son with gentle words and reassuring touches. His mother turned to Stephanie, her expression tight with barely concealed frustration.

“I apologize for what happened last night,” she began, her voice measured but firm, “but you need to leave.”

Stephanie’s lips curled into a faint smile. She rolled her eyes theatrically, the gesture dripping with feigned exasperation, as Aston’s shouting escalated.

“If you want your son to get better,” Stephanie replied coolly, “you need me here.”

She took a deliberate step closer to the hospital bed, each stride measured and confident. Reaching the bedside, she leaned slightly forward, her presence commanding Aston’s attention.

“Hey, Aston,” she cooed, her voice dripping with sarcastic sweetness. She plastered a fake smile on her face as she observed his frantic movements gradually stop, his focus on her like a moth to a flame.

“I've missed you too!” She lied with ease. “But I need you to calm down, okay? You don't want to upset your parents, right?”

Aston's gaze flickered momentarily, a brief flash of clarity before he succumbed again, his eyes locking onto hers. His hands, still bound, settled into his lap, his posture slumping in defeat.

“N-No, baby,” he stammered, his voice small and apologetic. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”

Stephanie's smile deepened, savoring the small victory.

“Good boy,” she murmured, enjoying the control she had over him.

Turning her gaze toward Aston’s parents, Stephanie observed their reactions with keen interest. His mother wore an expression of sheer horror. Her lush, Southern accent trembled as she addressed Stephanie.

“What have you done to him?” she quipped, her voice laced with terror.

His father remained eerily silent, his eyes narrowing as they fixed intently on Stephanie, analyzing her every move with a calculating gaze.

Unfazed, Stephanie met his father’s scrutiny with unwavering confidence. “I haven't done anything to him,” she replied smoothly. “But I know how to get him back to normal. I'll just need a few things from you all first.”

Before his mother could retort, Aston's father's calm voice interjected.

“Let her speak, Lily,” he said, his tone surprisingly composed. Stephanie couldn't suppress her smirk, her lips curling as she tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“First,” she began, her voice smooth and deliberate, “I need you to help me disappear.” She watched as they exchanged glances.

“Go on,” his father prompted, his expression unreadable. Stephanie’s eyes darkened as she thought about her next request. She hated that she even had to mention that homewrecking bitch’s name.

“And when I say when,” she continued, her voice tinged with barely contained irritation, “bring me Camille DeWaterson.”

a/n:

OK, so please, nobody shoot me. But I'm going to have to pause updates until May 9. School, work, and research are really kicking my ass right now, and I just can't give that much time to writing right now. But I really thank y'all for supporting my work and checking in on me! It really does help me get through everything. Especially all the funny and detailed comments and reposts. 😭 I'll be ready to jump back into things once my school stuff dies down. But until then, thanks again for reading, engaging, and interacting!

-------

@nayaesworld @slvt4her @writingsbytee @notapradagurl7 @23jammy @kaylaahisthebestest- @theogbadbitch @wabi-sabi1090 @hotgyalaroad @nubiagurllll @lovedlover @dimepiece09 @lavaniiii @simplyzeeka @susanhill @next-bex-bet @sparklytemi @sonotlauryn @ranikyani @loveschrisbrown20 @daddyslittlevillain @blackchickinthedesert @sparklytemi @sonotlauryn @hello-therree @solunaseira @hotebonynearby @key05marie @moebuttta @winorlosetogether @nohatingpplbczhtingpplr @alexinmotion @queencb2462 @kismet83 @bruleecream @playingaymes

#terry richmond #terry richmond smut #terry richmond fic #rebel ridge #aaron pierre #aaron pierre smut #aaron pierre fic #terry richmond x black character #aaron pierre x black!oc

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with-my-calamitous-love · 5 months ago

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romance is not dead, if you keep it just yours

chuuya nakahara x reader

more chuuya boyfriend thoughts, i love him. for the yail series, and something chuuya lovers can munch on while i work on the rockstar chuuya series

inspired by paris

chuuya nakahara, who many people think they know. a soulless, port mafia executive, a force to be reckoned with, a monster. who, with all his connections, hears many things about many different people: meeting, kissing, dying, everything between birth, rebirth, and death. who, suddenly, is too busy with you. did he see the photos? no, but thanks, though.

chuuya nakahara, who is so in love he might stop breathing. who is truly a romantic lover- roses, cards, gifts, absolutely spoiling you. who does have exes, and who knows people know- but who doesn't have it in him to care when it's with you. who makes cheap wine feel like champagne. who makes a few kisses feel like forever.

