#the power of sheer confidence and hope

[transingthoseformers]

https://www.tumblr.com/transingthoseformers/748660162710093824/httpswwwtumblrcomtransingthoseformers7486459?source=share

Imagine megatron's reaction

Vehicons: steve, no, you saw that thing, there's no way

Steve, who has access to the internet: Steve YES

Nooo because I'm imagining Megatron laying eyes on Starscream's shuttle class cock for the first time (whether in person or from the photos now flying around the Nemesis) and his optics are so wide you'd think they'd fall out. Like cartoon sound effect levels of "hUH?👀👀👀"

Like Starscream sir I think you have to tag that as a blunt weapon at that point

STEVE YES

[sugurouge]

— take control ft. endo yamato, suo hayato, umemiya hajime x f!reader

content warnings! nsfw, mentions of dynamic roles, pet names, praise, marking for endo, teasing

a/n: big big thank you to @hayatoseyepatch for her help!! wouldn't have been able to come up with these scenarios without being able to yap about endo

—With ENDO, everything feels like a game. Not for power, but for sheer fun. You love his playfulness, love the way he flirts with you until your heart beats as if you’re freshly in love.

But in the bedroom? Well, so far you've remained slightly shy, more reliant on his instructions, learning eagerly, soaking up everything you could about his body, about his quirks.

It all narrows down to this moment, to your hands pushing against his shoulders with unwavering eye contact. “Let me try something,” you speak softly. You can almost see sparks go off behind his gaze. Oh, he was hoping to fuel your confidence, to make you feel as hot as you are in his eyes. And here you finally are.

He’s putty in your hands, almost too willingly falling into the sheets as you straddle him. “Anything, anything you want,” he breathes, giving his consent.

What a beauty you are.

The grin on your lips drives him mad; you look like a vixen, his little demon. Forgive him for pressing up into you, the greed is getting to his head. It’s impossible for him to keep that stupidly proud grin off his face. Not when you so deliciously explore his tattooed arms, dragging along his pale skin to add hues of pink and red along the harsh black lines as you kiss his neck and exposed chest.

Who would have thought Endo could make a sound like that? So needy, so affected. You knew he loved you; you weren’t aware he adored you this much.

“Don’t fall apart so early on, Yamato,” you tease him. It feels good to be in his position for once.

“Get too cocky and you’ll find yourself on your back, missy,” he quips back at you. Endo’s fingers dig into the back of your neck, pulling you forward, breathing you in with open-mouthed kisses. A great reminder of how easily he could regain control if he wanted to.

You have to break free once you lower yourself down his cock. The position offers new, unexplored sensations as he almost effortlessly reaches that gummy spot inside. You shake your head in a desperate effort to clear your cloudy thoughts, to centre yourself back to earth. “Mh? Does it feel good, baby? Feeling a little dizzy?” he coos, his cat-like grin returning as he sees you struggle. How could he not be a brat? It is impossible for Endo to shut up for once. There’s a need tugging at the back of your mind to leave him speechless.

Your hands find support on his shoulders, hips moving languidly to drag yourself along his length. His head falls back into the pillows, nails digging into the supple flesh of your ass as he huffs sounds of content. In return, you litter his neck with kisses, your hips relentless as they move up and down, embracing him fully only to lift yourself off again. The final nail in his coffin is the love marks you leave on him, breaking the thin skin around his neck and chest, making him walk around with his own sort of gold medals.

“Keep going, baby, fuck, I’ma go crazy.” The confession rewards Endo tenfold, that beautiful feeling of your walls tightening around his stretch only pushing him further towards sweet release.

You can bet he will be addicted to seeing you on top.

— Nobody knows you better than SUO. One look, and he can practically speak your thoughts out loud. It’s one of his biggest advantages, especially when he turns you into a blabbering mess, a feverish state of mind, whenever he takes care of you. It was never open for debate for you to lift a finger, to initiate sultry activities. He is practically already on his knees for you if the tone of your voice shifts or if your eyes have a longing hidden behind that sweet look. There was never a chance to be anything but at his mercy.

Or so he thought.

He muses upon your claim of his body, over your cute attempts at taking control. Your proclamation of “I want to please you” only met by his “You always please me; you have no idea how much you please me.” The roll of your eyes is utterly amusing to Hayato, yet he keeps his gentle mask up. He lets you have your five minutes of control. You will beg him for help in no time regardless.

But the sight of you from this angle is heavenly, Suo admits. His gaze is fixated on the bounce of your tits, and he bites back the groan in his throat. You feel heavenly, tightening so well around him as your hips move up and down. Every so often, you even mix up the tempo, the style. He gives you kudos for that.

But there is frustration hidden in your pretty face. Frustration because something is amiss, isn’t it? Hayato notices it almost immediately, almost before you yourself can feel it. “Don’t stop now,” he spurs you on, the condescending tone behind his gentle words flying past you. “You look so pretty for me, trying so hard…”

You practically struggle to feel good. Too spoiled by all the little tricks and touches Hayato usually uses to make you crumble in his grasp. The idea of control sounded so good, so enticing. Why isn’t it just like you imagined? He looks heavenly beneath you. The crimson of his hair is even more vivid against the white bed sheets, the final rays of sunlight highlighting the pretty gleam in his gaze. And the mischief written all over his handsome features. “You wanted this,” he says softly, “you wanted to bounce on me, wanted to show me what you’ve got, hm? Where did all that fighting spirit go now that you struggle to cum?”

How can he talk so much, raining teasing words on your messy mind while you fail to form coherent thoughts? His chuckle follows as you shake your head, smaller hands fighting to push him back into the bed sheets. “I can do it!” you exclaim. Who are you trying to convince here?

Surely not him, as he simply pushes you to fall on your back, legs pressed into your chest, his hands resting on the back of your knees as he pushes himself into you. “You were so cute, really, baby, so pretty and foolish…” God, his moans are heavenly.

“But you need me, need this, so let me,” he whispers into your skin before busying himself with your tits, tongue dragging against your nipple to have you burn with desire. His nails drag along your skin, digging into your thighs before toying with your clit.

You tried. :) 

— UMEMIYA loves to give. Loves to make you feel loved, adored, satisfied. He loves to make love to you. Yes, that's what he calls it. It’s always about you, in the best way possible. He feels his very own form of pleasure when he sees you drowning in ecstasy.

But naturally, you want to give back. You want to give him as much attention as he deserves. You've tried before, but somehow he is always so smooth at returning the focus back to your body, promising you that this is what he needs as well.

But then why would his eyes widen so much as you push him back against the headboard? Mouth forming into a surprised little ‘o’ as you straddle his lap, yet his hands immediately come to rest on your hips while you tell him, “Let me do this for you, Haji.”

“I’m all yours, angel.” There’s a beautiful smile forming on his lips, eyes filled with pure adoration as he practically drowns in yours. How could your heart not skip a beat?

“Do whatever you want with me, I’ll behave,” he promises. And you move so perfectly on top of him, two bodies becoming one as you surround him whole. Arms wrapped around his neck, slow and controlled movements of your hips to feel him deep inside you. Eye-roll-worthy sparks explode in your stomach, the greed to cum slowly clouding your mind.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he huffs into your skin, kissing along your shaky arms as your movements turn a little wild, a little clumsy. “Love you, love you, I—” a pant interrupts your babbles, hands starting to paw along his back, nails scratching up Ume’s neck and fingers grasping into his silver strands.

Yep, you get clingy. You always get clingy when you’re about to cum.

“Keep going, ‘m so close as well,” he swears to you between the small space of your lips. The palm of his hand finds the perfect spot on your lower back. You don’t even notice how he takes over control, how he fails to not make this about you. Not when the arch in your back has his cock hit your gummy spot again, pushing the tip along the ripples so perfectly you could cry from pleasure. Ume swallows your moans, lips moving deeply against yours, just how you need it when you see stars.

He'd never let you know the dirty trick he just pulled. You look too happy, too high to remember everything that just took place. And he’s so pretty, skin flushed red and a mess of a bedhead you created as you remain seated on his lap. This is perfection.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[paddockbunny]

In The Drivers Seat

Summary : Toto drives his daughter’s friend home…it’s so innocent. Rating : 18+ Pairing: Toto Wolff x Reader Word Count : 1,400+ words PART 1 of a 2 PART Trigger Warnings : NSFW, sexual discussion, age gap but not implicitly stated, mild swearing and mature themes. Images : curated from Pintrest Authors Note : Play Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae and you will get the vibe here 😂!! Also, let’s see if you can find the almost direct Fleabag dialogue lift 🫣 Andrew Scott as hot priest lives in my brain RENT FREE!!!

When we drive in your car, I'm your baby

Losing all my innocence in the backseat

Say you love, say you love, say you love me

Losing all my innocence in the backsеat

“I’ll drive you home.”

Four words. He only spoke four words and you could feel the effect they had on you instantaneously. The tight knotting deep down in your stomach. The heat that pricked up on the back of your neck. The dangerous pulsating throb that sparked between your thighs at the sheer thought of being alone with him in such a tight, confined space as his vintage Mercedes. Although younger in years, you weren’t so naïve not to be able to read what was going on. Youth may have been your blessing and curse - you were perhaps too young for him after all - but there was fire there between you that was undeniable. You felt it from the moment your friend - his daughter - first invited you home to her family home that summer two years ago. The lingering stares and intent questioning was unlike how most fathers of friends acted toward you. If it had been anyone else you would have perhaps called them a creep, been weirded out, it may have made your skin crawl. But not with Toto. None of them were anything remotely like Toto Wolff. None of them were as powerful, rich, alluring and down right fuckable as Toto fucking Wolff.

“Thank you, Mr Wolff.” You paused but not without a smile in his direction. Momentarily you visualised the line you knew was about to be crossed the second you walked from the impressive cliff top house overlooking the sea and got into his car, just the pair of you, alone. You considered the fact that if anything happened (confident that it indeed would) would lead to the dissolution of friendship between you and Rosa - if she found out. For the briefest of seconds you contemplated turning his offer down and insist on calling an Uber instead but as you saw the metal of his keys glisten in his hand you found yourself picking up your bag and telling your friend a swift goodbye. Decision decided.

Ever the considerate gentleman, Toto opened the car door and held it for you as you slipped into the seat. His height and your new low down position didn’t escape you. It was perhaps a highly convenient way for him to be able to look down your low cut top and observe your bra - if you had been wearing one. When you glanced up, eyes all big, round and doe-eyed (somewhat hoping to convey the dirty thoughts that were indeed circling around your own head in that moment) it also gave him the opportunity to imagine you on your knees for him. The thought sent another unmistakable flutter in between your legs which you had to push aside as Toto closed the door, crossed in front of the car and slipped into the drivers seat beside you.

The roads leading from his remarkable scenic abode down to the streets of Monaco wouldn’t take long, depending on the state of traffic at such a late hour. As he made small talk you wondered if you were going to have to be the one to make the move you had spent two years fantasising about. You had spent some considerable time thinking about it in the past and in every scenario it was he who crossed the line first so this was unexpected.

“Obviously I know what you do now but, you were a driver right?” “Well, not in Formula One but I did a little bit.” This was it, your gateway. “You must have been good. It’s not hard to imagine you being good, at everything.” It brought out a little shrug, laugh and smile but more importantly it made him glance over to your position next to him. You smiled back at him and hoped he picked up on the way your voice had changed. It was, in your own opinion, slower and sultrier.

“Are you Mr Wolff?” You added hoping he wouldn’t change the conversation. “Are you good at everything?”

“I try to be.” Never tearing your eyes from him as he drove paid off because as soon as he answered he swallowed. Was he nervous? Did your quizzing make him nervous or was it you? Did you make him nervous?

As he reached to change gear your saw his hand flex. How Mr Darcy of him, you thought and it made you smile. “Are you ok, Mr Wolff?” “Don’t call me that.” He spoke through gritted teeth and his jaw flexed the way men’s jaws flex when they’re trying to rid themselves of the dirty ideas that had sprung into their heads. He didn’t mean his words as a reprimand. It was more of a warning. Just as you were about to ask why he looked over at you and added; “don’t call me Mr Wolff like it doesn’t turn you on to call me that.” He read you like a book and you had to hide the smirk that was threatening to dance across your mouth. Rounding a corner, Toto verged the car off into a lay-by so quickly you didn’t even have time to register it. Your breath caught in your throat and your heart hammered against your ribcage so hard you thought it was going to burst out.

Now with the handbrake firmly on and his attention on you - only you - you silently prayed you hadn’t misread the signs. The ache for him to touch you in the most of intimate places deepened from the way he looked at you now you had his whole attention. Tilting your head down to make you look more innocent, through your lashes you awaited whatever he was going to say. Your name poured from him upon a sigh. “Why did you stop, Mr Wolff?” You couldn’t resist calling it one more time to check the waters (as it were). He swore under his breath and shook his head as he tried not to laugh.

“So you have been flirting then?” Confidence dripped from him. “All this time?” You nodded slowly and your name once again flowed out of him. “I’m your friends father. I’m old enough to be YOUR father.”

“And?” You pouted. “I’m attracted to you, you’re attracted to me, what does it matter?” He didn’t answer so you simply continued. “Are you really going to take me home? Drop me off, with this desperate need to be touched and leave me all alone to do it myself?” The confidence you exuded right then could have filled Maddison Square Garden. It was difficult to think if you had ever sounded this self assured with anyone else or if it was simply the effect he had on you. Your hands trailed up your bare thighs as you angled your body toward him and pressed them tightly together. He looked at them, of course, before giving into his desires and allowing his gaze to amble up and to take in how your nipples had hardened against the fabric of your tee. The turning cogs of his inner mind were almost visible - his frontal lobe desperately trying to decide between what was right and wrong and if having sex with his daughters friend was REALLY that bad.

“Do you need some help deciding?” The question was laced thoroughly with sexual anticipation and down right unashamed want. “Let me help you.” The way you easily and effortlessly flung your leg over the centre console and manoeuvred straight into his lap - slotting against his hard body and the steering wheel - was as if you had done this before and had a lot of practice.

His chest was hard as you placed your small hands upon it. His warmth radiating from him and with your hands now upon him you could feel how calm and collected he was. His breathing hardly pitching up at all, his heart beating at a normal rhythm. It surprised you in all honesty but it wasn’t unwelcome. His confidence was so damn sexy after all.

“Does this help?” Asking only inches from his lips, but you figure it may not have been quite enough. So, without any hesitation you lowered yourself a little more so your shorts covered core was pressed against his straining jean covered crotch. “How about this?” Once again he sighed out your name but it wasn’t a sign to stop. No, his hands engulfing around your waist (firmly holding you in place) was a sign it was anything but a sign to stop.

“Toto,” It was the very first time you used his name and he wasted not one single second upon hearing it, his lips were on yours and you knew this was happening. You were getting exactly what you wanted.

[apollogeticx]

✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ DUMB & POETIC ♡·˚

— [♡] ; you sprouted love like flowers, growing a garden in your mind and watering the petals with every unshed tear. ｡°. gojo satoru

tags: hanahaki disease, fem!reader, fluff, slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional growth, vulnerable gojo satoru, recovered feelings, love after trauma, reconciliation, slow healing, happy ending, chapter one of four!

wc. 6.8K

↳ part 2

At Jujutsu High, power was everything. It determined your place, your worth, and sometimes even your fate. And you, a second-year student with a cursed technique so insignificant that no one ever seemed to remember your name, found yourself lingering in the background. It wasn’t by choice, but you’d grown accustomed to it. After all, how could someone like you stand out when surrounded by others like Yuji Itadori and Megumi Fushiguro?

Your cursed technique wasn’t something anyone would envy. It barely held up in combat situations, more suited for distractions or temporary barriers. Compared to the raw physical strength and resilience of Itadori or the strategic mastery of Megumi, your abilities felt… lacking. As a result, you were often overlooked, blending into the scenery like another unremarkable stone on the path.

But there was one person who never blended in. Satoru Gojo.

The first time you met him, you were overwhelmed by his sheer presence. His easy smile, the lazy confidence in his voice, and those striking cerulean eyes hidden behind his blindfold. He was untouchable—both in power and in personality. Students revered him, teachers respected him, and the world feared him. And you, much like everyone else, were drawn to him.

You told yourself it was admiration at first. How could you not admire the strongest sorcerer alive? But over time, admiration twisted into something deeper, something more dangerous. You began to notice the subtle ways his hair would fall into his face when he tilted his head, the low chuckle in his voice when he made some sarcastic comment. His casual dismissals toward the world around him only made you more curious, more desperate to be seen by him.

But Gojo was always preoccupied—teaching, fighting, keeping the balance between the worlds of curses and humans. And you… you were invisible in his orbit. A flicker in the corner of his eye that never quite caught his attention.

You started to resent how your heart quickened every time he entered a room, how your thoughts always drifted to him when you were supposed to be training. And yet, there was nothing you could do. He was untouchable, after all. Out of reach in every way. You told yourself over and over that your feelings were foolish, that they would pass. But they didn’t.

Instead, something began to change.

It started as a tightness in your chest—a strange pressure that made it hard to breathe. At first, you thought it was just nerves, the result of constantly being on edge around Gojo. But the tightness grew worse. Every glance at him sent sharp pangs through your lungs, each breath becoming more labored. You tried to ignore it, tried to pretend it was nothing.

Then the petals began.

The first time it happened, you coughed violently in the privacy of your dorm room, spitting up something soft and delicate. When you looked down, you saw it: a small cerulean petal lying in your palm, shimmering faintly in the dim light.

Hanahaki. The name came to you like a curse, like something you’d only heard about in stories. A disease born from unrequited love, where feelings rooted so deeply in your heart that they grew into flowers, slowly suffocating you from the inside out.

You couldn’t believe it at first. You stared at the petal, trembling, hoping it was a mistake. But the next day, another petal came, and then another. Each time you saw Gojo, the flowers in your lungs bloomed more violently, until your chest ached with the weight of it.

You couldn’t tell anyone. How could you? How could you explain to your classmates, to Gojo, that your cursed technique wasn’t the only thing making you weak? How could you admit that your body was betraying you, all because of feelings you were never meant to have?

So you did the only thing you could—you hid it. You avoided Gojo as best you could, keeping your distance, hoping the flowers would stop growing if you just ignored them. But every stolen glance, every overheard laugh, every fleeting interaction only made it worse.

You knew you couldn’t go on like this. Sooner or later, the petals would consume you entirely. But the idea of confessing… of letting Gojo know how you felt, terrified you. He would never return those feelings. Why would he? You were just a shadow, a forgotten student with a weak cursed technique, not someone worthy of his attention.

And yet, as another petal fell from your lips, you realized that you were running out of time.

The question wasn’t whether you would confront your feelings. It was when. And what would happen when the strongest sorcerer in the world finally noticed the weakest in his shadow?

You had always been good at keeping secrets. It was easy, blending into the background, letting others take the spotlight while you remained unnoticed. But this—this was different. The weight in your chest had grown unbearable. Every breath felt like inhaling thorns, each cough delivering a fresh bloom of cerulean petals into your hand. The once delicate flowers now felt like lead lodged in your lungs, suffocating you from the inside out.

You needed help, and there was only one person who could provide it.

Shoko Ieiri.

The walk to her office felt impossibly long, every step weighed down by hesitation. Shoko had always been approachable, if not slightly aloof. You respected her for her skill as a healer, and for her unflappable demeanor. If anyone could help you understand what was happening—or at least buy you some time—it was her.

As you arrived, you hesitated outside her door, clutching a fistful of crumpled petals in your pocket. You knocked softly, your heart thudding louder than the sound of your knuckles against the wood.

“Come in,” came her voice, calm and indifferent as always.

You entered, trying to steady your breathing as much as possible. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and incense, a strange combination that somehow fit her perfectly. Shoko sat behind her desk, sipping from a cup of coffee, her eyes tired but alert as they glanced up at you.

“You look like hell,” she remarked bluntly, setting her mug down. “What’s up?”

You swallowed, the sharp taste of petals lingering on your tongue. “I need your help… with something.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, gesturing for you to take a seat. “Alright. Spill it.”

You sat down, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and desperation swirling in your stomach. For a moment, you considered lying—telling her it was something minor, something fixable. But the weight in your chest reminded you that this wasn’t something you could ignore any longer.

“I… I think I have hanahaki,” you said quietly, pulling the crumpled petals from your pocket and placing them on the table between you.

For the first time since you entered, Shoko’s expression changed. Her usually indifferent gaze sharpened, and she leaned forward slightly, examining the petals with a frown.

“You’re sure?” she asked, though the answer was obvious. The vibrant blue petals spread out on her desk, a damning confirmation of the truth.

You nodded, unable to meet her eyes. “I’ve been coughing them up for a while now. It’s getting worse.”

Shoko let out a long sigh, running a hand through her hair. “Hanahaki… it’s rare. Most sorcerers don’t deal with it because they’ve got other things to worry about. But I’ve seen it before.” She sat back in her chair, folding her arms. “You know what this means, right?”

You nodded again, your throat tightening. You knew exactly what it meant. The disease would continue to progress, the flowers growing more and more until they either filled your lungs entirely, or until you did the one thing you were terrified to do—confess. Only then would the blooms wither, depending on whether or not your feelings were returned.

But you also knew that the latter was not a possibility.

Shoko seemed to sense your thoughts. “There’s no cure for hanahaki, other than—well, you know. Confession. And even then, there’s no guarantee it’ll work. You could still…”

Die. She didn’t say it, but you both knew it was an option on the table. An unspoken shadow hovering between you.

You felt a sharp pang of fear, but forced yourself to remain calm. “Is there any way to slow it down? I don’t know if I’m ready to…” Your voice trailed off.

Shoko leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temple. “I can give you something to ease the symptoms—numb the pain, make it easier to breathe—but it’s just a band-aid. The flowers will keep growing. You can only delay the inevitable.”

A heavy silence fell between you as you processed her words. You had expected this, but hearing it confirmed still made the weight in your chest tighten. Delaying the inevitable was all you could do. It wasn’t enough, but it was something.

After a long pause, Shoko spoke again. “You should tell him, you know. The person you’re in love with.” Her voice was soft, unusually gentle for someone so pragmatic. “It might be the only real solution.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you stared at her, wide-eyed. “I can’t. He—he wouldn’t…” You stopped yourself, not wanting to say it out loud.

Shoko raised an eyebrow, her gaze narrowing slightly. “He wouldn’t what? Listen? Understand? Or are you just scared he won’t feel the same?”

Her words cut deep, but you couldn’t deny the truth behind them. You were terrified. Terrified of Gojo’s reaction. Of his inevitable rejection. He was too far above you, too unreachable. Confessing your feelings would only cement your insignificance in his eyes.

"It’s Gojo," you finally admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper, the name heavy on your tongue. You looked down, unable to meet Shoko’s eyes, the weight of your confession settling between you like a secret that had been waiting too long to be spoken.

"He’s the one I…" Your voice caught, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep the emotions from spilling over. "He’s the one causing the hanahaki. I’ve loved him for so long, and he never noticed. And now…" You trailed off, your chest tight with the familiar ache, knowing that simply saying his name wasn’t enough to change anything, but it was the truth you had been hiding, and now it was out in the open.

Shoko’s expression darkened as she watched, her hands folding together in thought. "You should have come sooner," she murmured, moving to grab a few supplies. "You’re lucky it’s still early enough that we might be able to manage the symptoms."

She began to work, carefully checking your vitals and preparing something to dull the pain. "There’s no cure for hanahaki except—" She paused, giving you a knowing look.

"I know," you said quietly, avoiding her gaze. The cure—having the love reciprocated, or undergoing surgery that would remove the flowers but erase your feelings entirely. The thought of forgetting Gojo completely... it hurt almost as much as the disease itself.

"I can give you something to slow it down," Shoko said finally, handing you a small vial. "But it won’t stop the petals from blooming. You need to deal with this, one way or another."

You nodded, taking the vial with shaky hands. "Thank you," you whispered, though it felt hollow. No remedy could fix the real problem.

As you left the room, Shoko’s words echoed in your mind. You knew the truth—there was no escaping this. Not without facing your feelings for Gojo head-on. But how could you, when you were nothing more than another faceless student to him?

The petals continued to bloom, their cerulean hue a constant reminder of the love that would never be returned.

The days blurred together, one petal after another blooming in your lungs. The nosebleeds were no longer occasional—they came daily, seeping through tissues and staining your hands with the undeniable proof of your condition. You tried to ignore it, to act like everything was fine, but the fatigue was becoming too much to bear. Each breath felt heavier, and the tightness in your chest was growing more unbearable by the day.

