#the sins weigh heavy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rainstts · 2 months ago

Text

Dangerous decision.ᐟ

the jjk men get a haircut when you're ovulating? yeah, it was on purpose

✰ including [separate] Nanami x reader, Gojo x reader, Toji x reader, Geto x reader, Sukuna x reader, Choso x reader, Higuruma x reader, Shiu x reader, Kusakabe x reader

✰ warnings. MDNI, fem!reader, established relationships, unprotected sex, overstímulation, bite marks + hickeys, thigh riďing, jealousy, throat fuckiŋg, dirty talk, dacryphilia, rough sëx, praise, creampıe, pet names, HEAVY breeďing, oral (m + f), degradätion (‘bìtch’ and ‘whọre’ are used), nipple play, cüm play, mean and softdom Suguru, kinda mean Toji

✰ word count. 6k (I apologise in advance)

✰ A/N. my ovulation was in control and i made everyone’s problem

──────〃✰ NANAMI KENTO

You knew that allowing your husband to have an app to track your cycle could turn into a bad idea someday. Still, you trusted Kento. What was the worst thing he could do with that anyway? Come back home after work looking incredibly handsome?

Yes. That, exactly.

He was half an hour late, and you were laying in bed when he came with flowers and chocolate in his hands, and smelling so good. God, it made you bite your lips just from looking at him. His loose tie and the perfect suit, it was almost too much to handle, especially when he said he had brought dinner and dessert, and that he got a haircut.

And that was an hour ago.

Now you were sitting on Nanami’s lap, riding his dick and holding tight on his broad shoulders, your nails digging on his skin, leaving red marks all over. None of you broke eye contact, Kento was too stunned for that, mouth half open and his rough, low moans out in the open just for you, fueling that feeling in your core.

“Keep fucking going, love. Don’t stop.” Nanami groaned, his voice a few tones lower than usual, lost in the pleasure only you could give to him, his sweet wife unable to control yourself in your fertile period. The feeling of his cock buried deep inside you making the two of you lose your strengths. His hands holding tight on your hip and waist, guiding you through it when you started to feel tired.

“That’s my good girl, that’s right…”

His fingers were digging on your skin like you were doing with him, still letting you ride him at your own pace. And you felt like you couldn’t stop. Desperate for more, your hips moved up and down, riding him like he taught you, just how he liked it, feeling your gummy walls hot against his dick and the wetness of it making the sloppy sounds echo louder around you two. It hit on the right spots, making your eyes roll back.

“You’re doing so good, fucking yourself on my cock like this, love.” you could feel his words turning that desperate key in your brain, making your hips roll back and forth, his dick hitting the right spots that made you moan his name in that needy tone he always loved.

“’S’Too good, Ken.”

“Yeah? Too good to use your husband as a toy, pretty girl?” He smiled, his gaze locked on his lap and the way he was filling you. His hands tightened the grip on your hips when you felt weak, and started moving you with his own strength and pace as if you weighed nothing for him. “We’re not stopping now, you’re taking it.”

“Ken- Ngh- Please!”

“Please, what, darling?” Nanami teased, leaned in to kiss and suck on the skin of your neck when you tried to babble something back. Your words getting lost in your throat when he moved his hips up and your body down, messily fucking you. Your hands moved up his shoulders to his neck, looking into his eyes with your mouth half open. “Come on, just one more and I’ll fill you up again.”

“Mngh- I can’t- Too much, Ken!”

“Yes, you can. I can feel how tight you are already,” He whispered, never stopping his movements against you and your movements against him. Your bodies colliding against the other, making that painful, sinful pleasure almost drives you insane. “Cum f’me, and I’ll make sure you’re filled enough to give me a baby, yeah?”

“Fuckfuckfuck, Kento!”

“Cum.”

──────〃✰ GOJO SATORU

It had been hours since Satoru got home after leaving to get his monthly haircut, and he still had you open for him in your shared, messy bed. Legs spread to give him the vision he always loved, your body on display for him to do what he wanted, what you loved. His hands holding tight on your thighs to keep you quiet and open for him, while he fucked you tortuously slow.

“Toru, please,” You moaned, your hands tightly tied up with the fabric of his blindfold. Your hips moved down to meet him, barely hiding your needs from him. It only made him smile, squeezing your thighs. “Faster. And harder, please.”

“Fuuuuck, Sugar. You still can handle it? Are’ya sure?”

He was teasing you, it was clear in his eyes, in his tone, but fuck it, you couldn’t care less. Every thrust, every throb, every time he looked down to see his whitish cum escaping from the sides of your sensitive folds, and every time you looked up into his eyes to see that dangerously addicted glow, both of you knew you would take it.

“I need more, please.”

“I can’t deny anything when you ask so nicely.”

He smiled, a wide, feral grin while he pushed your legs even more, his body leaning in, closer and closer when he started to push himself against your aching, full pussy, each thrust harder, deeper and faster than the other.

Satoru had his knees on the bed, placing his weight on top of yours while he picked up the pace, fucking you so mercilessly, giving in to the feeling of how wet you were against his dick. And how you moaned his name, your needy voice, tired from the long fucking sessions he put you through.

“Ngh- Fuck! Oh-n-God!” You could barely keep your eyes open, Satoru was addicted to the feeling of his dick inside your wet and white painted walls, pounding good down on you, his tip dangerously hitting your cervix over and over again.

“Heh- I felt that, baby. Cumming again, aren’t’ya?”

Gojo teased, groaning and moaning shamelessly in your ear when he felt your pussy throbbing against his dick, showing the last signs of strength while he fucked you again. With his left hand on the mattress to hold the weight of his torso, he slid his right hand up by your sides, squeezing your tits, marked by his teeth with noticeable red love bites, until he reached for your nape.

“Gotta make ya come to a good view, sweet thing.” His hand forced on your nape, your head now leaning forward when he made you open your eyes. Curved underneath his body, you could see his painfully hard cock sliding in and out your wet pussy. The sight of it making you shiver and moan louder, that same feeling building up in your core.

“Look at how good you’re takin’ me, hm?!”

“Toru! Don’tstopdon’tstop!” You could barely manage to get the words out of your mouth, already cumming while you said it. Pussy throbbing at each and every thrust inside, harder and harder. The sweet vision of you two connected like that making you orgasm even better.

“Oh, fuck, fuck darling,” He moaned loud, head moving down and his lips capturing the skin of your shoulders, leaving even more hickeys all over, marking you and letting clear that your body was his. “‘M’gonna cum too, Sugar. Fill you up again, right? Take it, fucking take it!”

Tired, fucked into a mess, your right hand moved up until you touched his nape, your fingers feeling his undercut, the hair perfectly shaped, the reason you felt so needy when he came back. The reason why you were now taking one more load from him, leaving both of you tired when he pulled out, panting, just to see your body marked by his hickeys and bites, and the whitish cream leaking out of your reddish cunt.

“Perfect, Sugar.”

──────〃✰ FUSHIGURO TOJI

Toji wasn’t exactly the type to care about how he looked, but you did. And that was why you had insisted on going with him when he said he would get a haircut. There were no big changes, just a trim here and there, but, somehow, the vision got you more excited than it should. Wetter than usual.

But Toji saw it in another way.

His woman in a barber shop full of men looking at her as if she was a piece of meat? He wouldn’t forget that. And he didn’t. Jealousy kicked in fast, even if he tried to deny it, and now that he got you on your knees, tears running down your face and mouth open around his cock, you could see the glimpse of that possessiveness in his eyes.

“You enjoy the attention, don’ ya?” His voice was low, not hiding his pleasure. Asking you questions when you had your mouth full, his tip brushing against your throat. He made you take it, and made you look into his eyes while doing so. “But you’re mine, mama. All mine.”

He looked insatiable for you, a hungry man, discounting everything he felt inside on your poor mouth. “All mine to fuck like this, to feel ya moaning on my cock. Thaaat’s right.” Toji’s hand touched your cheek, feeling how full he left your mouth, snickering at the thought.

Only when you tapped his thighs, he pulled away, letting you breathe while he pulled you onto the bed. Giving you only a few seconds to recover, Toji opened your legs for him, his thumb finding the way to your needy clit quickly, and let out his rage and jealousy on your poor cunt.

You knew what would happen to you as soon as you felt him brush his tip on your pussy, spreading your wet folds. He smirked, seeing how it throbbed in expectation for his next move, but he took his time to tease you, to fill that damn hot egotistical side of his.

“Ya see who does that to you, don’ ya?”

“Fuck, yes, Toji! I need you,” Your moan was somewhat desperate, your voice showing the signs of your used throat. “Pleas-”

The word got lost in your throat when he moved his hips at once, his hard girth sliding in and opening you for him. No giving time for you to loosen up, no fingering you. He used your own wetness and your saliva on his cock to move and fill you in one thrust. Hands tight on your hips to keep you quiet when you squirm, trying to move.

“No running away now, little thing,” He groaned, leaning on top of you, his hips rolling back just to give another harsh thrust in, your body jolting in the bed. “Ya asked for it, ‘m’gonna make you take it, inch by inch.”

When your eyes met his, and you tried to speak, Toji stood straight and started fucking you mercilessly, senseless. His hips slapped against yours as his hands moved your hips slightly up. He had his head hanging back, mouth open to moan for you, taking his frustrations and anger in you.

“Always acting like a bratty little bitch when you’re all fertile and ready for me,” A low groan escaped his mouth when he touched that sweet spot inside that made you clench and scream his name, muffled against the back of your own hand. “You won’t be actin’ like that for long, pretty girl.”

“Oh my G- Fuck, Toji! Too much, bab-”

“‘S’never too much for you, c’mon,” His fingers tightened the grip on your skin, his digits marked on you like he owned you. Your body was sensitive, the ovulation always made you feel much more, and he knew it. “‘M’gonna make them stop lookin’ at my woman.”

“Toji! I- I’m gonna c- I’m gonn-” Your babbling only made him move harder, the sound of his skin slapping against yours was loud in the room, mixed with the wet sounds of your aching pussy and how wet you were, and coming more. Making it easier for him to slide in and out and fuck you however he wanted.

“That’s my good girl, now I can fill you up” The man praised, stopping just enough to move you as if you were light as a feather, and sliding back inside once he had you on fours. Face down, ass up, like he so much loved. “Gotta make you a real mama and keep you just to myself.”

──────〃✰ GETO SUGURU

“How many times have I told you to behave, hm?”

His voice was low, giving you chills at every word spoken, his eyes focused on your movements on top of him. He had taught you how to ride his thigh properly, and it was his way to give you release without touching you. His way of torturing you.

“‘M’So sorry, Sugu!” Your voice was shaky at this point, keeping your hands to yourself after he forbade you to touch him unless he said otherwise. You continued moving, rolling your hips back and forth, despite how tired you were. You still felt pleasure and wanted more.

You wanted him inside, burying his cock in you as deep as he could, just how you loved it, but he was making you pay. Only a moment of jealousy and a small, snarky comment about you trimming his hair next time, and doing it better.

He wanted you to prove to him you could do one thing better, instead. Making yourself cum on his cock was never a hard task, but now, all you had was his thigh, over and over, and it didn’t matter how many times you came with his skin rubbing against your red, sensitive clit, and his praising and teasing, it was never enough for Suguru.

“Now you’re sorry, it only took you, what, four orgasms?”

“Please, Sugu! Please, I can’t-”

You choked, that neediness showing in your voice, in your pleas, hoping he would give in this time. And continued moving, feeling the next orgasm build up in your core, your insides twitching around nothing when you wanted him there.

“You can’t, love? Is it too much for your insatiable cunt?” He finally touched you, both hands gripping tight on your waist and thigh, forcing you to stay where you were, his smirk widening when he saw your legs shaking. “If it’s too much, you don’t want my cock, do you?”

It was a trap. A tricky question. It only made you groan in frustration. The sound made Suguru push his leg upwards with quite a strength, pressing his skin against your clit and wet folds.

“Answer me, pretty girl.”

“I wan- Sugu… I want your cock, please.”

He smirked again, pressing his leg on you once more, just to feel your wet, hot skin against his. He was pleased to see how he could easily overstimulate you, and the feeling only increased when you felt yourself closer and closer to another painful, but good orgasm.

“Just because you asked nicely.”

He moved fast, not wanting you to lose the grip you had on that pleasure. Helping you with his hands on your waist, Suguru shifted your weight from one leg to his lips, his cock, already leaking pre-cum, filled you entirely in one move.

Your mouth was open in a slight shock and a wave of pleasure. The same that left Suguru with his eyes closed, and his head leaned back against his chair. None of you would ever get used to that feeling.

“Fucking heaven, girl. That’s how good your pussy feels after cumming so much f’me,” He said every word with that same fierce tone of his, the one that always made you throb, insane for the way he had a hold on you, how he controlled your body without even trying. “It’s all nice and ready for me to feel ya, right?”

“Right.” You agreed, not waiting a second. And, when you moved your hip against him, he snickered.

“Not now, sweet thing. You wanted me inside, I’m inside,” He said, right hand moving up to touch the single tear that fell down your cheek, his cock twitching inside your wet gummy walls, barely unable to control himself after that. “Now you’re on top, I’m gonna fuck you on top. Crying or not, you know how I like it.”

“Suguru-”

“Take it.”

──────〃✰ RYOMEN SUKUNA

“I had enough of your behavior today, my little viper.”

Sukuna’s voice was deep, causing shivers to run down your spine while he pulled his throbbing cock out of you. He was still leaning on top of you, his chest pressed against your back and his left hand in a tight grip on your hair, keeping your body still for him.

“Maybe I gave you too much freedom,” He started, whispering into your ear while he pressed his tip on your pussy, teasing you, testing the limits of your neediness. When you tried to move your hips against his, Sukuna smiled. A wide, devilish grin, followed by a low groan when he pushed his cock back inside you, spreading your tight, wet walls around his fat size. “And you started acting like an insatiable little whore.”

“Nmh- Kuna! Sorry! I’m sorry!” Your voice was showing signs of your weariness. Your hands desperately looking for something to hold onto when he moved back to fuck you on fours, cock filling you up and hitting your right spots over, and over, and over again.

“Now you’re sorry, my suffering?” He asked when his large left hand found its way in between your hair, pulling the strands from the root, arching your back forcefully. “Now it’s too late.”

Your mistake? Tried to rush him while he had Uraume trimming his hair. He loved and hated when you disturbed his rare moments of peace and self-care, always meaning you were going to end up shaking and fucked dumb in his bed. And he had no problem in making you apologize for not being able to control your own hormones.

In such an almost sweet way, manhandling you to any and every position he wanted, just to see how many times he could make you cum. And how many did he have now? You couldn’t remember anymore. Not when your eyes rolled back each time his hips slapped against yours and his tip kissed your cervix over, and over, and over, and over... His hands keep you in your place, holding your waist and hair.

And looking at how you were trying to hold on the sheets, increasing his rough movements until your hands were falling by your sides, turning you into a moaning wet mess when you were so close to yet another orgasm. “You’re not trying to run away, are you?”

“F-Fuck! N-no, Ryo! M’not! I swe-ear…”

“Liar.” He groaned when suddenly pushed back, making your cunt clench around nothing, missing him there. “You know I don’t like when you run.”

Sukuna held you, your body light as a feather, while he switched positions. In seconds, he had you laid in bed, your back hit the mattress as his body moved above yours, both hands pressing the back of your knees until he put you in an unholy mating press. His weight entirely over yours and pounding harshly against your poor cunt at once, your scream muffled against his mouth when he kissed you.

“That’s right, you’ll stay fucking quiet and take it,” Ryomen said, both hands pressing you more and more open for him, your sweet scent filling his nostrils, making his smirk grow. “That’s why you’re acting like a damn brat today? Got your hormones making you crazy?”

Of course, he knew, he had to know. The signs were there from the start, and made the man push himself harder and harder against your reddish puffy cunt, mixing your juices with his pre-cum.

“Mhm- Fuck, fuck, Kuna, please!” You choked out, eyes glistening with tears of pleasure and slight overstimulation. The sight triggered that same deep need in him, a low growl leaving his mouth with his deep grunts when he started pouncing harder. Deeper. So good. Forcing his way into your cunt when you opened your legs even more for him, drunk in the pleasure of being folded by the king.

And the tears came, falling down your cheeks as he continued, unable to stop his movements against you. The sight of your tear-stained face only taking away the last grip of his sanity. His right hand moving to feel your neck and pressing the sides, controlling your breath lightly and your blood pressure there, the feeling of your vision getting even more blurred, only seeing the brutish smile on his face and his red eyes rolling back as you both came together.

“Good- Fucking- pussy, my queen,” Sukuna breathed out, looking down to see the beads of cum escaping when his movements loosened slightly. “All filled up, that must ease that behavior of yours and give me a strong heir, a boy, hm?!”