chuuya nakahara, who is a short-tempered, raging dog at anyone who stares at him the wrong way. who is a soft, loving teddy bear with you- it gives you whiplash. who orders his men to look after you when he's away on trips, but making sure they never cross the line to make you uncomfortable. who has photos of you all over his office, tangible evidence of his love.

chuuya nakahara, who finds that balance between showing you off and keeping you to himself. who holds your hand in public, takes you on fancy dates, and books the top floor of a hotel room so he can see the city lights reflect off your eyes. who is just as romantic cooking you dinner at home, dancing barefoot in the kitchen, listening to your laundry spin and floorboards creek. who will show you off when you want him too. who can just as easily put a privacy sign on the whole world, and stop time so its just you two, together.

chuuya nakahara, who is a manipulator of gravity, both literally and figuratively. whose touch makes you feel like you're flying, levitating above all those messes and all the pain in your life. who many would characterize as a player, but who is actually so, so loyal. who would open a vein in his arm for your happiness. who will not stop loving you, even if his heart gave out.

chuuya nakahara, who sometimes can't heave his heart into his mouth. who is so, so in love with you he can't find the words. who confesses his truth in swooping, sloping cursive letters, leaving you tokens of his love to carry with you everywhere. who has so much of you all over him, even when you aren't around. who wears your sweaters, your initials around his neck and your kisses on his chest. who sometimes takes your things when he's leaving for a work trip.

"chuuya, did you take my underwear?"

"no....?"

"CHUUYA?!"

"IT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE YOU'RE AROUND!"

chuuya nakahara, who is so, so intimate. who makes you feel like your body is on fire, leaving no part of you untouched. who is so gentle one second, worshipping you with endless pleasure. who is rough the next, flipping you over and making it so that you can't walk for a month. who whispers filthy lines and praises in your ear, even when you can't form sentences. "s’en sortir si bien pour moi, n’est-ce pas ? tu vas encore jouir, chérie?"

chuuya nakahara, who you wish you could brainwash into loving you forever. who you are undeniably in love with. who has a young soul, taking you out till 4 in the morning. who wants to grow old with you, holding your wrinkled hand throughout the day. who loves you like you're 17, even when you push 70. who wants the only flashing lights to be the stars as he gets down on one knee, watching your eyes fill with tears as he makes it official.

chuuya nakahara, who you would say yes to again, and again, and again. who becomes your best friend, your soulmate, your husband, and your future with one kiss. who takes you somewhere else with the touch of his hands. who takes you to paris on your 5th anniversary, letting you watch the city go up in lights at midnight. whose blue eyes can only see you.

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retiredteabag · 1 month ago

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Dog-sitter!Toji - chapter 10

last chapter - series masterlist

Synopsis: Toji was quite accustomed to objectifying himself for a check. And to be frank, far worse actions as well. Now he’s not sure what to do with himself after meeting the kind and generous owner of the dog he pet-sits for.

read along as Toji learns that you don't need to lose yourself in order to love and be loved.

Qouth the poet, 'Come, love and health to all; then I'll sit down.' Only, at this feast of heart, the mind and soul is clear as day.

It had been right around late January when you started noticing your dog's anxiety. Early February before Toji started to look after the sweet boy while you worked. Back then, you had spent early mornings in the dark preparing for the day and late nights in the office, readying your space for the next shift.

The days had been monotonous, bleeding into one another. Quickly, you began to break under the weight of the expectations from your peers and superiors. It seemed that nothing you did was worthy of praise and every little error stood out more than any others. All achievement was expected of you and in the event you fell short, the worst you could hear would always be the silent thoughts coming from yourself.

It hadn't taken long for Toji to become an active part of your lives. And now, as the seasons changed, so too did your routine. With the advent of Toji, you were kept to a strict standard of self-care. The winter weather had always been a burden to you, only now, a warmth you hadn't ever known presented an arrival, coming into existence in the form of heated palms and gentle brushes on your cheek.

Toji would not hesitate to flick your forehead if ever he felt you were working too much. He had seen those parts of you and was determined to look after you in any way you would let him. With the growing relationship, he no longer would stand by and let you work yourself to the bone.

The new routine came comfortably, you and he simply fit into each other's lives without sharp edges or bumps. And not much changed in the dynamic you held. You had fallen into life with each other quickly and genuine was the care you had for one another.

Only now, in the evening when he finds you at your desk, pouring over something he doesn't even want to try and understand, instead of leaving you to your devices like a good employee, he leans down and kisses you. Waiting patiently for your acceptance before making sure you weren't overdoing things.

He kisses you often these days, as you are aware, he is not the type to hold back and he feels the urge to share breaths often. The urge to synch his heartbeat with your own when he holds you to his chest.

