#this is broken record shit i know | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bootycallin · 2 months ago

Note

ACTUALLY PLEASE DO A PART TWO?? I NEED TO KNOW WHAT I DOES TO READERS CLIT ❤️

OOH—BETTER THAN ME?

꩜ .ᐟ basically; vi made a proposal. imagine what i can do, she said. not that you could've ever even imagined, imagined, anyways.

cw: wlw. porn with slight plot this time!! not a direct continuation but sort of. vi catches u jorkin it. implied perv!vi (lol). masturbation. mutual masturbation. bsfwb? fingering. bushvi (!!). reader’s briefly described as smaller than her. scissoring. swearing. vi's a sweetie pie. begging. overstim. aftercare? v fluffy ending. not proofread.

a/n: dinner is fucking served

NSFW UTC

now, the real question is, how’d she get you so addicted?

damn, it’s not like you’ve never had sex before. quite the opposite, you have sex pretty often.

but she was different.

maybe cause she showed something you could never really do. maybe because it was one time and you’re best friends and you’re overthinking. or maybe the dick was just really good. god knows. one way or the other, you can’t stop thinking about it.

you don’t know it, but vi can’t either. so when she hears you whimpering from your room, she can’t fucking help herself.

what kind of fucking black magic does she have? there’s no way your fingers are just short. you’re trying, you really are—legs wide, lips spread so you can press two of your fingers inside your saturated hole. it’s not enough. you’ve been neglecting your clit, as well—because supposedly, you should be able to do it.

it’s not enough. your clit’s twitching, breath shaky, curling your fingers—not enough. thrusting them in? not enough. just briefly smacking the tip of your clit with your palm? not. enough.

you’ve been trying to avoid it, but you need her.

“fuck, vi…” and what is it they say? about speaking of the devil?

‘cause she’s right there. say her name three times to summon, or some bullshit? because you could’ve fucking sworn you were alone—as you are most times when you’re masturbating.

(well, that’s what you think. vi’s conscience is a little heavy because of that. can you blame her? she’s just a woman!)

you barely have enough time to realize it. pulling your fingers out, grabbing the nearest blanket there was to cover your body as if she hadn’t already seen enough of it to know exactly what you look like. shit.

“vi—“ again. broken record, much?

“‘s fine,” she mentally scolds herself for how her voice sounds. shaky, unprepared, even—she’s been behind that door for a hot second and she’s already aching. she can’t deny it, damn it, she needs you. now.

“can’t…?”

“no.”

whether that’s you asking her to stop or confirming her thoughts, god knows. she does, too, apparently, as she hums slightly. there’s a smirk on her face, but she’s just as needy, just as nervous as you. fuck, she needs you so bad.

and at the opportunity, she’s rushing into bed with you, lips crashing against yours. she’s missed this so much. the feeling of your lips against hers—she really could get used to this. like, really get used to it. dare she say, she wants it. she grasps at the covers you used to shield your body, pulling them down so she can see your bare skin. she’s been imagining this for so long.

her teeth nip at your bottom lip, looking up at you to find your half-lidded eyes that widen when she spreads your legs open, settling comfortably between them.

“this okay..?”

“yes.”

what kind of question even was that? you knew damn well she could see how you were practically buzzing at the idea of having sex with her again. is this normal? yeah, no. but it’s happening and you’re definitely not thinking twice about it.

you stop her midway through kissing down your neck, hands softly grasping at her hair, making her gasp. your eyes are flitting down to her lips, but most importantly, the damned tank top. not that it didn’t look good on her.

just that it would look better off.

“vi-“ there’s barely enough time for you to even speak, as you grab at her shoulder straps and pull, leading her to nearly rip the shirt off altogether.

and there she is. between your legs, bare in all her glory. damn, you knew she was muscular, but fuck…

she can practically feel you eye-fucking her. trailing up and down, on her sculpted and. you could swear they used to make greek statues based off of her. oh, and when your eyes catch that little bit of red poking out from the hem of her boxers—

“y’alright?”

“yeah…” you mumbled, dreamily. your hands reach for her so you can run your hands over her body, over the mark of her collarbones, the curve of her breasts, the dips of her abs. fuuuck. you can barely hear how vi gasps, her eyes laser-focused on the way your smaller hands run over her skin. she’s been dreaming of this.

“baby,” she whispers, breath shaky. her own hands find yours, guiding one down to run down her body, fingers briefly making contact with the hairs of her happy trail. that’s enough to drive her insane.

she let’s go of your hand to grab at the hem of her shorts, nearly ripping her goddamn boxers off. it’s the first time you’ve really, really seen vi’s body. her pussy’s fucking throbbing just by the way you look at her. damn.

there’s really no words not to be said. you don’t want to talk. you want her, and that’s it. you grab at her shoulders, making her gasp at the sudden eagerness. your lips crash against hers, she nips at your bottom lip. it’s messy. eager and messy and so fucking hot to both of you. your tongue meets hers, spit mingling and all—

she can’t take it.

she pulls away, making you whine and in turn making her smirk. cute.

(she’s acting like she’s not just as giddy. if not more. if you were to press your palm against her chest, you’d probably be a little concerned she’d have a heart attack. you’re just so pretty).

her hands run down your body, over the length of your thighs, spreading them open carefully. she can see how your eyes narrow a little at the stretch, but fall half lidded again when she ends up resting your legs atop of hers. she’s now sitting comfortably between your legs, your thighs sitting above her muscular ones.

“you want me to help you again, baby?” fuck, if that doesn’t make your face burn. she knows damn well what you want. if she didn’t, you wouldn’t be naked in front of each other like this.

“please…” even you are surprised at how whiny your voice sounds. you’re just frustrated. again.