──────〃✰ KAMO CHOSO

Choso wasn’t a man to have haircuts often. He always loved the length of his dark strands, and, most importantly, you loved it. So when he said he would go out with his brother, you didn’t expect to see how gorgeous he was when he came back home. He had trimmed only one inch or two, but they styled his hair differently than he usually did.

His hair length showed more while the strands fell on his shoulders, his appearance strangely clean, but so pretty and so hot too. It made you melt in a way you weren’t expecting, those hormones of yours messing with your inner neediness and your usual desire for the man only growing.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you when you were like that, both hands keeping your knees apart while your pussy was milking his cock, the girth twitching inside you, his hips moving back and forth painfully slow and his eyes glued to the luscious vision with each movement he made against you.

“Always feel so good like this.” His voice is low, not hiding the necessity within. Choso was edging himself in you, always slowing down his movements when he was about to cum. It was a good fucking torture you taught him.

“You promised you’d cum with me this time, Cho,” your voice was low, almost in a coaxing tone, or trying.

“I know, I know,” He whispers back, leaning his body against yours as he continues with that same pace. His body is shivering above yours, his panting and grunts louder. He couldn’t control himself anymore, but he tried, taking both of you to that sweet overstimulation. “I jus’ need more of you, my love. Just… More.”

The last word comes with a deep thrust, making your body jolt and that same ragged moan leaves his mouth. And it doesn’t take long for Choso to regain his pace again, faster, harder, pounding down on you like a mad man. Both arms caging you in bed while his hips moved harshly.

“Fuck, fuck, Choso!”

“I know, I’m gonna cum too, my love.” He didn’t need to say much, the pleasure took control of both of you, your mouth opening while your moans were running out freely. Sweet words and his name repeating over and over each time thighs slammed against yours. “I’m gonna cum this time, I promise- With you-”

He closed his eyes when a shudder burned up on his skin to his neck, both hands reaching for your face, cupping your cheeks and bringing you close, kissing your lips so furiously, keeping you pinned down for him.

Choso was desperate, moaning sweet little promises with his weak and drained voice while his veiny, leaking cock throbbed inside you. Your moans turning one when you came for him, again, your poor cunt tightening the grip, sucking him deeper, making room for the ropes of white cum that came right after.

“Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck, take it! Take it all! ‘S all yours, my love.”

You were seeing stars behind your eyes before you looked at the raven haired man above you. Even after cumming and having your legs shaking around him after bringing you to your eight orgasm, Choso was still keeping unsteady movements of his hips against you.

“C-Cho…” You breathed out, hands touching his shoulders marked by your nails. “‘S too much already.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. So sorry,” he whispered, kissing your lips and the bridge of your nose softly before he pulled out.

He immediately straightened his posture, eyes darting back to your open folds and the cum leaking out. Breathless, Choso moved his hands, middle and ring finger pushing his seed back inside you. His smile only widening when he moved his hand out to see the cum coming back again.

“Already so full, my love?” Her eyes found yours, noticing that same reddish blush across your cheeks. He smiled, hand moving to finger you again, using his cum to lubricate your clit. “Cum again, and I’ll give you more.”

──────〃✰ HIGURUMA HIROMI

“Fuck, my love. This pussy’s gonna kill me.”

Hiromi couldn’t stop. Not after you took him by surprise, and he did the same to you. It matched so perfectly that he had to fuck you senseless to enjoy the night properly.

You were waiting for him to come home while dressed in your favorite nightgown, the lacy fabric hugging your body so perfectly, it made his mouth water as soon as he stepped inside your shared penthouse. His surprise for you? A haircut. With no warning. He just decided he needed it and got it after work.

Right in the middle of your fertile period. That damn ovulation that got your pussy soaked the second you laid your eyes on him, and, since then, the man was shoving his aching cock into your wet and already aching pussy. Rubbing his tip against your clit to make you cum whenever you mewled, it was “too much, Hiro!”. It was never too much for him.

“Knew you were ovulating, I fuckin’ knew it!” He moaned, breathless, between each thrust of his hips against yours. Having you on all fours like he so much loved and seeing your cunt swallowing his girth always made him behave like that.

Releasing his frustrations and exhaustion in you.

“You always know, Hiro! ‘S so unfair!” You stirred, trying to look at him over your shoulders, until you felt his right hand smacking your ass, the left grabbing your hair from the root, your body curved in front of him.

“Gotta give my wife what she wants, don't’ ya think, doll face?” His husky voice filled your ears when he curved his body on top of yours, the right hand circling your body to find your clit again.

“Hiromi, please!”

“Don’t behave now, doll. You’re gonna cum with me when I fill you, alright?”

Your nods became desperate when he started moving his middle and ring finger in circles and pressuring your clit, the feeling of your nerves being stimulated again, along with the deep thrusts hitting all those sweet spots inside, were making your eyes roll.

Hiromi kept his pace, so eager and so rough, taking all of his goddamn stress into you, cock buried deep in your heat, your juices making way for him to slide in and out with a ravishing sound echoing around you two.

“H-Higu- Fuck, love! ‘M gonna cum!”

“All for me, love. Come on, for me,” He whispers into your ear.

His movements never slow down, his hips slamming against yours, balls deep edging your clit along with his fingers. It was so damn much, and yet you couldn’t stop, giving him another orgasm, hitting you like a furious tidal wave when the squirt got him all wet, the sounds echoing sloppier when he moaned louder.

“Fucking good girl, doll. Such a dirty lil’ princess for me,” Hiromi purred, his forehead leaned on your shoulder while he seemed to try and compose himself. Even with how hard his length was pulsing against your walls. “Remember I love you, ‘kay?”

His murmurs made you open your eyes, trying to understand him. “W-What? Hiro-”

Your voice got stuck in your throat when he stood straight, both hands pulling your wrists to your back and keeping you like that. His pounding got harder, harsher. Hiromi had his eyes closed while he let go of his senses and fucked you. With all the letters, fucked. Hips moving mercilessly against you, your throat sore with your moans, but unable to keep silent whenever he was feral like that, unable to stop.

“I’m gonna fill you, love. Can I? Please, please, I need- I have to!” His words barely made any sense, as if you could even get your own senses to answer him when he had you like that. “Feels so right, ‘m gonna fill you with all of it, love. And you’re gonna gimme a baby, right? A girl, our girl, I’m gonna love you both so much, darling, fuck!”

Hiromi’s body shivered while he painted your tight walls with his seed, cumming deep with the tip kissing your cervix, twitching with his white shots filling you to the brim. The lawyer leaned closer again, kissing your back and shoulders, feeling you stir underneath his body. “Don’t waste it. Make sure it’ll catch this time.”

──────〃✰ KONG SHIU

Shiu felt his body jolting with pleasure, your tongue circling his tip, making it difficult for him not to moan loud, and louder, with each stroke. Seeing you kneeling in front of him with his cock in your mouth always made the man quiver, a glimpse of that deep lust in his eyes.

“That’s my girl, so dirty for your man, hm?!” He smirked, right hand caressing your cheek before going up to your hair, gripping tight around his fist to control your pace. “Making me lose control here, darling.”

“Are you? So fast?” You teased, rolling your tongue around his length again, sliding it into your mouth and intensifying your movements, sucking and controlling your breath and gag reflex. Shiu’s cock touched the back of your throat, and your moans against his mouth made him moan loud again, looking down and slapping your cheeks softly to make you open your eyes.

“Fuck, darling. Keep going like this, and I’m gonna cum fast,” his voice was low, pulling his hips back to give you a moment to breathe. Your hands kept steady movements, never stopping praising him.

“Before me?” Your voice had that same teasing tone again, making him chuckle.

“You know I won’t stop soon, doesn’t matter if you make me cum now,” he replied, caressing your hair, digging his fingers in until he had your strands in a ponytail on his hand. “I’m gonna fill your mouth, and once I make you cum enough, I’m gonna fill your insatiable pussy, alright?”

“Enough?” He narrows his eyes when you ask, touching your chin, silently asking you to open your mouth.

“Yes, enough. Two, three, four times… I’ll decide.”

With that, he has your tongue out and slides into your mouth again, letting you suck his aching dick like you so much wanted in that hungry, needy, hormonal mess you were. Shiu didn’t dare to fuck your throat his time, only sitting still while you kept your movements.

Often licking down to his full, heavy balls while stroking his wet girth, making the man moan and smile, his half-lidded eyes locked on yours, not wanting to lose a single sight of you worshiping him with such desire.

“My girl- Fuck!” His hands move back to your head when you start moving faster, so eagerly, praising him. Shiu’s grip on your hair tightens, but not to stop you, only drowning more into that pleasure that makes him stutter and grunt for you. “Ngh, fuuuuck! ‘M gonna cum, darling. Fuck, fucking good mouth for me!”

Shiu stops, relaxing on the couch and pulsing in your mouth, filling every space with thick ropes of his hot cum, the taste strangely sweet, making you swallow every drop and lick him entirely to finish. “Every month this side of you gets me insane, little love.”

“You know how much I need you, Shiu.” Your voice is hoarse from the slight burning feeling in the back of your throat.

“Yeah? Gotta prove that to me, sweet thing.” He whispered, leaning down to kiss your lips with a deep need to feel you closer. His hands reached for your waist, pulling you up to his lap, letting you adjust your legs on either side of his body. Hands already reaching for the middle of your thighs, feeling your slick folds with his fingers. “Sucking my cock gets you so wet?”

“Mhm… Pleasing you makes me feel good.” Your lips form a small smirk while your hands reach for his shoulders. He keeps stroking himself, looking down to see your juices getting him even more wet before he can slide in, both moaning against each other’s mouth.

“Oh, I can feel it, sweet girl,” He smiled, hands moving up to pull you closer. His hips moving with yours, opening you around his length, both twitching deliciously. “Please me a little more, will ya? Ride your man. I’ll fuck you good once you cum again.”

──────〃✰ KUSAKABE ATSUYA

Bruises.

Your body was covered in them at this point.

Love bites, hickeys, and the perfect shape of his hands marking your ass. Kusakabe loved to see every little mark he put on you. It satisfied him deeply to see how eager you got every time his lips touched your skin. How wet you were always after. And he loved going down, kissing and biting your thighs and the sensitive skin until he had his mouth on your wet slit.

His tongue was moving in circles and eight, up and down around your sweet little and sensitive spot, making you squirm and moan just for him. His eyes were close, his hands moving on your nipples so softly, teasing the skin and pinching them just to feel you jolt and groan.

“Mgh- Fuck, Suya!” Your voice was low, hands tied with his belt above your head, keeping you in place. A low growl escaped when you tried to move aside, his fingers twitching your nipples again, making your needy moan sound louder. “Atsuya! Fuck, I’m- I’m gonna cum!”

Your legs were shaking, moving aside to spread more for him while he reached for your high, gripping your nipples with the same greed feeling consuming him, knowing that those heavenly sounds of yours were about to get louder. Needier.

And it did.

You came on his tongue again, body shaking in your bed while he still moved his tongue, now down to your wet, velvety folds to fuck his tongue into you, tasting you so shamelessly and opening his eyes to watch you. Meeting the hunger in his eyes, you knew that the night was far from over.

“Why were you trying to move?” He asked, moving closer to you, towering over your body and spreading your legs to accommodate him.

“I wasn’t, Suya. I can’t control it.”

“You can’t? My love… I’ve fucked you enough to know,” his voice lowers a few tones, his soft grunt increasing when he brushes his tip on your pussy, lubricating himself with your juices and feeling how you clench around nothing, out of expectancy to feel him inside. “I could leave you like this, right now.”

“No! No, please,” your pleading fills his ear, making his smirk grow wider, way too satisfied with how desperate you get with just the threat of it. It makes his erection almost hurt, wanting to be inside for once.

“Ask for it like the good girl you are, then.”

“Atsuya…”

“Don’t get all shy on me now, princess.” His body moves slightly, left hand holding his weight beside your head, on the mattress.

“‘M not! I swear.”

“Then you’re just being difficult, huh?”

His statement makes you stutter, unable to answer. And the feeling that comes after is almost blissful, when he finally fills you with his girth, opening your wet, tight folds at once. Kusakabe groans in your ear, his knees holding his weight when he moves up, hands now holding your waist and moving harshly, fast, painfully rough. And you loved it.

“I’ll fuck this attitude out of you, princess. Like I always do.” It’s a promise, you can almost see it in his eyes, the way he fucks himself inside of you, over and over, making your body bounce for him, increasing the sloppy sounds around you two.

“Aw, baby! ‘Can’t! I can’t, Suya.”

“Can’t? But you will, for me.” He nods while speaking, making you nod with him. “That’s right. Gotta fill this hungry cunt so you can learn to behave.”

I DO NOT authorize plagiarism of any kind.

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated ᥫ᭡

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fear-is-truth · 1 month ago

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❝ 𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋, 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐋𝐕𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒. ❞

— charlie mayhew x f!reader

summary: you’re a college student who haven’t confessed in ages. tags: mature content・mdni・blasphemy・unprotected p in v・fem!reader・not proofread

♱ a/n◞ english is not my first language

it’s been far too long since you last stepped into the confessional. guilt weighs heavily on your soul, gnawing at the edges of your conscience like a relentless rat. father charlie mayhew sits in the adjoining room, just beyond the closed door. you feel like a convict marching to the gallows or a witch being led to the stake. the air is thick with the scent of incense and remorse as you push open the wooden door and step inside, taking a deep breath,

“forgive me, father, for i have sinned.”

“how long has it been since your last confession?” you pause, fingers twisting in your lap. seven months? eight?

“…too long.” you finally settle for that answer. he hums softly in response, encouraging you to elaborate further.

“i’ve been… neglecting my prayers,” you blurt out, the words tumbling out like a spew of vomit. “i’ve been lazy with my duties, with my work.” a flashback to your half-finished papers, ignored for days, weeks. the familiar frustration and self-loathing settle in again.

“sloth,” the priest says softly, but not unkindly. you nod, even though he can’t see you. “and… wrath,” you continue. “jealousy, really. i’ve been… envious of others. their success, their accomplishments, while i’ve just been… stagnant.” there’s a faint rustling from the other side of the partition. “envy can eat away at the soul,” he says quickly. “but it’s the admission that brings healing.”

“and lust,” the word slips past your lips like a dirty secret. “mastur- sorry, i mean. self pleasuring. and there were… party hook-ups. frat boys. things i shouldn’t have done, things i knew were wrong.” you can feel father charlie’s attention on you, even though you can’t see him. he pauses, and you hear the soft rustle of cloth and creak of wood again. “lust,” he repeats in a gravelly, conspiratorial tone. “is a sin we are all vulnerable to.”

“even you, father?” the question slips out before you can think better of it. the silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating like a poisonous fog.

there’s a soft sigh, and you hear the faint rustling of fabric again. “oh yes,” he admits, but he doesn’t sound as ashamed as you’ve imagined a priest should be. there almost seems to be an air of self congratulation.

“especially that.”

your fingers curl tighter around the edges of your skirt. a single beat of silence. then—

“sins like these require penance. penance,” he repeats, slowly, savouring the word on his tongue, “is meant to cleanse the soul. to discipline the flesh.” another rustle of cloth—and you wonder what the hell he’s doing behind the wooden barrier.

“are you prepared to accept the form of penance i offer you?” the way he phrases it, like a double entendre you can’t quite place your finger on.

and yet, something possesses you to reply:

“yes, father.”

“good. now step out here.”

your heart pounds as you obey, stepping out of your side of the confessional. when you turn to face him, your breath catches in your throat.

father charlie is not dressed as a priest should be. gone is the cassock, the traditional garb of a man of the cloth. instead, he’s wearing a white translucent smock, the fabric so sheer you can see the hard planes of his chest, every muscle defined. his tan skin gleams in the low light, and your eyes drift downward, catching the black leather chaps and, beneath them, a jockstrap that leaves little to the imagination.

you simply can’t tear your eyes away from him.

the cocky bastard must be fully aware of his effect on you, the way his eyes gleam as he takes another step toward you, the leather of his chaps creaking softly in the quiet room. the smirk on his lips deepens, and he raises a hand, resting it lightly on your shoulder.

“recite the act of contrition.”

your throat tightens, pulse quickening at the contact. he’s standing so close now that the scent of incense and something distinctly masculine fills your senses, clouding your thoughts. taking a shaky breath, you start, voice trembling slightly,

“o my god, i am heartily sorry for having offended you…”

his fingers graze your arm now, trailing lightly down to your wrist, but you don’t stop. you can’t. his presence demands obedience.

“…and i detest all my sins because of your just punishments,” you continue. he hums softly, a sound of approval, thumb rubbing slow circles against the inside of your wrist.

“…but most of all, because they offend you, my god,” you falter for a moment as his hand moves down, skimming the curve of your hip, lingering at your waist, “who are all-good and deserving of all my love. i firmly resolve,” you choke out, forcing yourself to finish the prayer, “with the help of your grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasion of sin.”

a pause, thick with ominous tension. you look up at him, unsure of what comes next, warm, honeyed lust dripping through your loins betraying the pious words you’ve just spoken. fingers still at your waist, he leans in.