Toji's life had shifted so much in the past year that it could give him whiplash if he weren't so grounded in you. True to his word, he loves to look after the dog, only this time around, it wasn't because of the uncanny luck of the job, the generosity of this strange workaholic. No, it was because he had always been one to want the best for his family.

And for his you? Though he watches the dog with regularity, he refuses any money you could offer him. This was one of the real changes between the pair of you. And try as you might, Toji was stubborn in his assertions. It had come to be one of your first true arguments, but Toji was determined to push away any generosity that was not the food, amenities, or affection of yours.

He would see your frustrated expression when turning your money away. Had it been anyone else to push back against his wishes, he might have lashed out, but he knew well that he could only hold adoration for you.

Life had just as much routine to it for him as it did for you. He took up working at a shelter just by your neighborhood. He brought the dog with him often, and the socialization was good for both parties.

Plus, you always got all excited when he would send pictures of your boy playing with other dogs. More than anything, he loved to see you happy.

And as it would turn out, Toji made a very good trainer. He kept busy, on his feet and such. It felt good, to be outdoors so often. Working with the animals to help them overcome any issues that might keep them from adoption was one of his main goals now.

And beyond that, he was making his own money, that part felt good too, to retire the title of 'employee' from you. He would grin at the thought. So out of his league, and still, he had graduated to something far more intimate with you.

Toji had come over early one morning, intending to catch you before you left for the office. You were slipping your shoes on right as he stepped through the threshold of your side door.

He was dressed in a fitted pair of canvas pants. A thick hoodie hung just at his hips, and he swung his keys around in a loop as he leaned up against the doorframe, watching you move.

"Mornin'." Toji grins at you, the dog was bounding around him, well aware that a car ride awaited him in his near future. Panting in excitement.

"Good morning." You smile, trying to fix your makeup in a mirror on the wall, "You've certainly got him all excited." You laugh, tilting your head to the exasperated dog, his leg thumping loudly on the hardwood as Toji scratches behind his ear.

The man watches as you reach over to swing your jacket over your shoulders. He nearly bolted to you at the opportunity to be of service. Pulling your arm through the sleeve and wrapping you up comically tight. He sways you from foot to foot, his chin on your head.

You giggle, "He really likes going with you, ya know?" You look at the dog by the door patiently swaying his tail while looking between Toji and his car in the driveway.

"Oh yeah?" Toji leans down, kissing your neck. Not sensual, just sweet. He hums, wanting to stretch out the moment as long as he could. Silently promising to himself come over early from now on.

"Yeah." You pull his arms from your body and turn to wrap yourself in him instead. "You'll be here for dinner?" Your ear finds his pulse and you chuckle to yourself at the sheer speed with which it beats, and the fact that he acts all cool, you'd never have guessed.

Toji hums, head still resting on you, "I'd never miss it."

On one particular morning, Toji was off work, staying at your place. You had been leaving the house early that week, needing to implement a new system update for your company's software. A lot of the transfer relied on you and because of this, you were taking the brunt of the stress.

At one point in your life, coming home after a long day to another person with whom you would reliably need to interact with, would be, if nothing else, exhausting. Somehow, with Toji, that was not the case.

Coming home and seeing him there on the couch was like a breath of fresh air. You felt a fair bit giddy knowing he would be waiting for you during your commute those evenings.

You would find yourself excited, leaving for the office during such stressful days, knowing that by the end of your shift, he would be there for you.

That week, Toji had been watching you closely. He would come home from work and immediately prep some nutrient-dense meal.

One of the perks of loving a largely fit individual was that he knew how to get protein and vitamins, and he made sure to stock you full.

It was almost cute at times. Clearly, he didn't want to overwhelm you or be a bother. Still, he would stand awkwardly in the hall and murmur something about being sure to drink some water. That or just coming out and asking if you'd eaten. And if you had, he would want to know it was.

He never came across as a hyper-protective parent, simply caring. He knew you worked a lot and that you needed fuel. Sometimes being the one to care for you was more reliable. He knew you could forget at times. And that was okay, he didn't mind.

One of his favorite parts of the day would be when he got to tuck you in before leaving in the evenings. He didn't actually tuck you in, not in the usual sense of the word, but that's what he liked to call it.

He always predicted when you would start to offer to walk him to his car and would adamantly refuse to let you get the words out.

No, no, no, he was not going to let you out in this cold, are you crazy? You would be staying nice and warm, wrapped up in this fuzzy blanket that he kept mussing around you.

The best part about the whole thing for him was that for the first sustainable time in his life, he did not feel a pressure to be anyone but himself. He never felt compelled to change around you, to be someone else that you would like more. He could please you not by constant vigilance to create someone loveable, but rather, by being honest.