“i-i can’t—“

“‘s fine.” she leaned forward to press a kiss to the crown of your head, something almost a little too heartwarming for the ‘best friends’ situation you two had. not that you were complaining. her lips were soft. vi was soft. for someone like her, you’d think she’s a little more… well, jagged. but, nope.

she’s soft through and through. principally when it comes to you.

her lips trail down your forehead to your nose, then to her cheeks, one of her hands—namely her right one—following the same pace, except down your body. over your belly, down to your lower navel, down until…

she swallows the moan you let out when her fingers just barely brush over your clit. she can’t help wondering if you’re really that sensitive or she just has the power to do that to you—which would definitely be an ego boost. gods, she hopes that’s what it is. you whine when she starts drawing slow little circles over your hood, your thighs tensing on instinct, breath catching.

“you want me to help you, yeah?” she asked, trailing her fingers further below—not before briefly smacking the nub of your clit with her middle fingers, an almost embarrassingly large gush of pre leaving your already sopping pussy. her mouth’s watering just thinking of it.

“violet,” not the usual vi. you sounded like you were trying to sound demeaning, but it really just came out as whiny. vi raised an eyebrow like you had insulted her.

but she herself was way too needy to give a damn. even if you did. her hand trailed down, fingers parting your lips and eyes laser-focused on your wet cunt. her index briefly prods at your hole, ripping an audible whimper from you which she just loves. but she doesn’t slip her finger in yet—not like she couldn’t. you’re wet enough that it would be like butter.

“wha…?”

“i just,” she looks up at you, free hand rubbing your thigh, “just had a thought.”

before explaining, she grabs one your hand, pulling it down so it hovered right over your pussy the same way it was when she first walked in the room.

“just…” her breath was slightly heavy, as she cupped the back of your hand. she spread her fingers so they matched yours, and you could only watch as she moved your finger to prod at your hole, tip just barely sliding in.

there’s not a lot of resistance. after all, you had already been doing it before she even got to this point. she’s watching your reaction carefully to see if there’s any discomfort, looking like it’s the most attention she’s ever given something. Her eyes are surprisingly wide. not scared. rather, it’s almost puppy eyes—she just needs to see it. needs to see you let go. needs to see you break again. needs to see you whine and scream her name again, like it’s the one word you know.

her hand guided your movements, one finger pushing your knuckle so your finger moved in and out, not a lot of movement, but enough to feel it. you let out a few pleasured sighs and slightly whimpers, but not compared to the whines and screams she managed to rip from you that time. both of them were good, though—she could deal with it. she was patient. unfortunately, you were not.

“i don’t feel it.”

“that’s fine,” she muttered, continuing to hide your movements. she watched your face, your body as it squirmed slightly. not necessarily from any great reaction, but rather because you just needed more. and because she was here. watching. she could watch you masturbate for hours. not that she hasn’t—well, imagine it… she’s overthinking. either way, it’s fine if you don’t feel it. that’s what she’s there for, isn’t it?

“do this.” she takes your hand away from yours for a second to show you how, finger doing the usual come-hither motion. you tilted your head back, a groan escaping from the back of your throat. obviously, you didn't take that all too seriously.

“it doesn’t work,” you’ve tried it already. never really did anything for you. you weren’t lying when you said you only did manage to cum when you played with your clit… well, not until vi, but that’s besides the point.

“trust me,” she mutters, staring at you, her gaze subtly speaking: you should. you know what she can do, don’t you? if there’s anyone you should be trusting, it’s probably her.you pouted and whined a little more, just to show her you didn’t like that whole idea. if you kept doing that, she might just have to wreck you—well, not that she wasn’t going to in the first place; she’s been holding back from jumping your bones since that last time.

a second of silence, and you end up doing as asked. it really makes no difference for you. people tried to make it sound better than it really was. you guess, because it really just didn’t work like that for you. never had that pornographic sensitivity to immediately squirt whenever you tried to reach your g spot, you don’t think you’ve ever even found it yourself.

it does feel a little different, but you’re guessing it’s just because vi is right there. between your legs. watching. you don’t know why she makes you feel like this. every little touch. it’s you’re a sleeper agent and she’s your goddamn activation. one little sexual touch or comment, and you already wanna fuck.

she has to hold back a groan when you do as she says. “yeah. like that,” she murmured, voice low and dangerous, “good girl…”

vi’s not even thinking when she says that. her brain isn’t really working, honestly. she’s way too preoccupied with watching as your face twists, the blood that rushes up your cheeks, flushing it a pretty pink she just wants to kiss so bad. her words had an obvious effect.

she shifts up slightly and you can only watch as her other hand, previously on your thigh, moves up to your lower belly, pressing down with the pads of her fingers right over your bladder.

you immediately stop when she does that. after all, it was just… a weird sensation. that same one from last time, but it still caught you off guard. a curse leaves from between your lips in a hiss, teeth catching your bottom lip briefly.

“‘s fine.” she reassured. “just do it.”

if she kept using that honeyed voice, you’d probably do anything she told you to. her free hand slides down to move another digit of yours inside, “just do as i told you.”

and of fucking course you do. because who the fuck are you to disobey her? it would be embarrassing if you didn’t like it so much, but god knows you do. you move your fingers in that ‘come here’ motion, wincing and whimpering at the feeling as the pads of your fingers press against the top walls of your pussy. you can nearly feel them, pressing up against that spongy spot, vi’s hand pressing down right on top of your bladder just making that all the more real.

“yeah.” she groaned, “like that… good girl. keep going.”

vi sounded like she was trying to encourage you. you made a mess on her once, she’s not gonna freak out if you do it again. i mean, she was expecting that for a while, but of course she always has to make the first goddamn move.