“beautifully done, beautiful.

the priest whispers, and there’s something unexpected in his voice. emotion. when you look back up at him, there are tears in his eyes, like the words had truly moved him. for a split second, you wonder if he’s going to say something, maybe pull back, remind you both of your places.

but then his hand slides into your hair, fingers tangling gently at the nape of your neck, and before you can catch your breath, he’s guiding you with firm, practiced ease into the tight space of the confessional’s compartment. his grip is strong, sure, as his hands settle on your waist, pulling you flush against him. your back hits the wooden wall with a soft thud, the creak of old wood reverberating through the silence, amplifying the intimacy between you.

he leans in closer, his body pressing into yours, the booth feeling impossibly small now. his lips find yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, soft at first, then deepening with intention. his tongue slips past your parted lips, exploring the inside of your mouth, grazing your teeth before sweeping across your hard palate in a way that makes you shiver.

a moan escapes you when you feel his erection rubs against your thigh.

•••

god, you’re going straight to hell.

you moan in unison as he pushes the tip inside you in one, smooth motion. pleasure riddled with agony shoots up from your aching quim to your entire body, the sheer girth of him straining at your velvety walls; filling you up in a way that nobody else has ever done before.

“mghmm— oh fuck… you feel so good,”

charlie grains into your shoulder as he bottoms out, features twisting in sordid rapture when you clench around him involuntarily. your insides are so sensitive and raw that you can feel every ridge and vein of his cock pulsating against your walls as you struggle to accommodate him. he pauses, giving you a second to recover before rearing back his hips slowly, almost pulling out but then to slam back into you completely. the wooden wall of the confessional box creaks, but all you can focus on is the tip of his cockhead kissing— no, fucking your cervix. stretching your cunt in a way so sinfully good that you’re certain that even though you’ve booked a one-way ticket to the second circle of hell, it’s fucking worth it.

it’s not long before the hot coil finally snaps, and squeezing your eyes shut, you dig your fingernails into his shoulder, leaving crescent indents as your orgasm crashes over you.

waves of white-hot pleasure ripple through your veins, and you throw head back to scream out his name. through your post-orgasm haze, you watch as charlie continues to pound into you. a raw moan rips from his throat, accompanied by a final, deep thrust. burying himself to the hilt, he comes inside of you, thick, hot spurts of come filling your womb as a string of indiscernible curses tumble past his lips.

he doesn’t pull out immediately, his cock twitching with residual spams as he continues to thrust his hips lazily, grinding his seed inside you as deep as it can go.

father charlie pulls back slightly, chest still heaving as he gazes at you with that same smug, satisfied smile. he brushes a thumb over your swollen bottom lip, his touch lingering, almost tender.

“well,” he muses, “i think that’ll do for your penance… for now.” his eyes gleam with something darker, something that promises this isn’t over. “though, if you feel the need to… atone further, you know where to find me.”

“same time next week?” you nod in response, eyelids fluttering shut as he threads his fingers through your hair, before pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

m.list

#𝐅.𝐈.𝐓 #charlie mayhew #father charlie mayhew #Charlie mayhew x reader #charlie mayhew x y/n #grotesquerie #charlie mayhew smut #Nicholas Chavez #nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez x reader #Nicholas chavez smut #Nicholas chavez imagine #Nicholas chavez x y/n

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saintobio · 8 months ago

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LONG LIVE THE VILLAINESS !

amidst the tale of sweetest love and bitterest revenge, the fallen empress is cast back ten years into the past to correct her sins and avoid eternal damnation, even at the price of betraying her once husband, the very cause of her downfall.

♱ pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader

♱ genre. enemies-to-lovers, period piece, medieval au

♱ tags. ooc, regression, crown prince!gojo, noble lady!reader, politics, classism, clan wars, religion (catholicism), misogyny, violence, war, rebellion, suggestive, smut, gore, double life, explicit language, more to be added

♱ notes. this fic draws heavy inspirations from the webnovel ‘sister, i am the queen in this life’ and manhwa of the same name. it’s basically a fanfic of that series bc i am obsessed with it :’D

♱ status. on-going (slow updates)

♱ SECOND TIMELINE TO AS YOU LIKE IT ♱

PROLOGUE.

ACT I. THE LADY

ACT II. THE CROWN PRINCE

ACT III. THE KNIGHT

ACT IV. THE STAR CROSSED LOVERS

ACT V. THE BLESSED

ACT VI. THE SIN

ACT VII. THE REVELATION

ACT VIII. THE ENEMY

ACT IX. THE LOVER

ACT X. THE EMPRESS

EPILOGUE.

PROLOGUE

Like plunging beneath the surface of water and then, abruptly, breaking through to the air above—your body jolted as if awakening in a new world altogether. You drew in a long breath, your eyes fluttering open to reveal the ceiling, both familiar yet unfamiliar in its greeting. Swiftly, you surveyed your surroundings, noting with growing recognition the confines of your old room within the De Roma estate. The estate!

You were not in the palace of Caelum, but in the estate of House De Roma. A surge of realization flooded through you as you dashed towards the nearest mirror, confronting your reflection with wide, startled eyes.

No... could it be... that you have returned to your body, ten years prior?!

In the mirror, the reflection staring back at you was not that of the notorious wife of the tyrant Emperor Satoru, but of a 20-year-old maiden, the eldest daughter of Duke de Roma, with fuller cheeks and a more youthful appearance. You could not shake the feeling of disbelief, wondering if this was all just a dream, so you reached out to touch your arms and felt the flesh beneath your fingers, trying to convince yourself that this was an unexpected reality.

Oh, you were back. You found yourself returned to your former self, a decade younger, but now armed with the knowledge of your past life's actions and their consequences. Alongside this newfound understanding, the gift of clairvoyance had also been bestowed upon you.

And for what? Why had the heavens above returned you to your body? Was it for revenge, a second chance, or perhaps punishment?

Suddenly, a loud, deafening sound pierced your ears, and a blinding white light enveloped your vision. Your body became as still as a statue, and it felt as though your soul was transported to a fourth dimension where divine intervention seemed a lot more plausible to exist.

As your soul hovered in the liminal space between life and death, you found yourself standing before a figure cloaked in billowing robes, her presence commanding and her gaze piercing. This figure was Fortuna, the ancient Caelan goddess of fortune and fate, her visage austere and unforgiving.

“Are you aware of the sins that stain your soul?”

“Have you felt the weight of your transgressions, the consequences of your actions that have wrought suffering upon your people and brought ruin to your empire?”

Her voice echoed through the realm with the divine judgment that weighed upon your conscience, while her gaze penetrated to the core of your being and demanded honesty and accountability in the face of your past misdeeds.

“Will you atone for your sins?”

“Will you seize this opportunity for redemption, or will you squander it in self-pity and remorse?”

As you stood in the presence of the ancient goddess, grappling with the heaviness of your sins and the daunting task ahead, a brilliant light had all of a sudden illuminated the space around you. From the heart of this radiant glow emerged the figure of Archangel Raphael, his presence heralded by a chorus of angelical voices and the stirring of celestial winds.

Clad in robes that seemed to shimmer with the intensity of celestial light, Archangel Raphael's presence commanded attention, his wings unfurled behind him in a display of resolute authority. If Goddess Fortuna was intimidating, the archangel was fearsome all the more. His gaze, intense and penetrating, swept over you with a gravity that left no room for evasion or deceit.

“Empress of Caelum,” he spoke, his tone firm and unyielding, and his voice carrying a billion years of heavenly existence, “You stand accused of grievous sins, crimes that have shaken the very foundations of your empire and brought suffering upon your people.”

There was no trace of softness in Archangel Raphael's demeanor, no room for mercy in the face of wrongdoing. His presence was a testament to the uncompromising nature of divine justice, his strictness a reflection of the solemn duty entrusted to him as an Archangel of the Almighty. This, no doubt, was the face of a true and formidable executor of justice.

And you, the subject, had angered the divine beings that guarded the Caelan Empire, so much so that God himself sent the goddess of the land and one of his archangels to mitigate your rightful punishment.

“By the decree of the Almighty, you are granted a second chance to amend your sins and redeem your soul. You shall return to the mortal realm, to live your life anew and correct the sins that have stained your soul.”

“Should you fail to rectify your past transgressions, should you stray from the path of righteousness and succumb once more to the temptations of darkness, know that the consequences shall be severe and eternal.”

“For those who squander the gift of divine mercy shall be cast into the deepest depths of hell, where they shall endure a punishment of unending torment and suffering.”

In the presence of Archangel Raphael and Goddess Fortuna’s equally stern gazes, you were keenly aware of the magnitude of your transgressions and the severity of the judgment that awaited you. But even as you trembled beneath the weight of their scrutiny, you knew that their presence also offered you the opportunity for redemption, with your only task to prove yourself worthy of divine mercy.

Indeed, it was by your very hands that hundreds and thousands of Christian souls shed their blood. Innocent lives, both young and old, were cruelly taken at your command. The citizens of Caelum who fell sick from the spread of the plague. The esteemed Caelan advisors of your husband’s primogenitors, skinned alive and speared in pikes by the Tiber River. The wrongly accused maid who suffered the indignity of serving your husband, paraded unclothed through the streets and subjected to the brutality of the pear of anguish. The gallant and dignified knight, tortured mentally and physically in the atrocious dungeon. Now, you find yourself thrust back into the horrors of your former life ten years hence. A life of a noble lady who ought not to be blinded by her destructive love for the empire’s crown prince.

Yet, could you truly navigate this life without ascending to the position as his empress?

As you tried to commune with the divine beings afore you, a haze in your vision transported you away from the heavenly space, realizing that you were already drawn back into the reality of your chamber, inhabiting the youthful frame of a twenty-year-old daughter of a duke. You found yourself too astonished to move, too shaken to speak, and too afraid to take any action in this new lease of life blessed upon you. At that very moment, your state of reverie was disrupted at the arrival of your maid, who entered your chamber in a humble servant garb.

Milena. The maid whose life was cut short by your hand in your past existence due to petty thievery. “My lady,” she spoke with a hint of respect and urgency, unaware of the ill-fate you had given her in your past life, “A visitor has arrived at the gates and requests an audience with you. Shall I show them in?”

Too soon? Need it truly be so soon to engage with the people from your past life immediately after awakening to your old, yet younger body? Gazing upon your maid through the mirror, you asked, “Who is that intruder you speak of?”

She bowed her head, her stance shifting into one of apologetic deference. The way she firmly stood by your door was a message to you that the intruder was not someone you could easily reject the presence of.

“The visitor is His Highness, Crown Prince Satoru.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

#series: lltv #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk royal au #slow updates bc sy is prio #i will not write this in archaic english anymore ITS HARD AF #but i had to put this out there so i can remind myself to write it *sobs*#might just write this on the side

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peachesofteal · 8 months ago

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ghoap x reader / 18+ mdni / dark themes / prev here

‘C’mon, you never want to go out.”

You rub your temples, eyes closed in exasperation. “I’m broke, Case.”

“I’ll spot you. Come on, it’s Friday. I’ll get us into The Rook.” She pleads and pushes, tugging away your excuses and defenses until you’re backed into a corner with nowhere to run. Finally, you opt for a different tactic, lamely.

“Doesn’t that place have a waiting list?”

“Oh yeah, miles long. But the owner likes me.” The owner. How does she even know the owner of The Rook?

“I don’t know…” you linger, still bent over your tiny kitchen table, back bowed and tired, “isn’t it like, dangerous?”

“The Rook is neutral ground or something, I don’t know. It’s perfectly fine, I’ve been dozens of times.” A litany of stories exists about the speakeasy, from its origins to the current clientele, each as unbelievable as the next, and you’ve always imagined it to be this dark den of sin and debauchery, filled to brim with hitmen and lawlessness. “You have to do something other than work and sleep; you know. You’re missing out on your whole life.” She chides, attempting to launch into the same speech she repeats over and over every few weeks.

“Alright, alright,” you look down at your torn up cuticles and sigh, “I’ll go.”

You weren’t wrong about The Rook being dark.

It’s hollowed out under a club, nooks and crannies and little hallways splitting off in every direction, dim lamps and flickering candlelight casting shadows to the ceiling, bartenders dressed in all black working behind a massive, burnished wood bar along the back wall. Velvet couches, high top tables, overstuff armchairs flow in the space, and Case tells you there are more rooms if you’re keen to explore, explaining in hushed tones how there’s usually a band in one, a card game of sorts in another, a pool table somewhere, all with various styles of seating, and even another bar. It's elegant, decadent, sinful. Most of the people are startlingly beautiful, high heels and skintight dresses, perfectly made-up faces, polished onyx cuff links gleaming against expensive navy suits.

Even the drinks are licentious.

You decidedly do not belong here. Perched on a stool next to Case, you occasionally rub your wrists, casually wondering if it would have been acceptable to wear your braces, your carpal tunnel flaring into a swell of agony.

Wouldn’t that be a sight.

The bartender slides her two generous neat pours of… something, and you raise an eyebrow.

“On the house, from the boss.” He says with a wink, and she tips her head to ceiling with a bubble of a laughter, before pressing one of the tumblers into your hand.

“What is it?”

“Probably bourbon.”

“Oh, no thanks, I don’t-“

“Just shoot it.” She throws it back with ease, showing her teeth afterwards, a hyena leering in the lamplight.

Fuck it. Maybe it will the throbbing in your wrists will quiet down.

It’s thick, syrupy, hot in your throat. Burns all the way down and settles like lava in your stomach, uncomfortable until the sting ebbs into warmth, moving through your bones.

“Not bad.” You rasp, and she smiles.

There are more free drinks. They stick to your insides like tar, slicking you in a heavy cotton, weighing your limbs down, loosening the tension in your neck and shoulders, peeling away your layers of discomfort one by one.

You’re surprised by how at home Case seems in this place, how comfortable she is, smiling and waving to the occasional person, making small talk here and there. She practically floats in her seat, black dress taut against every dimple and dip on her body, hair artfully twisted into something that could be considered modern art. She’s a gazelle. A heron. Something graceful and gorgeous, fine feathered and fabulous.

And you’re… a tired girl in a tired dress, counting her lucky stars that there seem to be so many generous patrons buying drinks tonight.

“Having fun?” She whispers, nudging you with her shoulder.

“How often do you come here?” Her eyes wander, flicking past you and then back, wistful caution etched across her brow.

“Often enough,” She sips her drink and then folds her hands together on the bar top, looking over shoulder, “Most of these people in here… are connected to organized crime somehow.” The information doesn’t surprise you, but hearing it confirmed, knowing it’s not just some story made up, some fairytale about boogeymen, makes you shiver.

“Like, the mafia?”

“The mafia is Italian, but they have a presence in the city.” She shrugs, like it’s all common knowledge. Like you’re out of the loop. “The Rook belongs to Kyle Garrick.” You shake your head, unfamiliar. “Of The 141?” your mouth goes dry.

The 141.

The 141 were a notorious organized crime group who ran half, if not more, of the city. You knew they owned clubs, bars, restaurants, and hotels, but you were never clear on the details of their illegitimate work, and you didn’t want to know.

You knew, for sure: they were men to be feared. Men capable of terrible things. Destruction. Death.

Their ongoing war with The Shadows was the reason the city was soaked in blood.

“Don’t worry,” she rushes out, hand on your arm, “like I said, It’s neutral here. Nothing happens in The Rook.” You nod meekly, head swimming. You’re more than drunk now, stuck in a sloshing ship, floor tilting beneath your feet. The urge to get away, to disappear slams into you like a truck, and you slip off the stool.

“Which way is the bathroom?” She points to one of those dark hallways, and you stumble through the throngs of people like a fresh born fawn, unsteady and teetering on the edge, approaching a hallway that splits into two.

Which way?

You pick one, sure you’ll run into someone who can point you in the right direction, but when it zigs and zags up to a polished wooden door, you stop short, confused. The alcohol has rendered you fuzzy, and your vision spins, trying to look for a recognizable placard.

Is this the bathroom?

It must be.

The first thing you realize when you push the door open, is a chorus of men’s voices, stopping on a dime. You hear them, before you see them, and immediately try to backpedal, tugging the door handle towards you, trying to close it. You’re wayward, with heavy, tired feet, and the movement is slow, slow enough that an opposing force pulls on the other side and then-

rips.

You fly forward into the room, dragged by your grip on the handle, spilling onto your knees with a shocked gasp, and someone curses in the background, another voice barking out a name.

Then, the room goes Sunday church service silent.

You gape at the table of men, transfixed in horror on the two familiar faces staring back at you, the unforgettable Scot and his marble etched partner, who was just in the shop only two days ago. They’re frozen, half risen from their seats, a cigarette burning away in an ash tray filling the air with smoke.

There’s a nickel-plated flash, and your blood curdles.

He has a gun.