Looking back on his past, he had lived in a constant state of anxiety, a tension that was exhaustive. He wasn't a friend, a lover, or an employee. His relationships were never professional or real. He was whatever someone wanted from him at any given moment and then, after the fact a hollow shell of whatever he could salvage.

He was no longer void, he was fulfilled, his glass was half-full, he was no one but himself, and you wouldn't ask him to be anyone else.

For the first time, possibly ever, he did not have to lose himself to love or be loved.

One rainy afternoon, you asked him to move in with you.

It had been a recurring thought of yours, wondering how you should ask him. It came up naturally one evening. You were both lying on the couch, the dog at your feet. A blanket covered the entirety of your body. You had given up trying to share with the warm-blooded man.

Some movie was playing but neither of you was paying close attention as you flipped between different conversations.

Eventually, you just let it slip, "You know, you're here enough, and you've lived here before. Why don't you just move in?"

You weren't sure what you expected as his response, but when he grabbed your hand, kissing the back while shaking his head "no", you knew, it hadn't been that.

You tried to pull back but he wouldn't allow it, "What? Why not?" Your brows got all furrowed suddenly and he nudged a knuckle between them to smooth the disturbance there.

He smelled the lotion on your arm, finding the words, "Not yet...." He gave the back of your hand a lick and you really did jerk back this time. Wiping it off on his pant leg, laughing.

"Eww Toji-"

He slid his shoulder down on the back of the couch to lean on you, "One day... but not yet." He could see the gears turning in your head and he simply tapped your nose with a finger, "And it's not because I would feel like a leach, I just... I want to be ready?" Even he struggled to reach for the phrasing.

"I wanna pay everything off." He looked at you, "Don't even think to offer." You huffed, annoyed that he rarely let you pay for stuff anymore. "I wanna... I wanna be someone you deserve, I want to be good for you the way you've been good for me."

He had such a tender look on his face. It almost hurt to hear him say such a thing. "Toji..." You narrowed, pulling back from the weight of him to see his face "Whyever would you not be deserving? You've been nothing but...pure goodness for me." You scoff.

He rolled his eyes but that only frustrated you more. You shoved his shoulder a bit, only pushing yourself back, the damn immovable object he was.

"No." You continued on, serious, "You allowed me a more efficient schedule, you helped the dog overcome his anxiety, you... for heaven's sake Toji, you saved his life- twice!" You leaned forward now, yanking the blanket down onto your lap.

"You listen to me and you care, you help me stand up for myself and you cook for me, and you're ever so sweet" You tugged on his earlobe when he tried to look away from your gaze, "You have never been anything but good for me."

He just stared at you then, replaying your words over and over in his head. "But I won't ask you to do anything if you'd rather stay in your apartment until you're more comfortable; that's fine."

He wouldn't say it, but you knew he was at least slightly concerned about the wealth dynamic. After confessing to you that he didn't want to be paid anymore, the idea of being an employee to you was a long-gone notion.

Toji smiles down at you then, bringing the blanket back up under your chin. "Well... this place is closer to the shelter..." He shrugs, allowing himself to really consider the idea.

He loved his job, he loved how fulfilled he was, and most of all, he loved you. You had changed his life and set him on a whole new path. Opening his eyes to a new way of life that he had thought impossible for the likes of him.

If he could repay such a kindness, he would spend the rest of his life attempting to do so, with eager love more than any conviction.

And the funny part is? You felt the same way about him.

And in that dim living room, some silent movie droning on in the background, the dog at his feet, he can picture a future where you leave him notes. Something similar to how you once did, only this time, you would be asking him to pick up groceries for your shared kitchen. Something simple like that.

He wanted it badly, the domesticity. The house would look so different, though he had been staying there for over a year now, knowing it belonged to the beautiful word that is "us".

And God willing, that "us" would propagate into every second of his timeline. Every moment of his life. Every breath he took. Every pounding in his chest. Everywhere, his everything, till the moment he was dragged from this earth.

And above all, on that living room sofa, in that moment, he felt the most affection for the knowing little friend at his feet. The life that brought him to you.

For him, Toji was eternally grateful.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Thank you for reading this story, I had the most fun writing it. I was deeply inspired to create a world where Toji could live comfortably without being forced to give of himself. In doing so, I was motivated to bring actual writing back to my blog for the first time in four? five years?

If you have dog-sitter toji thoughts, feel free to shoot them into my inbox! This chapter was intended to serve as an epilogue but who knows? I might add little one-shots in the future.

Thank you for following this journey! I had a blast! I will likely go through chapter by chapter and edit the story but for now, I hope the conclusion brings you peace!