Shoko’s office became a second home. Every time you felt the blood creeping toward your nose or the cough rising in your throat, you found yourself standing at her door, face pale and eyes pleading for something—anything—to dull the pain. Each time, she’d hand you another vial or patch you up, her expression more concerned than the last.

“You can’t keep going like this,” she said one afternoon, the frown on her face more prominent than usual as she wiped the blood from your upper lip. “You need to either let it run its course or... you know the alternatives.”

"I’m not ready," you muttered, avoiding her gaze. You knew what she was implying, but you couldn’t bring yourself to face it. "Not yet."

Shoko sighed, leaning back against her desk. "You know I’ll have to tell Gojo eventually, right?" She said it like it was an inevitability, which, in many ways, it was.

Panic shot through you at the thought of him knowing. He couldn’t. Not now, not when you were still trying so hard to keep yourself invisible to him. "Please, don’t," you whispered, your voice shaky. "Just… don’t tell him it’s me."

Shoko hesitated, her brow furrowed in concern. "You know he’ll figure it out. He’s not stupid, and the moment he realizes one of his students is suffering from something like this—"

"Promise me," you cut in, desperation lacing your voice. "Promise you won’t say my name."

She stared at you for a long moment, then sighed heavily, pushing her glasses up on her head. "Fine. I’ll keep your name out of it. For now. But you can’t hide forever."

You nodded, relief washing over you. Hiding was all you had left. As long as he didn’t know, you could pretend it didn’t matter. You could stay in the background, where you were used to being—unseen, unnoticed, just another face in his class.

It was easier to avoid Gojo when he was always so busy. Yuji, Megumi, Nobara, and the others constantly vied for his attention with their loud voices and powerful techniques. It made it simple to slip into the back of his classroom, your chair by the window offering a sanctuary where you could fade into the background.

He never looked your way, not when Yuji was busy cracking jokes or Megumi was asking pointed questions about combat. Gojo’s blindfolded eyes were always on them, his energy, his focus, everything wrapped up in the more powerful students. It was almost a blessing, in a twisted way—he didn’t have time for someone like you.

You spent most of class staring out the window, one hand subtly holding a tissue against your nose, ready to catch the inevitable trickle of blood. You felt it coming now, the familiar warmth creeping down your nostrils, but you didn’t move. It had become so common that it barely registered as pain anymore, just a constant dull ache in the back of your throat and chest.

When Gojo asked a question, you didn’t raise your hand. You never did. It was safer to stay quiet, to let Yuji or Nobara answer while you watched the clouds drift lazily by outside. You were disappearing, bit by bit, wilting away as the petals bloomed inside you.

But every time Gojo laughed—every time he made a careless joke or smiled that easy, charming smile—you felt it. The tightness, the sharp pain of another petal taking root inside your lungs. You wanted to hate him for it, to hate yourself for letting it get this far, but those feelings only made the flowers grow faster.

There were moments, brief flickers of time, when his attention would shift—when his gaze would sweep across the classroom, pausing on each student. You’d hold your breath in those moments, praying that his gaze wouldn’t linger on you for too long, that he wouldn’t notice the fatigue in your eyes or the way you kept dabbing at your nose when you thought no one was looking.

But he never lingered. Not once. Not on you.

And somehow, that hurt more than the petals ever could.

Every time you coughed, every time a cerulean petal hit the ground, you felt yourself coming undone. You kept your distance from Gojo as much as possible, avoiding his usual haunts and slipping away during training sessions. But it was impossible to avoid him completely. Sometimes you’d catch glimpses of him in the hallways, laughing with the other students, his presence as overwhelming as ever. Each time, the flowers bloomed a little more, spreading deeper into your lungs.

You were running out of time.

One evening, after a particularly harsh coughing fit, you stumbled into the training yard, desperate for fresh air. The cool night breeze did little to ease the tightness in your chest, but at least here, you were alone. You leaned against a tree, struggling to catch your breath as another wave of petals slipped past your lips.

You hated this. Hated how weak you felt, how helpless you were against something as absurd as unrequited love. And yet, every time you thought about confessing, the image of Gojo’s indifferent smile flashed in your mind, and the words died in your throat.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps approaching. Your heart raced as you straightened up, wiping the petals from your mouth and stuffing them into your pocket. You looked up, expecting to see one of the other students, but it was Shoko.

Her usual cool, detached demeanor was still in place, but there was something different in her eyes—something that made your stomach twist with unease.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, her voice lower than usual.

You swallowed, already guessing what this was about. “What is it?”

She hesitated for a moment, then sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Your condition is getting worse, isn’t it?”

You didn’t need to answer. The way you clutched your chest, the way you struggled to keep the petals hidden—it was all the confirmation she needed.

“I’ve been holding off as long as I could,” she continued, her voice softer now. “But I talked to Gojo.”

The world seemed to tilt beneath you. Your breath caught in your throat, not because of the flowers this time, but because of her words.

“You what?” The question came out in a whisper, sharp with disbelief.

“I had to,” Shoko said, her tone firm but not unkind. “You’re not going to make it much longer if this keeps up. I didn’t mention your name, like I promised, but he needed to know.”

Your legs felt weak, and you stumbled back, leaning heavily against the tree for support. Of course, she’d done what you’d asked—told him without revealing your identity. But it didn’t matter. The mere thought of Gojo knowing, of him even being aware that someone in his proximity was withering away because of him, made your chest tighten in ways that had nothing to do with the flowers.

“What… what did he say?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

Shoko gave you a long, measured look before speaking. “He didn’t take it as lightly as you might think. He’s worried—though you know how Gojo is. He hides it behind his usual attitude. But this? Hanahaki? He knows what it means, and it’s not something he can ignore.”

You could barely process her words. Gojo? Worried? It didn’t make sense. He was always so untouchable, so far above everyone else. Why would something like this even matter to him?

“Did he… ask who it was?” you asked, already fearing the answer.

Shoko nodded, crossing her arms. “Of course he did. He was… concerned. It’s not every day that someone’s literally dying over unrequited love. But I didn’t tell him. I just gave him enough to know it’s serious.”

You felt a sharp pang in your chest—not the flowers, but something worse. Guilt. Guilt that your feelings had somehow become a burden for him, even without him knowing who you were.

“I… I shouldn’t have asked you to tell him,” you muttered, looking down at your feet. “I just… didn’t know what else to do.”

Shoko stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. “You’re allowed to feel what you feel. And if this is the only way to keep you alive a little longer, then so be it. But you can’t hide forever. Sooner or later, you’ll have to face him.”

You shook your head, feeling a lump rise in your throat. “I can’t. He’ll never—”

“You don’t know that,” Shoko interrupted, her gaze sharp. “Gojo’s a lot of things, but he’s not heartless. He might surprise you.”

You wanted to believe her, but you couldn’t shake the overwhelming certainty that confessing would only lead to more pain. Gojo was untouchable. Even if he cared in some distant, detached way, it would never be the way you wanted.

Shoko sighed, stepping back. “I won’t push you. But just… think about it. You don’t have much time left.”

With that, she turned and left, her footsteps fading into the night.

You stayed there for a long time, alone in the dark, the petals in your pocket a heavy reminder of the choice you had yet to make.

You sat at your usual desk in the back of Gojo’s classroom, your head leaning against the cool glass of the window. The hum of conversation filled the room, a low murmur as the other students talked amongst themselves, waiting for Gojo to stroll in with his usual swagger. You kept your gaze fixed outside, watching the leaves stir in the breeze.

It was easier this way—hiding in plain sight, letting the louder students command the room while you quietly faded into the background. No one really noticed you, not even Gojo.

Still, there was a part of you that longed for his attention, even if it was just for a moment. A glance, a word, anything that would remind you that you weren’t invisible to him. But every day passed the same—Gojo laughing and joking with the stronger students while you wilted away in silence.

You pressed a tissue to your nose, feeling the familiar warmth of blood trickling out. Another nosebleed. It had become so frequent that you almost didn’t notice it anymore. Almost. The petals in your lungs shifted uncomfortably, a tightness building in your chest as you fought the urge to cough. The last thing you needed was to draw attention to yourself, especially now.

Shoko had promised not to tell Gojo it was you, but you knew her patience was running thin. You visited her office almost daily now, seeking some sort of relief, but there was only so much she could do. Hanahaki wasn’t something that could be easily cured—at least, not without confronting the painful truth behind it.

You couldn’t afford that. You weren’t ready for him to know. What would you even say if he found out? The thought of confessing made your stomach churn, your fingers tightening around the tissue in your hand. How could you ever explain the way you felt when you were barely able to understand it yourself?

The door slid open, and Gojo sauntered in, his usual carefree grin plastered across his face. The room seemed to brighten at his presence, his energy infectious as he greeted the class with his typical enthusiasm. You kept your eyes trained on the window, refusing to meet his gaze. It was better that way—safer.

“Alright, kiddos, settle down,” Gojo called out, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get started.”

The chatter died down as the students turned their attention to him, hanging on his every word. You listened, too, but from a distance, as if you were an outsider observing a scene that didn’t quite include you. His voice was the same as always, smooth and light, filled with that teasing charm that made the others smile. But for you, it was another reminder of how far away he really was.

As he spoke, you couldn’t help but notice something different in his tone today—an edge, barely noticeable, but there. He wasn’t as relaxed as usual. His gaze, though still hidden behind his blindfold, seemed to sweep over the class with more intensity, as if he were looking for something.

Or someone.

You swallowed hard, your heartbeat picking up as a flicker of panic settled in your chest. He wouldn’t know, would he? Shoko hadn’t said anything. She promised.

But the longer he stood there, the more restless you became. You could feel his attention shift, his energy probing the room, lingering in places it hadn’t before. There was something sharper in the way he moved, in the way he spoke to the students—like he was searching for an answer to a question he couldn’t quite articulate yet.

He didn’t speak to you directly, of course. He never did. But that didn’t stop the creeping suspicion that he was starting to notice something.

“Everyone’s doing alright, yeah?” Gojo asked casually, his voice lilting, but there was an underlying concern that hadn’t been there before.

Yuji, ever the optimist, nodded enthusiastically. “All good here!”

Megumi grunted in agreement, and Nobara shot Gojo a playful smirk. The usual banter, the usual flow. But beneath the surface, you could feel it. Gojo was waiting for something. His attention drifted, not settling as it usually did.

You shifted in your seat, the petals stirring in your lungs again. The ache had become a constant companion, always there, always waiting for the next bloom. You pressed the tissue harder against your nose, trying to focus on your breathing, trying to stay invisible.

But it didn’t work.

“Hey, you back there,” Gojo’s voice suddenly cut through the room, casual yet commanding. Your heart stopped in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. “You okay? You look a little pale.”

He was talking to you.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Gojo’s attention was on you. Your hands shook slightly, the tissue still pressed to your nose as you quickly tried to pull yourself together. You forced a weak smile, nodding slightly, though you couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. It was a lie, but you hoped it was convincing enough.

Gojo didn’t press, but you could feel the weight of his gaze linger a moment too long before he turned back to the rest of the class. The tension in the room slowly eased as the lesson continued, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

He had noticed you. And now, it was only a matter of time before he started to connect the dots.

As class ended and the other students filed out, you stayed behind, your legs weak and your mind racing. The tightness in your chest was unbearable now, each breath a struggle as the petals continued to bloom, slowly suffocating you from the inside out.

You stood, gripping the edge of your desk to steady yourself, but the world swayed around you, your vision blurring. You felt the cough building in your throat, but you swallowed it down, trying to hold it back.

Gojo was still at the front of the room, his back turned as he gathered up some papers. You glanced at him, your heart heavy with unspoken words, knowing that the distance between you was more than just physical. Even with his attention momentarily on you, he was still so far away—too far for you to ever reach.

The petals in your lungs fluttered violently, and before you could stop it, a wet cough escaped your lips. You doubled over, clutching your chest as the tissue in your hand was soaked through with blood.

It was getting worse.

You could feel it—Gojo was also beginning to put the pieces together. His usual carefree demeanor was still there, but underneath it, you noticed subtle changes. The way his gaze lingered on you for just a second too long, the occasional pause in his speech as if something was pulling at the back of his mind, the shift in his tone when he asked how you were doing.

He was connecting the dots, slowly but surely.

It had started out small. After that one class where your coughing fit had drawn his attention, Gojo had seemed more… aware of you. You weren’t used to that. For so long, you had been the invisible student, blending into the background while he focused on the stronger, louder ones. But now, it felt like you were always under his watch, even if it was subtle.

You couldn’t help but notice how often his blindfolded gaze would drift in your direction during class, the easy-going smile on his lips faltering for just a moment when your breath hitched or your shoulders tensed with the effort of keeping another coughing fit at bay. He never called you out in front of the others again, but the worry was there—hovering beneath the surface, waiting for you to crack.

It was getting harder to hide. The petals were growing larger and more frequent, blooming violently inside you whenever you were in his presence. It wasn’t just the physical pain anymore; it was the emotional strain of knowing he was starting to figure it out. Each time you saw him, the flowers bloomed more aggressively, as if they, too, could sense that time was running out.

You sat in class, staring blankly at the notes in front of you, the familiar weight of exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders. The tissue box on your desk was nearly empty again, and you were already clutching another tissue in your hand, waiting for the inevitable. Your lungs felt tight, each breath more difficult than the last as the flowers took root deeper inside of you.

Gojo was at the front, as usual, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed as he casually spoke to the class. He seemed as relaxed as ever, but you could feel his attention on you, even if he didn’t directly address it. Every time you shifted in your seat or raised a tissue to your nose, you could sense his focus sharpening, though he kept his distance.

“Alright, kiddos, let’s wrap it up for today,” Gojo said, his voice light and playful as he clapped his hands together. The students began packing up, Yuji and Nobara already bickering about something as they made their way out of the classroom.

You stayed behind, as you often did now, waiting for the others to leave before making your quiet exit. But today, Gojo lingered, too. You could feel the tension in the air as you stood from your seat, your legs unsteady beneath you. The weight of his gaze was palpable as you gathered your things, your hands trembling slightly.

“Hey,” Gojo’s voice was softer than usual, and when you turned to look at him, you saw that his posture had changed. He wasn’t leaning against the desk anymore, his arms uncrossed and his expression… unreadable. “You feeling alright?”

It wasn’t the first time he had asked, but this time, there was something different in the way he said it. It wasn’t casual concern—it was heavier, like he already knew the answer but was waiting for you to say it out loud.

You forced a smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine,” you lied, the words sticking in your throat as you grabbed the tissue box, clutching it tightly to your chest like a lifeline.

Gojo didn’t move, didn’t take his eyes off you. His smile, too, faded a little, replaced with something more serious, more focused. “You sure about that?” he asked, his tone light but his words pointed.

You nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze as you tried to make your way toward the door. But your body betrayed you. The familiar tightness in your chest returned, and before you could stop it, a violent coughing fit overtook you. You doubled over, one hand clutching your chest as you brought the other to your mouth, the tissue doing little to contain the blood and petals that escaped.

Cerulean petals fluttered to the ground, streaked with red, their delicate beauty a stark contrast to the pain tearing through your lungs.

You didn’t have to look up to know that Gojo had seen. The room was painfully silent, and you could feel his gaze burning into you.

“Wait.” His voice was firm now, no longer soft or teasing. You heard his footsteps approaching, and your heart raced in your chest as panic set in. You couldn’t face him. Not like this.

But it was too late.

Gojo’s hand gently caught your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. “Look at me,” he said quietly, his tone serious but not unkind.

You hesitated, your breath shaky as you slowly turned to face him. His blindfold hid his eyes, but you didn’t need to see them to know the concern that was etched into every line of his face. For once, there was no trace of his usual cocky smile, no hint of the lighthearted jokes he often used to deflect serious situations.

“You’re not fine,” Gojo said, his voice low, steady. “You haven’t been fine for a while, have you?”

The tears that had been building behind your eyes finally spilled over. You wanted to deny it, to insist that you were fine, that you didn’t need his help, but the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was shake your head, the weight of your secret crashing down around you.

Gojo’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, a silent reassurance. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, his voice soft but filled with an intensity that made your chest tighten for a different reason.

“I…” You swallowed hard, struggling to find the words. “I didn’t want you to know.”

Gojo’s expression softened, though the concern in his voice never wavered. “It’s hanahaki, isn’t it?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

You nodded, the weight of the truth finally too much to carry alone. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It’s hanahaki.”

Gojo exhaled softly, his hand still resting on your shoulder as he processed your admission. “Do you know who—” He stopped, the realization dawning on him slowly. “Wait… is it—?”

You couldn’t meet his gaze, your silence enough of an answer.

It was him. It had always been him.

And now, he knew.

The silence between you and Gojo was thick, the weight of your confession hanging in the air like a storm cloud. You could feel his gaze on you, sharp and penetrating, but it wasn’t enough to make you look at him. You stared at the floor, your hands trembling as you clutched the empty tissue box, your breath still shaky from the violent coughing fit that had exposed everything.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Gojo asked quietly, his voice stripped of the usual playfulness, replaced by a gravity that was foreign on his tongue.

You felt a surge of frustration bubble up inside you, mixing with the pain in your chest. Why hadn’t you told him? The answer was painfully simple, yet tangled in a mess of emotions you’d tried to suppress for so long. You tightened your grip on the box, swallowing hard before finally speaking, your voice thick with unshed tears.

“Why would I tell you?” you muttered, your words sharp even though they came out barely above a whisper. “You’re always so busy, Gojo-sensei. You didn’t even know I was here before today.”

Gojo stiffened slightly, but you didn’t give him a chance to respond.

“It’s not your fault I have a meek technique that didn’t catch your attention,” you continued, the bitterness in your voice surprising even yourself. “I was just… invisible. So why would I tell you?”

You finally looked up at him then, meeting his gaze for the first time in what felt like ages. His blindfold still obscured his eyes, but you could see the way his jaw tightened, his posture tense. There was no easy smile now, no casual demeanor. Just the weight of his presence, heavy and serious in a way you had never seen before.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” Gojo asked quietly, his voice softer but carrying the same intensity. There was no arrogance in his words, just genuine confusion, as if the idea of him not noticing was somehow inconceivable.

Your frustration boiled over, and you shook your head, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I don’t need to think anything, Gojo-sensei,” you said, your voice louder now, trembling with emotion. “I know you didn’t notice.”

Gojo opened his mouth as if to respond, but he hesitated, his expression tightening. It was the first time you had ever seen him at a loss for words. He wasn’t used to being called out like this, to being told that he had missed something important. Especially something as important as one of his students suffering in silence.

You took a step back, pulling away from his grip as you fought to steady your breathing, the petals still stirring in your lungs. “It’s not your fault,” you added, quieter now, your anger giving way to the exhaustion that had been building inside you for so long. “I didn’t expect you to notice. Why would you? You’ve got students with real potential, students who deserve your attention.”

Gojo’s expression softened, and he took a step forward, his voice calm but firm. “You’re one of my students, too,” he said, his tone laced with a sincerity that cut through the pain. “I should’ve noticed. I do notice.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head again. “You notice now because I’m dying, Gojo. Not because of anything else. If I didn’t have this—” you gestured toward your chest, “—you still wouldn’t see me.”

His shoulders slumped slightly, the tension in his frame loosening as he let out a slow breath. “That’s not true,” he said softly. “You’re not invisible to me.”

The vulnerability in his voice startled you. Gojo wasn’t supposed to sound like this—he was always so confident, so sure of himself. But now, standing in front of you, he seemed almost… regretful.

“Maybe I was too caught up in everything else,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression tight. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t care. I care about all of you.”

You looked away, the words landing heavily in your chest. You wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that he truly cared about you the same way he did Yuji or Megumi or Nobara. But the reality was, you had spent so long on the sidelines, watching as his attention was always pulled in a hundred different directions, that it was hard to accept that you could matter, too.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now, more serious than you had ever heard it. “I should have seen you sooner. I should’ve been there.”

The sincerity in his voice cracked something in you, and for a moment, the anger and frustration ebbed away, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. You blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

“It’s too late now, isn’t it?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Gojo didn’t answer right away, and for a moment, the silence felt unbearable. He stepped closer, his hand hovering near your shoulder, but he didn’t touch you. “It’s not too late,” he said quietly. “It’s never too late.”

You shook your head, biting back a sob as another violent cough wracked your body, more petals spilling from your lips. They fell to the ground between you, fragile and blood-stained, and you stared at them, your breath coming in short, painful gasps.

“How can you say that?” you choked out, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Look at me, Gojo. It’s too late.”

Gojo’s expression darkened, but there was a determination in his voice as he spoke. “No,” he said firmly, his hand finally resting on your shoulder, grounding you with his touch. “It’s not too late. We’re going to figure this out. I’m not going to let you go through this alone.”

His words, so certain and filled with resolve, made something inside you tremble. For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe, if only for a moment, that maybe—just maybe—things could change.

But as the petals continued to bloom inside your chest, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had already run out of time.

notes: i'll be posting one chapter per day - so please stick around! If you'd like to be tagged, just let me know <3

©apollogeticx ⋆ all rights reserved.

[johnbrand]

Fathering Normality

“And then I just shoved it right in!”

Luke grunted as he thrust forward, drawing a laugh out of his friend Colton. Luke had been recounting the entire night before to him, going over every detail. How it started as a boner, how that boner led him to a bar, how that bar led him to rubbing up against some girl, and how that girl led him to shooting multiple loads directly into her tight pussy.

“It was exhilarating!” Luke recalled, the natural masculinity giving his voice a gruff, dense texture. “And all I can think about now is…doing it again…and again!”

Luke thrusted once more, trying to relieve the pressure building up in his thick cock. Colton could not help but happily smile along with his friend, very familiar with the experience of breeding a woman himself. In fact, his girlfriend had recently found out she was pregnant. When Colton had first received the news, he had been ecstatic. When Luke had received the news from Colton days later, he had not been.

Just a week ago, Colton and Luke had been in the same positions; Luke dramatically recounting some tale while Colton laid back and listened. Although, that time had been more violent. “What do you mean she’s pregnant?” Luke cried. “What are you two going to do? You’re too young, neither of you have secured jobs. We all just barely graduated from college a few years ago!”

Argument after argument flew by, but eventually Colton could not handle it anymore. His friend was supposed to be supportive, happy for the couple as they were with the situation. Then a strange thought came to Colton’s head–maybe Luke would be more supportive if he was able to see his side of things. 

Colton had shot the bullet directly into Luke’s head without hesitation. There was no way his gay friend could have understood the joy of breeding, fertilizing, and bearing fruit other than by being converted to try it himself. Of course, Luke did not remember the sound of the gun firing, dropping to the floor, or his limp body being handed over to local enforcement. Colton did not even think Luke remembered the past version of himself. And now that Colton had met the new model, he hoped he would soon forget too.

Gay Luke had been fun. A little bit on the shorter, skinnier side, but still a ball of energy. He always had a theatrical flair, and he kept himself well-maintained, but he had commitment issues and terrible spending habits. This Straight Luke though, had nearly made the equally heterosexual Colton blush. He was now much taller, more muscular, with that ball of energy transformed into sheer masculine confidence. Luke still held that capacity to put on a performance, but now it was powerful and captivating. 

Colton had contacted Luke at the end of the incubation period, not knowing what to expect. Yet he would have never predicted the stacked body-builder in a plain, short-sleeved button-up and dirty jeans appearing at his door. Sure, there were some things Colton felt a little guilty about. Luke’s former luscious locks had thinned out and shortened into a tiny quiff afflicted by male pattern baldness. His hygiene had definitely taken a hit; Colton had smelt the new funk as soon as those massive shoes had come off at the door. But the conversion affected everyone differently, so because Luke appeared obliviously overjoyed with heterosexuality, Colton felt that he could be too.

“So I just started countin’ as I rammed in. ‘One, two,’” Luke continually thrusted to display his point. “And eventually, it had to be like on 15 or 16, I felt that first burst of ecstasy. After that I lost count, I just went into hyper-mode.”

Colton chuckled, getting up to grab us some beers. He tossed one to Luke.

“Thanks bro,” Luke cracked his cold one open. “By the way, what did you call me over for anyway?”

“Oh man, I thought I already told you,” Colton half-lied. “My girl’s pregnant: I’m gonna be a dad.”

Luke’s eyes lit up, “DUDE! That’s awesome! Congratulations!! God, if only I could be so lucky, right?” 