“vi, i—“ vi hushed you just with a sharp little glare that told you don’t test me. if she kept looking at you like that you’re sure you would discombobulate.

and of fucking course you do it. because if she tells you to, you’re more than likely doing it. at least here. you continue moving, her eyes locked in on you. on your body, your reactions. watching your face twist slightly and the little shakes of your thighs.

“vi…”

“fuck.” she groaned, moving to press her face against the crook of her neck. she kissed at the skin, just barely biting down, canines pricking. she herself was getting impatient. her pussy was fucking aching to just feel you and she couldn’t really think straight. the only part that managed to stop her from completely letting go is that she’s focused on your own pleasure.

but when she looks down, looks at your slick covered fingers—that sweet clit she wanted to touch—she couldn’t help it.

she lowered herself, lips latching to the nub. she made a point to ignore your surprised noise, how your hips jerked away. you seemed to relax soon enough. she looked up at you, noticing your fingers had halted.

“continue.” she muttered against the hood of your clit, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin there. you whined but obeyed, fingers moving in that same motion she just showed you. it’s definitely affecting you more when she’s kissing and licking your clit.

vi’s a messy eater. she’s always been messy, but it comes down even to that. she flicks, sucks, nips, laps. likes licking up from your hole to your clit, lapping up whatever comes like a needy dog. she feels like one right now. she’s practically humping the mattress in a desperate need to get some friction while pleasuring you. it always came first in her head.

“vi, fuuuck,” you gasp. she’s still lapping up at your clit, flicking the bean with her tongue in quick movements, better than any fucking vibrator you’ve ever fucking used. you’re sensitive, bit almost hurts a little, but it’s good. hurts so good you don’t want to stop her. you find that your fingers get quicker before you can even think about it, curling up over and over again ‘til you’re soaking.

“fuck.” she pulls away before you can get your high, though. before you can ask, she’s stopping your fingers, pulling your hand away from your heat. you whined, but shut up when she switched your fingers with hers.

“ah-!” a sharp gasp comes from your throat. vi’s fingers were thicker, bigger than yours. you like to think that’s why you can’t make yourself cum, but when she starts moving, you start realizing the problem really is that you just can’t finger correctly.

“shiiiit…” you drawled out, head tilted back and everything. you’re embarrassingly wet. not that vi really cares, anyways; you should know that.

“been waiting… f’so fucking long,” she drawled out, panting, shifting so she’s upright. “so fucking long to play with this pussy.”

“vi…”

your hand reached out to grab her wrist, but it’s worthless, as her thumb manages to poke through to tap at your clit briefly. that alone sends you over the edge in probably the quickest orgasm you’ve ever had. your vision blur and you can swear you see stars.

for vi, all she can see is how you wet her fingers, little liquidy gushes spraying from you the most she curls and rams her fingers into your g-spot, until you’re practically shaking. your whining doesn’t stop until she removes her fingers, pussy clenching around nothing, hips bucking into air. it’s truly a sight for her sore eyes.

but she needs more.

she grabs your thigh, pulling it closer to her until your leg’s basically hooked over her shoulder, holding the back of your knee. you barely have enough time to process till you feel the tickle of crimson hairs, as her wetness swipes right over yours.

“shii!—“ you hiss. it’s a feeling like never before. you’ve felt her fingers, her tongue, the silicone of that strap she dicked you down with a bit ago—but not her own pussy. you didn’t even think to realize it, you’ve never really touched her there before. mostly because vi seemed to prioritize having your pleasure over her own more than anything. (she’s probably converted you by now. god, you don’t want another guy inside you ever again).

“cupcake,” her rough voice rasps, mouth hung open in a way that’s almost too needy for her pride, heavy panting making her chest heave. what else is there to say? she's been fantasizing about this shit for the longest time. finally getting to feel you like this, rubbing her cunt against yours 'til neither of you can fucking think right.

not that she is exactly thinking about anything when she starts humping against you like a bitch in heat. her head hangs, eyes squeezing shut on instinct. she's desperate, feeling the heat building up in her lower stomach quicker than before. no pillow could ever replace the wet warmth of your cunt, the slick that coats her folds, sticky and messy and so fucking good.

"fuck, fuck, fuck—" vi's really hardly hearing you, her own groans being the one thing she can hear. you cum easily. after all, she had just ripped one from you, and here she is again, taking yet another one. all she can really discern is that you're impossibly wetter, essentially just lubing her up and making her own job easier. there's a whimper that tries to escape her throat, desperate, but she forces it out as a groan, head falling and top teeth tugging at her bottom lip.

"fuck, princess..." she growled, hands a vice-grip on your thigh. "please, fuck. yeah, shit, give it to me, give it to me..."

she's like a broken record, chasing her own high, while you tried to keep from screaming, body trembling and jerking with the aftershocks of your second orgasm.

"viii!—" a pitchy whine, ripping from your throat, strained at the angle of your head tilted backwards. "'s too much! gh-- too much!"

"fuck, baby," vi groans, a deep growl that rose from her throat, "shit, i know, i know. you can take it. you can take it, right?" her voice drops even lower, as she spoke through pants. her free hand shoots up to grab your face, making you look at her. powdery blue eyes meet yours, pupils blown wide, face flushed, sweat dripping down her temple. she looked like an angel.

"you can take it, right? fuck, please, baby..." her voice is borderline whiny, getting pitchier the closer she gets to the edge, which is rapidly approaching. how could you say no to a face like that? she half expected you not to answer.