Check out my masterlist

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beardedjoel · 2 years ago

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pretty little wife | better now

joel miller x f!reader one shot collection

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 summary: 3.9k words, a snippet of a day in the life of husband! joel and his lovely housewife | no apocalypse au, no use of y/n warnings: 18+ MDNI! pre-established relationship/dynamic, unprotected piv, rough sex, free use kink, sub/dom relationship, cum play, spit kink, exhibition kink, dirty talk, pet names for reader, brief mention of alcohol, generally extremely submissive reader so if you're into that this is for you! a/n: not pretending this is anything other than some little fantasy i had that i needed to write out. i'm really excited about this one shot series for husband!joel though, i have some really fun (and depraved) ideas planned for these two for future blurbs so stayed tuned if you like this one! reblogs + comments are always loved and appreciated! ♡

i've decided to start a kofi in case anyone wants to consider a small donation to support my work! ♡

How’s my pretty little wife today?

The words you look forward to each day, falling from your husbands lips in some form or another, whether it’s rasped tenderly in your ear, from between your legs as he smirks up at you, or from over your shoulder as he slams his cock into you, sending you to heaven and back down as soon as he can after walking in the door after work.

Joel asks the question today after walking up behind you in the backyard, his mouth already next to your ear, warm breath tickling along your skin there as he brushes your hair over your shoulder. The wiry texture of his beard nuzzles right into your neck, sending a thrill down your spine as his arms slide around your waist and hold you tightly to him, swaying you back and forth. The motion is soothing, reminding you that you’re right where you’re meant to be.

You can smell the workday on him - sweat and dirt and the outdoors, and the lingering scent of the cologne you’d given him this past Christmas. He’d sprayed it on this morning, as he does every morning since you bought it for him. Makes me think of you all day, he’d remind you while you’d watched from your bed with a teasing smile, sheet disheveled and draped over your naked body.

You breathe all of it in, savoring this scent unique to your husband, before touching your hand to where his rests around your belly and stroking it gently.

“Better now,” you answer. More times than not, that’s your response to his routine question, knowing it drives him wild, makes a long day of work ache a little less when he hears you say it.

“S’what I like to hear,” he says, a kiss on your neck leading up to your lips - a long, deep, ravenous kiss that already leaves you breathless. He pulls away so suddenly you nearly have whiplash, your head falling slightly into nothing, missing his lips.

“Smells good out here,” Joel comments, turning his nose up in the air slightly. “Usin’ the new pizza oven already?”

When you’d made a passing comment about wishing you could make wood fired pizzas at home, just like the ones a restaurant in town serves, Joel seemed to take it seriously, as he did with most things involving your wishes and desires. The next weekend, he’d hauled in bricks and began his work. You’d stepped out into the yard when you heard all the commotion, giving him a quizzical stare, and he’d simply grinned and shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world that he should be building his wife a pizza oven. You’d nearly teared up, feeling grateful and giddy with excitement at your new toy to experiment with.

Within a few weekends, Joel had finished his new project, always seeming to need one to have around the house, wiping the sweat off his forehead and gleaming with pride at it as he showed you the final product. You’d practically jumped for joy but settled on flinging yourself into his arms to show your appreciation. When that had turned into him fucking you on top of the kitchen counter moments later after he went inside to fetch a cold drink, you hadn’t minded one bit.

“I couldn’t wait,” you say with a grin. When Joel nuzzles your neck again you start to lose your train of thought. His lips press a gentle kiss right on your pulse point, and you sigh into it. “T-trying out margherita today,” you manage to squeak out.

“Hmm,” Joel says, seemingly contemplating the flavor choice in between latching his lips on your neck and sucking, marking you over and over. You’re sure the ones from mere days ago haven’t faded all the way, a smattering of them going right down to your tits, but Joel always needs a fresh mark on you as soon as they start to fade, a way for you to always remember you’re his. He grinds his hard length into your back on the next touch of his lips, and you arch into it a little, your cunt starting to ache more needily for him.

“F-fresh basil… from the… gar-” you gasp as he pulls you completely flush against his cock, letting out a little, devious laugh.

“Sounds fuckin’ delicious, baby,” he replies. His fingers reach down and toy with the front hem of your dress, delicately sliding his calloused fingers up your thighs, bunching the fabric as he goes. The warmth of his hands on your bare skin blazes a trail up to the apex of your thighs, finally cupping a hand around your warm heat. You instinctively grind into the heel of his hand, and can practically feel Joel smirking behind you. His fingers brush the outside of your panties, starting to rub circles on the wet fabric. He lets out a low growl, deep and needy in the back of his throat feeling the evidence of how much you’d anticipated him coming home.