“I…” you croak, still on your knees, unable to categorize or rationalize why you’re seeing them here, why one of them has a gun, why any of this is happening. “I’m sorry, I was lo-looking for the bathroom.” There are many men in this room, you realize. More than just the two you’re acquainted with, and your stomach rolls, nausea creeping forward, trying to bring the too many drinks you’ve consumed up through your mouth. “I’m sorry.” You say again, more clearly.

Obviously, you’re interrupting something.

“These aren’t the toilets, little girl.” A Russian voice booms over your head. “Unless you’re going to piss on the floor for us?”

“Nikolai.” The blonde cuts, Manchester accent rougher than sandpaper, and you shake your head frantically.

“N-no, I just got turned around, that’s all.” Your brain screams at you to get up, but your body is immobile, and you look away in fear.

A warm hand takes yours, tanned skin soft and sweet, gentle touch urging your face back up.

“It’s alright, doe. Ye’re alright.” It’s the Scot, crooning in your ear, wrapping an arm around your waist to bring you to your feet. “Let’s get ye to the bathroom then, aye?” You lean against him, breathing in cypress and ocean spray, letting him guide you out of the room, his partner right at your back.

“We’re not finished.” Someone calls out, and the bigger man clips out a response.

“We are now.”

#ghoap x reader #peaches writes #simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader

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ceilidho · 8 months ago

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take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 7)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

You watch him like a hawk after that.

Not because anything’s changed. In fact, nothing’s changed. Seeing him drag a man by the collar of his shirt, the look in his eyes punishing and severe, has only confirmed the essential imbalance in your relationship. You don’t suffer the same fate as that man being dragged from the bar not because of mercy or leniency or forgiveness, but because the truth hasn’t yet come out. You’re safe because the truth is still hidden, a fact that could change at the drop of a hat.

The thought makes you wary. You watch John in the days after with a scrutiny that borders on the paranoid. Does he already know? Has he left you stewing in ignorance all this time while waiting for the proper authorities to arrive? When he looks at you, does he see the blood on your hands? Does he know that he’s looking at a murderer? Does he know that your sins weigh on you like heavy stones dragging you down into the earth?

Every time the porch steps creak, your heart turns to stone and betrayal rushes up your throat like acid, and it burns.

Then the door opens and John walks in. His face lights up when his eyes fall on you. “Hi darlin’.”

All you can do is let out a shuddering breath and slump into his embrace.

You’re waiting for it to happen. Even when he pulls you into his chest at night, a big arm settled around your waist and his palm spread wide over your belly, you tense and wait for the truth to come out. But all he does is sigh and fall asleep, tucking you closer into his chest. You stare at the wall until the grooves between the wooden boards start to expand, the darkness encompassing every inch of the wall before bleeding down to the floorboards and up to the ceiling. Then you wake up and it’s the next day.

The truth is imminent. It shines its light on the darkened path before it and stalks forward. You cower in the shadows waiting for it to find you, hopeful that it won’t. Sure that it will.

There’s never a good moment to pack your bags and leave, and the longer you stay—as the days turn into a week since you first disembarked from the train and wandered into a town soaked in russet and red—the harder it seems to get a moment of peace. Though John wasn’t exaggerating when he said that a sheriff’s job never stops, you hadn’t thought that it would involve so much.

Between chores and John and the townsfolk, you can’t get a moment to yourself. The closest you come to it is when Kate leaves you to your thoughts while she helps the customers. Even then, she still comes by every now and again to offer you a tea or brandy ball to suck on.

You resent the idea that you need to be babysat, but he isn’t exactly wrong either. You’re not too stubborn to admit that. Under Kate’s watchful eye, you aren’t scurrying off anywhere. Instead, you help out around the shop where you can, offering to stock the shelves and sweep the floors. On occasion, you even get on your hands and knees in front of the shop to pull up the weeds, but that draws more attention than you’re comfortable with. They simply aren’t as concerned with weeds out here.

Most of your time is spent loitering around town waiting for John to take you home. Sometimes you join him for the day, trailing along after him when he goes out to collect the taxes or you accompany him when he has to attend trials and hearings in the court house, where you sit quietly in the public gallery and watch in rapt attention as the magistrate conducts the court proceedings, but there are days where that’s simply not possible.

“You’re gonna spend the day with Laswell, alright?” John tells you, pinching your chin to tilt your head up.

He loves that little gesture, you’ve realized. Loves to touch you and guide you with a hand on your back or chin or arm, a hand brushing down the side of your waist to pull you in, gripping you by the nape of your neck just to hold. Even now, in broad daylight and in front of the window to the general store where anyone could look out and see the two of you, he keeps his thumb there, reluctant to let you go. The thought makes your neck go hot.

“When will you be back?” you ask.

“Later this afternoon—before dusk, so don’t go worrying about heading home without me. I have to see to something a few towns over.”

“Oh…what do they need you for?”

John frowns. “You’ve got an awful lot of questions today.”

“Never mind. Have a safe trip.” You don’t know why his reluctance to tell you anything frustrates you so, especially when he has good reason to, but even you can hear the way your voice grows petulant.

His thumb squeezes against your chin, holding your head in place when you try to turn away. “I’m overseeing a hanging. Couple of men were found guilty of murder.” He studies you so intensely that he can practically see in your eyes the way your stomach turns at that. “See, I thought that might upset you. This is why I didn’t wanna tell you, darlin’.”

“It’s fine,” you say, swallowing. “I’m a big girl.”

“Yeah,” John agrees, brushing his thumb up your chin until it tugs at your bottom lip, watching the way it snaps back into place when he releases it.

He makes every moment feel like a last goodbye and a homecoming. You almost can’t meet his eyes under the intensity of his stare, but you also can’t look away. Not with how he looks at you like some precious thing.

You expect it before it happens, but when he dips his head to plant a soft kiss on your lips, you go breathless for a moment. His beard is bristly against your skin, just south of coarse. The kiss turns into another, even more tender than the first. You resent the way you lean forward when he pulls away, chasing after him.

“You be good for Miss Kate, okay?” he says, waiting for your reassurance.

“I will,” you rasp, mortified at how easily he unravels you and how plainly you let it show. John grins when he hears the tremble in your voice.

Then he leaves, riding off towards where the horizon dips below the visible and you watch until he disappears completely, falling away with it. Kate beckons you inside after that, and it’s just hot enough out that you gather up the skirt of your dress and follow after her, climbing up the steps to the general store.

Kate is a tough nut to crack. She’s kind and never rebuffs your questions when you make conversation, but she also isn’t exactly forthcoming with personal information. She seems more than happy to let the conversation lapse into silence. When there isn’t a customer to serve, she’ll take out a leather-bound notebook and write, going so deep into her own thoughts that you sometimes need to call her name a couple times before she’ll respond.

“Kate,” you say again, waiting for her to finally blink and look up, which she does with only the faintest glimmer of impatience in her eyes. “Care to join me on a walk? I need to stretch my legs and…well, I don’t know my way around just yet.”

She snaps her book shut, winding a bit of string around it before placing it back beneath the counter. “There’s a restaurant on the other side of town if you care for a bite as well. I could do with something to eat.”

It’s not as much of a walk as you might have expected. You learn along the way that Kate has lived in town for several years, taking the shop over from her predecessor, a former employer prone to drinking and prone to expiring from that very same vice. She speaks of him with familiarity and affection for the dead, but none of the longing and misery that you’ve come to expect from someone grieving a loss.

“You came far just to find a husband,” she remarks when the two of you are seated at a windowside booth in the restaurant. She spreads a cloth over her lap and you follow her lead.

You bite your lip. “I’ve heard good things about the frontier.”

Kate looks amused by that. “Now who’s been lying to you?”

You laugh, half genuine and half to keep the atmosphere light. You don’t tell her that no one lied to you about going out west because no one had said those words to you in the first place. There hadn’t been enough time for a conversation after the event, only enough time to unlock the study door and wash your hands of the blood in the sink downstairs before fleeing the manor with only your purse and cardigan, the feather duster still lying on the floor upstairs. You hadn’t even bothered going home.

There’s no telling what your aunt and uncle must have thought. You try not to think about that because there’s no going back now. You had the luxury of a single cry on the train as it chugged away from the station and the day slipped into night, but nothing more than that and nothing since.

You tuck into your food when the waitress comes back with your meal.

“John said you were a schoolteacher before this?” Kate says, pulling you back into the conversation.

It makes you nervous to lie too much about a subject you hardly know, so you smile and nod instead of responding.

“You must be quite the polymath,” she continues, eyes downcast, not allowing you a good read on her. “Arithmetic, writing, history—goodness knows the skills one needs nowadays with the leaps and bounds in education. Thank goodness for the Common School reformers, giving women the opportunity to develop young minds.”

“Yes,” you croak, then clear your throat. “I certainly did my best to…educate the children.”

Comical, given that you’d dropped out of school at the age of fourteen to work in a factory sewing buttons onto shirts.

“And was the profession enjoyable? I know John mentioned you were keener on starting a family than continuing on as an instructor, but was it an informative experience?”

“Oh yes, it was. I enjoyed it. Immensely.”

“It must have been nice to work in a profession with such little turmoil.”

“I couldn’t have asked for better,” you agree, your smile tight now, wavering only a bit at the corners.

Kate stares at you for a beat too long. It makes your stomach hurt and you fight against the urge to wilt under her stare. You can’t imagine you’ve said something wrong with how little you’ve said, but her stare makes your skin crawl.

Finally, she smiles, the skin around her eyes creasing. “Well, that’s just lovely to hear.”

You put the conversation out of your mind on the walk back, sure that you must have imagined the flicker in her eyes.

John comes back earlier than you expected. You swear your heart jolts in your chest when you hear the sound of a horse whinnying outside the shop out of nowhere and a man’s low, rough voice responding back, soothing it. You hear the sound of dismount, boots hitting the ground hard, and then come up the steps, each step making the spurs on the back of his boots rattle.

When he opens the door, his eyebrows jump up at the sight of you already there waiting. Your eagerness should embarrass you, and it does, but there’s not much you can do about it, and there’s even less you can do about the way you melt when he says, “There you are, darlin’. Time to go home.”

Precious is the world where home has come to mean something tender and soft, even as much as you’ve pushed against it. You still hold fast against the notion, steeling yourself when John helps you up onto Buttercup and follows suit, riding home at almost a gallop. You hear his laughter on the wind when you yelp and nearly slide off, his arm around you the only thing holding you in place.

“It’d be easier to ride if I had pants,” you complain when you dismount, hands pressed to his shoulders when he helps you down. “How do women even ride sidesaddle on their own?”

“Plenty of women do, darlin’. It’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“We can get you pants if you need them so badly,” John says, looking up to the sky like Lord help me suffer this woman. “But that means I’ll be teaching you how to ride Buttercup on your own. Think you can handle that?”

You balk at the thought. “…Let me think about it.”

He snorts. “You do that.”

He leaves you to your thoughts when he takes the horses out to the paddock for a bit.

You sit out on the porch and watch the sunset while the horses run around the pen, soaking in the last hour of daylight. Overhead, clouds as big as mountains pass, heavy like an oil painting. Off in the distance, you can see thick clouds blotting out the sky entirely, the belly of them split open and letting out a downpour of biblical proportions. You only grow a bit nervous when you notice the wall of rain moving closer to your house with the wind, inching forward more every minute.

It’s not long before John notices it too. He whistles for the horses and waits until they trot back over to the gate, fixing the lead to their mantles again and leading them one by one back into the stable. A light drizzle begins to pour. It churns up the dust and dirt when it hits the ground, scenting the air with the fragrant smell of earth.

You head over to the stable as John brings in the last horse, hovering by the door while you watch him run his hand down Buttercup’s muzzle, whispering softly to her. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t acknowledge it, his attention focused solely on her.

It gives you a chance to admire him from the back. Thick thighs in indigo jeans that seem almost painted on. Shirt tucked into his jeans, stretched taut at the shoulders; dark droplets of rain drying already. The dusting of hair on the back of his neck. You can see the fine lines on his forehead and in the corner of his eye from the side angle and it reminds you again that he’s older and more weathered than you, settled into his age rather than floundering in it.

“It’s raining,” you say, just to have something to say. You shrink under his gaze when he turns towards you, faint amusement in his eyes.

“I noticed.”

You cringe at that, aware that he knows. He’s the one that brought the horses in after all. There’s just something in you that feels compelled to open your mouth when he’s around. An impulse that makes you cheep like a bird.

“Looks like a bad one,” you mutter instead of shutting your mouth, instead of hightailing it back to the house and shutting all the windows to keep the rain from coming in. Useless girl.

“Probably rain all night,” John says, squinting out at the sky through the open door. It’s darker now, a storm brewing.

“Is there…is there anything we have to do? To get ready?” You don’t know why you say we like this is a partnership, but it comes unbidden and you know if he told you to hurry back and take in the porch chairs, you would.

“Nothing to worry about. I’ll close up the stables and seal the windows—storm probably won’t hit for another hour or two. After dinner, we’ll turn in early.”

With a final stroke down Buttercup’s jaw, he steps away and moves towards you. You feel rooted in place again at his approach; the thought of taking a step back never even occurs to you. When he finally reaches you, he doesn’t hesitate to reel you in by your hips, drawing you into a deep, wet kiss that he breaks only when you whimper into his mouth.

“You feelin’ better about being out here?” he asks, low and intimately. “Looked like you had a good time with Laswell.”

“She’s nice,” you say, deflecting from the other question.

John hums his agreement, readjusting his hold on your waist until every inch of him is pressed against you. Your breasts are flattened to his chest, belly pressed to his; every hard inch of him, solid as an oak.

“C’mon, honey, talk to me,” he murmurs. “Have I been treating you right? You still have any reservations about marrying me?”

“Bit late for reservations, isn’t it?”

He clucks his tongue. “‘Course it ain’t. Won’t change anything, but I still wanna know.”

It’s hard not to consider the possibility of being honest with him for a change when his gaze borders on the devout. No one in the history of time has ever looked at you like this, like you hung up the moon and stars. The thought chokes you up. In all the years of your life, has one other person looked at you and asked if everything was to your liking? John’s love borders on reverence, straddles the narrow divide between the telluric and the celestial, the earthly and the divine.

It’s dizzying. And you’re not built for subterfuge. Not built to lie to the one man that, despite everything, despite taking you from your former life by force, has offered you a new one on a silver platter.

You wet your lips, conscious of how dry your mouth suddenly is. John’s eyes follow the glide of your tongue over your lip.

And then you lie. “None whatsoever. I’m happy here.”

Maybe it’s a half-lie. After he shuts the stable doors and barricades them to keep the doors from swinging open in the midst of the storm, you wind up back on the porch watching the dark clouds up in the sky slowly approach, John at your back this time.

John tilts your head up into another kiss. You don’t know when you made the conscious decision to let him think you amenable to this relationship, but you cling to that thought desperately when his tongue licks into your mouth velvety smooth.

The roof extends out over the porch, keeping the two of you dry, but you can hear the sound of raindrops pelting the slate shingles.

“You’ll see, honey,” he says against your lips, the words rumbling through you, buzzing under your skin and making it tingle. “‘M gonna make you so happy. Never gonna even think of leaving me.”

The words dissolve on your tongue. Swallowed down dry. With his arm hooked around your waist and hand tilting your head up, there’s no way you could think of anything else except wanting more.

It’s hard to talk when he has you up against the railing, your dress pulled up and his fingers spreading apart your lower lips. It’s not the first time he’s touched you there, but it’s the longest he has, at least without the barrier of your underwear. His fingers spread your labia delicately, middle finger running up the wet seam. He hums into the back of your head while he does and presses a kiss into your hair.

“Always so soft and wet here, darlin’,” John murmurs, stroking his fingers up your inner lips and petting the sensitive nub at the apex of your sex. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been aching for it? Been waiting for you to give me the word.”

Waiting, he says, while tucking a finger into your sex, curling it up into you and chuckling under his breath when your hands clamp tighter on the railing and your back arches. Just a single finger feels like more than you can handle. John has thick fingers; thick fingers with calluses that you can feel on the delicate flesh between your legs. It plugs you up tight, more so when your core clenches involuntarily around his finger. His chuckle descends into a groan, then a sigh.

He pulls his finger out against the squeeze of your internal muscles, ignoring the way you whisper, “No, please” under your breath.

You only stop pleading for more when he swirls his finger around your pearl again, lavishing it with attention. “Aching? I’m not—”

“You are, darlin’,” he breathes, and now you feel him pull you from the railing, stepping back to take a seat on the porch swing. He pulls you into his lap, sitting you across it instead of with your back to his chest like he did in the bath the other day.

“Anyone could come by—” you hiss, fluffing the skirt of your dress out around your thighs when he tries to push it back up to get his hands back on your nethers.

“You tense up when you’re nervous, honey,” John cuts you off, forcing his hand back up your dress until he pushes his finger back into your quim, delighted to find it hotter and wetter, practically dripping onto his lap. “See, there you go. Just relax. I’ll make you feel good, darlin’. We’ll take care of that nasty ache.”