Colton cheered to that, smirking at the possibility. He had been right when he had chosen to father normality. Thanks to him, one could metaphorically say he would soon be fathering twice the amount of children as a result of Luke’s conversion.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Taste of Sugar, Part 2 (18+)

Here be the smut- proceed with caution if you're over 18 Alastor x reader Rated: E Chapter warnings: Blood Kink, Blood Drinking, Tentacles, Dom Alastor, Restrained Reader, Vaginal Fingering, Penis In Vagina Sex, Oral Sex. Part 1

AN: Here lies spitesmut, 11k fucking words born out of spite. Nonny, do not tell me what I will and will not do. Enjoy the cartoon smut you didn't want to see. The blood drinking you didn't want to read. The shadow tentacles you didn't want to see. The demon you didn't want to fuck. Cuz, I know you're going to read this- After all, scrolling on is far too fucking complicated for you. Welcome to my "I'll fuck a cartoon serial killer era" Love, Kit. (PS. 3 things published in 48 hours is *never* going to happen again)

~~~~~<3

You were pretty sure he was no longer talking about desserts. You were pretty sure he was talking about another appetite that you’d heard speculation that he didn’t partake in. You were pretty sure you were losing your mind. 

“What circumstances?” You whisper as he dragged his thumb out of your mouth, dragging the pad against your lip again. 

“Should someone catch my eye and sufficiently hold my attention,” Someone, not something. There was no doubt in your mind what you were discussing now. “I may partake.” 

“Do,” You hesitated, before asking the question you hadn’t ever considered yourself. “Do you wish to partake tonight?” 

You hadn’t thought about Alastor in this way before and yet, it was like you were seeing him now, truly for the first time. He was a handsome man in his own terrifying way. Tall and lean, quiet confidence and sheer power radiated off of him. He was chaotic, driving those around him mad. 

“You make me wish to partake,” Alastor said, leaning into your space as you puzzled over what that could mean. Surely it was just for tonight. But if it was just for tonight, why would he have been sending you treats with the hope that you’d share? That you’d think of him? 

What did it all mean?

“Oh?” You whispered as you finally braved meeting his red eyes only to instantly find yourself captured by the way he looked at you, lids heavy and pupils blown. 

“May I?” Alastor’s other hand snaked around your waist, hovering, not quite touching but painfully close to doing so. “Partake, that is?” 

“Okay?” 

As soon as the whispered word left your mouth, his thumb dragged down your lip and chin. His fingers gripped your chin and pulled your face up as he stepped into the last of your space and leaned down. 

His smile never faltered, even as his lips closed and met yours. The miniscule distance between his arm and your waist disappeared in an instant as he held you to him.

Alastor lacked the bulk of muscle but you could feel the power thrumming through his body as your hand reached up, resting against his chest. You were far from a blushing virgin though you were also not the most promiscuous woman in hell and yet touching him felt scandalous. 

The way his tongue snaked out from between his lips, lapping the sticky sweet sugar his thumb left on your lips. Your mind was too preoccupied by the feeling of him licking the sugar up to question it when he took your hand from his chest. 

Shadows flickered, you didn’t know if they were real or a figment of your imagination playing images behind your eyelids. There was a shifting feeling, as if the world itself was somehow moving around you, under you. It felt somewhat like if you had been standing on a moving bus, eyes closed and trusting. Not exactly, that didn’t come close to the feeling but it was a start. It was as close as you would ever come to explaining the feeling.

“Forgive me, my dear. I did not wish to be observed.” He spoke softly, still standing suffocatingly close as you observed the room you found yourself over his shoulder.

A fireplace against the far wall gave off flickering warm light and heat that wasn’t needed yet was relaxing just the same. Thick carpet muffled your shuffling step but in the distance that thick carpet along with the rich red walls gave way to a landscape that looked so hauntingly human and yet was nothing you’d seen before. 

The portion of the room that was still a room was dark, save for the firelight and moonlight from where it gave way to the outdoors. It was magical and yet as disorienting as Alastor’s kiss or the way he had transported you there. 

“Where are we?” You ask, already knowing the answer but not really being able to understand how such a space could exist within the hotel. 

“My room,” Alastor answered, hooking your chin with the backs of the fingers he had wrapped around your hand, drawing your attention back to him, silently demanding once again that you pay attention to him. 

Alastor pulled you to him, pinning you against his body as his sharp teeth nipped at your lips. Reflexively, your tongue darted out, running over the stinging skin. The lingering sweet of the sugar still clings to her lips, mostly gone now.

Alastor guided her as his grinning lips worked down her jaw, tracing the sweet taste of sugar his fingers had left behind as he walked you back toward his bed. Sharp teeth nipped at your throat, leaving stinging lovebites that leaked drops of ruby red. 

No, Alastor didn’t care for desserts or sweets much at all but this was a flavor that had him humming in delight. The hint of sugar on your skin, the salt of you and the coppery taste of your blood made for a treat he would savor.

You weren’t sure when you wrapped your free arm around him, hand snaking up his back and clinging to his shoulder as he moved you through is space. The position you had found yourself could be mistaken for dancing, should anyone peek in on the room. 

The back of your knees hit the soft edge of his bed causing your balance, already teetering, to fail you. Alastor’s hand around your waist allowed him to control your decent, leading your back onto his bed while driving you forward with his lips. 

Reaching up, you ran your hands over his chest before working the buttons of his coat free. If this was going to be the only time you got to have Alastor, you intended to make the best of it. 

Slipping your hands under his coat, you take in the strong planes of his abdomen and chest, the way his muscles defined yet lean, moved as his lips worked down your neck. Slowly, you ran your hands up his shoulder before pushing the coat back, sending it down his back. 

Leaning back, Alastor freed his arms from the coat, tossing it blindly to a chair near by. You were entranced as he reached up, pulling his bowtie from his neck and sending it soaring too. Long fingers worked the first few buttons of his shirt free, exposing a tantalizing amount of his neck. 

It felt scandalous to see Alastor’s high collar undone. The way his chest and clavicles could just be glimpsed as he moved sent fire through you. It was silly, really. The man was still fully dressed and yet it felt to you like he had not a stich of clothing on. 

As he invaded your space again, driving you back with the intensity of his presence, you wanted nothing more than to reach up and touch him. His hands gripped your thighs, keeping you from scooting away from him on instinct alone.

Your fingers grazed him before black wrapped around your wrists, pulling your arms up and back as you gasped in shock. 

“I said I wish to partake, not that you may.” Alastor said, wicked grin seeming to glow in the dim room. 

His hands were so strong on you as he resumed his work, nipping down until your soft night shirt blocks his progress. The fact that it was common knowledge that it was a favorite of yours didn’t stop him from gripping the fabric and using his nails to rip it apart. 

You hadn’t left your room with the intention of finding Alastor, or anyone else for that matter, for a romantic tryst and were far from dressed for it. There was no sexy lingerie for him to find under. There was no lacy bra. 

Just you, breasts on full display and core covered in a pair of shorts that would have otherwise been too short to wear around the hotel. You hadn’t intended anyone to see you but he was seeing far more of you than anyone had for a long time. 

You wanted to apologize or make excuses for your lack of preperation for his eyes. He was Alastor, after all, the great and powerful overlord who could have any woman on her knees for him if he showed an interest in having her. Your face was hot with the knowledge that you were so-

“Beautiful,” he said as he looked down at you, running sharp tipped fingers along the curves of your sides. 

You flinched away from the tickling touch, not able to go anywhere with your arms pinned above you. One of your legs was pinned by him when he had climbed up onto the bed, the other hanging limp and unsure what to do, any attempt to squirm away from him would result in you opening your legs up to him more or running your thigh and calf along his leg. 

“Beautiful,” He said again, this time you registered the word, his hands moving lower. Warm palms smoothed down your hips, finding your shorts and making quick work of them as well. 

“Alastor?” You wanted to touch him. You wanted to feel him, to see him like he was seeing you. 

“You have denied me, my dear.” He looked up at you from where he had been nipping his way down your chest, leaving red marks from his sharp teeth along the tender swell of your breasts. “Time and time again, you have denied me your treats. Are you going to deny me again?” 

“No?” Your breath caught in your throat as your head spun.

“Good girl,” He drew out the words, singing them slowly as he nipped the underside of your breast, nose nudging the pebble of your neglected nipple as again, a droplet of blood was lapped up by his tongue. 

His breath ghosted over your nipple, teasing it with the breeze as he exhaled a deep sigh through his nose. You arched into the feeling, his hands gripping around your ribcage, making you aware of just how much bigger than you he was in so many ways. 

He towered over many weaker demons and you were no exception to that. Long fingers caressed your back as the pads of his thumbs ran along the front of your ribs. In an instant, he could break your body if he wanted to, crush your ribcage by simply tightening his grip. 

Your life could be ended by his hand should he change his mind, there wasn’t a single goddamned thing you could do about it. That realization only served to stroke the fire his words had ignited. 

Pain was never something you would have said you were into before. The lovebites stung, sure but his teeth were so sharp that the sting came after each bite, as he licked up the bubbles of blood. As his sharp teeth scratched over the nipple he took into his mouth, you surprised yourself with the gasping moan that slipped from your throat. 

Long, dexterous tongue lapped at the nub, soothing every cutting scratch and erasing every trace of blood. 

“Beautiful and delicious,” Alastor mused as he made his way down your abdomen. 

Something cold and firm wrapped around your free leg, pulling it out from where it was resting against Alastor. A new wave of heat flooded through you as Alastor shifted his position, freeing your trapped leg and nestling his knees between them. A similar force grabbed ahold of the freed ankle and pulled, spreading you open before him. 

“You’re so timid.” He mused, fingers digging into your hips as you were spread even wider by black tentacles you had only ever seen cause carnage before. 

“Tell me what you want,” He ordered, red eyes looking into yours, “Tell me what you want to share with me.”

“Alastor?” You knew he knew, why should you have to say it? 

You’d been dancing around it. you’d been hinting at it. The idea of saying it explicitly terrified you. 

You watched as his eyes traced your face, neck, shoulders. They swept down your chest and up your arms. They were everywhere and yet he seemed unconcerned with taking in your core spread before him.

“Say it. Tell me,” His hands ran up your thighs, thumbs stretching to caress your inner thigh, coming so close to your heat as his fingers wrapped around the exteriors. “And perhaps we can reach a deal?” 

A deal. Alastor was a deal maker. Powerful. You needed to get yourself out of this situation. Whatever the hell was going on here, you needed to run away. You had no business making deals with Alastor, let alone while you were spread naked and wanting on his bed. 

This was a bad position to be in. He had all the power and you had nothing to offer him except what? Some treats? Your body?

His thumb came even closer, caressing the curve where your thighs met your lips. The contact had your heart stopping in your chest and your breath trapped in your lungs. 

“What is it your desire?” Alastor’s voice was thick with static, radio overlay cackling and distorting the sound. Colors seemed to invert, shadows grew and yet you couldn’t look away from him. The antlers atop his head grew, branching out. Colors snapped back to correct but now over saturated. The darkness was too deep. The reds too red. 

“You,” You breathe out, not even fully aware of what you were admitting. You should be terrified but need burned through you as the power, his power, surged around you. 

For all of eternity women have fallen at the feet of powerful men for a sip of what they could offer. For centuries, it had been the only way women could obtain any power for themselves. 

It turns out, you were no different. Sipping at the alter of power seemed to be ingrained in your very DNA. You had no hope of becoming powerful on your own but if you could just taste his power, just for a night, you would give anything. 

“And what will you give me?” Alastor said, joints shifting unnaturally as he towered over you, thumbs still caressing the edge of your lips even as he pulled your thighs further apart by the shadows handling your ankles.

“Me,” You said, fearing it wasn’t going to be enough. You would never be enough for him. There was no power within you that you could give him.

“For eternity.” Alastor said, eyes now black, red dials burning into you, green stichs standing out in vivid contrast to the black and red that made up all of him. “I shall have you for eternity?” 

“If you’ll have me?” You were gasping, feeling like you were being smothered by the raw power in the air as he leaned up your body, somehow doing so without shifting off his knees between your legs, “If you want me.” 

“You will be mine.” Alastor said, terrifying face close to yours’, “Your treats will be mine. Your body, mine. Your heart, mine. Your very soul, mine. You will share it with none. In exchange, you get me. Is it a deal?”

This was insanity. Madness. You knew better. He had asked for your soul. You don’t just sell your soul to get laid. He had asked for your heart. 

Your heart. 

And your soul. 

But, he had asked for your heart. 

“Why do you want my soul?” 

“For safe keeping.” Alastor’s breath washed over you, hot and moist. “To ensure none can take what is mine.”

“Yours?” You twitched, wanting to touch him even as the idea of giving your everything to him for a night terrified you. “Give you everything for eternity just to have you-” You gasped as the thing wrapped around your ankle snaked higher, caressing your knee. “For a night?”

“An eternity for an eternity,” Alastor offered, “That is the terms I am laying out. Do you accept?” 

“Deal,” You whispered and his lips crashed into yours as his expanded form seemed more likely to devour you than kiss you. 

Powered washed over you, flowed through you as the weight of a shackle settled against your neck. The chain attached to it pulled taught, drawing you to Alastor with what little ability you had to move as the back of the collar bit into your neck. 

As he kissed you, his body shifted, pressing you into the mattress before he shrank down to what you considered as his normal size. 

Your leg was pulled up by the knee wrapped in shadows, spreading you out even more. Your other ankle was pushed up, forcing your knee to buckle. As soon as you tried to use the freedom of movement this granted you to preserve any ounce of modesty, black wrapped around that knee as well and you were pulled wide open before red eyes that finally took your most intimint place in. 

“Beautiful,” Alastor remarked as his hands returned to your inner thighs, running up the expanse of exposed skin, savoring the contrast of it against his bloodstained hands. 

Your face was hot as you struggled to breathe through the way his eyes devoured your exposed sex. Slick already coated you, having begun to pool as you had been fed pastry ever so intimately in the kitchen. 

You could feel how much worse the situation was now. With your legs held so far open, there was nothing to obstruct Alastor’s view as you could feel a wave of slick slip from you as muscles clenched. 

His fingers caressed over you weeping hole, scooping up the slick on the pads of his fingers and held them up for you to see the evidence as he asked, “Why are you so wet?” 

You hid your face against your arm, unable to take the power of his eye contact any longer. There was no part of his physical body touching you in that moment and you weren’t sure if that was better or worse. 

“What has your body so excited already? Tell me.” When you failed, instead trying to hide in shame, Alastor demanded you use your words or he would leave you as you were for however long it took. There was not an ounce of doubt in you that he would follwo through with the threat. 

“You,” You tripped over the simple word. 

“But I’ve hardly touched you?” Alastor teased, bringing his hand closer and closer to your face, ensuring you can smell your arousal on his fingertips . 

“You’ve been touching me,” You struggled to force the words out, unsure if he was teasing you, torturing you or actually unaware of the impact his actions had on you. 

“Wonderful,” Alastor said, leaning back and running his long tongue over his slick covered fingers. Could he taste the sugar on his fingers in addition to the taste of you? The question drew a shameful moan from your throat regardless of the fact that he was only touching you with shadows.

“How terribly rude of me!” His voice was bright and cheery, as if wasn’t kneeling between your spread legs, body on display. “I chastise you for not sharing and here I am, keeping a treat all to myself. Where have my manners gone?” 

He shifted, supporting his weight over you with a hand on the mattress close enough to your ribs for you to feel the warmth of him yet not touching you. Bringing his fingers, still coated in the slick he had scooped up to your lips as if he was offering a taste of some treat. 

It was lewd. Never had you found yourself one to even think about tasting yourself. It wasn’t something that interested you in the past. You turned your head as he presented his fingers closer. 

The slippery pad of his fingers ran along your lower lip. When you failed to open to him willingly, cringing away instead, he forced his fingers into your mouth. His sharp nails pinched and cut your lips in the process causing you to gasp and make his task all the more easier. 

“You will take what I offer you.” He said simply as he caressed your tongue with the pads of his first and middle fingers. The taste of you wasn’t terrible. Hesitantly, you ran your tongue over his fingers, twisting around them.

“Good girl.” He praised, voice warm and musical as his fingers pushed deeper into your mouth. “When did it start?”

“Wha?” It was difficult to form the question with his fingers, sweet from sugar and you in your mouth. 

“When did your body start preparing itself for me?” Leaning down, Alastor swept his tongue over your bleeding lips, groaning at the taste after he withdrew his fingers. You had finally been given the ability to clearly speak only to to have him suffocate your ability to think with his presence. 

“Was it my lips on your skin? The feeling of my kiss?” He teased, voice musical. 

“No,” You were not sure where this night was going to go, you couldn’t even be sure what Alastor was going to do with your body as he tormented you. He teased you with his words and his eyes more than anything else. 

“Was it my hands, ripping your pathetic simple clothes?” 

“No,” You couldn’t look away from the red of his eyes. 

“Was it my shadows? Gripping you? Spreading you? Presenting you?”

“No,” Your voice was little more than a whine as you tried and failed to struggle free from his grasp. 

“What was it?” Alastor demanded, stattic growing. “Tell me.”

“From the start.” You whined when he demanded elaboration, “Feeding me. The sugar on your fingers. The look in your eyes. From the start.” 

“Interesting,” Alastor leaned back, pulling the warmth of his body away from you as he seemed to work over the information. 

You flushed under his eyes, unable to read him. You wanted him to want you but fuck, did he even? Was this just a game? A way to pass the night?

The shadows wrapped around your legs crept up your thighs, wrapping around your waist and pulling your lower body up into the air. Blood rushed to your head before your arms were hoisted up as well, leaving you suspended and spread in the air. 

Right in front of Alastor. 

Your hair hung loose from your head as your neck strained to hold your head up to allow you to look down your body and into his eyes. It was impossible to look away as his large palms ran up your inner thighs, long fingers caressing you slowly as he inched forward, eyes locked on yours. 

His hot breath fanned over you, making your heart beat faster in your chest. It felt like it took forever for him to inch forward and then, when the distance was closed it was far too much. Alastor’s tongue swiped up your spread folds, scooping up slick greedily as he groaned at the taste. 

“And to think,” Alastor spoke while making what felt like aggressively violent eye contact, “This was yet another treat you’d been denying me.” 

You moaned at his words as he turned his attention back to your cunt, spread in front of him as if it was an offering placed at an alter. His tongue was dexterous and long as it snaked into your hole, lapping at the source of your slick as if it was a dessert prepared just for him. 

And perhaps it was. 

The weight of your head was too much for your neck to support while distracted by the warm pleasure granted by his mouth as he sipped from the source. His nose bumped against your clit as you struggled against the shadows that held your legs and hips in the air, a sharp gasp fell from your lips before you could stop it.

Alastor hummed as he shifted his attention, tongue leaving your core empty as it sought a new target. He poked at and caressed the sensitive nub that drew such lovely gasps from your lips. Sucking and blowing, he teased the little nub every way he could think of as he studied each of your reactions, searching for the stimulation that would send you soaring under his touch. 

You trembled under his touch as his hands rubbed your thighs, caressing your hips and up your back as if the black tentacle wrapped around you didn’t exist. Lightening and fear lit up your brain as you felt the flat backs of his nails run over your folds before a sharp tipped finger pushed inside. 

You had no doubt that he could rip your inner walls with no effort at all. 

“Trust me,” He demanded and you wanted to. Hell, you had no choice but to and yet it still took time to relax as he worked the finger inside you. 

Warm lips and sharp teeth returned to your clit, making it hard to focus on the threat of his nail and not the pleasure he was drawing from you. A second deadly finger pushed inside, drawing a true moan from you that earned a chuckle from Alastor in return. 

Your neck hurt from the weight of your head hanging limply. Muscles tensed and bunched as you fought to chase the stimulation. Every touch felt sharp and pushed you closer to that cliff within you. 

And then there was nothing. 

No fingers. 

No tongue.

No touch.

Nothing. 

Alastor leaned back and watched as you clenched around nothing at all, smile wide as he asked, “What do you want?” 

You groaned, struggling as the shadows lowered you. 

“Please?” You didn’t want to beg. Hell, you shouldn’t have to beg. It was a part of the deal. He said you could have him. In your eagerness, you had failed to iron out the details of what having him meant. His idea of giving himself to you may not have anything in common with yours, you realized with a cold shock. 

“Please what?” Alastor hummed, wiping your slick from his face with the palm of the hand that hadn’t been bullying your walls. 

“I want you.” Fuck it, you’d beg. How could you not when he looked at you so intently, palm hiding the smile you knew lived on his face. “Please. You said I could have you.”

“You’ve had me.” Alastor chuckled as he continued to not touch you. “You’ve had my mouth. You’ve had my fingers even! That’s more than anyone’s had in a rather long time.” 

“I want-” 

“You didn’t stipulate what you wanted me to give you, my darling.” Alastor grinned wider as you whined. “It appears that it’s your lucky night however!” 

Alastor’s belt clinked as the shadow’s lowered you the rest of the way to the bed. He whipped the belt free from the loops with such force that it snapped as he sent it flying with a dramatic swing of his arm. 

Your fingers twitched as you watched him unbutton his pants. Freeing him from his clothes was a task you wanted to see to. You wanted to indulge in the process of stripping him as bare as you were. You wanted to feel his skin under your hands as you pushed the shirt from his shoulders, as you freed his cock from the confines of his pants. 

“Something the matter?” You hadn’t realized you were whining, whimpering soft pleas of ‘please’ as you watched him. 

“I want to touch you.” You admitted shamelessly.

He hummed for a moment, eyes cast toward where the ceiling gave way to the illusion of a night sky before snapping down to yours, “No.”

“No?” You were sure you had to have heard him wrong. You had to have heard him wrong. 

“No,” He said as if that explained everything as he pulled his straining cock from where his pants had been strangling it. 

Alastor climbed over you, cock in hand as he drew his face closer to yours. Arching your back, you tried to touch him in any way you could with what little movement you could manage as he slowly stroked a dark hand along his length, thumb swiping over the red tip. Not one part of you was able to touch him. 

“Please? Please, Alastor. Please?” 

“You beg so prettily.” Alastor said, red eyes drowning you in a sea of fire. “Do you need me?” 

“Yes.” Shame was long gone, you didn’t know her anymore. 

“I should make you wait.” He threatened, kissing you softly in contrast. “I should make you long for a taste of what I can offer you as you have had the gall to do to me. I should make you mad with longing, as you did to me. I should drive you to the edges of sanity for a simple consideration, as you did to me.”

“I need you,” You begged, terrified that he would leave you unfulfilled as you had been unknowingly doing to him. You whimpered it with ever accusation, a pea of need and a longing for mercy.

God, what did his words mean? You hadn’t intended to do that to him. Fuck, you couldn’t even begin to say how you had done it. How had you captured his gaze? His attention? His longing? 

His words sounded dangerously close to obsession. 

“Good,” He said, grinning down at you. 

“I want to see you,” A gasp slipped from you as he ran the head of his cock along your slit, head of his cock bulling your clit as he swiped up, coating himself in slick with each pass. 

“You are seeing me,” Alastor knew damn well what you meant, “You’re seeing as much of me as you need to.” 

“I want more,” Tears gathered in your eyes and one had the audacity to trace a path slowly down your face.

“No,” Leaning into you, he licked up the salty trail from your face as he pushed himself inside painfully slowly. The feeling of his soft tongue on your face contrasted with the silky steel of his cock as he inched deeper and deeper inside. 

He didn’t give you time to adjust. There was no teasing. Alastor didn’t hesitate or pause to see how much of him your smaller body could take.

He simply kept pushing forward even as he grinned down at you, demanding you take all of him. You moaned, arching as he filled you, stretching to try and somehow make room for his considerable length as pain tinged the pleasure. Your teeth bit at your lip as you tried to choke off the sound of your whimpered moans. 

You wanted more contact. You needed it. Yet there was nothing you could do to obtain anymore. The only point of contact between you and Alastor was his cock pushing inside one inch at a time. 

He was long and thick, not overly so but fitting his body well. That worried you. His body was larger than yours by a good amount and that looked perfectly reasonable on him felt monstrous inside you. 

Tentacles shifted, pulling your body taught as you neared the end of what you thought you could take. He kept giving though until his hips kissed your body and a delicious pain tinged the stretch.

“Good girl,” Alastor praised, smile tight. “I knew you could take all of me,” He said as if he had given you a choice. 

He bumped his hips against yours hard, taking delight in the moan that fell from your lips at the harsh nudge of his head against your cervix. Pulling out just as slowly as he had pushed in, you squirmed as you tried to get more. 

He paused, head just kissing your soaked opening and admired the shine of your slick coating him. It was a mess and he found the way it spread onto his trousers to be distasteful but that was alright, for now. They could be cleaned. 

“So needy,” He mused as he leaned over you again, bracing for a moment before slamming into you only to pause, fully seated in your warmth. 

“Am I touching you enough yet?” Alastor loomed over you again, fucking you and yet not. 

“More,” You wanted to scream from the frustration.

“I’ve got you stretched around me,” He pulled out slowly as he spoke, only to once again harshly slam his way home. “So tightly. There’s nowhere I am not reaching.” 

He was right but still, you begged for more.

“So greedy,” Alastor tsked in mock disappointment as he fell into a slow rhythm.

Shadows lifted your hips as he rose up onto his knees, changing the angle of his trusts. Strong hands wrapped around your hips as he picked up his pace, each thrust punctuated with the harsh slam of his hips into you. 

“Are you happy now?” He teased, running his hands along your sides as he fucked into you still too slowly. “I’m touching you more.” 

More. You wanted more. You needed more.

“Well?” His eyes burned into you. “Use your pretty little words and tell me.” 

“More?” You wanted to hate how pathetic you sounded, whining for more of his touch, to be granted more pleasure by him but you couldn’t manage to draw the shame to the surface. 

“More?” Alastor laughed, his body shifting to fold over you as he blocked out your view of the ceiling, not that you’d been able to take your eyes from him for more then fleeting moments. “More what?”

“More touch,” You moaned as he thrust into you harder. “Please, touch me more. Let me,” 

Alastor’s shadows let go of your legs and hips. He thrust into you as your hips fell to the bed with the force of his hips hitting yours. You struggled against the shadows around your wrists but gained no ground there. 

At least your legs had been freed. You ran them up and down his hips and legs. It was maddening how good it felt to feel him under the smoothe fabric of his trousers. Greedy, that’s what you knew he’d call you as you squeezed at his hips with your thighs, trying to expose some more of him, desperate for the feel of his skin.

“You are a naughty one, aren’t you?” Alastor leaned back and wrapped one of your thighs in his strong hand. 

As if it took no effort at all, he pulled your leg up to stretch up his torso, ankle hooking over his shoulder near his neck. You could feel the flex of his muscles with each thrust. 

He allowed his grip on your thigh to slacken as he pulled from you, cock dragging against your walls each time. His hand not clutching your leg rested on your abdomen and fuck, you could feel the pressure of his hand from inside with each thrust.

“Greedy little doll,” Alastor ran his tongue along your calf as he pushed harder down against your soft body. 

The pressure made every punishing thrust of his cock into you all the more intense. Your arms hurt from how they were stretched out over your head, joints pulled tight every time he pulled you to match his thrusts.

“I give you an ounce of freedom and what do you do with it?” Teeth scraped against your calf, “You try to take more even as I’m giving your cunt exactly what you need.”

“Need,” You parroted the only word that made sense to you as he drove you closer to the edge. “Need to touch you. Need more.” 

“I’ll give you more,” Alastor’s teeth sank into your calf, cutting deep.

Oh, that shouldn’t have felt as good as it did. You should have been screaming out in pain as blood gushed into Alastor’s mouth, spilling from the corners as he drank greedily from the wound. 

You didn’t scream though. No, what came spilling from your lips pulled Alastor’s into a bloody smile, smearing red against your skin. 

Ultimately, it was the look in his eyes and your blood on his lips that pushed you to the edge of the cliff. You were so wet. The sound of wet squelching was the music your moans sang along to. 

Alastor groaned, adding his voice to the chorus of carnal music your bodies danced to. Slapping skin was the beat he played your body to and now, the greatest part of your song was approaching. 

“Alastor,” His name was stuttered, broken as it fell from your mouth and oh, how he liked the way that sounded as you repeated it.

“Yes?” He looked down at you with eyes that you would have sworn was lit from within. You couldn’t look away, “You’re close, I can feel you.” 

Red eyes. Blood smeared lips. His hand pushed harder into you, ensuring the head of his cock bullied your sweet spot with each sharp thrust in. The bed creaked under you with the increasing force of his thrusts. 

“Didn’t I tell you?” He chuckled, “That I’d give you exactly what you need? I’d touch you, just how you need to come undone on my cock?” 

“Oh fuck,” You struggled to keep focus anywhere. Your eyes roamed him, hardly under your control. Red lips. Bloodstained hand gripping your thigh, nails cutting trails you didn’t even feel as you were driven closer and closer to the edge. 

“What do you need?” He said, filter flickering in and out of his voice as static grew around you. If asked, you’d say the static was caressing your skin though how that was possible, you’d have no idea. 

“You,” He felt so good, it was hard to think. 

“Fuck,” you pulled against the shadows as he laughed at you.

“Need to touch,” You begged as static seemed to rise and fall around you with every brutal thrust. “Please. Please, Al- Alastor, Please. I want to, I need to touch you. Please.” 

Tears were falling from your eyes, sparkling in the dim light of the room as Alastor leaned in, pushing your leg toward your chest. He reached deeper with each of his thrusts now, the head of his cock bullying your cervix harshly.

Blood dripped onto your chest from the wound on your calf but you didn’t care. You couldn’t care. He was so close now, folding you in half. You could feel the warmth of his body, so close and yet you could only touch him how he allowed, where he pressed his body into you. 

“I suppose,” He said after a hum, broken by nearly inaudible groan as your core fluttered around him with promise, “Since you’ve begged so prettily.” 

The shadows around your body dematerialized, turning to smoke as your arms sagged. The joints ached, from wrist to shoulder, it felt like they creaked as they moved. Yet you didn’t hesitate for a moment as your palms went to his arms.

Strong arms covered in well worn, soft fabric supported him. The muscles hidden from view felt strong as steel under your touch. 

“Is that what you wanted?” Alastor’s face was so close to yours now, you were drowning in him. 

“Yes, God, yes.” Close. You were so close now. His chest was firm and you wanted so badly to slip the buttons free. The idea of exposing more of him alone was near enough to send you feral, not that you had enough space or power to act on it. 

“I am your God here.” Blasphemous words fell from his blood tinged lips. “I am your God now. Only me.” 

He shifted his weight to one arm, large palm freed to run up your chest, smearing the spilled blood, only to wrap frighteningly tight around your throat. This shouldn’t turn you on as much as it did. The moan that spilled from your lips felt like it was born in your core, the sound rich and deep.

“Say it.” He shifted, rubbing his pubic bone and the hair that cushioned his cock against your clit, providing stimulation that had been missing for so long. “Say it and I’ll let you cum undone on my cock. Say it and I’ll give you the privilege of touching me while I...” 

Radio filter dropped in and out as he spoke, each dip in the filter was met with a caressing rise of the static, as if to try and distract you from the sound of his naked voice. 

“Oh my G-” You choked the word off even as his hand tightened around your throat. “Fuck, Alastor.” 

Lips kissed your shoulder as he leaned into you more, folding you even tighter. Sharp nips and soft kisses traced your jaw, just above where his fingers gripped. 

“Again,” He demanded, nipping your jaw as you tightened around him, dancing on the edge of a loaded spring. 

You ran your hands up his chest, along his shoulders as he demanded you say his name, that you call him a God. You held onto his shoulder for dear life- dear afterlife? Fuck, you couldn’t think. 

Finally, as your hand trailed up the back of his neck, you were rewarded with the feeling of skin under your hand. Soft skin burned under your fingers. The short hairs of his undercut were soft under your finger tips.

“Please, Alastor. Fuck, my god. You, you’re my god. Whatever you want. Please, please.”

You hadn’t expected him to kiss you but he cut your pleas off with his lips. He fucked you hard and fast, pounding you into the mattress without mercy as you tasted your blood on his tongue. 

Each time his hips slammed into you, he ground himself into your clit. 

“Mine,” He whispered as a perfectly placed thrust sent you flying off the cliff. 

You moaned deeply as you fluttered around him. Your legs pushed against the immovable wall that was Alastor as his name fell from your lips in a unholy prayer. 

“Mine.” He said again, voice naked as his power swelled around him. Shadows danced. Static swelled as dim lights flickered then died, leaving them cast in firelight alone. 

You could feel him twitch inside you as he slammed home with such force as to knock the air right out of your lungs. His grip flexed around your neck as he bit down on your lip, spilling blood into your mouth that he eagerly lapped up. 

“Mine,” He whispered, a look you could only describe as insane dancing in his eyes as he looked down at you. You struggled to take a breath as he twitched, the last spurts of his seed deposited deep inside of you. 

You gasped his name as he licked up the trail of blood that had run down your lip and jaw. 

“Mine and, ma chérie-” He said again. For the first time, true fear that you had made a deadly mistake in your hasty deal, “I do not share.” 