“So wet for me already, huh, doll? Couldn’t wait f’me to get home ‘n take care of ya, I bet,” Joel taunts in your ear before sucking on the lobe, and you’ve gone breathless now, nodding your head. His fingers tease the edge of your panties again, finally slipping one underneath the fabric, feeling the obscenity of your wetness directly, and he lets out an impressed tut, sucking in air between his teeth. You nearly moan out at the smallest touch he’s giving you, the way his rough, worn fingers gently brush over your clit for just a split second.

“She’s so needy, ain’t she?” Joel coos in your ear, swiping a finger to your entrance and back to your clit. You can feel how slickness quickly gathers on Joel’s digits as he teases you. You squeeze your eyes shut and lean back into him, letting your head drop to his shoulder as pleasure wracks your body already.

“Mhm… needs you,” you murmur, turning your head towards his where he meets your lips, continuing steady strokes on your aching bundle of nerves. His lips are softer than you’d think, looking at the hardened grump behind them, but like so many parts of Joel, they are only soft for you.

“Needy, needy girl… good thing I’ve been thinkin’ about gettin’ my cock in that little cunt of yours all day.”

“A-all day?” you say with a little smirk, rutting your ass back into his throbbing length, and Joel groans with the friction.

“Second I pulled out of it this mornin’,” he replies, low voice drumming against your skin, and you shudder, desperate for what you know he’s about to do.

Another routine of yours - Joel comes home from work, and more days than not, he fucks you. And you enjoy every second of it, basking in the attention and his cock filling you up in the way nobody and nothing else can. You crave him night and day, never having gotten your fill, wondering if you ever could. His hunger for you in return only fuels the fire, a vicious circle the two of you seem to have no intention of breaking.

Your weakness lies completely in the man standing behind you, burying his fingers in between your legs and making you moan out wildly before he’s even had his way with you.

“Fuck, gotta get this cock in you, baby, split you open f’me so good, fuck you stupid,” Joel grunts suddenly, interrupting your swirling thoughts, withdrawing his fingers in a flash and leaving you whimpering. It’s not fair, the way he affects you.

Nobody should have this power over you, but the minute you’d met Joel, you couldn’t deny the way he’d made you feel. Masculine and warm, rough hands and broad shoulders that you’d clung to that same night you’d met him in a bar, fucking mere hours later in the bathroom. Even in your drunken haze you’d submitted to him fully, Joel having no problem ordering and throwing you around the bathroom like you were just a toy to play with, his little doll. You’d found that you could never look back after that night, the safety he represented to you, the adoration he showered you with, the way he fucked you like it was his last time every time. When Joel saw how willing you were to be his in the way he craved from a woman, there was no stopping the insatiable beast he became, hellbent on never letting another man feel your touch again. Joel promised you a good life, an amazing life, even, and in the last few years, he had more than delivered for you.

“Hush now, you’ll have what you want in a second,” he says, running a quick stroke of his fingers through your hair, giving it a tug. On principle, you let out a little mewl at the sensation, too many instances of your hair being tugged and pulled with Joel involved to not recall those memories with the pain of it. You hear the jangle of his belt as he frees himself from his jeans, the familiar sound of Joel’s thick, heavy cock slapping against his hand as he fists it. You’re already cock drunk without having seen the damn thing yet, and it’s nearly laughable how pliable you are when Joel’s involved. It’s always been that way - you’ve been happy to oblige his every desire, no matter when, where, how he wanted it, or the frequency. You were his to use, to pleasure, to fuck senseless, and you got off on the way all of it steadily built his need for you just as much as it did with your need for him.

“Please…” you whine, trying to slip out of his grasp and start for the sliding glass door to the house, making the assumption that he’d be taking you inside at any moment to take what he needed from you.

Joel immediately tightens his hold on you, a dark tut in your ear that goes straight to your clit.

“Not so fast, little doll,” he croons, hand grabbing your cunt through your dress again to hold you to him. “Right here,” he adds on, turning your body towards the outdoor dining table in the backyard.

“J-Joel… right here?” you question, knowing you shouldn’t. It won’t matter anyways. “The… t-the neighbors…” you whimper quietly as Joel crowds you against the table, tearing your dress up over your ass, revealing your lacy little thong to him. He groans at the sight of your bare ass ready for him to claim before roughly shimmying your underwear halfway down your thighs. He places a rough hand on your back, pressing you down into the table so that you’re completely bent over, your hands splaying out into the wood to support yourself.

“Let them see…” Joel says quietly, a heady murmur as he slips his cock between your thighs and notches himself at your weeping entrance. “Let them see how much I love fuckin’ my wife.” He pushes in on the last sentence, and you gasp at the stretch and burn of his girth. Your vision goes white for a moment with the mix of pure pain and pleasure, and your mouth hangs open, panting in delight as he fills you inch by inch.