You pant through each pulse of his finger. You don’t even think about looking up to meet his eyes, not when he stares down at you with obvious adoration and devotion, the emotion splayed across his face. He looks entranced at the sight of you coming apart on his fingers, a flush high on his cheeks.

“No one’s gonna come by. Not this far out. ‘Sides, they know to keep their distance. Newlyweds need their space, right, darlin’?”

Supposing he’s right and no one comes out this way. Isn’t it still unseemly to do this out in the open? So far from your marriage bed? John seems incapable of relegating his affections to that space, unconcerned with propriety or modesty. You wonder with a spark of fear if he’d even budge if someone were to come trotting up the walkway on horseback or if he’d just wave them off and send them on their way. You don’t think he’s the kind of man to want an audience, thank the Lord, but he seems entirely unphased by even the idea of being intruded upon.

You melt when he shushes your worries, feeling you tense against him, and sinks his fingers in deeper, now another. Don’t fret, he murmurs against your temple, sighing softly. I’ve got you, honey. Ain’t going nowhere.

You aren’t, are you, you think wildly. The land around here goes on forever and the train whistles by only twice a week if you’re lucky. Then townsfolk know you by face and a false name, but that would be enough for them to grow concerned if they were to spot you heading for the train with your suitcases packed, and with John or one of his deputies always in town, there’s little chance you’d be able to board without one of them interfering.

Still though, it’s better than the alternative. For over a week now you’ve been on high alert, waiting for an arrest warrant to be slipped onto John’s desk with your likeness drawn on it, and for him to come collect you stone-faced and furious. It could still come.

He keeps you tucked into his arms and nestled close, shushing you when you hiccup and pinch your lips together to keep quiet. He lets you have that, unphased by the way you try to hide it, only tutting when you try to fight it, curling his fingers up inside you and rubbing a spot inside of you that makes it hard to breathe.

“I could just take it, but you’re gonna give it to me, darlin’,” John says.

And you do. Messily, noisily. Burying your face in his neck and sobbing it out, humiliation wrung out of you, squeezing out every drop. He smells like musk and old sweat, amber warm. Liquid gold. You press your nose into the skin of his neck and draw in a breath so deep that you go lightheaded.

John keeps his fingers tucked in you until you stop shaking, talking you through it even though you hardly hear a word. How could you over the rush in your head, the blood in your ears? When you open your eyes and look around, the sky is swollen and dark, the wall of rain

“C’mon, honey,” he says, pulling his fingers out and placing his hand low on your belly. “Let’s go inside.”

You sit across from him at dinner, eating under candlelight. The weight of his gaze for once isn’t stifling.

The rain only starts in earnest when he’s pulled the quilt over the two of you and pulled you into his arms. The rain pelting the windowpane dulls to a low roar when you turn over and snuggle deeper into John’s chest, pulling the blanket over your head. Tomorrow, the grass will be greener than the day before. You can feel it in your bones.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #price x you #john price x reader #price x reader #price/reader #john price/reader #john price

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oceandolores · 3 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | series

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦."

summary: In the small town near Austin, Texas, you are trapped in a life of rigid expectations and silent suffering. As the preacher's daughter, you endure the mental and physical abuse of your father while your mother, bound by obedience, offers quiet love. Your longing for a father's warmth finds an unexpected solace in Joel Miller, your father's best friend and neighbor. In Joel's presence, you discover a forbidden sanctuary, where your yearning heart is met with a gentle strength you've never known.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 1

masterlist of the series!

next | chapter 2

The Texas sun had a way of casting long, dramatic shadows across the sprawling landscape, painting the world in hues of gold and amber. In small town near Austin, the heat clung to everything, wrapping the town in a sweltering embrace that seemed to slow time itself. You, a preacher's daughter on the cusp of graduation, trapped in the rigid confines of a life dictated by faith and fear.

Your father, Reverend Gibson, was a towering figure in the community, his voice booming from the pulpit every Sunday, filling the church with sermons about sin and salvation. To the congregation, he was a man of God, a beacon of righteousness. But within the walls of your home, he was a tyrant. His heavy hand and harsh words left marks not just on your skin, but deep within your soul. Your mother, ever the obedient wife, offered what little comfort she could, but her love was a quiet, subdued thing, overshadowed by her fear of defying your father.

The Millers lived just a few houses down, their home a testament to both prosperity and tragedy. Joel Miller was your father’s best friend from high school, a bond forged in the fires of youth but strained by the paths they had chosen. While your father found his calling in the church, Joel built a successful construction business with his younger brother, Tommy.

Joel and Tommy not live far from each other, while your house is just one house away from Joel, Tommy is a few houses down from Joel's.

The Miller brothers were well-known and respected in the community, their work evident in the many buildings that dotted the town.

Joel’s life had been forever altered by a single, devastating moment. He had lost his wife and daughter in a car accident, an accident where he had been behind the wheel. The guilt of their deaths weighed heavily on him, a burden he carried in the lines of his face and the shadows in his eyes.

Since that tragic day, he had distanced himself from the church, finding solace instead in his work and in raising his adopted daughter, Ellie. Joel has adopted Ellie when she was only 10 years old with the help of Tommy.

At 16, Ellie was a spirited girl, one of your juniors at school. She attended church every Sunday with her uncle Tommy, her presence a reminder of the Millers’ lingering faith.

Tommy, married to Maria, had recently welcomed a baby boy into their family. The joy of new life was a stark contrast to the sorrow that had marked Joel’s existence. The Millers were a close-knit family, their bonds of loyalty and love a stark contrast to the fractured and tense environment of your own home.

You had known the Millers your entire life, their presence a constant thread in the fabric of your existence. Yet, as you stood on the brink of adulthood, your interactions with them took on a new significance. Your father’s sermons about the dangers of straying from the path of righteousness echoed in your mind, but so did your longing for something more, something real and tangible.

It was just another Sunday, and you were helping your dad with the after-service fellowship. The congregation mingled in the church hall, sharing coffee and pastries, their voices a low hum of conversation and laughter. You moved through the crowd with a tray of refreshments, offering smiles and polite nods, your mind elsewhere.

The Sunday service had been like any other, filled with hymns, prayers, and your father’s booming voice delivering his sermon. Today, he had spoken about temptation and the perils of straying from God’s path, his words heavy with the weight of his own fervent belief. As always, you felt the eyes of the congregation on you, the preacher’s daughter, the living example of his teachings.

You couldn’t help but glance towards the back of the room, where Tommy and Ellie stood, their presence a rare but welcome sight. Joel, as expected, was absent, his appearances in church growing increasingly sporadic since the accident.

Your thoughts kept drifting to Joel Miller. It had been years since the tragedy that had claimed his wife and daughter, leaving an indelible mark on him, transforming a once regular churchgoer into a haunted, reclusive figure.

You didn't really know or remember Joel's wife and daughter. Sarah Miller had been much older than you, and she passed away when you were only five. The memories you had of them were hazy at best, a blur of faces and voices that you couldn’t quite place.

Ellie caught your eye and waved, her smile bright and genuine. You waved back, feeling a pang of longing for the carefree spirit she embodied. She was one of the few people in your life who treated you like a normal person, not just the preacher’s daughter.

After the service, as the crowd began to thin, you found yourself gravitating towards Tommy and Ellie. Tommy, ever the warm and approachable figure, greeted you with a smile. “Hey, kiddo. How’ve you been?”

You returned his smile, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “I’m good, Tommy. How’s Maria and the baby?”

Tommy’s face lit up with pride. “They’re great. Little Luke’s growing like a weed. Maria’s over the moon, of course.”

Ellie nudged you playfully. “You should come over and meet him sometime. He’s the cutest.”

You laughed softly. “I’d love that.”

Tommy’s expression grew more serious as he glanced around the room. “How’s your dad doing with all the church activities? Keeping busy?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, he’s always got something going on. Keeps him out of trouble, I guess.”

Tommy chuckled. “Good to hear. Your family always looks so put together. It’s impressive, really.”

You shrugged, trying to brush off the compliment. “We just try to do our best.”

As you continued chatting, the weight on your shoulders seemed to lighten, if only for a moment. Ellie shared stories about school, her infectious laughter bringing a smile to your face.

“So, any plans after graduation?” Ellie asked, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

You hesitated, the uncertainty of your future looming large. “I’m not sure yet. I’ve been thinking about college, but it’s complicated.”

Tommy’s expression grew serious again. “You should follow your dreams, kid. Don’t let anything hold you back.”

You nodded, grateful for their support. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Tommy.”

As you chatted with Tommy and Ellie, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Glancing around, you caught your father’s stern gaze from across the room. His eyes were a silent warning, a reminder of your place and the expectations that came with it.

Excusing yourself, you slipped out of the church hall, needing a moment of solitude. Your dad won't notice you are gone a little, your job has been taken by your mom.

The Texas heat hit you as soon as you stepped outside, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the gravel parking lot. You decided to walk, the streets feeling empty because everyone was still in church. As you walked aimlessly, your mind whirled with conflicting thoughts and emotions.

You found yourself drawn towards the lake behind the church and the town, a place far enough to avoid everyone. The lake and the surrounding forest were comforting, a sanctuary from the oppressive atmosphere of your home.

Looking around to ensure you were alone, you carefully pulled out your cigarettes and lit one, taking a long drag. Your parents never knew you were quite a smoker, especially your father. If he ever found out, the repercussions would be severe, his wrath swift and unrelenting. The thought of his anger made you shudder.

You decided to sit by the old fallen tree near the lake. It was very quiet, the only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the gentle lapping of water against the shore. You loved to come here every chance you got, a hidden escape from the prying eyes and harsh judgments of your daily life. As you exhaled a cloud of smoke, you heard a rustling sound in the underbrush.

Startled, you quickly put out your cigarette and looked up. Emerging from the trees was Joel, a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder. Your heart pounded in your chest as you met his gaze. "Joel?" you stammered, hoping he hadn’t noticed the cigarette.

He looked at you, then at the still-smoking cigarette butt near your feet. His expression was unreadable, but you felt a wave of fear. What if he told your father?

Joel approached, his steps slow and deliberate. "Didn’t expect to see you out here," he said, his voice as gruff as ever.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "I… I just needed some air."

Joel’s eyes flicked to the cigarette again. "That why you’re hiding out here? To smoke?"

You bit your lip, the truth hanging heavily between you. "Please don’t tell my dad," you whispered, the desperation clear in your voice.

Joel sighed, his expression softening slightly. "Your secret’s safe with me," he said finally, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Relief flooded through you, and you nodded gratefully. "Thank you,"

As you stood up, brushing off the dirt and bits of wood that had stained your dress, you noticed Joel's gaze lingering on the rifle in his hand and the heavy boots caked with mud.

"You didn’t come to church today," you said, your curiosity overcoming your apprehension. You had noticed his absence with the frequency that had become almost routine over the years.

He glanced at you, the stern lines of his face softening slightly. “Yeah, I’ve been... busy,” he replied, his tone clipped and noncommittal.

You took in the sight of him, his rugged appearance a stark contrast to the tidy, polished look of the other churchgoers. The rifle and the muddy boots seemed to tell a story of their own, a story that was far removed from the neat rows of pews and the polished wooden floors of the church.

“You know, Father always says that you used to come every Sunday,” you said, trying to sound casual. “He misses you at church. Everyone does.”

Joel’s expression hardened again, the hint of vulnerability disappearing behind his usual reserve. “Yeah, well, things change,” he said tersely, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “People change.”

You wanted to press further, to understand what had driven him away, but you knew better than to push too hard. Joel was a man of few words, his emotional landscape a guarded territory. You had seen it in the way he interacted with Ellie, the way he kept his distance, the way he seemed to be perpetually battling some invisible storm.

"Are you okay?" you asked quietly, your concern slipping through despite your efforts to remain detached.

Joel’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something raw and unspoken. He shook his head, as if to clear the thoughts from his mind. "Just trying to get by, same as anyone," he said gruffly. “Out here, it’s a little easier to do that.”

You nodded, accepting his answer even if it left many questions unanswered. The silence between you stretched, filled only with the distant chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of leaves.

Joel shifted, breaking the silence. “What are you doing out here anyway? It’s quite a trek from town. This place isn’t exactly safe, you know.” His tone was a mixture of concern and curiosity, revealing a sliver of his protective nature.

You sighed, glancing around the lake and forest. “I needed a break. Just... needed to be away from everything for a bit. It’s peaceful here." You looked at Joel, your eyes subtly asking if it was okay to continue smoking.

Joel noticed your look but chose not to comment immediately. Instead, he took a few steps closer, his boots crunching softly on the gravel. You took that as an invitation and sat down under a large tree near the lake, patting the grass beside you.

“Feel free to join me if you want,” you offered, your voice light despite the heaviness of the situation.

Joel hesitated for a moment before sitting down next to you. His presence was a grounding force, even if he wasn’t the most expressive. He glanced at the cigarette pack you had placed on the grass between you.

“Want one?” you offered, extending the pack towards him.

Joel shook his head with a faint, rueful smile. “Nah, I’m good. I’m not sure it’s right to be smoking in front of you.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I thought you of all people wouldn’t judge me for it.”

Joel chuckled, a rare, genuine sound. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m a bit of a hypocrite when it comes to that. I’ve had my share of bad habits.”

You nodded, accepting his refusal. “How are you, Joel? I don’t see you much,” you said, your curiosity evident. It was true; Joel had been increasingly distant from the people in your town, retreating into a shell of his own making.

He met your gaze briefly, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place crossing his features. “Just... getting by. Working hard, dealing with stuff. Not much else to it.”

There was a weariness in his voice that spoke of battles fought silently and wounds healed only with time. It was clear that the years had not been kind to Joel, even if he tried to mask it behind a facade of rugged determination.

You sensed that pushing further wouldn’t get you anywhere. Joel was not one to open up easily, and you could see that the topic of his feelings was closed off. You decided to shift the conversation, sensing that it was best to focus on something lighter.

"How’s school?” he asked, his tone shifting to something slightly more personal but still restrained. “Almost done, right?”

You nodded, a smile touching your lips despite the lingering tension. “Yeah, I’m just a few months away from graduating. It’s been a whirlwind, but I’m looking forward to it.”

“That’s good to hear,” Joel replied, giving a slight nod. “High school’s a big deal. A lot changes after that.”

You shifted slightly, tucking your legs beneath you as you sat on the grass. “It is. It feels like the end of one chapter and the start of another.” You took a deep drag from your cigarette, the smoke curling around you in the still air. Exhaling slowly, you continued, “I just want to get out of here.”

Joel’s gaze, always direct, fixed on you. He didn’t speak immediately, allowing the weight of your words to settle between you. He shifted his weight, leaning slightly on the rifle, his hands still coated in the grime of the day’s work. “Yeah?” he finally said, his tone soft but edged with curiosity. “Where do you want to go?”

You looked out over the lake, its calm surface reflecting the last rays of the sun. “Anywhere but here,” you said with a sigh. “I want to leave this town, start fresh somewhere new. I’ve been dreaming about it for a long time.”

Joel watched you silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Sometimes getting out can seem like the only way to find something better,” he said slowly. “But it ain’t always as simple as it sounds.”

You took another drag from your cigarette, the ember glowing brightly as you exhaled. “I know it’s not that simple,” you said quietly. “But it feels like I’m suffocating here. I just need... something different. Something real.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze not unkind but keenly observant. There was a protective instinct in him that had always been there, even when you were much younger. He sensed there was more to your words than just a desire to leave town. The carefully constructed façade of normalcy that your family projected wasn’t lost on him, though he had never delved into the specifics of your home life.

“You know,” Joel began, his voice taking on a slightly softer tone, “sometimes people want to leave for reasons that go beyond what they’re willing to say. It’s one thing to want a new place, but it’s another to be running from something.”

You stiffened slightly, the cigarette now nothing more than a stub between your fingers. You were careful not to let your emotions betray you. “It’s not just about running away,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s about finding a place where I can breathe.”

Joel nodded, his gaze steady. “And you think you’ll find that out there?”

“I hope so,” you said. “I just need to get out and find out for myself. It’s been hard to see beyond this place.”

Joel shifted his weight, leaning on his rifle. His rugged face, often set in lines of stoicism, now bore a hint of concern. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of folks runnin’ away from what they don’t want to face. Sometimes they find what they’re lookin’ for, sometimes they don’t. But it’s dangerous out there for someone who’s not ready.”

You looked at him, sensing the genuine concern behind his words. “I’m ready,” you said softly. “I’ve been ready for a long time.”

Joel studied you for a moment longer, his fatherly instincts kicking in. He could see the innocence in your eyes, the quiet strength that belied your troubled soul. He had been a father before, and he knew what it was like to want to protect someone from the harsh realities of the world.

But then, with a shift in his demeanor, Joel decided it wasn’t his business to involve himself further. He cared for you, that much was clear, but he also knew his boundaries. His expression hardened slightly, a testament to his tendency to keep people at a distance.