"yeah, vi," you pant, trying to keep your voice as stabe as possible. "keep... g-"

"shit!"

she hissed, her abdomen locking, pussy gushing right over yours, not stopping, only jackhammering her clit against yours 'til you're cumming yet again, a silent scream leaving you, chest heaving. she has to bite the skin of your knee that's hooked over your shoulder so she doesn't cry out. you can tell, though, by the vibrations that run down your skin.

vi collapsed on top of you when she was finally done, her own body trembling. she has half the mind left to kiss up your neck, arms wrapping around your waist.

you both lay in the afterglow for a few minutes, not bothering with words. just the way she holds you is good enough, more than words can speak. she eventually lifts her head, eyes meeting yours, gentle and loving like you've never seen.

"you alright?" vi asks, voice like raspy but still like sweet honey. "i didn't hurt you, right?" yeah, she might've acted like a brainless mutt back there, but she's can recognize she overstimulated you. she liked hearing your cries, sure, but she doesn't want to hurt you.

"no. of course not." you reassure her, hand reaching to cup the back of her head, then her cheek. she found herself leaning into it like a needy cat, nose nuzzling into your palm.

"you sure?" she asked yet again, pulling a genuine chuckle from you.

"yeah. i promise," you rub your thumb down the slope of her cheel, the slight bump of her cheekbone. she's always been sculpted like a greek goddamn statue. beautiful.

“mhm." she grumbled. she hated that you could get her like this. so weak, so... vulnerable. but if it was for you, she'd probably be able to handle it.

"fuck, i-" she starts, without thinking, "i love you..."

before she can panic over her words, nervously meeting your eyes, you replied, "i love you too."

and she can rest easy knowing that you love her, that she didn't fuck it up. that all this was worth something, not just a quick fuck to you. to her, it never was.

you've always been more than her best friend to her. way, way more than that. her love.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 © bootycallin on tumblr. do not copy, translate or cross post without permission. ᛝ

#╰┈➤BOOTYCALLIN⨾#lesbian #wlw #arcane #arcane smut #arcane x female reader #arcane x reader #vi arcane #vi x fem reader #arcane vi x reader #vi x reader #vi x you #x female reader #vi x female reader #league of legends x reader #x reader #wlw smut #vi smut

2K notes · View notes

m1dn1ght-r0t · 4 months ago

Text

Eyes Wrapped in Wool

Yandere! (ex) husband x amnesiac! fem reader

TW: manipulation, toxic/abusive behavior, mentions of (potential) forced imprisonment, coercion A/N: pretty sure amnesia doesn't work this way (i'm no medical professional) but pls suspend disbelief for the sake of the plot ahahah

Your husband never expected things to turn out this way. But by some stroke of luck—or perhaps divine intervention—you ended up bed-ridden in the ICU, suffering from multiple bone fractures and a terrible, oh-so-terrible, traumatic brain injury. Just last week you were talking his ear off about how you've had enough. How you were done with him controlling what you could wear or who you could see, his suffocating clinginess that devolved into explosive rages when you spent time focusing on work or with friends instead of with him, the negging, the snooping, the smashed plates... Jesus Christ. You just never knew when to shut the fuck up, did you? At some point he had stopped listening. Chalked off your dramatic tirade as nothing more than you acting up because of your period—merely white noise. How many times have you guys had this same broken record conversation? Yeah, he knew this marriage wasn't smooth-sailing. If it were, you'd be less opinionated, less bitchy, more pliant, more dutiful. But what relationship was ever perfect? So, he waited for you to run out of steam, as you inevitably do, before adding salt to the wound:

“You know baby, if you weren’t parading around in those slutty clothes of yours and acted your grown age for once, I wouldn’t be behaving that way.”

The scrunch of disbelief mixed with disgust on your face only spurred him to double down. “And maybe if you actually committed to this marriage like a devoted wife would, rather than prioritize your career and practically everyone over me—your husband, need I remind you—then we wouldn’t be having these issues. Ever considered that, hm?” He purposely dragged out his words, a patronizing lilt to his tone, in hopes of reminding that thick, dumb skull of yours that he always knew best.

It wasn't until you had thrusted the divorce papers in his face that he grew silent, the severity of the situation beginning to creep in. ...What? You couldn't actually be serious... right? This was just some lover's spat. A temporary blip that'd be smoothed over with a few intentionally placed saccharine words and hot make-up sex. Like always. So why the fucking theatrics? Are you really gonna be a bitch about this and d— When you slammed the front door shut with your packed bags in tow, leaving him to stew in your parting words—that you deserved better, so much better than him, and that if he didn't sign the papers, he'd be hearing from your lawyer—did the gravity of it all finally sink in. By the end of the week, your voicemail was battered by his countless furious messages. Are you done being a flighty little piece of shit, huh? What the fuck do you think you're doing? I swear to god, baby, I'm gonna drag your ass back here. And if I have to lock you in some basement and chain your hands and legs so you'd never think to leave me again, then so fucking be it. Divorce? Yeah right. Over my dead fucking body. Then came an unknown call. It was like whiplash, really, to first hear that you had been involved in a major car crash, and then, upon rushing to the hospital at neck-breaking speed— "I'm afraid she has retrograde amnesia", the doctor solemnly informed him. He could cry. Oh, he could fucking cry.

On the outside, anyone could see how distraught he was, his hands trembling as he processed the diagnosis, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Poor husband that he was, having almost lost his beloved wife in a freak accident, he now had to deal with the news that she didn't remember who he was. Inside, however, raged a war he couldn't reconcile: what was harder? Holding back the tears, or pretending those very tears were out of sadness rather than pure, unbridled joy? Because what this neatly packaged situation had presented him with was a do-over, a chance to mend the broken marriage teetering on the cusp of divorce. And like hell he's about to let you throw away a three-year connection like some ungrateful cunt when he loves you so, very much.