“Mmm… such a sweet little pussy, honey…” Joel says quietly once he’s seated fully inside of you. He’s just as lost in the bliss of it as you are. “Know I’d fuckin’ live right here if I could.”

You give him a little moan of satisfaction, wiggling your hips to give yourself any sensation of movement from his cock. He places his hands on either side of your hips, squeezing his grip tightly enough to bruise before starting to thrust himself into you. You cry out in a yelp, the noise passing though your lips before you can even control it.

“Yeah…” you whimper, face pressed against the table, trying to peek up as Joel looms above you, like some higher being that has the power to decide your fate, to decide the pleasure or pain you’ll have to endure in this moment. And truthfully, you do worship him. The way he moves inside of you, makes you crumble underneath even the lightest of his touches. The way he spoils you in every regard - you’ve never wanted for a single thing for as long as you’ve been Joel’s, him vowing to take care of everything you ever need, and in return, you take care of everything he needs.

To some, it might seem like there’s a lack of balance in the way you do things, but fuck do you love it, you think as you desperately cling onto the table, manicured nails digging into the wood as Joel’s cock rams back into you, pressing so deep inside of you that you see stars.

You let out a low, strangled sound, whining as Joel begins to press against your cervix, the front of your thighs bumping into the table with every new thrust from him. He grunts with the exertion, fucking into you hard, taking what he wants, leaving you both breathless with the need for more of each other. You let Joel take and take and take because of how much he gives in return - while he loves to use you, he always makes sure you get every bit of pleasure you deserve for being so good to him.

When you continuously moan louder as Joel fucks you towards your high, you glance around, the small sliver of your brain that’s still rational worried about you two getting caught by your neighbors. The thought is equally mortifying as it is thrilling, but you decide you’d rather not deal with the embarrassment today if you can help it.

“Still worried about the neighbors, hm, pretty girl? I’ve got an idea,” Joel says, responding to your sudden nervousness. Before you can even answer, his hands are wrapping around your shoulders, urging you up from the table. You follow along, breathless and dazed, letting him move you as he wishes, too deliriously starry eyed for him to care about anything else other than what Joel is gearing up to do to you next.

He accidentally slides out with the movement of your body, and immediately he’s grasping at your hips, practically clawing his way back to you as he pulls you tight to his body again. His throbbing, dripping cock slaps periodically against your ass as he shoves you forward, pushing your body towards the house.

“Here,” he grits out, suddenly crowding your body from behind to press you against the sliding glass door. “That better?”

“I- yes,” you say, eyes wide from the way you’d been roughly handled by him the last few moments. Your cunt aches almost painfully, having been getting so close to your climax only to have it ripped away suddenly when Joel decided to move you.

“Good,” he snips quietly. “Couldn’t stand to keep this cock out of you much longer’n this.”

With his words he brings his lips to the back of your neck again, just his heavy breathing fanning across the skin there, making you wild as he repositions himself and nudges your legs apart with his knee. You feel the length of him tease between your legs, sliding up to your entrance again. He groans loudly, letting you know how badly he wants you, so you try to pop your hips up at just the right angle you know he’s looking for.

He slides in effortlessly and with a renewed vigor, hips snapping into you, pressing you further into the sliding glass door with neither of you seeming to be worried about the way it’s suddenly shaking on the frame. It’s completely lewd, the way you imagine the two of you - your entire body against glass, tits being pressed out the top of your dress and bouncing, palms spread against the smooth surface, nails clawing and unable to grasp at anything.

Your body is shaking in his hold now, Joel’s cock hitting inside of you in all the right places. You can feel yourself tensing, almost like every cell is going taut, your core pooling heat deep inside of you with molten pleasure from Joel hitting the spongy bit inside of you.

“Fuck, love it when you sound like that f’me, doll,” Joel punches out as he hears your moans becoming louder and more desperate the longer he continues to thrust against your g-spot. You can’t respond, only continue your lustful noises with a renewed vigor as you try to bounce your hips back into his thrusts, getting him deeper than what’s even possible, the length of him already burying up to the hilt each time he drives himself into you.

“Know you wanna come for me, baby,” he says right in your ear, voice hoarse with need, and you whimper in response as his hand snakes around your hips and in between your legs, circling a gentle pressure on your clit.

You feel your hold on reality completely break, your eyes squeezing shut as you melt into the way your entire body is tingling with pleasure now, waves of it turning into spasms as you go practically limp with shaky knees. Joel’s hands hold you in place, his warm strength keeping you upright as you push down onto his cock, riding out your climax and screaming for him.

When your movements start to slow and your body relaxes, Joel thrusts into you even harder, loving the way you’re so compliant and soft after climaxing, letting him move in you however he needs as you ride out the sensitive aftershocks with a few quiet yelps.