“Look,” he said gruffly, his Southern accent thickening his words, “it’s not my place to get too involved in this. You’re gonna have to handle things your way.” His tone was direct, carrying the weight of a man who had learned to let his actions speak louder than his words.

Despite the coldness in his voice, there was a flicker of tenderness in his eyes, a brief glimpse of the protective instincts that lingered beneath his guarded exterior. Joel operated in a morally gray area, making decisions that were often difficult and controversial, and he understood the complexities of navigating a world where right and wrong were not always clear.

He wanted to help, but his experience had taught him that sometimes the best way to show care was to step back and allow others to find their own way.

“You know,” Joel said, shifting the topic slightly, “Ellie talks about you sometimes. Says you’re smart, and she admires you for stickin’ it out. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, but she looks up to you. So, if there’s ever a time you need someone to talk to, or if you just need a friend, don’t hesitate to reach out. I may not be the best at this whole ‘talkin’’ thing, but I’m here if you need me.”

You appreciated his attempt to offer support, even if it came in a roundabout way. “Thanks, Joel. It’s nice to know that someone cares,” you said, smiling as you put out the cigarette.

Joel watched you with a mixture of concern and curiosity, as if weighing whether to press further. You could see that he was struggling with how much to say, his usual reserve at odds with the genuine warmth he was trying to convey.

“Well,” you said, glancing at the fading light, “I should head back to the church before Dad notices I’m gone.”

Joel shifted his stance, a hint of hesitation in his eyes. “You sure you don’t want a ride back? It’s a long walk, and it’s gettin’ dark.”

You shook your head, feeling a pang of guilt for declining his offer. “I appreciate it, Joel, but I don’t want to trouble you. I can manage the walk.”

Joel’s brow furrowed, and he gave a firm nod. “It ain’t no trouble. It’s just a ride. Besides, I’d rather make sure you get back safely.”

His insistence made you feel slightly uncomfortable, but you also recognized his sincerity. Raised to be polite and considerate, you found it difficult to refuse when someone was being genuinely helpful.

“Alright,” you said reluctantly, “if you insist. Thank you.”

Joel nodded, his face softening a bit as he walked over to his truck. The vehicle was old but reliable, with a rugged appearance that matched Joel’s own. He opened the passenger side door for you, gesturing for you to get in.

As you climbed into the truck, Joel got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The interior was a mix of practical and worn, with a faint smell of leather and earth. Joel drove with a steady, practiced hand, the truck rumbling over the uneven terrain as he navigated the path back to town.

The silence in the truck was comfortable, with only the sound of the engine and the occasional rustle of the trees breaking it. You stared out the window, the fading sunlight casting a warm glow over the landscape. You could feel the weight of the day’s conversations settling in, and the quiet offered a moment of reflection.

After a few minutes, the truck rolled into town, the familiar sights coming into view. Joel slowed as he approached the church, where you could see the remaining congregants beginning to disperse.

Joel pulled up to the curb and stopped the truck. "We're here."

"Thank you once again, Joel. It’s good catching up with you," you said, giving him a grateful smile. Just as you were about to step out of the truck, you spotted your father from a distance. A sinking feeling washed over you as you realized he had seen you.

“Oh no,” you muttered, catching Joel’s eye. He turned to see your father walking towards the truck, a determined look on his face.

Joel, ever the gentleman, exited the truck as well. You followed suit, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach. Your father, who had been conversing with some church members, excused himself and made his way towards you and Joel.

“Evening, Reverend,” Joel greeted, extending a hand.

“Evening, Joel,” your father said with his usual charming demeanor, shaking Joel’s hand firmly. “It’s been a while. I hope you’ve been well.”

Joel’s expression was polite but reserved. “Can’t complain. Been keeping busy.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” your father replied smoothly. “You know, we’ve missed you at church. It would be good to see you back.”

Joel gave a noncommittal nod, his discomfort barely masked. “Maybe sometime.”

As your father turned his attention to you, his smile faltered slightly. “And where have you been, young lady? You were supposed to help with the service.”

You flinched at the stern tone, feeling his grip tighten around your arm as he spoke. “I was just taking a walk, Dad. Joel gave me a ride back.”

Your father’s grip was rough and unyielding, his fingers digging into your arm with a strength that was both painful and controlling. Joel noticed, his gaze briefly flicking to your father’s hand before returning to his face.

“Is that right?” your father said, his voice carrying a hint of disapproval. “Well, I hope you weren’t gone too long. We have responsibilities.”

"Yes, I'm sorry, father." You said smile a little to hide the pain he's causing you.

Joel cleared his throat, attempting to steer the conversation away from the tension. “I’m just making sure she gets back safe."

“Of course,” your father said, releasing your arm but maintaining a veneer of politeness. “We have a dinner invitation from Tommy and Maria next Saturday. I trust you’ll be joining us?”

Joel looked momentarily surprised. “Well, I'm supposed I am,"

Your father’s smile widened, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Yes, they extended the invitation to our family. It will be good to catch up.”

Joel nodded, his expression neutral. “I’ll have to check with Ellie, but I’m sure we’ll make it.”

“Excellent,” your father said, still maintaining his charming facade. “It’ll be good for everyone to reconnect.”

As the conversation continued, Joel’s discomfort grew. He noticed the strain in your father’s demeanor and the way he seemed to be masking a more sinister undertone behind his polite words. Joel had been out of the social loop for a while, but he was perceptive enough to sense when something was off, even if he chose not to probe further.

“Well,” Joel said, his tone shifting to one of finality, “I better be on my way. Got some things to take care of. It was good seeing you again, Reverend. And you too,” he added, offering you a brief, reassuring smile.

You gave him a grateful nod, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension. “Thank you, Joel."

Joel, giving one last nod before turning to leave. As he walked away, you could feel the weight of the evening’s encounters settling heavily on your shoulders. The brief respite you’d found in Joel’s company had been overshadowed by the return of your father’s control and the unsettling realization that your escape from this small town and its complexities might be more challenging than you had hoped.

After the Sunday service, you returned home with a heavy heart. The warmth of the day had turned cold, and the familiar feeling of dread settled over you as you approached the house. Inside, the tension was palpable, and the moment you walked through the door, you knew there would be consequences for your absence during the service.

Your father’s voice was stern and unforgiving as he called you into the living room. “You’ve abandoned your duties. Do you have any idea what that means?”

You tried to explain, but his anger cut you off. “I was just trying to get some fresh air, Dad. I didn’t mean—”

Before you could finish, he was on you, grabbing your arm with a grip that left no room for argument. He dragged you to the center of the room, his face a mask of fury. “You’ve abandoned your duty. It’s about respect and responsibility. You know how important this is.”

“No, please, Dad, don’t. I’m so sorry. I will not do it again,” you pleaded, your voice trembling.

The fear in your voice only seemed to fuel his anger. He disappeared into the hallway, returning with his belt in hand. The leather looked menacing, and your heart raced as you saw it.

“Please, Dad, I’m sorry,” you continued to beg. “I didn’t mean to disobey. I’ll make it right. Just please—”

Your father’s face was a mask of cold determination. “Take off your dress and face the wall,” he ordered, his voice steely. “You needs to be taught a lesson.”

You could barely keep your composure as you undressed, your body shaking with fear and dread. The scars on your back from a previous punishment throbbed with anticipation. When you were finally positioned with your back to him, every nerve in your body was on edge.

The first crack of the belt was sharp and painfully immediate. The sound echoed through the room, followed by a searing pain that made you flinch. You cried out, tears streaming down your face. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” you sobbed, your voice breaking with each cry of pain.

You could feel the belt cutting into your already tender skin, the sensation of bleeding mixing with the agony of the blows. Each strike felt like a betrayal of your trust, a reminder of the harsh world you were trapped in.

Your mother stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her face pale and tear-streaked. She wanted to intervene, but fear held her back. She could only watch helplessly as you were punished, her own sobs mingling with your cries of pain.

In a desperate attempt to mask the sounds of the abuse from the neighbors, she turned the gospel music up loud, hoping the noise would cover your screams and your father’s harsh words.

The music blared in the background, a twisted contrast to the suffering in the room. It felt like a cruel mockery, the joyous hymns clashing with the reality of your punishment. Your mother’s tears fell silently as she stood by, unable to offer more than the muted comfort of her presence.

As the beating continued, your strength waned. The pain was overwhelming, a relentless reminder of the control your father exerted over every aspect of your life. You could only endure, hoping for it to end soon, each moment stretching out painfully as you clung to the hope that this would be the last of such torment.

When he finally stopped, you were left huddled on the floor, your body aching and your spirit broken. Your father’s anger subsided, leaving him with a cold, resolute expression. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” he said gruffly, his voice devoid of empathy. “Disobedience won’t be tolerated.”

Your mother rushed to your side as soon as your father left the room, her hands trembling, “I’m so sorry,” she whispered through her tears, her voice filled with sorrow and helplessness.

You looked at her through blurred vision, your own tears mingling with hers. “I—It's okay, mama." you said weakly, your voice strained and shaky. “It’s my fault."

She helped you put your dress back on, her fingers brushing gently over the raw marks on your skin, causing you to wince. Each movement was a reminder of the pain you were enduring.

As you slowly gathered your strength, your mother helped you to a nearby chair, her hands still shaking. She sat beside you, her presence a small but comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions. The music from the kitchen blared on, a cruel backdrop to the quiet moments of shared sorrow between mother and daughter.

In the midst of the pain and turmoil, there was a flicker of hope that someday, somehow, you might find a way out of the darkness. For now, though, you could only cling to the small comforts and the hope that things might one day be different.

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angelsfat3 · 4 months ago

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ꮩ, 性玩具。 ⸻[midnight practices...]

Genre: smut, teacher's pet, coach!Sunghoon x iceskater!Malereader.

C/w: Sunghoon being possessively perverted, feminization, bottom reader, fingering, oral (sunghoon giving). － Tw: Curses, manipulation, victimization, crying.

A/N: I don't consider myself the best at writing smut, so that's why this is so simple.

╰╾ I still haven't finished writing the stories that I have planned to upload in a few days.

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The sound of skates scraping the ice echoed across the empty rink as you completed the last lap, your cheeks and nose completely red from the cold. Your breathing was heavy and your muscles burned from the effort, but there was something else weighing on his mind.

Sunghoon, your coach, was watching you from the edge, ogling you from the warm-up, his gaze seeming to pierce the ice and get right to you.

As you headed to the locker room, you felt the chill of the air on his hot skin. As you took off your jacket and gloves, you heard the door open and close behind you.

Sunghoon had entered, his presence always imposing, his figure casting a shadow that covered everything.

"You did a good job today," Sunghoon said, his voice soft, almost like a whisper. There was a certain intensity in his gaze, a hunger that you had learned to recognize and fear.

“Thank you, hyung,” you responded with a smile, trying to keep your voice steady. But your hands were shaking slightly as you removed the protections and slowly sat down on the wood bench.

Sunghoon approached slowly, his expression changing to a warm smile, but his eyes were those of a wolf stalking its prey. "[...], there is something I have wanted to tell you." His hand reached out, caressing one of your cheeks, before sliding up to your neck.

"What is it?" you asked, looking up to meet his eyes, you searched for a way to ignore the electric shock that Sunghoon's touch sent through your body.

You knew you should pull away, that you should say no, but something in you craved that forbidden touch, his lips kissing every part of your body would always be your favorite sin.

Sunghoon tilted his head, intensifying his gaze, fixated on you. "I've noticed you're distracted lately," he commented, his tone deceptively gentle."Your performance on the court has gone down. And I know it's because of that little friend of yours who's done using you."

You gulped, your defenses slowly crumbling, while he sounded worried, his words weren't the best. Sunghoon always knew how to get inside your head, how to find your weak points, in every sense of the word. "Yeah, it's been kind of hard..." you admitted, looking down.

Sunghoon smiled, a gesture that felt more predatory than sympathetic. "I know what you need, [...]. You need to forget all that. You need to stop worrying about things that don't matter." He said passing his knee between your legs, making you open them easily.

“But hyung, I'm not sure this is right,” you said as you noticed his growing erection, your voice shaky as you fought the desire to surrender to Sunghoon's touch. "Maybe I should leave before... before something else happens."

You didn't want to admit it, but you felt like with every encounter, something was pushing you closer to falling in love with him, something you knew shouldn't happen.

"Do you want to leave?" Sunghoon interrupted you, his tone more like a challenge than a question. "Fine, but then you won't be coming back again and I doubt you want that, [...]"

The words hit you like a slap. The possibility of losing everything you had built terrified you more than anything, and Sunghoon knew it. "No, I don't want that," you finally muttered, your resistance breaking.

Sunghoon leaned in, bringing his face closer to yours to the point where your lips were constantly brushing, pressing a soft but insistent kiss against your lips.

His skillful hands began to work, slipping under your shirt and slowly lifting it up, setting it to your side, enjoying every centimeter of skin that he was revealing with his fingertips.

"I'm not just doing this because I want to help you, [...]," he said between kisses, his lips moving with calculated precision, biting your lower lip between moments. "I do it because I love you and because you're mine."

You closed your eyes, trying to block out the words as you lightly rested your hands on his shoulders, Sunghoon's touch stronger than your will. "But...what about your wife? s-she's pregnant" you tried to protest, though your voice sounded weak even to your own ears.

Sunghoon let out a soft laugh, a sound that was not entirely pleasant. "She has nothing to do with us. This moment is ours alone," he stated, his voice confident as his hands moved to your pants, decisively tearing them and your underwear apart, getting rid of them in one swift motion.

Sunghoon began to mark his way up your neck, then down to your bare chest, marking his territory with hot kisses and small bites on your nipples. A couple of gasps took over your mouth, your body responding to every touch, every whispered word Sunghoon said in your ear.

His fingers focused on caressing and squeezing your nipples, while he was in charge of kissing and noticeably marking your neck, the most sensitive areas of you. You could only moan unconsciously near his ear as you looked for a way to push him, with your eyes closed.

As soon as you regained your senses and sight, you saw your teacher on his knees, running his hands over your waist briefly.

Sunghoon was lowering his lips past your belly, his hands were firm, separating your legs in the best way, leaving your semi-erect cock in view, With the skill of a master who knows his apprentice well, he let out a soft laugh. "Do you realize how perfect you are because of me?" Sunghoon whispered as his lips grazed the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, planting searing kisses that left a trail of heat in their wake. "Let me enjoy what I've harvested, okay?

You couldn't help but let out a moan when Sunghoon continued his exploration, lowering his head slightly just to lick your balls, his mouth moving towards your member quickly, almost instantly enveloping your glans with his lips.

The feeling of his tongue moving in circles against your tip sent waves of pleasure through your body, causing your little flesh to finish erecting, releasing a bit of precum.

Sunghoon used his tongue skillfully, the way he put your member inside his mouth was making you go blank, Your hands were squeezing the wood of the bench and your stomach only knew how to contract from the sensation.

Every movement was calculated, every touch measured to elicit maximum pleasure, like an artist who knows exactly how to pluck each string to pluck the perfect note.

Unexpectedly, Sunghoon laid you down on the bench, giving him greater access to your body. Without wasting any time, he inserted two of his fingers inside you without warning, pretending it was his big meat by the way he started pounding into you.

Tears began to flood your eyes and begin to overflow down your cheeks, the way he moved his head up and down and his tongue moved in a circular motion at the same time, one of his hands gently massaging your balls and the other sinking to the depths of you, managing to caress your sweet spot with his middle finger, it was what had you writhing on the bench.

Your back was arched and your moans were muffled, you were nowhere near reaching your first orgasm, you were so close that it had you rolling your eyes.

In a matter of seconds Sunghoon stopped, retreating slightly with an enigmatic smile. You gasped in discontent, your body shaking from a mix of frustration and unfulfilled desire. “Hyung, please…” you begged, your voice so broken with longing and crying.

"First you tell me you don't want this, and now you're begging me like a fucking cock whore. Who understands you?" Sunghoon asked, his eyes shining with a mixture of superiority and cruel delight. "No matter how much you try to hide it, [...], you will always like to have me around. You ask for it just with the way you look at me."

While you were struggling to breathe, you were searching for the words necessary to excuse the reason for your prayers towards him, but you only remained speechless when you felt his fingers enter suddenly, again pretending that these were his fat member, which you never missed after each practice.

Your body lay caught in a storm of sensations as Sunghoon teased your hole and cock, giving you pleasure but denying you the relief you so desperately needed.

The torture continued when, as he moved his tongue over your tip, he made thrusts with his fingers, moving them like scissors near your innocent spot. Time seemed to stop as your teacher kept you on edge, his words full of manipulation, love and hate echoing in your head.

Finally, when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, Sunghoon intensified his attention. His tongue moved with lethal precision, his lips wrapping around your glans and slowly sinking his head, pressing your tip against the roof of his mouth.