"Hey sweetheart, how are you feeling?"

As he walks up beside your hospital bed, he can't help but revel at how vulnerable you look. The slight furrow in your brows hinting at your confusion, the way you curl in on yourself as if to protect yourself from who is no doubt a complete stranger in your eyes, and your meek "Who are you?"—a far cry from the usual feisty, snarky attitude you used to dish out.

But perhaps most rewarding of all is the tentative gaze you offer him, eyes filled with a sort of curious glimmer, free from the hostility, disappointment, and hurt you'd flashed his way. You didn't look at him with hate. You simply want to know who he is.

Oh, aren't you precious? He'll gladly feed you his carefully spun narrative until you're full of nothing but adoring love for him—the embers of your thoughts about divorce and leaving him snuffed out for good.

"I know how confusing all of this must be for you. Take all the time you need. I'll be right here with you, as your husband, helping you fill the gaps, okay baby?" He delivers this with as much patience as he can muster, softening the edges of his words to avoid spooking you. But you're not soothed. If anything, you're more overwhelmed than ever. "M-my husband?" You echo, tasting the foreign word, sticky like warm toffee on your tongue.

"And...and my family? Where are they?" Your disorientation is a sight for sore eyes; how badly he wants to devour you right now. “Dead,” he intones, a script he’d been desperate to act out ever since you said your vows. The jarring news pulls a barely audible whimper from you, your eyes widening a fraction.

Shit. Too cold. Too careless.

His expression softens, the corners of his mouth tugging downward in a facsimile of sorrow as he injects a note of pity into his voice. “They died when you were very young, you see. I’m sorry.” He’s really not.

"What…? How could that be? So my p-parents, they're both—" Your breath hitches, tears welling at the corner of your eyes.

At that, he gently grabs your bandaged arm, wanting to comfort you. But when you flinch slightly, he has to resist the urge to snap at you—Oh, cry me a river. Who the fuck cares?? I'm right here, aren't I? I'm right here, damnnit, so look at me!

Instead, he tempers the resentment that's still fresh in his heart after the divorce stunt you'd pulled by reminding himself that he's supposed to be your kind and gentle partner.

So he settles for cradling your hand in both of his like it's fine china, grazing his lips over your fingertips. "But you have me, sweetheart. And I'm not going anywhere."

He half expects you to question his story—it wasn’t very convincing, even to his own ears—prepared to be barraged by your endless streams of “No, you’re wrong!”, “I don’t believe you!” or some other similar outburst.

But when all you do is gaze up at him with cinched brows, seeking reassurance, blinking at him so sweetly with your hand still snugly warmed in his, he pauses. That’s it? No suspicion, no skepticism, no outburst? Hah! He has to physically restrain himself from snorting because how fucking easy can this get?

Maybe the collision had completely scrambled your brains, rewired you to be more stupid, a little slower—exactly how he likes you.

"You trust me, right?"

And when he feels that subtle twitch of your fingers—what he gathers is your attempt at squeezing his hand back for confirmation—accompanied by the sight of your small, almost shy nod, he breaks out into a giddy smile at how utterly adorable you’re being.

Fuck, it’s hard not to already feel high off these micro-doses of innocence and receptiveness from you. Emboldened by your intoxicatingly sweet naivety, he dares to be a little greedier, creeping to perch on the edge of your bed, his hand now moving to cup your cheek.

“You have no idea how worried sick I was when I got the call. I thought you had…” He trails off, his implication clear. His face is mere inches from yours now, breaths as featherlight as his fingertips mapping every divot on your face.

“I love you.” He drags his thumb across your bottom lip, the act agonizingly slow. “So, so, so much.” Each whisper spills out heavier than the last, mirroring the increasing pressure of his thumb—your lip almost bruising from how hard he’s pinching them.

How long has it been? He can’t remember the last time he felt the warmth of your touch, your skin… eons too long without your pillowy lips pressed against his has left him completely starved.

“You can’t leave me…” A murmur too quiet to pick up. His gaze, now half-lidded, drifts downward in a drunken daze. “My wife. My good little wife. You love me too, right?”

Without warning, he leans in to close the minuscule gap.

And it’s all too fast and soon because you can feel the suffocating heat of his proximity, the chilling shared breath floating between the tight space. It’s all too much. So, in the last second, you hesitate, pulled from your stupor as you turn your head away.

But he’s not having it. Not when you’re already in the palm of his hand and he’s so fucking close. When he can already taste the opportunity to finally take out the trash and parasites leeching off you, to call up that godforsaken shithole you call a stable, steady-paying job and quit on your behalf, to have you all to himself—a blank slate to knock up with several kids and mold into the perfect little housewife he's always wanted you to be. God, he's already hard at the thought.

Grabbing your jaw firmly, he jerks your face back towards him, thumb roughly wedging between your lips and prying your mouth open.

“Baby.” The endearment spills out, sharp and cold, stripped of any warmth it might've once held.

His gentle veneer cracks ever so slightly, and for the briefest moment, you see something else. A flicker beneath the mask—raw, ugly, messy. It gnaws at the edges of your mind, dredging up something you can’t quite grasp. A memory?

“Gimme a small kiss, hmm?” Despite the smile on his face, there is no kindness to it. Just a twisted caricature warning you that you shouldn’t push further.

All of a sudden you feel like you can’t breathe, weighed down by the unsettling intensity of his stare. The man in front of you—the one claiming he's your husband and calling you “baby,” the one touching you—feels wrong. He’s a stranger, you remind yourself. An almost involuntary shiver runs down your spine, like your body remembers something your mind refuses to.