~~~~~<3

Tag list: @the-shark-named-sharon, @intensityofchaos, @xalygator, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @chibistar45

[dandelions-143]

Double Penetration - Chan & Felix

Kinktober Masterlist

HAPPY HALLOWEEN STAY!!

Word Count: 3680

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Explicit sexual content, Strong language, Adult themes, Consensual group sexual activity,Mild BDSM elements

A/n: I HAD SO MUCH FUN WITH THESE!! THANK YOU ALL FOR READING AND SUPPORTING ME. I HOPE YOU LIKE MORE OF MY WORKS IN THE FUTURE.

No summary just smut under the cut

The steam from the steam room enveloped you in a warm, comforting embrace after your invigorating swimming session with Chan. Droplets of condensation clung to your skin, creating a shimmering effect in the dim light. You were perched on one of the smooth, heated stone benches, your bare skin protected only by a plush white towel wrapped snugly around your body.

Chan sat next to you, his muscular frame relaxed against the wall. His abs were a work of art, each defined ridge and valley casting intricate shadows in the misty air. Droplets of condensation clung to his bronzed skin, accentuating the curves and contours of his chiseled physique. A white towel was secured precariously low around his narrow waist, drawing attention to the tantalizing v-line disappearing beneath the fabric. The towel clung to his form, outlining the impressive bulge beneath and leaving very little to the imagination. His broad shoulders and well-defined pectorals glistened in the dim light, inviting your gaze to linger and appreciate every sculpted inch of his body.

The quiet hiss of steam escaping from the vents and the occasional melodic drip of water were the only sounds breaking the comfortable silence between you two. The air was thick with humidity, carrying the faint scent of eucalyptus from the essential oils added to the steam. You couldn't help but steal glances at Chan's toned body, feeling a mix of admiration and something more... primal. Your eyes traced the lines of his collarbones, down to his chest, and along that damned tv-cut of his hips.. you loved tracing those taught lines of his with your tongue.

The heat was making you both drowsy, your eyelids feeling heavy as you basked in the warmth. Yet, there was an undeniable tension in the air, thick as the steam surrounding you. It crackled with unspoken desire, making your skin tingle with anticipation. The close proximity of your bodies, barely clothed and glistening with moisture, only heightened the sensual atmosphere of the steam room.

Suddenly, the door to the steam room creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped in. It was Felix, his lithe body glistening with droplets of water from the pool. Where Chan's physique was all raw power and bulging muscles, Felix's was a study in lean elegance. His slender frame was adorned with subtle, well-defined muscles that rippled gracefully beneath his skin with each movement. His blonde hair was slicked back, revealing his sharp jawline and piercing eyes, a stark contrast to Chan's darker features and broader face.

As Felix entered, the scent of his cologne mingled with the eucalyptus-infused steam, creating an intoxicating aroma. His towel hung low on his narrow hips, accentuating his slim waist and the delicate v-line leading downwards - a more subtle version of Chan's pronounced obliques. While Chan's presence commanded attention with his sheer size and strength, Felix's allure was in his fluid grace and the quiet confidence that seemed to radiate from his very being.

Felix's eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight of you and Chan, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. His gaze lingered on Chan's muscular frame before sliding over to you, his expression a mix of surprise and intrigue. "Oh sorry, guys. I can come back," he said, his voice low and husky. He started to turn and leave, his towel shifting dangerously low on his hips, revealing the dimples on his lower back.

"No, no, please join us," you said, your voice a little huskier than usual. The steam seemed to thicken as Felix hesitated for a moment, his hand still on the door handle. You could see the internal debate playing out on his face - the desire to stay warring with his sense of propriety.

After what felt like an eternity, Felix stepped fully into the room, letting the door close behind him with a soft click. He settled on the bench opposite you and Chan, his towel riding even lower. The air crackled with an electric tension as the three of you exchanged heated glances, the small space suddenly feeling much more intimate. You could hear the quickening of breaths, see the rise and fall of chests, feel the palpable energy pulsing between you.

You were not exactly dating Chan, but you did share a sexual friendship that had developed naturally over time. You adored him and Felix, being best friends with them both was the best thing that had ever happened to you. Chan was all raw power and intensity, his touch always igniting a fire within you. And even though sex with Chan was amazing and it was something that didn't seem to mess with your friendship, you always had a wandering eye for Felix.

Felix was beautiful in a different way - all graceful lines and gentle strength. His kind nature and infectious laughter made him irresistible. Those qualities just made him even more attractive than he already was. As you sat there, caught between these two incredible men, you felt a surge of desire and anticipation. The steam room had suddenly become a crucible of unspoken longings and possibilities.

You didn't know if it was the heat or your own sexual frustration, but you decided to make a daring move. With deliberate slowness, you shifted towards Chan, your eyes locked on his. The air between you crackled with tension as you leaned in, your lips barely brushing against his. Chan's breath hitched, his body tensing in anticipation.

With a seductive smirk playing on your lips, you closed the distance, pressing your mouth firmly against his. Chan responded immediately, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that matched your own. His hands, however, remained at his sides, likely out of respect for Felix's presence. The kiss deepened, your tongue teasing along the seam of Chan's lips, silently begging for entry.

As you pulled back, you could feel Felix's gaze burning into you, but you kept your eyes fixed on Chan. "It's okay," you whispered, your voice husky with desire. "Put your hands on me." Chan's eyes darkened with lust, understanding the unspoken permission in your words. You both knew about your crush on Felix, and the openness of your relationship allowed for this moment of shared intimacy.

This time, when your lips met, the kiss was electric. Your tongues tangled together in a sensual dance, exploring and tasting. Chan's hand slowly slid up your thigh, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His fingers dipped beneath your towel, gripping your bare ass with a possessiveness that made you moan into his mouth. The sound of your pleasure echoed in the steamy room, mingling with the soft rustle of movement as Felix shifted in his seat.

Breaking the kiss, you turned to see Felix adjusting his towel, his eyes wide and dark with unmistakable desire. "Um, sorry," he mumbled, his accent thicker than usual, betraying his arousal. The sight of him, flustered and clearly affected by what he'd witnessed, sent a fresh wave of heat through your body.

With a newfound boldness, you stood up and made your way over to Felix. Your movements were deliberate, almost predatory. "Don't be sorry," you purred, your voice dripping with invitation. "I'm not." With those words, you allowed your towel to fall away, pooling at your feet.

Felix's eyes widened, his gaze traveling slowly down your exposed body, lingering on every curve and contour. The desire in his eyes was unmistakable, a smoldering heat that matched the steam room's intensity. His chest heaved, each breath coming faster and more labored as he drank in the sight of you. You could almost feel the weight of his gaze on your skin, sending shivers down your spine despite the warmth surrounding you.

With deliberate slowness, you reached out, your fingers brushing against Felix's hands. His skin was warm and slightly damp from the steam, the touch sending sparks of electricity through your body. You entwined your fingers with his, feeling the slight tremble in his hands. With gentle insistence, you pulled him to his feet, bringing your bodies closer together. The air between you crackled with tension, thick with unspoken desire and the promise of what was to come.

Your heart raced as you guided Felix's hands to your hips, his touch hesitant at first, then growing more confident as he cupped your curves. The warmth of his palms against your bare skin sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. Felix's breath hitched audibly, his eyes darting between you and Chan, seeking silent permission. Chan's gaze was dark with desire, a mix of encouragement and his own arousal evident in his expression as he nodded almost imperceptibly.

With that unspoken agreement, Felix pulled you closer, his towel slipping dangerously low on his hips. You could feel the hard planes of his body pressing against yours, the heat of his skin searing through the minimal barrier between you. His arousal was evident, pressing insistently against your lower abdomen, making your breath catch in your throat.

Unable to resist any longer, your lips found Felix's in a passionate kiss. It was electric, sending shockwaves through your body as your mouths moved together. His lips were soft yet demanding, his tongue teasing along the seam of your mouth before delving inside. The steam swirled around your entwined bodies, adding an ethereal quality to the moment. You could taste the faint hint of chlorine from the pool on his lips, mixed with something uniquely Felix.

Chan watched with heated interest, his own desire evident in the way his muscles tensed and relaxed, in the darkening of his eyes. As if drawn by an invisible force, he stood and approached, his movements fluid and predatory. You broke the kiss with Felix, breathless and dizzy with want, and reached out to pull Chan closer. He came willingly, his strong hands immediately finding purchase on your hips.

Chan's touch was different from Felix's - where Felix was exploratory and almost reverent, Chan was possessive and sure. His hands slid over the curve of your ass, squeezing firmly and eliciting a soft moan from your lips. Then his fingers trailed up your sides, the feather-light touch a stark contrast to the firm grip he had moments ago. Every brush of his fingertips sent shivers racing across your skin, goosebumps rising in their wake despite the heat of the room.

As Chan's plump lips found your shoulder, he began to kiss a heated line across your skin. Each press of his lips felt like a brand, marking you as his even as Felix stood before you. The dual sensations of Chan's mouth on your shoulder and Felix's body pressed against yours were intoxicating, making your head spin with pleasure.

Felix, not to be outdone, resumed his attentions with renewed vigor. His kisses were deep and passionate, his tongue tangling with yours in a sensual dance. His hands held tight to your curvy hips, fingers digging in just enough to be on the pleasurable side of pain. You could feel his hard length pressing insistently against your lower stomach, the heat of it searing even through the thin towel.

Suddenly, Chan's hand tangled in your hair, gently but firmly pulling your head back. The slight sting sent a jolt of pleasure through you as he angled your face towards him. His lips crashed against yours, the kiss deep and demanding, a stark contrast to Felix's earlier gentleness. Felix, undeterred, let his lips trail down your newly exposed throat. He kissed and nipped at the sensitive skin, drawing gasps and moans from you that Chan swallowed in his kiss.

Your hand, seemingly with a mind of its own, slid down Felix's toned abdomen. You felt his muscles jump under your touch as your fingers dipped below his towel, wrapping around his length. Felix let out a deep, guttural moan against your throat as you gave him a teasing squeeze, the sound vibrating through your body and stoking the fire building within you.

The steam room was filled with the sounds of your shared passion - heavy breathing, soft moans, and the occasional gasp of pleasure. The air was thick not just with steam now, but with the heady scent of arousal and the electric charge of three bodies on the brink of ecstasy. As you stood there, caught between Chan and Felix, you knew that this was only the beginning of what promised to be an unforgettable encounter.

The combination of sensations was overwhelming - Chan's firm grip in your hair sent tingles down your scalp, while Felix's eager lips on your throat left a trail of fire. Your own hand explored Felix's arousal, feeling it throb and pulse beneath your touch. Your body trembled with desire as you stood between them, their hard bodies pressing against you from both sides. The steam seemed to intensify every sensation, making your skin hypersensitive to their caresses. Every brush of their fingers, every press of their lips felt magnified tenfold, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Felix, pick her up," Chan commanded, his voice low and husky, barely audible over the hiss of steam. Despite the softness of his tone, it was unmistakably a command. Felix complied without hesitation, his strong hands gripping your thighs as he lifted you effortlessly. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your core pressing against his hardness. You let out an audible gasp as Felix entered you without warning, his thick length stretching your slick walls perfectly. The sudden fullness made your head spin with pleasure, your nails digging into his shoulders as you adjusted to his size.

Chan moved behind you, his hands caressing your back with a feather-light touch that contrasted beautifully with Felix's firm grip. You felt Chan's fingers tracing down your spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake despite the heat of the room. The anticipation built as you felt Chan's hardness pressing against your ass, his breath hot and heavy on your neck. Chan then spit into his open palm before slowly rubbing your entrance, making sure you were completely wet and ready for him. With a gentle yet insistent push, he entered you from behind, causing you to cry out in ecstasy as both men filled you completely. The sensation of being stretched and filled so thoroughly was unlike anything you'd ever experienced before, pleasure bordering on the edge of pain in the most delicious way.

Chan's hands snaked around you, one helping Felix support your weight while the other caressed and played with your breasts. His fingers teased your nipples, rolling and pinching them gently, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. The sensation of being filled by both men was overwhelming, sending waves of intense pleasure through your entire body. You moaned loudly, your head falling back onto Chan's shoulder as Felix and Chan began to move in tandem. Their rhythmic thrusts were perfectly synchronized, each push and pull sending jolts of ecstasy through you. Felix would withdraw slightly only for Chan to thrust deeper, creating a constant, mind-blowing stimulation. The steam room echoed with the sounds of your shared passion - skin against skin, breathless moans, and whispered praises. The heat amplified every touch, every sensation, turning your skin into an oversensitive map of pleasure points that they seemed determined to explore thoroughly.

"So tight, baby," Chan mumbled against your neck, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. His teeth grazed your sensitive skin, alternating between gentle nibbles and soothing kisses. The contrast of sensations made you gasp, your body arching into his touch.

Felix's forehead was pressed against yours, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure. You could feel the tremors running through his body as he struggled to maintain control. His breath came in short, sharp pants, mingling with your own in the small space between your faces. The intimacy of the moment was almost overwhelming.

The feeling of both men inside you was indescribable. Their bodies, hot and slick with sweat, pressed against you from both sides. Every movement sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. Chan's chest rubbed against your back, his skin sliding smoothly against yours in the steam-filled room. Felix's abs flexed with each thrust, the defined muscles rippling under your touch.

You could feel yourself rapidly approaching the edge. Your body trembled uncontrollably, every nerve ending alight with sensation. Each perfectly timed thrust brought you closer and closer to release. The coil of tension in your lower abdomen wound tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. You clung to both men desperately, your nails digging into Felix's shoulders and your head thrown back against Chan's chest as you teetered on the brink of ecstasy.

"Y/N, you feel even better than I imagined. So perfect," Felix growled, his deep voice huskier than ever, the vibrations of his words reverberated through your chest. His breath was hot against your ear, each exhale a testament to his mounting pleasure. Chan picked up his pace, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more urgent. Felix, ever in sync, matched Chan's rhythm perfectly, creating a delicious friction that had you seeing stars.

Chan's hand, which had been teasing and caressing your breast, now slid up your body with deliberate slowness. His fingers traced a path along your collarbone, leaving goosebumps in their wake, before finally wrapping around your throat. He didn't squeeze, but the firm grip held you in place, a silent assertion of his dominance that made your pulse quicken. The pressure of his palm against your racing pulse point added an extra layer of intensity to the already overwhelming sensations.

"Felix... Chan... oh god," you moaned, your voice breathy and desperate. The words tumbled from your lips in a litany of pleasure as you felt your orgasm building, a tidal wave of ecstasy threatening to crash over you at any moment. Your body moved instinctively, hips rolling and grinding, chasing the mounting pleasure. Every nerve ending felt electrified, every touch magnified tenfold in the steamy air of the room.

The coil of tension in your lower abdomen wound tighter and tighter with each perfectly timed thrust. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge of release, your inner walls clenching rhythmically around both men. The dual stimulation was almost too much to bear, pleasure bordering on the edge of sweet agony. Felix hissed in slight pain as your grip intensified on his shoulders, your moans and whimpers turning into soft cries of ecstasy.

The tension in your body reached its crescendo as the combined sensations overwhelmed you. With a loud cry, your orgasm crashed over you in intense waves. Your inner walls clenched around both men, drawing them deeper as your body shuddered with pleasure. Chan and Felix groaned in unison, their movements becoming more erratic as they pursued their own release.

Felix was the first to succumb, his hips faltering as he spilled deep inside you with a guttural moan. The sensation of his release triggered Chan's climax, and you felt him pulse within you, his grip on your throat tightening slightly as he rode out his orgasm.

The air was filled with a symphony of loud, unashamed moans and cries from all three of you, echoing off the tiled walls of the steam room. Your bodies, slick with sweat and the humidity of the room, remained pressed together as you came down from your collective high. You could feel their cum mixing with your own juices inside you, threatening to drip down your thighs at any moment. The sensation was deliciously dirty, a physical reminder of the intense pleasure you had just shared. The three of you remained intertwined, panting heavily as the steam swirled around your spent bodies, the air thick with the heady scent of sex and satisfaction.