You felt on cloud nine every time you heard his fingers grind hard against your skin and the way he made a kind of hook with his fingers every time he caressed your sweet prostate, Your legs trembled with poverty and your tears constantly slid down your face.

The heat of Sunghoon's mouth and the expert movement of his tongue combined wave after wave of pleasure that spread through every cell of your body, causing you to arch your back and let out a gasp, cumming steadily into his mouth.

Each spasm was a mix of sharp pleasure and painful sweetness, with Sunghoon enjoying the absolute control he had over you, causing spasms that seemed to have no end.

Even after the wave of orgasms had passed, Sunghoon continued to suck, his tongue moving like a wave over every corner of your member, prolonging your hypersensitivity, until your tearful sobs, completely overwhelmed, begged him to stop.

A sly smile formed on the taller man's face, stopping the movement of his fingers and tongue, slowly removing your small dick from his cavity.

When he finally pulled out, Sunghoon wiped the corners of his mouth with a satisfied gesture, wearing the shirt he had taken off you at the beginning, his gaze fixed on you, who lay exhausted and vulnerable on the bench. "I hope that can help you focus tomorrow," Sunghoon said, his voice a mix of authority and disdain. "Don't disappoint me, or I'll have to get another apprentice, and believe me, I really like having this internship with just you, [...]."

You could barely respond with a moan, your mind was completely clouded by the experience, your body continued to shake with post-orgasm.

You stared at nothing, running your hands all over your body, especially over your stomach, watching as Sunghoon stood up and walked away, his footsteps echoing through the empty locker room.

Just before the door closed, you heard a clicking sound, as if Sunghoon had finished recording something.

The idea came to you strongly, filling you with a mixture of fear and vulnerability.

When you were left alone in the silence of the locker room, you finally felt the weight of the situation fall on you. Each encounter with Sunghoon plunged you deeper into an abyss you didn't know how to escape, trapped between desire and guilt.

You had uncertainty digging into your mind, thinking quietly, "What if he's been recording this whole time? What am I going to do if he decides to use it against me?"

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메모 ! 📌ㅤ⸻ㅤ I was having a mental battle, deciding whether to upload it or not. I promise to update more often.

아이디어 !ㅤ⸻ㅤI'm very short of ideas lately, so feel free to leave me any requests! <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>

All credits to @angelsfat3 / @foschiamara.

#sunghoon x male reader #sunghoon #x male reader #kpop x male reader #x male smut #enhypen x male reader #enhypen scenarios #𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡𝙨𝘧𝘢𝘵3ㅤ﹟ㅤ𝗎𝗉𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽𝖾𝖽.#enhypen smut #enhypen #enhypen sunghoon #sub male reader #kpop x male reader smut #x male reader smut

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simonbrain · 20 days ago

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nothing made sense before you. it was like a fog permanently rested over simon—a dark, heavy cloud that weighed on his shoulders, constantly soaking him in his sins and grief. the cavity in his chest worsened the older he got, darkness spreading all over his heart until his ribs were nothing more than an empty cage, and he got better at ignoring the aching pain and the need to become someone meaningful. he fully accepted that he would die on the field and be forgotten, that he would become a fleeting thought, and the riley name would finally—properly—perish with him.

well, now that he thinks about it, he can't help but feel eternally grateful for you. how could he have lived like that?

the new life he leads now is nothing like what he was used to. he sits on the couch with a beer in his hand, the other resting on his full belly as a football match drones on in the back. pictures hang on the walls with your bright smile in each one. your scent sticks to everything in the house, especially on simon's shirts, and your plants and flowers sit on top of the shelves and table. the smell of toffee wafts into the living room, each wave making his nose perk up and water pool in his mouth even though he's certain he can't stuff anymore food down.

he's staring at you. he's watching the way you move around the kitchen—how there's not a lick of tension or stress in your body as you go about making the sauce for the sticky toffee pudding. your shoulders are relaxed, and you sway a little, humming one of your favourite songs as you stir the pot. you curse quietly when you accidentally burn yourself, and when you peek behind you to see if simon saw that—he did—you flash a bashful smile and return your attention back to the stove.

simon thinks you look so angelic like this. it's like you were crafted by the big man upstairs specifically for him, because he doesn't think he's ever felt so comfortable around someone in his life. he always feels so weak in your presence, his chest torn open for you to see him in his entirety, and he doesn't hate it. he doesn't hate being seen—not anymore. not if it's you casting your soft gaze upon him.

how can he thank you? how can he make it up to you for dragging him out of that hole he could never seem to claw his way out of? how can he ever explain how you cleared a way for him through the fog, how you soaked up the pain that kept pummelling down on his shoulders and transformed it into something misty and gentle, how you filled his chest with your everlasting joy until he finally felt his heart sing for the first time in years?

it will never be enough. he will never be able to repay you enough for the love and devotion you've shown him over the years, for the everlasting patience you had while he was still in the military, for the gentleness you've taught him through your own words and actions.

he's not a good man, and he doesn't deserve good things. but you've blessed him with your love and your tenderness, and he will never stop trying to make it up to you. he will love you fiercely and proudly; he'll flaunt the ring on his finger and carry a piece of your heart with him whenever he goes. he'll spend the rest of his life and the lives after that loving you.

when you bring him a plate of pudding paired with vanilla ice cream, he looks up at you with glazed heart-shaped eyes and brings you in for a sweet little kiss. you smile into it and return the love you feel radiating from him tenfold.

#i will never get sick of writing this trope <3 #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #rainwrites 𐙚

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xothatnerdykid · 5 months ago

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guilty as sin

You're a dedicated nurse who loves their job even when it means taking care of stubborn, battle-worn pro-heroes (or maybe especially then). Aizawa Shouta x gn!reader. Set between S6 & S7. Fluff, slight angst with comfort. SFW, 2k words.

The sterile scent of antiseptic fills the air as you walk down the pristine white hallways of Central Hospital. The raid against the Paranormal Liberation Front had left the medical facility overcrowded, understaffed, and bustling with activity. You yourself had been working tirelessly for the last 24 hours straight to care for the numerous injured heroes and civilians.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on your shoulders, your feet dragging slightly with each step. Your shift was supposed to have ended hours ago, and you were more than ready to clock out and get some much-needed rest. However, there was just one patient left to see.

You knock at the door.

"Good morning," you greet the man lying down on the bed. You don't have the strength to muster a smile, but that's okay. He doesn't seem to either.

Instead, he gives you a familiar nod. "Good morning."

He was a brooding, reserved man of a few words. With dark hair and even darker eyes - well, eye, the other being wrapped in bandages - he looked more tired than you some days. You can't fault him for that though. You knew he had been at the front lines of the battle that day and had paid a heavy price for it.

He sits up as you come closer, approaching his bedside. The room is quiet, save for the soft beeping of the machines monitoring his vitals.

"How are you feeling today?"

He shrugs. "I've been better. I've been worse."

"I can see that," you nod, noting the way his complexion is less pale and his hair less unruly today compared to the past week. You open the blinds for him, warm light streaming into the dim room. “More sunlight ought to be good for you.”

“Mhm,” is all he says, blinking up at the bright, blue sky out the window.

You take that as your cue to go about your usual tasks silently, adjusting his IV, checking his bandages, writing down his vitals.

Then, out of the blue, he says, “You’ve been working long hours lately. You should get some rest.”

"Believe me, I will. Just as soon as you're taken care of first."

"I'm fine,” he responds in a clipped, dismissive tone of voice.

“Fine or not, it's my job to make sure you’re comfortable and healing properly. You went through a lot, losing an eye and a leg. Frankly, I’m not sure we should go through with discharging you tomorrow.”

He heaves a tired sigh, “Like I said, I’ve been better, but I’ve been worse, too.”

Frowning, you sit down on the bedside chair and take a moment to look at him. Despite his stoic facade, you can see the toll all those years of being a hero have taken on him, especially the past few weeks. The dark circles under his remaining eye, the weary lines and scars etched into his face. The worried, pained look that lingers even when he's trying to relax.

"You know, it's okay to admit that you're not feeling great. From what I've been told, it seems like you've been through hell and back."

He shrugs again, leaning back against the pillows with a wince that he tries to hide. "It comes with the job. If anyone deserves your concern, it's my students."

“It must be hard, seeing them fight in a war. They’re just children, after all.”

He nods grimly, his mouth a tight line. "And because of this—" he touches the bandages covering his eye "—my quirk is pretty much useless now, especially on the villains we’re up against.”

He doesn't say it, but you can hear it in the tightness of his voice, his clenched jaw, his hands fisting the bedsheet. You know what he really means: “I'm useless now."

You want to reach out to touch him, maybe place your hand atop his, but you're not sure if he'd welcome such a gesture, especially from someone he's only known for a short time. You settle for a few sympathetic words instead, folding your hands in your lap.

"Aizawa-san, do you honestly think your quirk is the only thing that makes you a hero? You've done so much for your students, for so many people. You're a mentor and a role model to these kids. I'm sure they trust and look up to you more because of this, not less.”

He looks at you for a long moment, that same unreadable expression on his face.

"I appreciate that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t protect them the way I used to."

"Maybe not, but even without your quirk, you have your experience, your wisdom, and a heart that cares deeply for them. That's more than enough."

Instead of responding, he stares silently up at the ceiling. You don't push him, resigning to let the moment simply stretch out. After all, this is the most you've ever talked to him the whole week.

As he gets lost in his thoughts, you find yourself mentally tracing the contours of his face, where the sunlight bathes his skin in a soft, warm glow. It accentuates the strong lines of his jaw, his nose. Softens the look in his dark eyes.

You take a quiet breath, surprised by the fluttering sensation in your chest. It's an odd time and place to notice something like this, but you can’t deny there's a certain rugged handsomeness to him.

You shift your weight, feeling a little self-conscious about your own thoughts. It’s unprofessional, you chide yourself, to think of a patient this way. But the inexplicable attraction you feel for the man before you is unmistakeable.

Aizawa turns slightly, catching you off guard as his eyes meet yours. When he finally speaks again, his voice is softer, almost contemplative.

“It's strange. There was a time in my life when I wouldn't have cared what happened to me in the line of duty, whether I lived or died. But now...I want to live for those kids. My kids.”

You manage a wobbly smile even as your heart aches at his words. "Your students are lucky to have someone who cares about them so much."

“You remind me of them a little bit.” He lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling softly in the quiet room. “Determined, stubborn, always insisting on helping.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.

The corner of his lips quirk up, and the realization that he might actually be teasing you sends your heart aflutter.

“Mostly good,” he murmurs. “A little bit troublesome for me though.”

“Yeah?” You bite back a smirk. “You’ve been a bit troublesome for me, too, you know.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the pillows. “Is that so? And how do you propose I make it up to you, then?”

Maybe it’s the huskiness of his voice, the quiet intensity of his gaze, or the faint smile tugging at his lips, but something about him in this moment makes your stomach freefall. And you’re suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss him, passionately and spontaneously, as if afraid to see sense.

You know you shouldn't indulge this, should put a stop to this train of thought before it gains too much momentum. You’re thankful you manage to keep your voice steady despite the rush of blood pounding in your ears.

“Well, Aizawa-san, you could start by taking me out to dinner. Dealing with a patient as stubborn as you has its price, you know.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you wonder if you’ve made a terrible mistake. But then his gaze flickers down to your lips before meeting your eyes again, and you feel your breath hitch. He tilts his head, his expression thoughtful yet guarded, as if trying to read between the lines of your playfulness.

“I suppose,” he concedes softly. “But you might find that I’m not as interesting as you think, Y/N. I’m just a man who cares about the people in his life and does what he can to protect them.”

"That's exactly what I like about you.” Your voice drops to a whisper, your hand lightly brushing against his.

He groans softly, and you feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the sound. He rubs his hand down his face, seemingly weighing his options.

It’s not too late, you assure yourself in a rush of anxious thoughts. You haven’t crossed any lines you can’t go back on, haven’t overstepped the delicate boundary between patient and nurse, between flirtation and something more.

“Will you let me kiss you at the end of the date?”

Oh.

The line is a dot now.

You swallow hard and — heart pounding in your chest, everything else spinning dizzyingly out of focus — you rush forward to close the distance between you, pressing your lips urgently against his.

The spark you felt before intensifies into an electrifying current now, racing down your spine as he tangles one hand in your hair and another holds you by the nape. He tilts your head back to kiss you deeper, his lips hungrily exploring yours, and you feel drunk on the pleasure of his touch, the intoxicating scent of his skin and his aftershave.

The softness of his lips contrasts with the roughness of his stubble, sending shivers of delight coursing through you. His mouth is warm and inviting, and you lose yourself in the sensation of his kiss, the way he breathes you in, the quiet sighs of pleasure that escape both of you.

Your mind spins with the realization of how much you’ve wanted this and how many ill-advised daydreams you’ve had of him these past few weeks. When you finally break apart for air, you keep your forehead pressed against his, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. The sound of your blood rushing in your ears drowns out the rhythmic beeping of the machines around you, and for a moment, the world feels narrowed down to just the two of you.

“I-I’m sorry,” Your breath comes in ragged gasps. Your fingers gingerly touch your lips, which are pursed in surprise. “That was reckless of me. I shouldn’t have.”

Aizawa blinks at you, his dark eyes wide and dazed, like he’s trying to process what just happened. He licks his lips, a gesture that sends a fresh wave of warmth through your body.

“Do you…” His voice is husky, tinged with uncertainty. “Do you regret it?”

“No, of course not,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “I only regret not doing it at a better time.”

His eyes widen slightly in surprise before softening, the tension in his shoulders seemingly melting away.

"Good," he murmurs, reaching for you, his thumb cradling your jaw and tracing small, soothing circles on your skin. “Because I’d like to do it again—”

He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek.

“And again—”

He brushes his lips teasingly against yours, feather-light and promising of more.

“And again.”

The admission sends a thrill through you, a rush of joy and excitement that makes your pulse quicken. "All the more reason to look forward to dinner, I suppose. After you get better, that is."

He chuckles softly. "Shouldn't be a problem, seeing as how I have an excellent nurse taking care of me."

"Mmmhm. Speaking of, is there anything else I can do to make you…more comfortable before I leave?” You can't help but ask, a playful lilt in your voice.

He captures your lips in a delicate kiss, so sweet and tender, like a dream barely skimming the surface of reality. You've finally calmed down enough to hear the sound of his heart rising, betrayed by the loudening beep of the machine. His hand trails down your arm and he laces his fingers with yours, smiling against your lips.

“I can think of a few things.”

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scribs-dibs · 8 months ago

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i'm an orange moon...

(reflecting the light of the sun)

major spoilers for 2.1, gn reader, it got a bit angsty i didn't meaaaan itttt, aventurine is touch starved and you Know how i feel about touchsta💥

wc; ~ 1.6k

“Aventurine,” the false lights of Penacony dance in your eyes when you look at him, and something sickening and foreign twists in his chest. “May I hold your hand?”

Aventurine knows how to be an actor. He does so easily— his carefully crafted mask is more familiar than his own face. He is a performer first and a person second, because there is not a time or place on this or any planet where he can afford to lose anything more. The pieces of himself are barely put together, what is left of him seems to seep like sand between his very fingers. His family, his planet, himself, torn to ruin. And yet it is said that fate smiles upon him. The fractured pieces of himself are a blessing. What a funny thing fate must be, if his hell is said to be a heaven.

The mask must never slip, not even once— his life is a stage, corpses weighing heavy on his back, grasping hands chaining his feet, screams tearing his eardrums to shreds, and yet he must walk it anyway. And Aventurine will, and he will do it without missing a step. For this is what it means for him to live, his every breath a sin.

Aventurine knows how to keep a poker face. He does so easily— his smile is trained never to meet his eyes, it doesn’t know how to, and his hypnotic eyes are always trained on his next opponent, never leaving or faltering. He can’t afford to look away, to see what could possibly come next— to see what could hurt him, next. Aventurine could control nothing in his life. He couldn’t control the Katicans as they laughed as they took his father, or his mother, or his sister, and he couldn’t control when his swine of a master forced him to murder his fellow slaves, either. But he can control who he gets close to. He can control who he lets in, who is allowed to see what he looks like when his walls finally crumble.

Which, of course, is no one.

So it comes easily when he pushes well-meaning gestures away, or refuses a favor with that soft, styrofoam smile and a laugh. It’s not just second-nature, no. It’s the only one he has left.

Aventurine knows he doesn’t deserve the sanctity of being loved. This fact comes to him easily– all who have dared to try have been disappointed, and all who had mattered to him are gone. He knows it well, he is far too many pieces, far too broken, far too much of a mess for someone to come to try and fix. And this is fine, because he doesn’t have the experience to even fantasize about what he is supposedly missing. The closest semblance to friends that he has may as well be rivers or oceans away, with the amount of distance he has put between them and himself.

So you. You are strange to him.

Aventurine does not know what the hell your deal is. He doesn’t know how you got so close. He doesn’t know why you bother.