At this point, your husband has caught on to your rather obvious spiralling. He’s not an idiot—he can see your doubt giving way to panic. He contemplates smoothing things over by playing nice, but the selfish part of him ultimately wins.

He squeezes your jaw, nails biting into your skin.

“Kiss me.”

It isn’t a request this time.

#male yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere writing #yandere oc #yandere male #male yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x you #yancore #yanderecore #tw yandere #yandere imagine #yandere husband

1K notes · View notes

shortnspidey · 7 months ago

Text

SILENT RIFT

jj maybank x fem!cameron!reader || WC: 4.5K

SUMMARY: The Pogues finally find the gold they've been searching for after countless obstacles. However, when it comes to actually succeeding, the universe has other plans. Held at gunpoint in the middle of nowhere, a spontaneous decision changes everything. In the heat of the moment, words are said that reveal hidden feelings. Emotions run high, leading them to confront not only their enemies, but also their own emotions.

WARNINGS: established relationship, cursing, mild angst, talks of drugs, typical OBX level violence, suggestive towards the end but no smut!

A/N: Happy OBX 4 release day! This one shot is one of my old Wattpad drafts from when I was writing a JJ story. Enjoy this drabble as I try to publish another chapter of broken record or collateral hearts soon! This ended up being a long one, enjoy! Divider by @marvelstoriesepic

➩ main masterlist

➩ obx masterlist

"Hell of a job melting it down, Dr. Frankenstein," JJ scoffed, narrowing his eyes at Kiara as he stepped out of the Twinkie. He clutched the melted piece of gold tightly in his hand, its weight a tangible reminder of what everyone was expecting him to do. As the group arrived outside a shabby pawn shop on the outskirts of the Outer Banks, the rundown aspect and the graffiti on the walls made your skin crawl. The shops window's were smeared with grime, making it impossible to see inside, and the peeling paint revealed patches of weathered wood.

Kiara shot JJ a glare, her frustration evident in the tight set of her jaw and the clenching of her fists. "Like you could have done any better." She retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. JJ stepped closer, standing toe to toe with her, not backing down from her challenging gaze. "I could have done much better. I took a welding class," He sassed, a smirk playing on his lips. "Woah, woah, hey!" John B chastised, stepping in between his two friends.

His presence seemed to diffuse some of the tension, his calm demeanor acting as a buffer between the two. You followed his lead, grabbing JJ by his arm and rubbing comforting circles with your thumb on his forearm knowing that he was anxious. You could feel the taut muscles in JJ's arm slowly beginning to relax under your touch, the rhythmic motion of your thumb providing a small measure of comfort.

"Chill out, okay?" John B coaxed, his voice gentle but firm. You watched as Kiara's eyes softened slightly, her earlier anger giving way to a mix of concern and frustration. She took a step back, her shoulders sagging as she exhaled deeply. "It's easy for you to say that," JJ scoffed, his voice tinged with bitterness. "You're not the one that has to pawn off this piece of shit." He emphasized his point by holding up the gold bars that were now melted in a unrecognizable shape, the once gleaming metal was now a twisted, misshapen lump.

"How did I get this job anyway?" JJ muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Cause you're the best liar." Pope replied nonchalantly, his tone matter-of-fact. Letting out a sigh JJ turned to you, his cerulean blue eyes locking with yours. His eyes were a stormy sea, filled with a mix of frustration and determination. He turned his head, tapping his cheek. "Kiss, for you know, good luck." He grinned, his usual mischievous spark returning momentarily. You rolled your eyes at your boyfriends antics yet leaned in to kiss him nonetheless.

Just as your lips were about to collide with his cheek, he turned his head at the last second, smashing his lips with your in a kiss that was way too passionate for it to be in front of your friends. The warmth of his lips, the sudden intensity, made your heart race. You could have sworn you heard your sister mutter an "aww" while everyone else fake gagged, their exaggerated sounds filling the air. Pulling yourself away from the kiss, much to JJ's dismay, you smiled, leaning up and pressing one more chaste kiss to his pouting lips.

The brief contact left a lingering warmth, a promise of more to come. "You got this," You reassured him, squeezing his bicep in emphasis, feeling the tension in his muscles. "Showtime," He mumbled to himself, mentally preparing. Straightening his shoulders, he took a deep breath, and gave you one last look before stepping forward. Behind you, Sarah reached out and squeezed your hand, her grip offering a silent message of solidarity and support. The warmth of her touch was comforting, grounding you in the moment.

Everyone followed JJ into the empty shop, the jingle of the bell on the door announcing your arrival. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet space, a stark contrast to the tension that hung in the air. "Afternoon, ma'am." JJ greeted, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of anxiety. The shop was dimly lit, with dust particles dancing in the beams of barely there sunlight that filtered through the windows. Shelves lined the walls, filled with various trinkets and curiosities, each one telling its own story. “Afternoon.” The pawnbroker, an elderly woman with a stern face and piercing eyes, looked up from behind the counter.

Her gaze swept over your group as you spaced yourselves around the room, lingering on JJ for a moment longer. JJ stepped forward, trying to maintain his composure under her scrutinizing gaze. "I see you buy gold," He emphasized, his voice steady but with a hint of nervousness. "That's what the sign says, don't it?" She retorted, her lips curling into a sneer. She glanced at the sign hanging in the window, its letters faded and worn. "Well, I sure hope you buy a lot of it, because I am about to blow your mind." JJ carefully opened his bag, revealing the items inside. The pawnbroker's eyes never left his hands, watching his every move with a hawk-like intensity.