“This little pussy is all mine, y’know that, right?” Joel reminds you through clenched teeth, giving your ass a firm slap. You nod vigorously, eyes still half lidded and mind scrambled from the way he’d shattered you mere moments ago.

“Y-yes, Joel,” you say when he slaps your ass again, demanding an answer. Your breathy answer is enough to get him to his own climax, and he surprises you by pulling out suddenly, leaving your body lurching back into nothing, missing the fullness of him already. Before you can protest, say anything, Joel’s hands grip your shoulders and spin you around and push down, forcing you onto your knees in one fluid, swift motion. You watch, wide eyed, as he fists his throbbing cock, shiny and coated in your own slick arousal as he spreads it along his shaft in jerking motions.

“Be a good girl and open up,” he commands, and you submit to the words immediately, mouth hanging open, even sticking your tongue out for good measure. Joel smirks at that before giving himself another swift tug, and you watch in renewed wonder as he begins to spill himself all over your face, ropes of cum hitting your skin. You taste him on your tongue immediately, savoring it. Your eyes are glued up on Joel’s face, watching his glazed gaze taking in the scene below him as he groans in pleasure, trying not to tilt his head back and get lost in the moment so he doesn’t miss a beat of your beautiful surrender to him.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he watches the last bits of his release hit your tongue. “Don’t you dare swallow that, yet, doll,” he adds on quickly, eyes fluttering for a moment before he tucks himself back into his slacks. He continues to tower over you for a prolonged few seconds, looking down in satisfaction at the image of your glowing, angelic face coated in something so sinful, the milky substance starting to drip down your face, your tongue trembling slightly with the need to swallow.

“Hold still,” he says needlessly since as the words come out of his mouth he grabs your chin, tilting your head upwards and gathering spit, letting a long, tortuously slow drip of it fall into your open mouth. It lands on your tongue, combining with his cum and Joel smirks again, releasing your chin.

“Swallow, my little doll,” he says, voice starting to go soft, an indication that he’s feeling satisfied and finished with his enjoyment of you. You close your mouth, smile, and swallow obviously for him, licking your lips for good measure.

Joel holds out a hand, helping you stand, your legs buckling slightly as you try to get your bearings. He carefully smooths your disheveled dress, flattening the bottom half and tugging the neckline back into place before fixing the straps to sit perfectly square on your shoulders, eyes roaming over quickly to examine his work with pride. His hands then move to your hair, brushing his fingers gently to put it back in its place, leaving every part of you like none of this had just happened besides your face, still dripping with his spill. Your smile widens, seeing him watch a particularly large spot of it sliding down your cheek. You see his composure fail for a moment before he strokes your cheek gently, avoiding any of the mess there, giving you soft, affectionate eyes.

“Good girl,” he says quietly, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “Pizza’s probably ready,” he adds on, the casual tone taking you aback for only a moment before you blink yourself back to reality and nod dutifully.

“Of course,” you say, a genuine smile plastered on your face as you look at your handsome husband, admiring the way he’s looking at you with stars dancing across his eyes, the deepest love for you tucked away in his deep brown irises.

“After you get that, go clean yourself up, doll,” he says, and you nod again, the smile not leaving your face. You see out of the corner of your eye Joel settle onto one of the chairs at your outdoor table, leaning back casually as if he hadn’t just had you bent over that exact table, fucking you for the entire neighborhood to possibly see and hear.

You gather everything you need, serving utensils, plates, and two cold beers before bringing it to the table along with the pizza and a freshly tossed salad you’d made to accompany it. Each time you drop something off, the smirk on Joel’s face grows, watching the way you work with the evidence of his obsession with you still lingering on your flushed cheeks.

Once the table is set and your face cleaned off, you join Joel outside to enjoy the beautiful spring evening, and see he’s already served you two generous slices of the margherita pizza.

He reaches a hand onto the table, taking yours delicately into his palm, dwarfing it with the size of his thick fingers as he absentmindedly runs his thumb along your knuckles, stopping to play with the large, gorgeous diamond on your ring finger. Another reminder to him that he has you all to himself, his pretty little wife.

“Thanks for dinner, baby” he says, eyes locked on yours as he uses a free hand to pick up the pizza and take a large bite, letting out a little noise in satisfaction at the flavor.

“Anytime.” You smile, genuine and tranquil, a fresh appreciation and love for the life you’ve found yourself so grateful to be living.

tysm to @jupiter-soups @huffle-punk @rensraptor for so much help with ideas and writing this fic! love u guys x

#PLS DON'T LET THIS FLOP i'm very proud of it #fic: pretty little wife #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #x reader #pedro pascal character x reader

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