“Aventurine,” the false lights of Penacony dance in your eyes when you look at him, and something sickening and foreign twists in his chest. “May I hold your hand?”

That gives him pause. For a moment, his lips part, and his brows threaten to furrow under the weight of his pure bafflement. But, as always, his mask slips back on easily, a kind smile slotted into place.

“Oh? Afraid of getting lost?”

You walk beside him on the streets of Golden Hour, taking in the sequins disguised as stars and the specially-manufactured cool night air. He can’t tell if you’re naive or just easily impressed.

“No,” you say with a shake of your head, “Maybe I just…felt like it.”

Aventurine does not change anything in his face. There isn’t so much as a slow bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows, or a look of conflict crossing his features. There is no hesitation in his face, his mask, at all. But even so, when you look at him, through him, your kind smile finds a way to become kinder, and the tenderness in your eyes somehow becomes more potent.

“We don’t have to,” you don’t look disappointed, or even expectant, at all, “We can keep walking. Just this is enough as it is.”

“Just this” is the oddly peaceful silence as the two of you walk together. Your presence is comparable to a sun he never got acquainted with— he’s used to the storms, to the rock and sand, to the unyielding weather he was forced to endure, but this is different. This is just a walk, and there’s no search for water while the taste of blood coats his tongue, or the threat of thunder or biting cold. It is just peace at its purest. He extends his hand.

“Far be it for me to argue. Be my guest.”

You light up immediately, elated. He's thankful for his shades— the brightness of you is blinding. And he isn't quite prepared for the feel of you. Even through his gloves he feels the warmth of your hands— it is everything he is not. His own are ruined; he was pried from his home, and forced to take a bloody, bloody climb back up to earn his own humanity again. Aventurine’s hands are ruined beyond repair— no amount of washing can cleanse them, but yours, yours are so different. They aren't fully soft, you have work and hardships of your own, but they are gentle. Taking your hand feels easy because there are no expectations or commands hidden in the grooves of your palms. There are no hidden weapons behind your back, there is nothing but the feeling of flesh against the dark smoothness of his glove, and for a moment, he almost finds himself staggering.

How long has it been, since he touched another with no expectations? To not force himself to be overly friendly, to not appease anyone for the sake of getting information, to just exist, with someone else's hand in his?

The last willing touch he remembers feeling came with his fingers dipped in blood, salty tears thick on his taste buds. This is different from that. This is worlds away from that.

And Aventurine does not know how to feel. He doesn't know how to arrange his mask in response. There is no light in his eyes, not anymore, at least, but for a moment they are so wide with shock that Golden Hour’s stars swirl in the mix of blue and purple— a complex, vulnerable galaxy. Aventurine does not know how to feel. And it bothers him.

The tips of your fingers slide from his palms to the tips of his own, raking tiny sparks across the fabric of his gloves. Your fingers are interlocked now, and his head is spinning. You're everywhere. Under his gloves, under his skin, everywhere, and it's troubling. Strangely, he doesn't want to let go. For a moment —one that is fleeting and miniscule, barely a blink of an eye— his mask softens, melting around symptoms of genuine comfort, but his wounded heart kicks in defiance. The mask clicks back into place when your gaze meets his again, a smooth, porcelain smile easily greets you. Just as it has been taught to.

(His hands are nice. You know he thinks differently, has been taught to think differently, but they are firm under your palms and quickly warm to your touch.)

“Shall we?”

Distantly, he is aware of the implications of holding hands on a busy city street, encircled by onlookers and gossiping figures— this is the behavior of lovers, friends, family, people who are much, much closer than the two of you are. But your touch is…pleasant. It could mean trouble for you, to be seen with him when so many people have him under such a careful watch, (He is never truly free of people's stares or of their suspicion, and this makes associating with him more than a hassle.) but you know this, and have yet to keep your distance. Experimentally, he flexes his fingers around yours. It's faint, and a gamble if nothing else, but you squeeze him back almost immediately.

Aventurine knows he is greedy. This is intertwined into his being almost as tightly as the hold of your hands. He knows that this is a rare, fleeting moment, one that he will never get to indulge in again —not when his plans to discover the truth of Penacony are sure to succeed— and he knows that he will long for it once it ends, the sweetness of it clinging to his teeth. But he wants it. He wants this singular moment of peace, of keeping the mask on but for once not needing to perform. The city is busy as ever, bustling crowds and cheerful chatter echo up into the walls of tall buildings. It would be nice, to continue your walk together like this, with your soft, sunny hand in his. It would satiate his greed, if only for a moment.

But Aventurine knows he is not worth your time.

“It's been lovely, really,” he almost slips— he almost winces when your face falls. You aren't as practiced as he is when it comes to keeping a poker face. “But I really must be going.” His hand slides out from underneath yours, but it is not as easy as he thought it’d be. The ghost of your touch already serves to haunt him. A few steps back, and your warmth still lingers.

“Take care out there, alright?” he says it with a tilt of his head, his best, practiced and perfect smile easing the tension from your shoulders. Performing again, this time for a private audience.

He only gets a few steps away before you call for him again.

Aventurine knows how to pretend not to hear and keep walking.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

rbs w/comments are appreciated!! <33

#aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail headcanons #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr aventurine #aventurine hsr #☆.writing

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alnilaem · 1 month ago

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okay…….thinking about Ghost dying, but with the calibre of his sins weighing heavy, he’s unable to become an angel in the after life. instead he returns as some phantom, or ghoul, or some undead creature, to roam the earth and look after the woman he left behind (except it’s you, and he’s romantically inept. he doesn’t know how to bully himself back into your life now because he’s even scarier and huge and chases after you in dark alleyways)

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garoujo · 2 years ago

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✩ ˛˚ . INTERRUPTED ; — you find your alone time with multiple tokyo revengers characters being interrupted.

FEATURING: sano shinichiro, hanma shuji, haitani rindou, sano manjiro + sanzu haruchiyo.

warnings: f!reader, exhibitonism, bonten!timeline, shin owns his bike shop, phone calls / being walked in on, cock-warming, sort of possessive behaviour in sanzu’s, ch-oking. note: hewo :3 i am v happy w how these turned out i think so i hope u guys enjoy hehehe <3

✩ ˛˚ . SANO SHINICHIRO

shinichiro could never fucking say no to you, you just had to give him one of your pretty little looks from underneath your lashes and he was like fucking putty in your hands.

it’s like you knew exactly how to get to him, made just to tease and test his own self control and fuck—turns out he hasn’t got any at all, because now your usual little afternoon visit to see him at work has ended up with his hips pressing flush and tight against your own as he sinks his cock into the warm hug of your pussy.

it wasn’t normally something that bothered shinichiro, but when it’s only 2pm on a friday afternoon and he’s just heard the bell on the front door of his bike shop ring to alert him of another customer. he’s pretty sure they might find a problem with the fact he can’t deal with them because he’s balls deep in you in the back shop.

you feel the deep press of your boyfriends cock against the sweet spots inside of you when his next thrust stutters, followed by another languid withdrawal of his hips before he’s rolling them back into you at an even slower pace. but he swears he feels you squeeze even tighter when the sudden ring of the bell at the front desk rips you both from your blissful, hormone-drunken state.

“just a sec..” shinichiro calls as his fingers squeeze almost painfully at your hips and he’s pulling back to give you a lidded look from under the messy mop of black hair framing his flushed features. you shudder when you feel the cool metal of his chain leave your too hot skin but he still doesn’t pull himself away when your hands tighten in the fabric of his shirt. “f-fuck, angel, gotta let me go.. quit squeezin’ so tight.

“but shin, ‘m so close.” you babble through your pouty lips and even the fucking sound only seems to lure him closer as he offers you another stuttered thrust and he grits his teeth. another ring of the bell accompanied by another sinful squeeze of your walls around him and shit— he wished he’d just closed up for the day. god he is fucking whipped.

“mmm—fine, angel. shit— jus’ gotta make it quick, alright? make it up to ya later.”

✩ ˛˚ . HANMA SHUJI

your trip to hanma’s office had started somewhat innocent, it was always down to him when you ended up spread out on his desk atleast — not that you can be blamed when he’s so infuriatingly handsome, amber lidded gaze never once leaving yours as soon as you enter.

it’s the same look that he’s giving you now as you sit spread out for him across the paper work that he couldn’t give two shits about right now. he’s still dressed apart from his unbuttoned slacks — just enough to free the heavy strain of his cock but still a stark contrast to the way he’s stripped you of everything — offered you up to himself like a luxury meal he’s about to devour, and you almost shudder with how exposed you feel before you melt at his touch again.

“you miss my cock that much, babydoll?” hanma goads, smirks as one of his large palms, sin squeezes at the flesh of your thigh so he can push you wider. you can barely offer him words with the way your desire weighs heavy on your lungs, a weak little nod that only makes his grin twitch even wider as he wraps your thighs around his hips.

“such a helpless little thing, can’t cum without me doing all the work.” it was almost uncharacteristic for him to give into you so easily, he liked you begging — crying for him to finally fuck you but any suspicions soon melt when the fat head of his cock finds the entrance to your flexing pussy.

you gasp and hanma growls as he sinks carefully up inside you, punishment taking its usual place around your throat as he squeezes lightly at the sides — he always said it was your prettiest fuckin’ necklace afterall. his other hand on your hip pulls your hips closer to his as your back arches and his cock feels like it sinks into you forever. he was long and thick, curved upwards and warm and it glides so sweetly past the spots inside of you that make your whole body twitch against the wood, your pussy tightening harder around him the deeper he goes.

but just as you find yourself floating into a blissful state, almost consumed completely by him — you jolt when there’s a sudden, sharp knock on his office door and his fingers around your throat squeeze a little tighter before he chuckles.

your wide-eyed as you look at hanma but he doesn’t stop, he looks amused and there’s something dark, wild in the same familiar amber that looks over you when the next knock is accompanied by him forcing your walls to spread open wider for him. “s-shuji.” you try, a small plea for him to tell him he’s busy — to do something, anything.

but then you only feel him press into you deeper, looking at you from over the frames of his glasses before he’s urging your head to tilt back — palm pressing tight against the middle of your throat as he drags you along his cock with the other.

“came here to cum didn’t you? better tell ‘em.. or. else.”

✩ ˛˚ . HAITANI RINDOU

rindou is fucking late, he knows as he gives the watch underneath the expensive fabric of his suit a lazy, lidded look from underneath his lashes. it’s not that he was stuck in traffic or anything, hes at the venue for the executive meeting atleast — hes just far too fucking obsessed with the way you’re bouncing on his cock as he sits in the front seat of his fucking car to actually leave.

ran’s definitely going to kick his ass, he thinks before it’s replaced by the next particularly sharp connection of your hips — warm hug of your pussy reducing him to low grunts and growls as every thought in his head is consumed by only you instead.

“fuck sake, i gotta go princess. but shit, got the sweetest lil fuckin’ pussy.” rindou hisses through gritted teeth as he lets his head fall back against the headrest — his violet gaze heavy underneath his mused bangs as it focuses on the way your pretty tits jiggle everytime you sink back down onto his heavy cock. he’s gotta go, but why can’t he bring himself to fucking move.

“so close rin!” you whimper through pouty lips, your mind cloudy with how well hes fucking you and it does wonders at drowning out the way his phone is vibrating in the passenger seat — his hands preoccupied with dragging you along the length of him instead.

“yeah? lemme see how fuckin’ pretty you look when you cum ‘round my cock, gorgeous.” the ragged tone of rindou’s words feels like it drips through you as the muscles in his well trained body shake beneath you. his pace is unrelenting as he begins to meet each of your thrusts with heavier ones of his own, fingers squeezing tight into your hips so he can push his cock even deeper into you with every wet connection.

“you been thinkin’ ‘bout my cock, princess? already made me fuckin’ late, gotta make it up to me.” rindou groans and your walls reward the thick spread of his cock with another needy twitch. your pussy squelches, wet and messy as the sounds echo around the walls of the car and fuck— he wants to ruin you. but his next harsh thrust stutters when there’s a sudden knock against the drivers seat window that makes his head twist quickly, because despite the dark tint and the condensation from you both — he knows who it fucking is.

“oh little brother? hm, don’t make me drag you in here.”

✩ ˛˚ . SANO MANJIRO

you think it’s warm, comfortable when you’re curled up in mikey’s lap — a place that had become one of your favourite despite how many people feared him. but he was different with you, softer as his slender fingers trace up the length of your spine — making you shudder as his cock rests inside the intoxicating hug of your walls.

it was a nice sort of routine, like a little ritual than always seemed to keep him grounded and it was some of his favourite moments with you — sacred moments with you. you pull back to give him a pretty, drowsy sort of look and you almost melt completely when it earns you a relaxed sort of expression in return followed by a small smile. “manjiro.” you begin and he swears the use of his full name from between your lips makes him shudder as something warm licks at the base of his spine.

“hm?” it’s low the hum that mikey offers you but you only sigh contently before you’re urging yourself closer, letting yourself bask in his hold as his arm around you proceeds to tighten as his lips rest against your temple. “it feels good, you’re warm.” he drawls and the whispered affirmation makes your insides ache before the next squeeze of your walls is pulling a shuddered breath from the man beneath you.

but just as you get comfortable in the blissful atmosphere in the room, it’s interrupted suddenly by the harsh wrap of knuckles against his office door before a particularly scared looking gang member scurries in after. he opens his mouth to speak but the cold look your boyfriend gives him seems to make the words die in his throat before he cuts him off completely.

“i’m busy.” mikey’s tone is blunt, ragged and a stark contrast to the softer one that he seems to reserve only for you as his fingers continue their ministrations along your skin. but you find yourself tensing when his words aren’t followed by the sudden unwanted company leaving, something that your boyfriend picks up on when instead they proceed to try again as they stutter out something unintelligible.

“didn’t you hear me?” there’s authority in the sharpness of his tone this time and it leaves no room for argument — only an apology as the gang member bows before leaving, probably mentally preparing himself for the visit he’ll be receiving from sanzu later no doubt. but you find yourself relaxing into manjiro’s embrace again as soon as you’re both alone again, hearing him sigh before it’s followed by a sudden, deep kiss of his cock as he shifts beneath you.

“so annoying. i’m comfy.”

✩ ˛˚ . SANZU HARUCHIYO

“haru..” you gasp from where sanzu has you hips pressed tight against his desk — swiping his fingers softly through your folds as he drags the pad beneath the hood of your clit, rolling the sensitive bud until he can see the way your thighs twitch. it was insane, the way he’s toying with you — playing with your pretty cunt like you’ve got him fucking hypnotised.

“i know, angel. just real pretty.” he hums before he’s deliberately pressing down onto your puffy clit harder, eagerly, until you’re wet enough for him to push two fingers inside. he rewards you with a sweet little kiss against the puffy bud when he’s not met with much resistance, grinning at the even sweeter little whine it pulls from your pouty lips.

“such pretty sounds, perfect fucking pussy.” sanzu’s fingers are long, long and thick enough for you to hiss at the stretch but you feel something blissful flutter in your tummy with the soft affirmation from his scarred lips. it was intoxicating to see a man so dangerous turn to fucking putty when he was between your legs and gazing up at you from under long lashes.

his warm breath rolls over your slick folds as he pants, his crystalline eyes transfixed and shining on where his digits sink into you, until his head lowers and his tongue is curling against your clit before he’s dragging it back up — complimenting every twist of his wrist with kitten licks like you’re the sweetest thing hes ever fucking tasted. it was rare for you both to get some alone time, he was a busy man afterall being bonten’s number two and you forget just how fucking good he makes you feel — making your toes curl from where they rest over his shoulders so easily.

but just as you let yourself melt back onto the heavy wood behind you, fingers smoothing through the bubblegum roots of sanzu’s hair before you pull — you’re jolted from your blissful state by the sharp ring of his phone in his pants. you hear him click his tongue before he’s spitting out a curse, but he continues to sink his fingers into you as he struggles with the device, swiping at the screen as he swirls tantalising circles into your clit with his thumb.

“what the fuck is it?” he spits and fuck— you swear the sudden boom of his voice makes you even wetter as your walls squeeze tight around his fingers, making his scarred lips twitch into a wild grin as he hums. you can tell he’s barely listening to the caller, not important enough for his attention so you know it’s not mikey, but his attention remains on you despite the way he addresses them. “fuckin’ do something about it then, im busy.”

you’re so fucking wound up, moans muffled behind your lips despite the way sanzu’s so desperately trying to drag them out of you before he’s resting the phone face up on the desk beside you. you’d assume he was done, but you can still hear the faint voice on the other end and the hooded look he gives you is dark before he’s suddenly burying his face into you, drinking up everything you offer to him despite the way his sharp gaze cuts up into you as he grumbles out a warning.

“keep that pretty mouth quiet, angel. those sounds are for my ears only, wouldnt want to have to kill that sorry bastard for hearing what’s mine.”

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