"I ain't got much mind left to blow, so have at it," She challenged, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of defiance and curiosity. "How about them gold apples," JJ replied, his voice steady as he placed the melted gold onto the counter with a thump that echoed throughout the shop. The sound seemed to reverberate off the walls, adding a weighty finality to his action. The pawnbroker chuckled cynically, shaking her head. "That ain't real," She declared, her voice filled with disbelief and a hint of mockery. Her eyes flicked to the gold, then back to JJ, as if daring him to prove her wrong.

"That ain't real?" JJ scoffed, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. He leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "It can't be," The pawnbroker pressed, her voice faltering slightly as doubt began to creep in. She reached out a tentative hand, her fingers hovering just above the gold, as if afraid to touch it. "Feel how heavy it is," He countered, his voice firm and confident. He nudged the gold closer to her, the metal glinting under the dim light. The pawnbroker hesitated for a moment, her eyes locked on JJ's, searching for any sign of deceit. Finally, she picked up the gold, her fingers curling around it.

Her expression shifted from skepticism to surprise as she felt the weight of the metal in her hand. The shop fell silent, the only sound being the faint creak of the floorboards as she adjusted her stance, the gold weighing heavily in her grasp. "Mhm, here let's get some light on that." The group watched intently as she narrowed her eyes, but nevertheless picked up a nearby magnifying glass with a light, inspecting the chunk of gold closely. "Spray-painted tungsten." She concluded, her voice laced with doubt but still firm.

"Really, okay?" JJ rolled his eyes. "Why don't you see how soft it is." He suggested. "You mind?" The pawnbroker asked, holding up a small mallet, her eyes seeking permission. "No, go for it." JJ urged, his gaze unwavering as he watched her. She brought the mallet down gently, making a small dent in the gold, then pushed down on it for further inspection. "Wow. Would you look at that." JJ remarked sarcastically, a smirk playing on his lips. "Hold your horses, we ain't got the acid test yet." She shot back, her confidence wavering slightly. "Ooh, the acid test," He turned, his eyes locking onto yours, a mischievous glint in them.

"My favorite, baby." He added with a wink, grinning as he noticed how the simple action made you flush. You pretended to be distracted by a limited edition book on the shelf, your heart racing as you tried to avoid his piercing gaze. This was certainly not the place or time. Everyone held their breath as the woman dribbled a few drops of acid on top of the gold. The liquid sizzled slightly, emitting a faint, acrid smell that filled the small shop. "Well, it ain't plated, and it ain't painted," she assessed, her tone now more serious. "Ma'am, I'm telling ya, this is as real as the day is long," He insisted, growing tired of the back and forth, his patience wearing thin.

"It looks like someone tried to melt it down," she raised a brow, her eyes meeting JJ's in a challenging gaze. The air seemed to crackle with unspoken accusations. "My mom," You stepped in, linking your arm through JJ's as the pawnbroker eyed you both suspiciously. "She had all this jewelry laying around the house, and she thought it was best to melt it down to "consolidate" it." You tried to sound as convincing as possible, your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. The lie felt heavy on your tongue, but you pushed through, hoping it would be enough to satisfy her.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sarah bite her lip to stop the laugh that she almost let out at your evident lie. The pawnbrokers gaze flickered between you and JJ, her skepticism evident. The silence stretched, each second feeling like an eternity. Turning around with a sigh, she placed the gold into a small scale behind the counter, the scale creaked under the weight. "Seven pounds," Her eyes widened. "That's a lot of earrings." Her voice had a hint of disbelief, and you could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to piece together your story.

"Okay, to be honest, ma'am," JJ spoke, clearing his throat and adopting a more somber tone. "It's really hard to see my fiancé's mom fall apart with Alzheimer's. Breaks my heart, truly." His voice wavered slightly, adding an authentic touch to the fabricated story. "Give me a minute." She tsked, walking towards a secluded office. JJ nodded solemnly, playing into the act of the heartbroken fiancé. "Take your time, ma'am." As soon as she was out of earshot, you turned to give JJ a look of disbelief. "Alzheimer's really?" You whispered, trying to keep your voice low. The absurdity of the situation was almost too much to handle, and you could feel a nervous giggle bubbling up inside you.

"So I talked to my boss, and this is what I can do." The pawnbroker returned, holding a piece of paper with a price written on it. Inspecting it, JJ raised his brows. "Fifty thousand?" He repeated, his voice tinged with incredulity. The offer was far lower than what you had hoped for, and you could see the frustration building in JJ's eyes. "You think I walked in here not knowin' the spot price?" JJ retorted, his voice firm. "I know for a fact this is worth 140 at least." His confidence was unwavering, and you could see the pawnbroker's resolve starting to crack. "Well sweetie, you in a pawn shop. This ain't Zurich." Her voice was firm, but there was a hint of concession in her tone.

"Ninety, or I walk," He bargained, his voice steady. "Seventy, half price, and I don't ask questions about where you got this.” JJ clenched his jaw, looking over at John B, who nodded his head, giving him the green light. "I'm gonna need that in large denominations, please," JJ agreed, his voice calm but resolute. "Well, here's the snag, I don't have that much denominated. Not here anyway, but I can write you a cashier's check." JJ immediately shook his head. “No ma’am, I want the cold hard, that’s what that sign says. Cash for gold, and that’s what I expect.” He pointed to the sign on the wall as emphasis.

“Well, I have to send you to the warehouse. I have the money there. Is that alright?” Everyone in the room held their breath, watching as JJ mentally weighed his options over in his head. “Where’s this warehouse?” He finally asked, his voice steady but with a hint of skepticism. That is how the group found themselves further into the middle of nowhere following the pawnbroker's instructions to the supposed "warehouse". The road was rough and winding, lined with tall, ominous trees that seemed to close in on them as they drove deeper into the unknown.