Felix kissed your lips tenderly, his soft lips caressing yours with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the intensity of your previous encounter. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to send a shiver down your spine before he released it. "Wow..." he breathed out, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with awe and satisfaction.

As the afterglow enveloped you, a warm, tingling sensation spreading through your body, Chan carefully withdrew. The sudden emptiness made you gasp softly. Felix, still supporting your weight, gently lowered you to your feet. Your legs trembled, feeling like jelly, and both men instinctively moved to steady you. Chan's strong hand found the small of your back, while Felix's arm wrapped around your waist. Their touch, once burning with passion, now radiated comfort and care.

The steam room, which had moments ago been filled with the sounds of your shared passion, now felt transformed. The air was thick not just with steam, but with a new energy - a palpable intimacy that seemed to connect the three of you. The tiles beneath your feet, the bench where this all began, even the very air you breathed seemed charged with the secret you now shared.

Felix's eyes, usually bright and playful, now held a depth of emotion that took your breath away. They sparkled with a blend of satisfaction, newfound intimacy, and something that looked suspiciously like adoration. His gaze flicked between you and Chan, a soft smile playing on his lips. That smile spoke volumes - of the pleasure you'd shared, of the boundaries you'd crossed together, and of the unspoken bond that now existed between the three of you. In that moment, surrounded by steam and wrapped in the arms of these two incredible men, you felt a sense of completeness you'd never experienced before.

Taglist:

@rylea08 @syedazarintasnim @cashtonsbetch @pasaatimonarkin @tzeweiii05 @sincerely-sun @moonchild9350 @athforskz @babigriin @seunmong-in @cookiesandcreammy @rockstarkkami @bangchans-angel @salemluvsmusic @seungmincenteric @kpflyn @iovecb97 @juskz @sadrosessing @fawnpeaks @galaxy4489 @chuuyaobsessed @tirena1 @tsunderelino @kissesmellow21 @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @nightmarenyxx @simpforleeknaur @ririwhiskers @satosugu4l @mihoonz @redlightsrachaaa @mintymintmint251 @velvetmoonlght @minniesverse @everythingboutkpop @yaorzu-blog

[millyh23]

Greece with a Side of Murphy’s Law

Alessia Russo x Reader

word count:

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Alessia had poured herself into planning this trip, hoping for a dream holiday in the sun-soaked beaches of Greece, where she and Y/N could finally unwind from their busy schedules. But things took a bad turn as soon as they stepped into the airport.

They were running late—very late.

“Less, come on! We’re going to miss our flight!” Y/N called over her shoulder, passport clutched in her hand as she power-walked to the security line. Alessia rushed behind, arms loaded with bags, almost tripping over her own feet.

“We’ll make it! I swear!” Alessia gasped, but as they neared the gate, dread washed over her.

The gate was closed.

They watched helplessly through the glass as their plane began to pull away from the terminal. Alessia dropped her bags and slumped onto a seat.

“No, no, no,” she muttered, eyes wide as if sheer disbelief might change the situation. “I booked this months ago.”

Y/N settled next to her, nudging her gently. “It’s okay, Less. This happens…right?”

After hours of rescheduling and waiting for a new flight, they finally boarded. Alessia fell asleep before the plane even left the ground, exhaustion from the morning’s disaster finally catching up to her. Y/N, on the other hand, couldn’t help but stare at the ceiling, wondering if this was a foreshadowing of the trip to come.

They arrived in Greece after a bumpy flight, the hot air blasting them as they stepped out of the airport and into the sun-drenched chaos of Athens. Alessia fished out her confirmation email and gave Y/N a confident nod.

“Alright, nothing but smooth sailing from here,” she declared.

“Sure, Captain,” Y/N teased, grabbing her hand. “Lead the way.”

They arrived at the hotel, bags in hand, ready to finally drop everything and relax. Alessia approached the check-in desk, confident and beaming.

“Hi, checking in under Russo,” she said, sliding over her ID with a winning smile. “Alessia Russo.”

The receptionist scanned the screen, frowning slightly. “Hmm… I see your reservation, Ms. Russo, but it looks like it’s not for this property. It’s for our branch in Lisbon.”

Alessia blinked, her face going pale. “Lisbon? Lisbon in…Portugal?”

The receptionist nodded, tapping at the keyboard. “Yes, unfortunately. It seems this booking is for our Portuguese location.”

Y/N covered her mouth, looking at Alessia with wide eyes. Alessia was at a complete loss, staring at the receptionist as if she’d just told her she’d booked a hotel on the moon.

“Well, can we…maybe book a room here?” Alessia asked, her voice almost pleading.

The receptionist checked. “We do have one room left, but it’s a standard double, not quite the ocean-view suite you booked in Portugal…”

“That’s fine! We’ll take it.” Alessia handed over her card, trying to save face. Y/N squeezed her hand, clearly trying not to laugh.

Once they finally made it to their room, Alessia tossed her bags onto the floor and collapsed onto the bed.

“Not exactly the suite I planned,” she muttered, cheeks red.

“It’s fine, Less. A bed’s a bed,” Y/N replied, flopping down beside her.

They decided to unpack a little to settle in, hoping things would start looking up. But as Y/N opened her suitcase, a frown crossed her face.

“Uh…Less?” she began slowly, pulling out a pair of trousers that were definitely not hers. “Why does my suitcase have someone else’s clothes?”

Alessia whipped around, staring at the suitcase in horror. “No. No way.”

As they dug through the bags, they discovered that neither of them had the right suitcase. Instead of swimsuits, sandals, and summer clothes, they had a random assortment of business suits, formal shoes, and a toiletry bag with initials that were definitely not theirs.

“We…grabbed the wrong suitcases.” Y/N held up a shirt with a defeated sigh.

“Oh my god.” Alessia sank to her knees. “How could this get any worse?”

She felt around for her phone, hoping to call the airport. But her phone was missing. She looked up at Y/N, whose face was turning pale.

“Where’s your phone?” Alessia asked, panic creeping into her voice.

Y/N’s hand shot to her empty pocket, and a horrifying realization dawned on her. “The taxi…”

Both of their phones were still sitting in the back seat of the taxi they’d taken from the airport.

“So…we have no clothes, no phones, and we’re in the wrong hotel,” Y/N summarized, trying to keep a straight face. She looked at Alessia, who was wide-eyed, and burst out laughing. “This is turning into the best holiday ever.”

Alessia buried her face in her hands, groaning, “I wanted to give you the perfect trip, and now we’re living in a sitcom.”

Y/N wrapped her arms around Alessia, pulling her close. “It’s perfect because I’m here with you,” she teased, pressing a soft kiss to Alessia’s temple. “Besides, we’ll laugh about this one day, right?”

Alessia couldn’t help but chuckle, finally leaning into Y/N’s embrace. “Only if we survive this.”

Alessia paced around the small hotel room, biting her lip as she surveyed the disaster around them: unfamiliar business attire spilling out of the wrong suitcases, the single hotel bed that wasn’t quite the dreamy suite she’d imagined, and their lack of phones.

“Okay, we need a plan,” Alessia muttered. “We can’t just sit here doing nothing.”

Y/N, sprawled across the bed with an exasperated look, held up the hotel room phone. “We could try calling someone?”

“Like who? Everyone’s away on their own little trips,” Alessia replied, but a small glint of hope flickered in her eyes.

“What about Katie?” Y/N suggested. “i think she said something about taking Cait to greece during the break, and I’m sure she’d love the excuse to make fun of us for this.”

With a smirk, Alessia took the phone and dialed the number she knew by heart. After a few rings, a familiar voice crackled on the other end.

“Hello?” came Katie’s slightly groggy voice.

“Katie, it’s Alessia,” she said, her voice a mix of desperation and relief.

“Less? Where the hell are you calling from?” Katie’s voice perked up, clearly curious.

“Long story short, we missed our flight, we’re in the wrong country, and we have someone else’s suitcases. Oh, and our phones are somewhere in a taxi. We need help,” Alessia admitted, holding back laughter at how ridiculous it sounded all put together.

The silence on the other end lasted for a second, and then came a loud burst of laughter.

“Oh my god, you two! Only you could turn a holiday into the plot of a rom-com!” Katie laughed. “Alright, I’m coming to get you. What hotel are you at?”

Alessia fumbled with the keycard and relayed the name of the place, barely managing to pronounce it through her nervous giggles. “We’re…at some budget hotel, Katie. It’s not what I had planned, trust me.”

“I bet it’s not. But hey, look on the bright side,” Katie teased, “at least you two are safe and sound, right? And now we can finally go on that double date you guys have been avoiding”

Katie promised to sort everything out,for the price of an all expenses paid boujie double dinner date, and after an hour of waiting and a few more laughs, Alessia and Y/N spotted her at the hotel entrance, an unmistakable smirk on her face as she spotted them.

“Alright, you two clowns, hop in,” she said, patting the hood of her rented car. “And let’s salvage whatever’s left of this holiday.”

As they piled into the car, Katie handed them each a phone she’d picked up from a nearby shop. “Prepaid. Just in case you two lose them again,” she said with a wink.

They made a quick detour to grab clothes and essentials from a local store, Katie playfully holding up outrageous outfits to make them laugh.

As they finally arrived at a beach resort she’d booked last-minute, Katie sighed, grinning at the relieved looks on their faces. “See? Nothing a bit of Irish luck can’t fix. Now go relax.”

Alessia and Y/N wrapped her in a grateful hug, unable to contain their laughter. Katie smirked, pretending to brush them off, but the warmth in her eyes gave her away.

“Go on, enjoy your holiday, you goofs,” she said with a chuckle.

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The End

[dhampling]

both free gn!reader, 2.1k

The first thing Astarion notes is that the blood scent weeping from every pore of your broken body is no longer familiar. It rots. 

A burning stench, charred and sour as it licks the back of his nose. 

A few moments of petrified silence before his feet carry him to you. 

-

you reject bhaal's greatest gift and pay with your life. to this, your horrified love bears witness.

word count: 2,105

a massive THANK YOU to @scarstothepast for sending this request my way - i hope it does your idea justice <3

as always, read the tags and decide your fate!

-

Mutilation. 

Reduced to nothing but a flaccid gasp of your former self; a marionette in your father’s horrid hand.

Mangled beyond recognition. Bhaal’s rotten plaything. His prodigal children, both dead. 

Far past any conceivable beg for reconciliation. 

Naught but a smack as your carcass plummets to stone.

-

The Bhaalist temple is ripe, unsurprisingly. 

The smell of a weeping wound seeps from every porous surface. Infection in the mortar, decay in the miry ridges lining the floor; burning flesh amidst flame torches and wails in the middle distance akin to an abattoir. 

Yet, Astarion finds comfort there solely in your confidence. Your conviction. Your will to want for better, to reject your savage bloodline. The power you command over that innate desire to harm. 

You’ve prepared well for this encounter. You’re aware of the risks, you’ve scoped out the entrance to Orin’s rancid shrine; and you’ve gathered appropriate accomplices from your rooms in the Elfsong to assist you in rescuing the one of you held in her clutches.

He should be a little wary. A little skittish. Observant, always; but there should be a little rattle in his brain telling him to hold back from the rest of you. 

The self-preservation instinct developed over two centuries in captivity simply isn’t there.

He’s free, because of you. 

He wants to rip the windpipe from the changeling’s throat with his bare teeth. 

Stalk her chanting cultists from the shadowy ledges surrounding their sacrificial altar and shoot off innumerable Arrows of Many Targets at their vile heads. He - personally - wants to eviscerate any Bhaalist visage presented to you with brutal slash upon brutal slash until he is positively covered in putrid god-guts and wailing in victory.

A twirl of his dagger. The easy click of his disarm tools. A wink in your direction.

Astarion will save you the way you saved him.

He remembers the way you looked at him with the most hells-bent fury during the Ritual of Profane Ascension, ripped from your side and thrown aloft by Cazador’s wicked pact magic. The resolute wrath with which you slashed your way through the monstrosities between you. Pulling him from Cazador’s circle, his daggers returned; a rage so formidable in your eyes he almost wanted to sink to his knees and propose to you there and then. 

You wanted better for him. Better than perpetuating the vicious cycle of abuse starting all those centuries ago with Eravask the Forebear to his very own master.

Master.

He is better. 

He is capable of so much more than the brief wavering moment in that foulest of Dungeons, in which he wanted the most grossly depraved of powers for himself. Every single moment of agony, terror; torment, hunger - the way with which you so effusively confronted his paralysing fears and talked him from the brink; from becoming that very same monster in his moment of sheer dread.

You hop with a determined gait down the towering stairs to the walkway. Entrance in sight. Astarion stalks ahead and moves to disarm the trapped plates in your path.

The two of you have spoken about this moment many times, sequestered away in a corner in the Elfsong by candlelight. A bottle of Firewine and tears threatening to brim in your eyes.

You once were a master. Your freak of a demon butler cast in role seemingly as your very own Godey. You have no recollection of it, those you killed in your father’s name, nor how you did it; but the weight of those souls indeterminate in number is abject torture. There is no forgiveness for you. No hope, no conclusion. Just a wide and wavering path to redemption you can never be sure you’ll justly earn.

That awful, plagued creature you were. The night you softly awoke with Scleritas above you and that primal urge to kill the one closest to you through your whole adventure so far. Holding back. Warning him.

The way he sat and spoke with you, smoothed your hair as you bit furiously at his wrists and spat his name with such evil spite. Unafraid of you, no matter the threat. 

Two beasts in tandem.

-

Orin is horrifying in appearance. Pale, skin writhing with blue vein-like whips across her white flesh; armour of crimson jerky and eyes empty.

Lips smacking in wily delight. Bloodkin. Bloodkin. 

Astarion watches your confrontation prior to the conflict he knows is to come. He’ll get his moment to brutalise every single one of these sadists, but this is yours.

The ritual sacrifice is spared through your recollection of Bhaal’s terms - you were the one challenged, not your accomplice. 

These terms also mean your fight will be one on one. You versus her. 

Astarion’s face falls.

Fuck.

However, he takes solace in the fact that he’s come to know your expressions well through your adventures together. Your innate ability to stay one step ahead is what has carried you so far in the first place. 

She taunts you, yapping, pointing, aggrandizing; at one point even shifting into you. If the circumstances weren’t so dire he’d probably make a joke about what a fun evening could be had with such a skill. 

You remain stoic, mapping out the environment and taking stock of what you can use as leverage. He simply watches you with a mixture of trepidation and admiration resting uneasy in his gut.

"Come to me, Father. Set my flesh to your unholy purpose."

The most grotesque monstrosity replaces Orin. The Slayer. 

Astarion watches on as the duel begins.

In light of having prior defeated the undead Visage of Myrkul, Orin alone isn’t a formidable enemy. Your battle-strengthened dexterity is unmatched and with each attempt the current favoured of Bhaal makes to injure you, you simply strengthen your position and hit her harder.

It’s almost enjoyable to watch the two of you dance.

While not easy, it certainly isn’t difficult to gain the upper hand with each attack you make. 

The Slayer is almost… clumsy?

Too large to aim her lunges with precision, you dodge her at most turns. Your party watches with baited breath, but small smiles begin to edge onto their weary faces.

The rabid dog and the acrobat. 

Each hit you strike weakens her substantially. While she does get some vantage on you and causes a little damage by the sacrificial altar, her limbs in this form are too spindly and make for stupidly easy targets to focus your attacks. 

Within minutes, the imposing figure is reduced to little but a pile of gore on the floor.

Among the foetid viscera that once was the changeling you immediately drop to search for her Netherstone-jewelled dagger. Bloodthirst. Hands heavy with still-warm organs as you retrieve your winnings, blood soaking every inch of exposed flesh on your arms. You throw your spoils to the side and hold the altar key to your chest.

A pair of arms wraps around you from behind, startling you for the briefest moment.

Astarion.

“Gods. You idiot! You are positively deranged! You knew that would happen, didn’t you? Did you bring us along just to watch?!” He grins.

Your own smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You turn to embrace him fully. 

The rest of your party traipse across the tides of blood toward you.

“I had a feeling it might.”

You rest your head on his shoulder in the newborn silence of the temple, tossing the altar key in the vague direction of your party as your hands bloody his armour in a reverent grasp. 

“I love you. I just - I love you! You insane thing. You did it!” He laughs loudly, ecstatic.

You see your friends behind him, your eyes meeting theirs in a downcast stare. A nod of understanding.

“I love you.’

You sigh into his chest, splaying your fingers as if to hold more of him.

‘It’s not over yet.”

He pulls away and looks at you, lifting your head softly so your eyes meet his. His neck juts a little.

“Hm?”

His brow quirks inquisitively. The wail of victory depletes into a quivering hum.

-

The first thing Astarion notes is that the blood scent weeping from every pore of your broken body is no longer familiar. It rots. 

A burning stench, charred and sour as it licks the back of his nose. 

A few moments of petrified silence before his feet carry him to you. 

The Visage of Bhaal is gone. 

Your flesh operates as little more than a bag of broken bones, skull cracked and limbs fractured almost beyond recognition. Eyes wide open but unmistakably dead.

He hears your two accomplices bicker in the background as the multiple Scrolls of Revivify retrieved from your pack fail to glow near your remains. They don’t make sense. This doesn’t make sense. Their shouts are crisp in the silence of the temple. Brash. Disturbing. 

There should be more noise. There should be shouting, screaming, crying. Crowds of those you’ve saved should be here petitioning whatever God sickens of their stream of bitter tears to bring you back to them.

To him. 

He can’t take his eyes off your own. Empty.

If he’d gone through with the ritual, maybe he could have saved you. Turned you. Revived you as his and kept you safe from a fate like this for the rest of eternity.

You’d have despised him for it, but it’d be ok. You’d be awake. You’d be capable of feeling with which to despise him. 

No, he mutters. Not that. Not ever. 

He is better than that.

He shifts to sit cross legged next to your corpse as your accomplices’ shouting turns to unbridled wailing. Toys with your hair gently so as not to disturb the broken skull below the flesh and whispers to you softly.

“You silly thing. I know you’re still in there, aren’t you? I hope you know how much I love you.’

A quiet, heavy wracked sob.

‘You are so magnificent, little dove. So smart. You did so, so well. I am so very proud of you.”

He doesn’t notice Withers, not until he speaks.

-

You’re fuzzy as you stand.

He’s frozen on the floor, cross legged and round-eyed. Sharp ears pinned back. 

“No.” Astarion chokes.

Your eyes are heavy. They search for him in the blur and you stumble trying to feel for him.

“Astarion?’

Your companions are paralysed. 

The stages of grief begin to unravel. 

“Astar- Astarion, I can’t see. Where are you?” You sob, reaching out blindly in front of you to search for him in the fog. 

“Oh. Oh, my love -’

He looks up at you and blinks away a flood of tears as they threaten to spill. 

‘My love. I’m here. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

His feet carry his fraught body to you once again, mindless in their pursuit of you. You’re here. You’re warm, speaking; sobbing, and here. 

Name stricken from the archives. Pulled gently into his arms the second he stepped within reach and wrapped the tightest within them you ever have been.

Your party swaddles you in the biggest hug you’ve had in your life.

Astarion doesn’t let go when they do. He buries one hand in your hair, keeps one tightly around your waist. Shakes with sobs.

“You scared me.” He mumbles, letting out a small laugh into the crook of your neck.

You neglect to mention the patch of snot and fresh wet tears now adorning his shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He whispers, playing with a lock of your hair. 

“No. I am. I am so, so sorry.”

“Seeing you like that ruined me, you know.’ He smiles shakily. 

You sob once more. 

‘I wondered why the whole of Toril wasn’t screaming for you at the moment of your death.’

He moves his head to look at you. Brings his forehead to yours. Kisses you so gently that you wonder if his lips have always felt this soft and his forlorn eyes glisten. Alive and in the arms of your lover.

‘They gave me nothing. Two hundred years of nothing. Useless wretches.’ He laughs and rolls his teary eyes. Sniffs. You smile at him with the dopiest eyes - you think - that have ever existed across the Sword Coast.

‘But the Gods listened to me this time because they knew.’

Astarion coughs. 

He smells like home - warm, spiced; familiar. Your eyes meet his now, his grasp on you still firm.  

‘You defied your father. You resisted your cruel destiny.’

Another kiss.

‘And now we’re both free.” He whispers.

Time stops for a few precious moments, a silent promise. 

No more. 

[tarotwithavi]

You from the eyes of your future lover/future spouse

Read part 1 here

How to choose a pile?

Take a deep breath and close your eyes. Kindly ask your spirit guides to show you the right pile for yourself and then open your eyes. Whichever pile catches your attention is the right pile for you.

For my female audience , I'll be using she/her pronouns in this post.

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Pile 1

When I'm with her, I feel an overwhelming sense of strength and confidence, as if I could conquer any challenge that comes my way. She embodies everything that brings me joy and fulfillment. Being in her presence makes me feel like the luckiest person in the world because I have her by my side. Her mere existence has the power to make my wildest dreams a reality. Not only does she inspire me to reach for the stars, but she also motivates me to become a better version of myself. Her influence pushes me to strive for greatness in all aspects of life. Just knowing that she is there for me, supporting me, and believing in me, helps me heal wounds that were never caused by her. Her presence alone has a transformative effect on my well-being, bringing me solace and restoration. If her love were poison, I would willingly drink it without hesitation or remorse. Such is the depth of my devotion and the extent to which I value her affection. I yearn to be of assistance to her, to be a reliable pillar she can lean on. I aspire to be her rock, her unwavering support, providing comfort and strength whenever she needs it. Being with her fills me with an indescribable sense of empowerment and joy. She is my beacon of happiness, encouraging me to strive for greatness and inspiring me to become the best version of myself. Her love and presence heal me in ways I never thought possible, and I am eager to reciprocate by being her steadfast support and ally.

Pile 2

Describing her is a challenging task, for she possesses a depth that transcends the confines of ordinary words. She carries an aura that attracts wealth and prosperity wherever she ventures, as if they were faithful companions by her side. From a distance, she appears strong and bold, yet I sense a vulnerable little girl hiding within her, fearful of the harshness this world can wield. She has distanced herself from those around her, for nobody has truly comprehended her essence. No one has made an earnest effort to unravel the intricate puzzle of her being. My deepest desire is to be the one who unravels that enigma, the person who embraces the challenge of understanding her complexities. I yearn to discover every missing piece and gently place it in its rightful position, completing the beautiful picture that is her. I want to penetrate the walls she has built, to listen to her unspoken fears and insecurities, and to offer solace and understanding. By becoming the person who comprehends her deepest self, I hope to bridge the gap between her and the world that often fails to perceive her true nature. I want to be the companion who supports her unconditionally, providing comfort and encouragement as she navigates through life's labyrinth. It is my aspiration to create an environment where she can fully express herself, knowing that she is truly seen, heard, and appreciated.

Pile 3

The moment our eyes met, I was immediately captivated by her essence, as if an invisible force had bound my heart to hers. Prior to meeting her, I had been skeptical of love at first sight, dismissing it as a mere romantic notion. However, in her presence, all doubts were washed away by the sheer brilliance of her beauty. She has bewitched me completely, leaving no room for retreat. Even if her allure leads to my demise, I would embrace it willingly, for the privilege of experiencing her presence outweighs any consequences. Her presence has an intoxicating effect on me, causing me to lose my composure in the most enchanting way. It is as if she holds the power to unravel the layers of my soul, igniting a fire within me that I cannot control. My hands yearn to touch her, to explore every corner of her body, as if searching for an uncharted territory that only she possesses. Every flaw she may perceive within herself, I view as perfect imperfections, enhancing her unique beauty and making her all the more irresistible. Words fail to fully express the depth of my admiration for her. She is a work of art, a masterpiece without blemish in my eyes. I am eager to shower her with praise, to extol every facet of her being, and to make her feel cherished beyond measure. In her presence, I find myself stripped of pretenses and laid bare, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. It is an indescribable sensation, this all-consuming affection, where reason and logic are overshadowed by an overwhelming desire to be closer to her. She has become the center of my universe, a gravitational force pulling me toward her. To love her is to lose myself willingly, surrendering to the magnetic power she holds over me.

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY IV. — FIRST TIME (STUDENT AU)

cw: Fluff, Suggestive Content, Attempt at Humor, Students but 18, Hints at Past Intimacy (Light Fondling), Kissing, Gender-Neutral Reader. 18+ Only!

author's note: I was terrified writing for Shouto because I wasn't as confident with his character. However, I had a lot of fun trying to work this fic out. I hope you enjoy it!

word count: Approximately 1.9k words.

“Well, I mean, perhaps Midoriya’s onto something. There’s absolutely no way that it could have gotten stupider, but then that one guy showed up and—” 

Shouto listens silently while you gesture for him to enter your dorm room before you follow after him, free hand waving in the air mindlessly. The door softly clicks shut behind you, so you lean your back against it to hear the full pop of its latch before you slide off your slippers. Your eyes drift to Shouto, who’s currently standing there awkwardly glancing around with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He turns his head to meet your gaze, so you smile wide and goofy. 

“You saw what happened! Can you believe that he thought I was Pro Hero: Hawks for a solid two weeks at the beginning of the school year? I could barely talk to the guy without Midoriya melting into a puddle of agony.” 

The shag carpets that cover your sticky and cold floor hiss whenever you slide across them in a faux shuffle, and you shake your head side to side to the inaudible beat. Once you get close enough to Shouto, he blinks and then glances away. 

“I think you terrorize Midoriya.” 

A gust of air sputters out of your mouth in a cackle, so you slap your hand across your face and squeeze. Your head dips in between your shoulders. 

“Look, I don’t do it on purpose. I can’t help that he couldn’t handle the sheer amount of simp power I possess. ‘Sides! How come he gets to be such a fanboy of All Might but suddenly it’s a crime whenever I try to be a villain fanboy—” 

“He thinks you’re serious.” 

Whenever you reopen your eyes, Shouto’s mismatched ones are bright and reflecting under the fading rays of sunlight fluttering into the room. Your eyes widen slightly, so you blink them back to normal and cast your focus to the side. 

“Yeah, but it’s kind of funny to tease him. Midoriya gets so riled up! Like today whenever Tetsutetsu barged into your little birthday lunch while he and Kirishima were trying to figure out where the pain goes whenever your leg gets chopped off—he—” 

A hand falls on your shoulder, so you quickly meet Shouto’s eyes again. There’s the tiniest hint of a smile across his face whenever he speaks. 

“They did pose an interesting question, didn’t they?” 

Your wail of laughter nearly flings your body back so you shake your head, shrug Shouto’s hand off, and then stumble a few paces before you flop onto your bed. It bounces underneath your weight, and your body follows its lead. Everything feels weightless for a few moments before you exaggeratedly sigh before your limbs go limp and they fall to dangle. 

“Shouto, you never fail to impress me. Now come over here and sit with me, I had promised to show you the very romantic and thrilling Velocipastor to really send your birthday off with a bang.” 

He doesn’t hesitate, but you can see his eyebrows furrowed by a fraction while he treads the distance. You watch Shouto lower himself onto the bed with a goofy grin. Shouto looks slightly uncomfortable resting on your bed, so you shimmy closer and bump your shoulder into his. You continue to lean against him, and his hair tickles your cheek a little whenever he turns his head to face you. His eyebrows have returned to normal, but now his eyes seem more reserved so you tilt your head and shift your arm to clap between his shoulder blades. 

“C’mon, what’s with that look? Don’t tell me Sero already spoiled the plot for you. I begged him not to do that.” 

Shouto’s head withdraws back a little, eyes opening for a moment before lowering again, and he barely shakes his head. 

“Yes. No. That’s not it.” 

His words sound more clipped than normal, so you start to move away from him. Shouto’s gaze follows the entire time—and if you didn’t want to sound crazy, you could swear that he attempted to follow. You squinted, clambering to sit on your relaxed haunches before you flattened your palms against the bed and hummed. 

“Okay. Tell me what’s up? If you don’t want to watch the movie, then we can just chill for the rest of the night. Or if you’re tired, it won’t hurt my feelings if you need to retire.” 

Shouto moves a little, too, drawing a leg up so that he can mimic your stance. His face doesn’t falter, so you begin to wonder what’s troubling him. You try to reflect on the day, but nothing feels off. Sure, yeah, there were a couple of things that didn’t go quite as planned—such as the Tetsutetsu incident, Bakugou showing up and doing his horrors, Kaminari and Mineta harassment—okay. You’re starting to see opportunities for Shouto to be a little bothered by the hectic dilemmas. It’s understandable, really! You don’t think he’s ever had much of a normal birthday, so you were just trying to be a swag partner and give him something sweet. However, Shouto didn’t seem all too miffed during all of the mishaps. In fact, he even smiled a couple of times, so really what is with that look? You open your mouth to speak, but Shouto is faster. 

“Sero gave me this idea yesterday, so I’ve been waiting to ask.” 

The wind gets knocked out of your puffy lungs, and you crunch a little in the middle. Well, you definitely weren’t expecting that but that’s better than him being genuinely upset. You’d probably get a little peeved at your classmates if Shouto’s birthday was ruined because then you would have to slowly implode them from their chest cavities as revenge. Your head cocks to the side, lashes fluttering and eyebrows arching. 

“Oh, okay. Don’t scare me like that, though! I was worried.” 

You then fix Shouto with a glittery smile. 

“So what do you need to ask?” 

Shouto doesn’t even bat an eye. 

“Would you like to have sex with me?” 

As it would seem, it was your head that imploded, so you straighten your posture and then fix Shouto with a serious countenance. His doesn’t even splinter, so your eyes continue squinting before you lick your suddenly dry lips. 

“Is this a joke?” 

“Why would it be?” 

You don’t falter, and neither does Shouto. Time ticks endlessly, yet you both sit here staring at one another as the sun sinks further into the horizon. Your fingers clench a little against the bed, so you slide them further up and bury them in the pit of your lap. It’s hard to tear your eyes from Shouto’s stoic expression, but you glance down at your knees and hum again. 

“Sounds odd that Sero would put that in your head earnestly. Honestly, I’m surprised it wasn’t Kaminari and Mineta.” 

Silence. 

Your shoulders sag, your eyes roll back into your head, and you toss your head back with a slight lipped moan of agony. The ceiling greets you back, gray and emotionless, and you try to piece through the thoughts zipping through your mind at a lightyear per second. Sure, yes, your boyfriend is hot—ethereally beautiful, pretty, handsome. He’s every synonym in the dictionary and more, but damn if he isn’t accidentally very blunt sometimes. And you’d be lying to yourself if you admitted that you had never thought about pushing him down onto the bed and riding him into oblivion, but you can’t believe Shouto would be the one to suggest getting freaky first. 

You are going to find Sero later and either thank him or obliterate him. 

“So I take it that you don’t want to?”

You jerk up a little, attention immediately returning to Shouto. He’s still staring at you, head slightly tilted now and eyes shining. You can’t even tell if he’d be offended or cool with you saying no, but you’re also unsure of how he’d respond if you said yes. Sero was the one who talked to him about having sex with you, so clearly Shouto must have thought about it, too, but, ohhhh. You’ve kissed him a few times, yeah, and they never really grew more passionately besides some small embraces and a thigh touch here or there. To be frank, you didn’t think Shouto even knew much about anything raunchy—but you suppose there’s only so much you can avoid whenever you hang out with a few of the guys in your class. So perhaps Shouto knows the bare, very very veryyyy bare, basics. Well. 

“I didn’t say that. No, I—Shouto, I’d, um, love to have sex with you but are you sure you’d even want to do something like that? Just because a friend suggested it doesn’t mean that you have to.” 

Shouto draws a little closer, one of his slippers slides off and tumbles to the floor with a few bass thumps. You let the sounds steal your attention, but Shouto quickly shifts his body in a way that blocks your view so you have to face him again. 

“I want to, too. It’s not just because of Sero.” 

Now staring ensues, so you swallow and then start to glance around your room. Your various knicknacks don’t offer wise words, so you have to breathe and collect them on your own. 

“Epic. I mean, we can. Here, let me just—” 

With zero grace and elegance, you start to crawl towards Shouto. He follows, carefully taking off his other slipper and then climbing onto the bed fully with you. His back rests against the wall now, and you nearly trip over yourself whenever you catch those pretty eyes of his again. Shouto looks so calm and collected, but you feel like you’re about to pop like confetti and trickle down everywhere. You have to wonder if he finds this awkward, or if he’s just going with the flow like he normally does. It’s almost intimidating how it seems like he can be solid and unbreakable even in the most dire of situations, but it’s also one of the many reasons you admire him. That realization reassures you, so you regain your senses and crawl until you're hovering near the end of Shouto’s legs. One lays bent on the bed while the other still bends over the edge.

You try not to break Shouto’s gaze before you decide to boldly start to stretch yourself between his two legs. Electricity and excitement course through your veins, and you already start to feel a little lightheaded and he hasn’t even touched you yet. Maybe it’s his heat and chill, maybe it’s the way that his face never greets your own with repulsion or annoyance, maybe it’s the way that he seems to spread his legs a little wider so that you can slot yourself perfectly in between them. He starts to lean his head back until it silently thuds against the wall while your body starts to form a canopy against his chest. 

A slight chuckle leaves your lips. 

“Tell me if you want to stop, okay?” 

One of Shouto’s hands carefully presses against the small of your back, fingers and thumbs fanned out. 

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?” 

A smile snakes across your lips before you lean in to kiss Shouto, the words a balmy whisper against his mouth. 

“You’re so cute, Shouto,” 

punctuates itself with a kiss. 

[cloudiinumaki]

thank you, darling. — satoru gojo

SCENARIO . . . — when you compliment him.

NOTES ! — i feel like i could also write this scenario for the other characters but idk if im bothered ngl

WARNINGS ! — none tbh, gender-neutral as always.

REQUESTS OPEN !

i think his reaction would be quite unsurprising, he's the strongest, after all— so of course, you'd feel like complimenting him. his reaction would be some teasing remark said in that usual cheerful and amused tone of his, because satoru gojo is nothing if not full of bravado.

he's heard so many compliments before, it's hard for this one to be particularly unique or heart-warming, but that may just be because he's not partial to compliments about his strength at all.

calling him powerful, the strongest, anything like that just feels dull in a way that's difficult to explain. he's heard it so many times before, and those words often just cross over into acknowledging his power, only reminding him of the insurmountable gap he'd tried so hard to bridge.

he'll accept the compliment in that nonchalant, arrogant way of his, but it's not as if it means much to him, honestly. if you want the compliment to actually touch him, to actually have an effect on him, it cannot be a compliment about that.

instead, compliment him about something almost mundane, like how you like it when he does some random thing. notice something that most wouldn't be bothered to pick out against all the usual confidence he exudes, and his other various talents and gifts.

those will be words he hasn't heard often, and you'll notice him still slightly as you say it, a near imperceptible thing that you notice and cherish nonetheless. telling him something like that is much more likely to have an effect on him, and his self-assured grin will widen, albeit with a more genuine look of appreciation in his cerulean blue eyes.

people weren't lying when they said that the eyes were the window to the soul.

as for when it comes to complimenting his looks, again, he's not going to lie and say that nobody's ever bothered to do so (because many have bothered, and it's been a recurring ego boost for him)— but, he will say that those same words feel warmer, more touching when it's you saying them.

like, during your late night conversations, offhandedly mentioning how pretty his eyes are as you curl up next to him, your eyes crinkling along with your gentle smile as your hand traces against the contours of his jaw. the reassuring knowledge that, as you compliment his eyes, it's not out of any calculated consideration for his six eyes ability, but instead simply appreciating it as a feature of his. appreciating it in just the same way as you appreciate his pale, ivory eyelashes, or his soft, pink lips, always seeming glossed.

faint moonlight spills into the room, past the sheer curtains that tremble slightly from the open window and cool night air, and you pull further into him subconsciously.

he should close the window, his mind reminds him, but he's not sure if he's bothered to move.

"so pretty," you murmur again softly, almost entrancing to him— as if it's just necessary that you tell him that again, no matter how much you have before. your hand falls away from tracing his jaw, and instead, you wrap your arms around him entirely, finding a comfortable position to rest properly.

from those two words, satoru can already tell you're becoming sleepier, your words more unabashed than in the day. your earlier conversation with him, always about the most random topics, had ceased for the most part; and, he briefly wonders why you still insist on them if you'll always fall asleep halfway through.

he doesn't mind, though. and, as he lets you embrace him, loosely returning the same gesture, he hopes that you probably won't remember how he's practically preening at your words, putty in your hands.

(somehow, you always do).

[malleleothreesome]

Dancing with Malleus

✨ summary: Malleus invites you to the Briar Valley ball ༶༶༶ ✨ warnings: gender neutral reader, immortal Malleus, romance, SFW, I ain't gonna spoil this one for ya ༶༶༶ ✨ word count: 2.9k words ༶༶༶ ✨ song: Once Upon A Dream - Lana Del Rey "You'll love me at once... the way you did once upon a dream"

The castle's ballroom is exquisite and grand, with high arched windows that open out into a massive and impressive courtyard. Inundated with golden light, the whole room is sparking in ethereal shimmer and the aroma of crisp floral accents fill the room. From the high vaulted ceilings, chandeliers the size of trees glitter with a plethora of colorful gems, catching the light of magical, flickering flames like stardust. Couples twirl and weave around each other in fluid steps, like a choreographed waltz of swaying and swirling movements. An orchestra of beautiful instruments blend together in a soaring melody as the dancing continues in harmonious orchestration. A faint mist seems to cover the floor, glittering opalescent in the fading daylight, which gives the scene the surreal quality of a dream or fairytale. The ball is attended only by the most exotic mystical creatures and beings of magic, clad in jewels and other luxury wares. Fae of varying shapes, colors, and sizes, waltz together and converse in tight circles, but you couldn't possibly hope to learn their language or names, nor are you important enough to be greeted. You don't belong here amongst the unparalleled beauty of the resplendent folk who grace these halls—celestially carved beings whose mere existence was meant to mesmerize you and your fellow humans, yet Malleus had insisted that you become his plus-one. Despite your fears that you might embarrass yourself due to your utter inexperience at anything remotely resembling courtly dancing, you're inexplicably enamored by his stubborn determination to allow no argument or negotiation on the matter. So now, you find yourself clad in flowing silk that glows like it was created by stars themselves and bejeweled with all manners of beautiful and precious accouterments. With such extravagant adornments and attire, no one would be able to tell you are not of royal blood. Before you become completely subsumed in the buzzing magnificence of the ball, the finest details of your elegant surroundings become blurry.

Suddenly, there is only him.

Your eyes cannot help but alight upon his noble beauty, and for a moment, the entire crowd parts. The Prince of the Valley of Thorns floats through the room, the air around him parting. As his silky hair streams behind him like water, his beauty causes the room to gasp audibly, yet he hardly notices. Only focused on his true intentions, Malleus seems to drift effortlessly through his own subjects, his sharp features devoid of their normal grim severity, eyes sparkling with tender warmth as he fixates solely on you. Every step he takes exudes power and confidence, yet remains graceful and smooth, as he saunters his way to where you stand and outstretches his gloved hand. In an instant, a murmur arises among the guests—every single one of them captivated by the effortless charm and debonair allure the future King possesses. Seeing your bashfulness, he delicately pulls your smaller hand into his before brushing your knuckles with a sweet kiss, a broad, fangy smile illuminating his entire visage.

"Do not be nervous," he soothes you. His slender fingertips gingerly grip yours, raising your entangled palms to rest shoulder-height, and placing his other hand on your lower back, right at the junction of your waist—so carefully, it makes your heart beat a little faster. Despite his inhuman strength, Malleus holds onto you gently, not wanting to bruise you from his crushing grasp. And then, the room around you suddenly fades away—the hundreds of pairs of eyes on you fade to black, the delicate melodies fade to white, the sheer magnitude of magic and splendor falls away and you see only the verdant of his irises, glittering emeralds as bright and eternal as the crystals sparkling around you. The corners of his eyes crinkle just a bit, betraying an emotion he's rarely so candid with outside the sanctum of your relationship. His next words, a dreamy whisper of reassurance, cause butterflies to flutter through your stomach and the hot flush of your cheeks to flood over you.

"Just let me lead and I will bring you to paradise."

Those are his only words as the slow waltz of the orchestra starts, beginning the dance that will set you two into a careful and synchronous flow with each other. Your feet move effortlessly with him, never straying even as he picks up the pace, the momentum between the two of you increasing. You feel him cradle the curve of your body close to him, holding you in the nook of his arm as he deftly twirls you through the night's revels. Malleus expertly keeps pace with the orchestra, all while also maintaining the beat of his heart, which matches the rhythm of his footsteps. As he glides with a masterful ease around the room, every movement controlled and precise, the image you two paint in motion together is nothing short of flawless. There isn't a hitch or misstep in your movement, the two of you completely in sync with the beat, every turn and twist of the music matching each step of your waltz, as he leads you in complete command. His eyes never leave yours, only looking away to catch the flash of one of his deft maneuvers of your body. Time slows and you find yourself completely lost in the wonder as you gaze lovingly into the brilliant, viridescent pools of his irises—his gaze penetrates and drowns you in a wash of endearment, drinking in your visage with unrestrained emotion. It's intoxicating and dizzying, yet you're powerless to break away. As far as you're concerned, the other couples have completely disappeared, lost to the blur of the distance, and it is as though you're dancing to music that exists in a realm outside of the material world. Everything else pales in comparison to this ethereal fairytale—Malleus looks handsome beyond reason in his opulent uniform. The cut of the dark fabric seems to enhance the elegant definition of his strong shoulders and the perfect symmetry of his regal face, yet the lush tailoring highlights his muscular physique and the toned strength that hides under the gorgeous facade. His very essence, the ambiance he exudes, the captivating aura—it all acts as an enchantment of pure spellbound desire, beckoning for you to cast yourself into its endless depth, surrendering yourself entirely to him.

Every step, every sway, every twirl of your dance together is more surreal than the last. This fairy tale is unfolding right before your eyes and all you can do is feel your soul resonate with him. It's in the way your arms circle his body; it's in the way your breathing begins to match pace with his; it's in the way he sets your head spinning and fills your heart with an aching need to be closer. In a secluded corner of the dance floor, away from all the curious eyes, the waltz continues—a beautiful duet of your hearts connecting deeper with every step and spin, as if the magic is attempting to wrench your souls together, desperate to mingle them until they're indistinguishable. He cradles you in his embrace, holding your body against his. From the elegant swoop of his scale-covered forehead, to the sharp, sexy slope of his jawline, his handsome profile is aglow with radiant adoration as he stares down at you with half-lidded, smitten eyes, his cheekbones shadowed perfectly under the romantic light of the ballroom, giving him an ineffable mystique. You stare back at him, searching deep into the blackness of his slitted pupils until your heart aches as your mind rushes with so many unspeakable emotions that threaten to make tears well in the corner of your eyes. In that moment, your love for him burns brighter than the sun and is more potent than anything you have ever known. At last, he closes his eyes in contentment and sweeps you away, a dreamlike smile upon his lips as he spins you across the smooth ballroom floors, grasping onto you as though you are his only lifeline in the universe. Malleus moves as though in a dream, never faltering as he leads your soul into a euphoria you never thought possible, a state where words hold little meaning but the act of dancing could express everything. As he moves the two of you elegantly across the expansive floor, the ephemerality of your mortal existence burns starkly clear in your mind, while his ancient heart thrums within his chest—countless years of melancholy and loneliness he endured seem to give weight to every ponderous beat of his heart, resonating through his chest, enveloping you and shrouding you in the desperate urgency of his adoration for you. Even without uttering any confessions, his heart speaks them to you fluently—you and him are tied so intimately together, an unbreakable knot that holds the threads of your destinies and fate together in a weave too precious and fine to be cut or broken. His fingertips ghost along your neck, the gentle sensation setting your soul on fire, sending electric currents down to the very tips of your fingers and toes, as a powerful shudder rips through your body.

"Wherever I am, you belong by my side," Malleus tells you. His tone is soft, but filled with enough reverence to make your breath catch. He peers at you with uncharacteristic vulnerability, the mere existence of it is practically intoxicating, and he watches your reactions to him with wide and captivating eyes that give off the intensity of a solar eclipse.

"It was fated by the heavens. Our paths were always intertwined," his voice is just a tad unsteady, yet it resonates with his entire being.

For a moment, all the whispers that echo from the watching crowd silence—the buzz, the snippets of gossip about your relationship with the notorious prince—is as quiet and as inconsequential as a background tune to your dance. All those things were meaningless—their cruel whispers and jealous words, their apprehension and disapproval meant absolutely nothing. That momentary stillness grants you both a moment of solace; the very few seconds your lives needed for him to offer himself to you. A confession so pure it lifts the hair on the back of your neck: "I fell in love the moment I laid eyes on you. No one could possibly make my heart beat so wildly or ignite such fierce emotions as you do."

His words are just like the tempo of the violins that fill the chamber. Infinite. Mesmerizing. Their echoing sound lengthens into infinity, in their beautiful patterns, the bow caresses the strings and produces such an achingly sublime melody. They pierce through all the tension in the air and carry a stirring urgency along with them as they flow seamlessly with your bodies in sync. Every note perfectly transitions into the next, and the song swells to a climatic, fervid harmony that cannot be resisted. You want him with all the burning hunger and depth of a cosmic soul—for every molecule that composes you calls out to him and wants to interweave his being with your own, so that neither one can ever exist without the other. His form is graceful as you two blend into each other and the song in a divine synergy. Time stretches as the rapturous intensity of his longing is displayed on his face. As you look into his eyes, the entire expanse of his vast, magnificent soul is bared to you. No mortal has ever had the privilege to see him so honestly and fully exposed, yet Malleus gives you his everything—he's always been his whole self in your embrace. He holds you close, cradling your frame to him protectively, and the faint tremble of his grip reveals the depths of his emotional fragility as the passion of his love overwhelms him and renders him helplessly bare before you, like a servant devoted to the altar of an awe-inspiring, glorious God.

Suddenly, all those intense sensations coalesce into the single most beautiful sentiment of all, as the sum of these wonderful emotions create a glorious aria that rouses all the seraphic adoration and longing, and an emotional overdrive within him. With the sum of his desires and emotions pouring out of him in waves, Malleus opens his lips to pour forth his most secret and profound wish and what comes out next, the words barely a hushed murmur above the swelling musical climax, is an admission of raw love. "I wish to spend my eternal lifetime with you by my side. I long to spend it loving only you and I want us to grow together through the centuries as partners." His words, sincere, sentimental, and laced with the faintest traces of tears, are raw in their unapologetic declaration, and they contain within them a depth of devotion you didn't think possible for a soul to ever harbor.

His lip quivers, his eyes begin to shine, and he squeezes them shut just as the first tears begin to flow, spilling over the waterline of his closed eyelids and dripping down his high cheekbones. Tapered fingers firmly intertwine yours and he desperately gazes at Lilia, whose red eyes sparkle in a proud mist as he looks on, giving Malleus an encouraging nod. Finally, the dam is broken—the smile that cracks at the corners of Malleus' mouth blooms, causing his already dazzling complexion to gleam and become impossibly more breathtaking as a sweet, ecstatic sob bubbles out of his lungs. Tears of joy roll down his cheeks as a wide grin takes up half his face, the verdant color of his irises shimmering brilliantly through a crystalline veil of sparkling tears. Thanks to the confidence and encouragement Lilia—his Father—has instilled in him, he finally feels ready to face his destiny, and take you alongside him as an equal. He clears his throat.

"I understand you are a human of little power, a short-lived creature whose days will fleet and wane like that of a candle before a blizzard," his voice is somewhat hesitant, faltering a tad as his anxieties manifest, his vocal chords shivering as he stumbles over his own emotion. His free hand finds its way to clutch the front of his attire, as though the mere mention of you near death makes his heart seize in his chest. His lips form a pout, brow creasing deeply as his breath shakes while you clutch his cheek, a thumb smoothing over his cheekbone, collecting his tears. Then, Malleus steels his features as he delivers his ultimatum. When his beautiful, soulful gaze finds you, there's an immovable determination and steadfastness that betray the fact that he's already made the choice, and your presence at his side is inevitable. "Therefore, in order to make our union possible and feasible, I spent countless hours researching every ancient text and scroll to seek a loophole, to bend the fates and twist their strings around my fingers." His lips curl to the side and his eyebrows raise ever so subtly, an adorable hint of pride shining in the smile he wears. "At last, my labor produced a solution. It is possible through an ancient rite to bind my soul to a chosen mortal partner."

Your heart speeds as a burst of joy courses through your veins like fire. The crescendo of the orchestra and his musical words are building to a harmonious convergence, a swelling refrain of the melodies both your lives have played, culminating in a resplendent final verse, a foreordained tune of two halves at last being joined. It's almost too much for you to take; the very walls of this beautiful, mystical room threaten to melt away and fade from your awareness, and all you can comprehend is his stunning, baritone voice. "If you accept my blessing, your lifespan will be linked to mine for as long as I walk the realm of the living.” Malleus tells you, a tad smug at the work he has done on your behalf. “All I ask in return for giving you eternal beauty, granting you my protection, and offering you my whole life is that we come to be as one. Two souls permanently linked and intertwined for the eternity of our existence together. You will forever share my immortality and accompany me as we walk among the stars until they eventually go out. And even in the wake of that devastating eventuality, I promise to care for you, tend to you, and love you for however many eras remain. Please be my betrothed, my beloved child of man, for I cannot bear to let you go and there is no force that can tear me away from you."

He squeezes your hand before dropping to one knee. In the center of the expansive room, surrounded by hundreds of guests, his emerald orbs peer up at you through heavy lashes as his lips begin to part, finally ready to ask the one question that may finally put an end to the solitude he has endured since he first came into existence. He pulls a ring box from the interior of his tailcoat, his shaky hands slowly flipping open the box to reveal a platinum band in the shape of a dragon encasing a deep viridian gem, forged from the magical energies of his Draconia ancestors. The ring was last worn by his Mother before her untimely demise, and his Grandmother was insistent that Malleus should one day gift his betrothed this one piece of family history. As the ballroom goes completely silent and the eyes of his subjects rest on the two of you with rapt, nervous attention, Malleus draws in a wavering inhale to steady his quivering voice as he fights the fear of rejection, before allowing the soft and tender question to slip past the careful line of his lips, "Will you marry me?"

Do y'all want part 2? Am I cruel for leaving it off there? In "x Reader" fics, I like to limit putting words in the reader's mouth or feelings in reader's head so that I can let you decide for yourselves how you wish to experience my stories. I am happy to pick back up where I left off if there is demand for it. Otherwise, I hope you continue weaving this tale in your own daydreams and fantasies. Thank you for reading and for your support of my writing! 💚 Erica Malleleothreesome P.S. I'm SORRY my paragraphs are so long I truly DO NOT UNDERSTAND when to break paragraphs, I hope it doesn't ruin your experience!

[hxnbi]

⸻ °♡⃘ . ❝ LOVING YOU CAN BE HARD... ❞

┊synopsis. wind breaker boys and how they break your heart ┊pairings. hayato suo, choji tomiyama, haruka sakura, ren kaji x gn. reader ┊contents. angst, no comfort (sorry not sorry) ♡ note. was in an angsty mood lmao, smtg to get away from all the fluff yippee

✾ HAYATO SUO | 蘇枋 隼飛 ─ ✿ °☆.

The way he SUO would break your heart... That would be his mysterious nature, the final straw being his same aloofness. Each is a double-edged sword—both a blessing and a curse. It served him well in the fights and conflicts he would find himself in as a part of Furin, but also, in his personal relationships, was where it crumbled. Granted, that same enigmatic charm of Suo's was what captivated you, but there came a time when you could no longer excuse all the times he would evade your questions, deflect, and, even when you begged, would never give you a direct answer. It became increasingly frustrating. And because of that, it created a growing rift. There came the point where excuses for his behaviour no longer sufficed—it could no longer justify all the times you loved him.

At times, you would wonder, did he truly love you? Or was it, again, all outward appearances? It wouldn’t surprise you. But again… you could never find the heart to go out of your way to confront him, and it didn’t look like he would ever give you a clear answer. Not even when you finally told him that you wanted all this to end. You wanted your relationship to be over. Even then, Suo’s face refused to yield. 

You hoped that perhaps some expression would make its way onto his face, but nothing came of it.

Hah… even after time and time of constant and persistent disappointment, you still expected too much from the person you once fell in love with. Perhaps they were right. The first love tends to always be viewed through rose-coloured lenses. 

You made the right choice, you thought. But then why does your chest ache? Suo would never come out and express his feelings, but instead, keep it all under wraps, even to his own friends. After all, he had a reputation to live up to and that didn’t include you. Or rather, you were never a part of his thoughts.

✾ CHOJI TOMIYAMA | 兎耳山 丁子 ─ ✿ °☆.

His obsession with being strong, and the rigid idea of what it took to be “strong” is, consumed CHOJI's every waking thought. He trained tirelessly, pushing himself beyond physical limits, convinced that strength could be measured only by sheer power and dominance. There would be times he wouldn't return home for hours to eventual days on end, leaving his dinner plate to the seeming bugs and maggots that infested it when you didn’t have the heart to throw it away. Over time, he had come to prioritize power over personal relationships and ethical concerns.

And your fickle heart utterly tore itself apart when, in a moment of frustration, he called you weak. That, in his own words, you could never fully understand him because you weren’t like him.

By no means were you a strong fighter like he was, but those words cut deep, far deeper than you’d ever like to admit. As soon as those words exited his mouth, Choji would brush everything off and continue with his own activities. But those words would never fade from your mind, and in fact, that emotionthetumour would only grow larger. It may have been an impulsive thought that he just spat out in anger and frustration, but there was a saying that a person's true nature is always caught in unguarded moments.

At that moment, it seemed to you that he truly thought of you in that light. That perhaps, even with all you both went through together, you would never be considered at his level. After he said that, little was no day that went by without you doubting and feeling less confident about yourself. You were never going to catch up with him, and he hardly thought of you as equal to himself.

Time and time again, he would brush you off. Your love for him could only mend so many wounds. It's only a matter of time. Those clean, pristine-white bandages can only cover so many small but consistent injuries to the soul before the blood starts to seep through.

Because you were never “strong” like him. 

✾ HARUKA SAKURA | 桜 遥 ─ ✿ °☆.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!!” 

SAKURA yelled before pushing you to the ground, immediately recoiling from your touch, who, just before that moment, had only asked him a short “are you okay?” and tapped his shoulder. His face twisted in fear, but in his panic, he could only take one step back after another before retreating into the shadows of his own mind—a space that tortures him, and yet he still scrounges for even the slightest bit of comfort. You didn’t compare, you never did. 

He never wanted to intentionally hurt you, but in actuality, Sakura's paranoia and fear only pushes you away because he himself believes that he can never trust anyone other than himself. That anyone that isn't him is against him in some way. 

You were the first one to open up his heart, the doors to his soul and his innermost thoughts, but someone else can also close those doors just as easily. And that person who closed his own heart was none other than himself. The bond between you and Sakura could only hold itself together for so long. Dangling strings that, once broken, cannot ever mend themselves back together, even with all the time in the world. Time cannot fix everything, and it could not be ever-present than now. 

The feelings of distrust only grew deeper. Sakura never means any kind of harm, but his past trauma is too deep, tainting every relationship and connection his tarnished hands have touched. He wants someone to help him, but he doesn't trust anyone. Not even the person who loved him, who only wanted to help. He broke your heart in so many ways, but the biggest, arguably, was his distrust of you. He’s aware of what he's doing—pushing you away like that—but in his own mind, he believes that is the best course of action he needs to take, for both you and himself. 

✾ REN KAJI | 梶 蓮 ─ ✿ °☆.

KAJI is different from everybody else in almost every way. He keeps to himself, always and only. Sure, you thought, everyone deserves a sense of privacy. But when exactly does that line get drawn? 

You wanted to love him with all your heart, you wanted Kaji to have someone he trusted and confided in, but that love was also just as misconstrued with him. His quiet demeanour and tendency to withdraw into himself made it hard for him to connect on a deeper level. Even after you started dating, things didn’t change between you two. You tried ever-so-hard to bridge the gap—to reach him—but no matter what you did, it felt like he was always a step away, unreachable from even your outstretched hands.

And in the end, Kaji’s distant nature eventually became the very thing that broke your heart. As much as you wanted to brush it all off as nothing but a bad dream, you realized that no matter how much you loved him, if he couldn’t open up to you, the relationship would always have a void. And that void only grew larger with each passing day, leaving you feeling more and more alone. All the while, Kaji remained aloof, retreating further into his silence and losing himself in the alleviation of his music and his own mind.

©hxnbi. comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated ♡

[pin-k-ink]

knife’s edge // gojo satoru

tw ⇢ teacher-student relationship, implied age gap, dub-con, punishment and reward system, power play, dom/sub relationship, blowjob, fingering, begging, hair pulling, degradation, mentions of violence and injuries, spanking, facial, belt whipping, praise kink, face fucking

wc ⇢ 6.7k

a/n: i am not happy with this one at all

The inky blackness of night cloaked the abandoned factory district in deep shadow, the dim glow of the waxing moon filtering through shattered panes of grimy glass offering little illumination. Your ragged breaths echoed sharply in the cavernous silence, each rapid footfall sending plumes of dust and grit swirling into the still air in your wake.

You risked a frantic glance over your shoulder, heart hammering a staccato rhythm against your ribcage. The curse's formless shape undulated through the gloom behind you with horrific, boneless grace—an amorphous mass of writhing miasma capped with wicked curved appendages that scraped in screeching arcs against the cracked concrete hallway with each slithering surge forward. Jagged claws of solidified cursed energy aimed to ensnare, tear, and rend any flesh within reach.

A fleeting memory sliced through your mind's frenzied whirl — Gojo's voice carrying that unmistakable lilt of teasing amusement as he'd drawled something about being on your "best behavior" during this training exercise. His smug confidence had rankled you at the time, fueling your burning desire to prove yourself more than a bumbling student constantly needing rescue from their mentor.

But now, harsh reality crashed through those foolish delusions in waves of cold, jagged terror. You were hopelessly outmatched and ill-prepared for confronting this particular curse born of manifested nightmares. Its presence alone incited paralytic dread laced with a phantom ache of crushing loneliness echoing from some primal depth. Heedless of the stunted whimpers tumbling from your trembling lips, it closed in with relentless, inexorable hunger.

You redoubled your pace, lower legs shrieking with the exertion of maintaining your panicked sprint. Up ahead, the hallway fractured off into a labyrinth of shadowed corridors and forsaken antechambers. Fighting the icy lances of panic penetrating your frantic thoughts, you arbitrarily flung yourself down the second passageway on the left, restraining a scream as the curse's barbed tendrils whipped around the corner in pursuit.

How had you allowed yourself to be lured so far from the staging area where Gojo awaited your safe return? Stupid, stupid overconfidence. Surely he would berate your rashness before grudgingly coming to your aid...if you survived this ordeal long enough to earn his scorn. You swallowed back a hiccuping sob at that grim prospect, legs pumping harder in sheer desperation.

When the next turn presented itself, you instinctively banked hard to the right, hurtling through the decrepit doorway of what appeared to be some kind of dilapidated manager's office. Dim moonlight filtered through the filth-streaked windows, casting the skeletal shapes of rusted desks and chairs in stark silhouette across the debris-littered floor.

You twisted in mid-sprint, fruitlessly hurling the few feeble cursed tools you'd had on your person towards the curse as it rapidly filled the doorway. Their meager defenses ricocheted off a shimmering barrier the curse erected with mocking ease. Your breath sawed from your lungs in panicked bursts as those razor-tipped appendages sliced through the space you'd just occupied, sending shreds of plaster and splintered wood exploding in all directions.

There was nowhere left to run. In blind panic, you scrambled backwards on your hands and feet as the curse's oozing grotesquerie filled the open doorframe, blocking any hope of escape.

Suddenly, something sharp and unyielding sliced into the meat of your palm, causing you to cry out in pained surprise. You looked down to see the jagged remains of some kind of metal pole or rebar protruding from the crumbling floorboards—the very shrapnel strewn across the office that your desperate retreat had led you straight into.

The unforgiving shard of rebar punched clean through the soft center of your hand in a blossoming spiral of agony and blood. Your scream hitched in your constricted throat as scorching lances of whitehot pain lanced up your arm. Tears blurred your vision, leaving the curse's steadily encroaching form obscured and wavering in your sight.

The twisted groaning of stressed metal snapped your gaze downward just as the compromised floor buckled beneath your weight, splitting like a crumpled Jenga tower along the lines of its pre-existing fractures. The gore-slicked rebar came suddenly free from its entrapment with a meaty slurping sound, pitching you backwards as your already precarious perch vanished from beneath you.

You plummeted in a dizzying freefall, the decrepit office warping and careening away above you in smears of grey and brown and black. Instinctively you flung out your arms, mouth gaping in a soundless scream as you plunged downwards into the bottomless unknown of the abandoned factory's shadowed depths.

Time itself seemed to unravel into surreal slow-motion as your trajectory carried you into the diffuse path of moonlight slanting through a shattered window high above. Silver-edged debris tumbled alongside you—jagged splinters of wood and twisted scraps of metal glinting like macabre confetti amid the freeze-framed droplets of your blood blossoming in faint crimson blurs.

Then, with a violent percussion of displaced air, something rocketed into you from the side—a solid, immense force that knocked what little breath remained from your lungs in a strangled wheeze. Powerful arms like bands of steel locked around your torso, violently arresting your plummet as your failed to process what was happening.

Head spinning, vertigo graying the edges of your vision, you dimly became aware of the world blurring past in streaks of shadow and dim light as you swung in an upward arc, abruptly changing trajectories with dizzying velocity. The whiplash intense enough to make you cry out hoarsely as cold panic lanced through you anew.

Just as abruptly, the disorienting rush of movement slammed to a boneshaking halt, your body folding in on itself with the force of the deceleration. You found yourself crushed against a solid plane of warmth and wiry muscle, every nerve ending screaming in protest as your savior's bruising embrace constricted tighter around your ribcage. The guttural growl rumbling through the steel-banded arms holding you immobile reverberated straight into your rattled bones.

"Dammit, girl—you make trouble follow you around like a hellhound on a scent trail, don't you?"

The familiar, sardonic drawl finally pierced the roaring in your ears. Gojo's distinctive smokey timbre ignited a fresh surge of tremors— though born of relief rather than mortal terror this time. You sagged bonelessly against his chest, quaking with reaction as the abyss you'd narrowly avoided plunging into slowly reasserted itself in your reeling awareness.

Gojo simply held you pinned flush against him, stance braced with preternatural solidity despite the physical feat of force he'd just exerted. With your face pressed into the juncture of his shoulder and neck, his unique scent of sandalwood and citrus enveloped you in a cloak of reassurance. You clung to that steadying anchor desperately as you struggled to rein in your haywire senses.

He seemed content to allow you that reprieve, not bothering to immediately extricate himself as the pounding of both your thunderous heartbeats gradually subsided to a more measured cadence. At last, when you'd stopped trembling quite so violently, Gojo shifted infinitesimally—just enough to catch your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up towards his.

"Y'know, when I said to be on your best behavior, I didn't mean to go seeking out new and perilous ways to get yourself killed on my watch, bad girl."

Gojo's voice still maintained that undercurrent of sardonic cool, but you detected the faintest hints of...something else bleeding through. An edge of anxious relief perhaps, buried beneath the outward mask of nonchalant irreverence he always wore. His thumb traced the curve of your jaw with maddening tenderness at odds with his tart rebuke, sending your pulse into a frenzied gallop once more.

"Gojo-sensei, I-I'm so sorry," you stammered, scarcely daring to draw breath too deeply in his embrace for fear of surrendering to the urge to bury your face against his neck and simply exist in that space for a thousand reassuring moments. "I got overconfident and careless and put myself in danger by wandering off. You were right, as usual, and I—"

He cut off your self-flagellating apology with a gruff tsk, index finger pressing firmly against your parted lips. "Hush now. I can already see those pretty eyes filling with crocodile tears that will make me go all soft and stupid again."

The sardonic smirk he flashed you ignited a spark of bristling indignance in your chest—but it was a welcome reprieve from the icy terror currently waning through your system. Gojo's gaze roved downwards, searing gaze flickering over you in a blatant sweep from head to toe. Whatever he saw in his obscenely casual inspection made his jawline tense perceptibly.

"Looks like our little curse didn't take too kindly to you wandering off the beaten path either," he remarked, deceptively mild drawl betrayed by the subtle edge of strain hardening the words.

You followed the weighted path of his hawkish regard to where the tattered remnants of your uniform clung in bloodied tatters, entire swaths torn away to reveal expanses of gashed and rapidly-purpling flesh glistening with crimson. A vivid flush bloomed across your cheeks as you hastily sought to cover yourself, hissing as the incidental movement tugged at your lacerated skin.

Gojo clucked his tongue again, more chidingly this time. "Easy there, slugger. Let's not go scrambling around until we get those battle scars properly dressed."

Before you could protest, Gojo was moving again - shifting his grip to cradle you securely against his chest with one arm while his free hand extended outward, palm glowing with an ethereal purple luminescence.

One disorienting transition of vertigo later and the ruined factory surroundings had been replaced by a cozily appointed interior.

The incongruously homey space you now found yourself in appeared to be some kind of living quarters - though imbued with distinctly more luxury and refined appointments than the standard student dormitories would allow.

Rich hardwood floors were covered in plush area rugs of deep crimson. The walls were adorned with elegant-yet-minimal furnishings and intricately patterned tapestries in jewel tones suggesting an Eastern influence. Various artifacts - porcelain vases, statuettes, and inscribed metal wall-hangings - were interspersed with a few strategic pops of color and indirect lighting to cultivate an ambiance of cultivated tranquility.

"Comfortable?" The rumbling baritone against your ear made you start slightly as Gojo carried you towards what appeared to be a bedroom sectioned off by opaque partitioning screens.

You opened your mouth to reply, but any words withered on your tongue when he shifted his hold to deposit you with infinite care atop the bed - as though you were the most precious of fragile burdens. The sheets were a sleek dusky charcoal hue offset by the warm burnished glow of brass lamps casting flattering illumination across the space.

Gojo crouched in one fluid, boneless motion beside where you lay, all lazy power and effortless masculine grace barely restrained beneath that veneer of irreverent cool. His gaze was immediately drawn to the sluggishly bleeding gashes marring your exposed skin, sharp azure irises hooded beneath lowered lashes.

"Let's get you decent first, hmm?" He lilted in that sinfully smooth timbre, already working to divest you of the tattered remnants of clothing still clinging to your mangled form.

You flushed hotly, opening your mouth to offer token protest, but his pointed look swiftly quelled any objections before they could sound.

"Don't get shy on me now, pretty girl. I've already copped an eyeful of everything you've got thanks to that curse taking talons to your outfit." One corner of his lush mouth quirked upwards in that irresistible smirk that never failed to spark a flicker of defiance in your core. "Might as well make the most of the situation, neh?"

With deft efficiency and hands belying an almost reverent delicacy, Gojo stripped you down to your bared skin, blatantly allowing his piercing gaze to map every purpling contusion and seeping laceration in the process. You remained motionless, scarcely daring to breathe for fear of shattering this suspended reality into shards of mortified embarrassment and pining desire.

Gojo clicked his tongue in a noise of disapproval as his inspection catalogued the extent of your injuries. His thumb traced the lurid weal of a deep gash carving across your ribcage, featherlight and ghosting over the sensitive abraded skin but eliciting a shuddering exhalation from your parted lips all the same.

"Such a mess you've made of yourself, babygirl," he chided in a low, dark purr that seemed to resonate straight through the shallow surface of your flesh and delve molten paths into the viscera below. "Clumsy, clumsy girl wandering off and courting disaster like it's a favored lover. Maybe you need reminding why it's safer to stay close...and who exactly you belong to."

Gojo stood and moved across the room, giving you a momentary reprieve from the heated intensity of his presence. You watched him retrieve a wooden basin and an array of glass jars and cloth wrappings, absently tracing your fingers over the stark patterns of blooming bruises and lacerations. Though the sting of your injuries still pulsed in time with your elevated heartbeat, it felt muted somehow - a distant discomfort overshadowed by the lingering warmth of Gojo's touch and his dark, heated words still reverberating through your mind.

When he returned to your side and crouched on the plush rug once more, you couldn't help but tense slightly at his proximity. Gojo's lips curved in an inscrutable half-smile, as if privy to the chaotic whirl of your thoughts. Dipping a clean cloth into the basin of herbal-scented water he had prepared, he began gently sponging away the streaks of blood and grime from your abused skin with meditative focus.

"You know," he began conversationally, breaking the weighted quiet between you. "I had a feeling assigning you to run solo for this particular exercise was inviting disaster." His gaze remained fixed on his ministrations, calloused fingertips brushing featherlight over the shredded gashes scoring your abdomen as he cleaned each one with almost ritualistic care.

"You've always had a penchant for acting first and regretting the consequences later." Gojo's tone was a strange blend of wry affection and pointed reproof. "That wild spirit and impulsive bravery are what make you such a marvel to train...but they're also what consistently lands you in hot water requiring my intervention."

You wanted to protest, to insist that this time you had been cautious and level-headed right up until the curse overwhelmed you so unexpectedly. But the words shriveled up unspoken on your tongue as memories of your rash overconfidence resurfaced with a flush of shame. Gojo was right, as infuriatingly often seemed to be the case when he turned that penetrating stare and spark of dark wisdom upon you.

"I cannot even begin to fathom what could possess an otherwise reasonably bright girl to forsake all her training at the first sign of danger," he continued, words hardening into a disapproving rasp. You flinched inwardly, knowing the scolding was deserved but still bristling at being spoken down to like a petulant child.

Gojo's touch stilled abruptly, his thumb and forefinger capturing your chin in an uncompromisingly firm grasp that forced your gazes to lock. The vivid azure of his eyes bored into you with searing intensity from beneath his silvery lashes, commanding your rapt focus.

"Do you have any idea how close I came to losing you tonight?" His words emerged in a gravelly undertone that seemed to reverberate somewhere deeper than mere sound.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he spoke over your stillborn attempt with quiet yet immutable authority. "Too close. Far too close for comfort, little one."

Gojo's thumb traced the plush arc of your lower lip with deliberate reverence, the blistering heat of his touch raising delicious sparks of sensation despite its apparent innocuity. "I don't take kindly to situations where I am mere inches from watching light fade from those gorgeous eyes of yours. Do you understand me?"

Any residual defiance flickered and died beneath the scorching promise of intent blazing behind the shrouded azure regard holding you hostage. All you could manage was a tremulous inhale and the barest fraction of a nod in acknowledgment.

Something indecipherable flashed across Gojo's expression - both a subtle easing of the taut line of his jaw and a perceptible deepening of the shadows clouding his eyes. His hand slid from your chin to cup the back of your neck, fingertips lightly caressing the sensitive skin as he pulled you forward until the briefest whisper of distance remained between your brow and his.

"Let this be a lesson to you then," he murmured in a voice rendered incalculably darker by its lowered register. "Stay close to me from now on where you belong, understood? No more foolish detours or reckless stunts serving only to test my stamina in constantly retrieving you from harm."

You found yourself mesmerized, lashes fluttering in a hapless series of blinks as his breath fanned warmly over your parted lips. There was simply no other response than a breathily murmured, "Yes, Gojo-sensei. I understand."

The barest ghost of a smile - one of grim satisfaction rather than mirth - curved the edges of his sinful mouth. "Good girl."

The heavy-lidded intensity of Gojo's gaze seemed to scorch straight through to your very core as the silence stretched taut between you. His thumb traced idle patterns along the racing flutter of your pulse just beneath your jawline, touch tantalizingly light yet possessive all the same. You shivered at the implication behind such a disarmingly tender caress coming from your mentor.

"You test me at every turn, don't you, my pretty thing?" The words emerged in a low, molten rumble tinged with thinly veiled exasperation and something infinitely darker—a banked smolder of bone-deep desire he made little effort to conceal. "Never quite able to simply mind your place and stay obediently out of harm's way, constantly seeking new ways to throw yourself into the line of danger until I'm forced to intervene..."

His fingers trailed lazily down the sloped column of your throat, following the racing thrum of your pulse until his palm settled in a burned brand over the thundering cadence of your heart. You couldn't help the tremulous hitch of your breath as his calloused thumb grazed the swell of your breast, the barest suggestion of weight behind the touch.

Gojo's eyes glittered mercurial beneath the fan of his silvery lashes as he watched your response with rapt attentiveness, gauging your reaction to his calculated escalation. You were pinned motionless beneath the heated intensity of his undivided focus - the blazing epicenter of a storm waiting to break.

When he spoke again, his graveled baritone had lowered a ruinous register, each dark rumble seeming to sear across your feverish skin like a scorching caress unto itself.

"I'm sorely tempted to finally take you firmly in hand once and for all, babygirl. To show you exactly what lies in store each time you defy me so recklessly and necessitate my...intervention." He curled his fingers ever so slightly, delicious suggestion laced through the subtle rasp of hardened fingertips grazing the taut bud beneath the thin fabric covering you.

Your spine arched in an involuntary bow of pleasure-edged shockwaves, a broken whimper falling from your lips before you could bite it back. Gojo watched the display of responsiveness with naked hunger flickering across his austere features.

"Yes...that's what you crave, isn't it?" He mused in that same sinful, smoke-ruined tone that seemed to curl molten tendrils of liquid heat low in your belly. "My undivided attention and reprimand for each infraction, each reckless display where you've failed to heed my instruction..."

Gradually, with agonizing deliberation, Gojo shifted to loom over you with coiled dominance thrumming through every steel-banded muscle. His free hand traced a scorching path down your torso, insistent fingertips hooking beneath the thin fabric at your hip and exerting gentle but implacable pressure.

"But such willful disobedience cannot go entirely unpunished, can it?" He purred, pupils dilating as his gaze raked over your form with incandescent hunger. "Not if you're to finally learn some modicum of discipline and self-control..."

With deft surety, Gojo relieved you of the final scant covering as his sinful lips curved in a lush, dangerous smile. A fraught moment of charged suspension stretched between you as his reverent gaze roamed freely over the newly bared flesh. Then, with infinite tenderness at odds with his thunderous promise, he cradled you against the scorching plane of his chest and lowered you back to the plush bedding in one fluid motion.

"Perhaps a few lashes from my belt are in order for the way you've acted out, my willful little girl," Gojo rumbled as he braced himself above you, gaze devouring the way your thighs reflexively parted for his settling weight. "And you will count each one aloud and thank me for it, won't you?"

Your lips parted in a soft gasp at the sheer filthiness of his implication. Your pulse thundered so loudly you were certain he could hear the erratic drumming. Yet, with a heady thrill of realization, you discovered that you didn't want to resist - didn't have the strength of will left to resist him in this.

Gojo's hand slipped beneath the sleek fall of your hair, fingers curling around the back of your neck in a deceptively light but immovable grasp. The gesture was an unspoken command, an assertion of control that demanded your total surrender.

"Say it, kitten." The words emerged with the softness of a blade honed razor-sharp. "Tell me how badly you need to be taught some much-needed obedience...or else we'll simply have to continue these exercises until the lesson sticks."

Your breath shuddered from your lungs, eyes fluttering closed as a delicious shudder rippled through your entire body. It took all your remaining shreds of willpower not to arch into the heated cradle of his hips already settling against the apex of your thighs.

"Please, Gojo-sensei," you finally managed, voice quavering with need. "Teach me a lesson. Punish me until I've learned my place..."

A soft exhalation escaped Gojo, half-swallowed by the faint rustle of the bedsheets. His grip on your nape tightened fractionally as his other hand slid down the slope of your ribcage and across the dip of your waist.

You were powerless to resist the slow roll of his hips - the delicious pressure grinding against your exposed core in a way that made your lashes flutter with dizzying pleasure.

"My good girl," Gojo praised with a wicked glint in his azure gaze. "Now let's see how long you can keep up the obedient act before you're begging me to stop, hmm?"

With a sly, predatory grin, Gojo rolled off of you to stand, leaving your body buzzing with anticipation and the phantom heat of his weight pinning you. You lay there, breathless and quivering, as his fingers flicked open the clasp of his belt with a metallic snap.

"You remember the rules, don't you, kitten?" Gojo rumbled, leisurely tugging the belt from its loops with a sinuous slide of leather and metal. "No counting or pleading until the very end, or else I'll start over."

He stepped towards the edge of the bed, looming over you in a manner both protective and menacing. Your pulse spiked into a rapid tattoo as the coiled length of leather whispered through his palm in an anticipatory slide.

"Spread your legs and arch that ass up for me like a good girl," he instructed. "You've earned a good punishment for nearly getting yourself killed, haven't you?"

The words sparked a jolt of hot shame deep within you, but that only fanned the flames of your desire. Your body reacted before you could think to deny his command, thighs parting and hips canting upward until the vulnerable curve of your rear was bared and presented to him.

"That's it, my perfect little toy," Gojo crooned, the soft sibilance of his words underscored by the telltale shift of leather and metal in his grip. "You've always been such a good listener, haven't you?"

A tremor rippled through your muscles, the instinctive flinch of anticipation, and a ragged whimper tore from your throat when the first blow landed with a deafening crack. You bit down on the knuckle of your thumb to silence the cry, a futile bid to restrain the sound.

"No no no, pretty girl," Gojo chided, his low baritone rife with dark amusement. "Those sounds belong to me. Let them out."

You shook your head, eyes squeezed shut in a futile attempt to deny him, even though you knew it was impossible. His free hand settled in a proprietary weight between your shoulder blades, pressing your upper torso flush against the mattress.

"Don't be stubborn now, kitten," Gojo chastised, voice a husky purr as the leather of his belt slid across the abused skin of your ass. "You know the rules...and I'm going to make you scream those numbers for me."

The leather snapped again, a blistering stripe of searing agony lancing across your exposed flesh. The cry ripped from your throat sounded foreign and primal, and you were suddenly grateful for the muffling effect of the thick bedding.

"Count." Gojo's tone brooked no argument.

"Two." You managed the word past gritted teeth, hands fisting the sheets with white-knuckled force.

"Good girl," Gojo purred, the sound rich and honeyed as the cool leather whispered over your abused skin. "Let's try for three, hmm?"

A third searing swat landed, and then a fourth. Each one wrung another pained cry from your lips and brought your hips straining against the restraining hold of his palm.

"Five," you gasped, barely registering the tear that slipped down your cheek. "Thank you, Gojo-sensei."

The next lash was gentler than the ones before it, but no less effective in eliciting a breathless gasp and a shudder of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

"S-six," you stammered, barely able to string the syllables together.

"You're doing so well, baby," Gojo murmured, his words a soothing rumble that belied the merciless sting of leather as he brought the belt down across your flesh once more.

You lost count of the swats, each one a searing brand and yet an exquisite pleasure in its own right. With every number that fell from your lips in a broken sob, your thighs slickened further with a shameful gush of wetness. You didn't even realize you were crying until you felt the press of his palm between your shoulder blades, grounding and comforting and unbearably hot.

"Shh, sweet girl, it's almost over," he murmured, his voice a velvet purr that seemed to seep beneath your skin and burrow into the core of you. "Just a few more. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes," you whimpered, tears slipping free despite your efforts to stop them. "I can do it, Gojo-sensei."

His chuckle was a dark rumble. "My good, obedient little girl. Always eager to please, aren't you?"

His hand moved from between your shoulder blades to stroke gently along your flank, fingers tracing idle patterns across the bruises marring your flesh. A sharp contrast to the stinging burn still radiating through your abused flesh.

"Are you ready for the last one?" He asked, the question almost playful.

"Yes." You breathed the word, the single syllable a soft exhale.

"That's my girl," Gojo murmured, his approval warming the pit of your stomach. "Let's see if we can make this one really count, shall we?"

The leather snapped against your ass in a devastating strike, eliciting a cry that was half pleasure, half pain. Your thighs trembled as your back arched, body instinctively seeking more contact with the unyielding surface of his palm.

"Seven." The word came out sounding more like a moan.

Gojo's hand smoothed over the abused flesh of your ass, his touch maddeningly gentle and yet still stoking the flames of desire within you. You couldn't stop the whimper that escaped your lips as his fingers teased the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, the feather-light touch eliciting sparks of heat along your spine.

"There, there," he murmured, the words a dark rasp that sent shivers through you. "I think that's enough punishment for now, don't you agree?"

"Yes, Gojo-sensei," you breathed, your voice sounding foreign to your ears.

"Good girl." His fingers ghosted over your slickened folds, teasingly light and yet eliciting a gasp of pleasure.

"But if you want to earn the privilege of a reward, you're going to have to earn it first," he continued, his words a low growl that reverberated straight through you.

Your eyes fluttered shut as his thumb traced slow circles around your clit, the sensation sending tendrils of molten heat coiling through you. You couldn't help the whimper that escaped you, or the way your hips bucked against his touch, seeking more friction.

"I'm not hearing a yes, kitten," he chided, the words a dark purr.

"Yes, Gojo-sensei," you managed, the words coming out in a breathy whisper.

His fingers teased your entrance, dipping just barely into the slickness gathering there. A low groan escaped him, the sound reverberating through your body.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me, aren't you?" He growled, his voice a low rasp. "All spread out and aching for me to fill you up, aren't you, babygirl?"

"Yes, Gojo-sensei." You repeated the phrase like a mantra, unable to form any other coherent thoughts as his fingers curled inside you.

"Look at you, taking my fingers like such a good little slut," he murmured, the words punctuated by the wet sounds of him pumping his digits in and out of you.

You couldn't help the way your hips rocked against his touch, the sensation eliciting sparks of pleasure along your spine. Your back arched, thighs trembling as you sought more friction.

"That's it, take it all," he urged, his voice a low rumble. "Feel how tight you're gripping me, baby. So wet and desperate for me, aren't you?"

"Please," you whined, the word emerging as a broken plea. "I need more, Gojo-sensei. Please."

"Such a needy little slut," he chuckled, the sound sending shivers through you.

He removed his fingers, eliciting a whimper of protest from you, before his palm came down hard on the already abused flesh of your ass, the resounding slap echoing through the room.

"Up," he commanded, the word a rough bark.

You scrambled to obey, limbs shaky as you pushed yourself upright. Your thighs were slick with your own arousal, a sight that only intensified the burn of humiliation. You couldn't help the whimper that escaped your throat, a combination of humiliation and desire.

Gojo stood in front of you, his pants unbuttoned and his cock fully erect. The sight was enough to make your mouth water, but he seemed determined to draw this out, his expression an inscrutable mask as he appraised you.

"On your knees," he commanded, the words a low growl.

You sank to your knees before him, the movement sending a jolt of pain through your ass as it came into contact with the plush rug. His cock was mere inches from your face, the tip glistening with precum. Your breath caught in your throat, your mouth watering as you took in the sight.

"Suck it," he commanded, the words a low rumble.

Your hands trembled as you reached for him, fingers curling around the base of his cock. He let out a low groan as you stroked him, the sound sending shivers through you. He was rock hard, and you couldn't help the moan that escaped your lips as you felt the weight of him in your palm.

"Good girl," he murmured, the words a low rumble.

You opened your mouth, tongue darting out to lick the tip of his cock. He tasted musky and salty, and you couldn't help the way your body responded, a rush of heat pooling between your thighs. You took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. His hips bucked forward, and you nearly choked, but managed to steady yourself.

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice a low rasp. "That's it, baby. Just like that."

Your tongue traced the underside of his shaft, reveling in the feel of him filling your mouth. Your jaw ached, but you didn't care, lost in the sensation of him. His fingers tangled in your hair, gripping tightly as he fucked your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat with each thrust. You swallowed him down, moaning around his length.

"Shit," he cursed, his voice a guttural growl. "You're so fucking good at this, aren't you, slut?"

The words sent a thrill of pleasure through you, and you couldn't help but whimper in agreement. You wanted him to keep talking, wanted to hear him praise you, wanted to hear him degrade you. His cock pulsed in your mouth, and you knew he was close.

"Gonna come," he growled, the words a harsh rasp.

He pulled out, his cock springing free from your mouth with a wet pop. Your eyes widened as he pumped himself in his fist, the sight of his swollen, leaking cock almost enough to make you come undone.

"Beg for it," he commanded with a low snarl.

"Please," you pleaded, your voice a desperate whimper. "Please, Gojo-sensei. Please come on my face."

"Fuck," he swore, the word a guttural growl.

You closed your eyes as he came, warm spurts of cum landing on your cheeks and lips. You licked your lips, the taste of him bitter and salty. You couldn't help but whimper as his seed trickled down your face, his musky scent invading your nostrils.

"Clean it up," he ordered, the words a low growl.

You complied, using your fingers to scoop the mess from your cheeks and licking it from your fingertips. The action only seemed to arouse him further, and his cock twitched in response. You couldn't help the moan that escaped you, the sight of his renewed erection sending a rush of heat through you.

"On the bed," he commanded, his voice a rough rasp.

You scrambled to comply, the ache of your bruised and battered body momentarily forgotten in the anticipation of what was to come. Your legs trembled as you climbed onto the bed, spreading them wide for him. Your pussy throbbed, the feeling only intensifying as you watched him step out of his pants and stalk towards you with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

"So needy," he purred, the words a low rumble.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he knelt between your legs, his gaze raking over your exposed body. You felt like an offering, a sacrifice laid out for him to devour. His cock was hard and swollen, and you couldn't help but writhe beneath him, desperate for him to fill you.

"Patience, kitten," he murmured, the words a dark chuckle.

His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into the tender flesh as he dragged you closer. Your skin tingled at the sensation, the anticipation nearly overwhelming. He lined his cock up with your entrance, the tip pressing against your slickened folds.

"Please," you begged, the word a breathless whisper.

He leaned over you, his lips a hairsbreadth from yours. You could feel his breath against your skin, the heat of him making your pulse race. You ached for him, the empty void within you seeming to expand until it threatened to swallow you whole.

"What do you want, kitten?" He murmured, his voice a low rumble.

"Fuck me, Gojo-sensei," you whimpered, the words emerging as a strangled moan.

He pushed into you, his cock filling you up in one swift thrust. You gasped, the sensation nearly enough to send you over the edge. His cock stretched you open, the fullness sending sparks of pleasure through you. You arched into him, your hips grinding against his as he began to move inside you.

"So fucking tight," he growled, the words a low rumble.

You writhed beneath him, lost in the feeling of his cock pounding into you. His hips rolled against yours, the friction sending bolts of electricity through you. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You moaned against his mouth, his tongue exploring yours.

"Come for me," he commanded, the words a ragged order.

You cried out, the pleasure ripping through you as you came undone beneath him. Your pussy clenched around his cock, milking him for all he was worth. He groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he slammed into you. The sound of skin against skin was a symphony, the feel of him moving within you almost too much to bear.

"Fuck, kitten," he growled, his voice a husky rasp.

His hips jerked as he spilled inside you, his release sending you spiraling into another wave of pleasure. You clung to him, the orgasm ripping through you with an intensity you'd never experienced before. Your entire body shuddered, your muscles clenching around his cock as you milked every last drop of his cum.

"Fuck," he groaned, his cock slipping out of you with a wet squelch.

You whimpered at the loss, the feeling of him leaving you making you want more. You could feel his seed leaking out of you, trickling down the insides of your thighs before you felt the telltale trickle of wetness. The realization that he'd made you squirt was nearly enough to send you spiraling into another orgasm.

"You're a mess, kitten," he purred, the words a dark chuckle.

His fingers traced the rivulets of wetness on the insides of your thighs, the sensation sending shivers through you. The bedsheets were soaked beneath you, your juices and his cum mingling in a puddle of filth. The sight only served to arouse him further, and his cock twitched, already half-hard again.

"So messy," he murmured, the words a husky rasp.

He reached up, tracing a finger through the mess of his cum and your juices on your cheeks. You whimpered as he brought the digit to your lips, the taste of him making you crave more. He pressed his thumb into your mouth, the weight of it a welcome sensation. You sucked on it, savoring the flavor of him.

"Fuck, that's hot," he growled, his cock already fully erect again. But he knew your body couldn't take it, not after everything he'd put you through.

He rolled off of you, and you immediately missed the heat of his weight on top of you. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. You sighed, the feel of his skin against yours sending shivers through you. His cock pressed against your ass, and you couldn't help but grind back against him, eager for more.

"Greedy little slut," he murmured, the words a rough chuckle. "Stay still. I’m trying to take care of you."

He pulled the blankets over the two of you, cocooning you in the warmth of his body. Your muscles ached, and the bruises and welts on your skin throbbed, but you didn't care. The exhaustion and pain were a distant afterthought, overshadowed by the euphoric bliss that came from being sated by the man who had trained and taught and tormented you.

"You did so well, my sweet, filthy girl," he purred, the words a soft murmur against your hair. "So obedient, even when I had to punish you for nearly getting yourself killed."

Gojo cupped your face in his hands, eyes twinkling with both relief and mischief. "You really had me worried there, yknow," he chided gently.

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, kissing you with a jovial intensity. His kisses trailed along your jaw, up to your ear where he murmured, "Don't think you can get away with stunts like that." His teeth grazed your earlobe playfully.

Laughing, you tried to squirm away, but he captured you in his arms. "No escaping your punishment," Gojo teased, raining kisses along your neck and collarbone. His fingers danced along your sides, finding all the spots that made you squirm with giggles.

Finally, he relented, pinning you beneath him with a roguish grin. "There, I'd say that covers it for scaring me half to death." His expression softened as he brushed a few stray hairs from your flushed face. "Just don't go risking that beautiful smile again, okay?"

[msnameless]

I dont know if u write dubcon but can you PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE write a reader who’s self esteem is so low that she decides to break up with gojo only for gojo to aggressively ruin her insides + body worship hehe

I'm not sure if I captured the vibe but i tried lol.

feel free to send asks as alw

❍ ࣪⁎⁺Insecurity⁎⁺˳ .

Gojo Satoru x Reader

You try to break up with Gojo Satoru due to your insecurity but he's having none of that.

(1.5k words, oneshot)

"I can't do this anymore."

"Do what anymore, sweetheart?" Gojo cocked his head and grinned at you mischievously.

"Us, I don't...I just can't. I'm sorry," you stood up and began leaving much to Gojo's alarm.

"Woah woah, hold your horses, little missy," your wrist was tugged back by your boyfriend-turned-ex. Gojo was upon you in a flash.

"Where do you think you're running off to?"

A pair of electric blue eyes burned into yourself as Gojo peered at you intensely. His gaze scanned over you as if trying to uncover a conceivable reason why you'd want to end the relationship. You felt your hairs prick up and shoved him away, mortified.

The silence that hung between the both of you stretched into forever, though in reality, it lasted for merely 3 seconds. Gojo looked astounded, all traces of playfulness now gone.

"What do you mean?" he asked concerned.

"Look, if this is about your leftovers that I-"

"Gojo, please just leave me alone," you begged earnestly, hoping your voice wouldn't break and lead to a meltdown.

You wanted to leave before it could happen, stumbling out the door, heading straight home.

The truth was you had always noticed the sheer gap between you and Gojo in all aspects possible, whether it be in terms of physical attractiveness or power. Everyone knew Gojo Satoru, the most powerful Jujutsu sorcerer in the world, the only one to have been born with the Six-Eyes and limitless technique in the last 400 years. He drew eyes whenever he walked into a room, that confident stride promising an easygoingness that came from knowing you would always be far above everyone else.

You knew what people must've thought when they saw you as his girlfriend. You were a mere wallflower, not even deserving of a second glance. You hated it whenever people stared at you for a second longer than you thought necessary, imagined their withering judgement as they took you in with disdain. You felt your clothes tighten, and every flaw on your body became more noticeable than ever.

You compared yourself with just about anyone. Gojo was surrounded by plenty of attractive people such as Shoko Ieiri, and you felt like an ugly duckling amongst them. But you had to hide it. After all, you were Gojo Satoru's girlfriend.

Thus, you began trying to change yourself in a desperate hope that you'd be happier with yourself, going on diets, and working out rigorously.

Nothing ever lasted. You would always go back to your normal self. Disgusting self, was what you thought. The mirror was a dreadful reminder of what you were when you glanced into it every day, and soon that got covered up, too, like your body. All the while, you acted your usual on the outside, keeping up the mask that served to hide your self-loathing.

Things escalated when you feared physical contact with Gojo, thinking that whenever he hugged you from behind, all your rolls of fat could be felt. The insecurity became so crippling that you were utterly miserable until you finally decided to end your relationship with him.

For the next 2 days, you kept to yourself at home, ignoring the incessant texts from Gojo before you blocked him. You thought things were finally over until your door got broken down, blasted open on its hinges by Gojo.

"Oops, didn't mean to be so rough," he shrugged as he strode in.

"Now then. Enough is enough."

The next second, you were lifted up and set in front of Gojo.

"What's your problem, lady? You thought you could just break up with me without a reasonable explanation?" he scoffed.

"Tell me why or I'm not leaving," he demanded.

You tried to speak, but a lump in your throat left you mute. How would you begin to explain the inferiority you felt compared to him? Gojo waited for you patiently, but your voice had vanished.

"If this is about thinking you're not good enough, you'd better stop now," Gojo warned.

He snickered at your questioning look.

"I'm more observant than people give me credit for. Did you think I wouldn't see the way you shy away from my hugs?" he pouted before sighing dramatically.

"This is an emergency, I can't have my sweetheart hating herself, now can I?" he mumbled, hand holding his chin in thought.

"Got it! I guess I'll just have to drill it into you then," he smirked, eyes darkening as he pressed feather kisses from your forehead to your eyes, cheeks, lips, neck, making his way down slowly. Compared to his kisses, his rough hands caressed your body urgently, kneading and stroking all the places where you used to allow him to do so before growing insecure.

"I love you here, here, here..." he whispered sensually, starting to life your shirt over your head but you stopped him, afraid of being bared.

"Don't-"

Gojo silenced you with a kiss, biting harshly on your lips.

"Uh-uh, let me work my magic and make you feel real good, kay?" Gojo grinned maniacally.

You didn't dare to speak under his feral gaze and he took it as a sign to continue.

The air hummed with electricity. You felt your body flush as the room turned stuffy, becoming indescribably hot. Gojo's touches burned your skin and you could feel a raw desire pooling in your stomach as his fingers danced all over the curves and dips of your body.

You were helpless under Gojo's ministrations and soon laid under him in all your glory.

It had been too long for Gojo since he was allowed to admire you. After all, you had distanced yourself from him and it was now time to make up for what he missed out on. Gojo paused his teasing and looked down at you before opening his mouth.

"Buckle up, sweetheart."

All you remembered of the next few hours was pure bliss as well as you and Gojo chanting each other's names like a mantra. He slammed into you over and over again, never faltering, all while whispering sweet nothings into your hair. Your body was stretched to its limits and the sensations made you see stars in your vision. It was too much yet never enough at the same time.

His long and slender fingers constantly prodded in and out of you, swiping and circling where he knew it felt irresistible. Impossibly quick, tantalizingly slow; over and over again in a vicious cycle, to the point where it had you begging for his sadistic torture to end, granting you release. Gojo knew your body better than yourself, and could rely on his deft fingers alone to strip you of your defenses.

Gojo worked himself to the bone, playing you like an instrument expertly as you tried but failed to stifle noises that would make a sailor blush.

You almost came multiple times, just for Gojo to stop after driving you to the edge and pulling you back again. He frowned at you in mock disappointment.

"I don't like it when you cover yourself," he taunted derisively. From then on, Gojo made sure your mouth was free to make any noise he wanted you to, unless of course he chose to fill it up himself personally.

The taste of salt and passion permeated your senses, prompting you to understand exactly what it meant to be claimed by Gojo.

Ruffling your hair, Gojo kept praising you, coaxing climaxes out from your body time after time. It was almost too much and you trembled from the insistent stimulation.

"Just like that, one more time? You're doing so well," he cooed. Even if you couldn't, you had to. Gojo never halted his actions to let you catch your breath. In and out, in and out, Gojo moved at a speed that was more beast than man. You howled his name, unsure if you were pleading for him to cease and desist or continue.

As the moon shone and sparkled in its obsidian tapestry that was the peaceful night, you and Gojo danced the devil's tango, with Gojo leading. Bodies colliding, breaths mixing, hands entangling, your eyes never dared to leave Gojo's as he demonstrated personally his affections towards you.

He had you enchanted with the way he looked, groaning at the sight of you and kissing anywhere he could on your body. Saliva and sweat pooled together, glimmering on your skins.

Gojo's eyes sparkled brighter than the stars as he stared down at your body ardently, raking over everything. Bodies still connected, he clasped your hand and linked your fingers together, bringing them to his mouth. His eyes never leaving yours, Gojo kissed every single one of your knuckles.

"You're so pretty, y'know that?" he sighed.

"I never want to stop loving your body."

The next morning, your body was littered with black and purple marks, a reminder of what went down the night before. You stumbled getting out from bed and was caught in Gojo's embrace. He chuckled amusedly, hair tousled from slumber.

"Woah there, looks like someone had too much fun last night. Your legs still working or nah?" he teased.

You shrieked and whacked him in response.

"Seriously, I love you just the way you are. You're gorgeous in my eyes and that's all that matters," Gojo mumbled, head lying above yours.

Gojo's voice then took on a more lethal edge.

"Or do we have to start this ritual of worshipping you every night?"