To say you were on edge would have been a complete understatement. Every creak of the van and small jolt from where you were seated on JJ's lap made your heart race faster. "So, they keep money out here?" Pope voiced aloud the question everyone was probably thinking. His voice broke the silence, but instead of easing the tension, it only seemed to heighten it. The unease in his tone mirrored the anxiety that had settled in your chest. JJ shrugged, attempting to lighten the mood. "That's what she said," He chuckled at his own joke. "That's what she said." His snicker was met with silence, the gravity of their situation overshadowing any chance of humor.

"Stop," Pope warned, his expression hardening. The seriousness in his eyes was a stark contrast to JJ's attempt at levity. "That was cute, but definitely not the time, J," You exasperated, your voice barely above a whisper. The fear and uncertainty in your tone were unmistakable. The blonde boy nodded, his playful demeanor fading. He held onto the melted gold in one hand, the other resting reassuringly on your thigh. The warmth of his touch was a small comfort in the midst of the overwhelming tension. "I've never even heard of Resurrection Drive." Sarah inquired. "That's cause your rich." JJ mumbled under his breath.

"You've never heard of it either." Both you and Kiara retorted in unison. "Thank you." Sarah replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "There's nothing but weeds back here." Kiara informed the group, looking out the van's window and seeing nothing but shrubbery. JJ was about to retort with another sarcastic comment, yet he was interrupted by the sudden, piercing sound of a siren. The noise sliced through the tense silence like a knife. Sure enough, John B looked in the rearview mirror, his eyes widening as he saw the flashing lights of a car behind them, signaling for them to pull over.

"Cops? Out here?" Kiara questioned, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Are you kidding me!" JJ fumed, his grip tightening on the gold and your thigh, the panic in his eyes was evident. "What did we do?" Sarah questioned, her voice small and wavering, the fear clear in her tone. "Stash that," John B whispered urgently to JJ, who was still holding onto the gold in his hand. You quickly got off his lap and sat next to Kiara, your heart pounding in your chest. The van's interior felt even more confined as Pope and John B coaxed JJ to hurry up. The oppressive weight of the situation pressed down on you, making every second feel like an eternity as you waited for what would happen next.

Your heart sank in your chest upon hearing the cock of a gun and seeing a rifle a few inches away from John B's face. The metallic click echoed ominously in the confined space of the van. "Why don't I go ahead and see them hands in the air?" A gruff voice declared, belonging to a mystery assailant who wore a bandana on the lower half of his face. The fear that gripped your heart quickly morphed into a seething anger. You knew that voice. "All of y'alls hands up in the air right now." Oh hell no, you thought to yourself. This was going to end here and now. "No," You seethed, making direct eye contact with your assailant. You could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew you recognized him, and his cover slipped slightly.

The tension in the van was palpable, like a coiled spring ready to snap. Every muscle in your body was tense, ready to spring into action. The familiarity of the voice only fueled your anger, making it harder to think clearly. You could feel the eyes of your friends on you, their fear and confusion mirroring your own. "Just do as he says, Y/N," John B urged, his voice steady but his eyes betraying his fear. He slowly raised his hands, setting an example for the rest of you. "No," You shook your head, challenging him. The defiance in your voice was clear. The assailant's eyes narrowed behind the bandana.

"Alright, tough girl, come on out here then," He taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. "Y/N, what are you doing?" Sarah whimpered, her voice trembling as she watched you step out of the van, the barrel of the gun trained on you. "It's gonna be okay, Sarah," You reassured her, trying to keep your voice calm despite the fear gnawing at your insides. "Y/N!" This time it was JJ. His voice cracked with desperation. As your eyes met his, you could see he was barely holding it together, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. "JJ, trust me, stay here," You coaxed, trying to project as much confidence as you could muster. The last thing you needed was for him to do something reckless.

"I'd listen to the lady, unless you want your brain scattered here on the side of the road," The assailant threatened, his voice cold and unyielding. The weight of his words hung in the air, adding to the already suffocating tension. "I'll be okay, I'll be right back," You promised, hoping your words would be enough to keep your friends from doing anything rash. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever was to come, and stepped further away from the van, feeling the eyes of your friends burning into your back. Once you were a safe distance away from the van, Barry lowered his rifle, letting out a surprised chuckle. "Mighty brave of you, Cameron, especially 'cause I'm the one holdin' the gun." He mocked.

"Oh please," You rolled your eyes, your voice laced with disdain. "Drop the act, Barry," Addressing him by his name with a tone of authority, you crossed your arms over your chest, standing your ground. "We both know Rafe will kill you if you so much as lay a finger on me." You smirked confidently. "Now, why don't we cut to the chase, shall we?" You proposed, your eyes never leaving his as you reached for the shiny gold diamond ring that adorned your knuckle. Barry watched in disbelief as you slipped it off and held it out to him. "Here," You coaxed, handing him the ring. "This will get you a couple thousand dollars if you pawn it off right." Barry took the ring, studying it in the sunlight. "This covers what you and your friends got, but not what country club owes me, you feel me.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest once more, the frustration evident in your posture. "How much does he owe you?" You asked, your voice tinged with exasperation. "At least two hundred," Barry replied, a smirk playing on his lips. Sighing, you reached into your back pocket for your wallet, picking out two hundred dollar bills. "Are we free to go?" You huffed, knowing that if this deal took any longer, your boyfriend would most likely come and take matters into his own hands, whether Barry had a gun or not. "Tell your boy toy that his attitude's gonna get him in trouble," Barry sneered. "Don't," You spat, your eyes narrowing. "If you even think of touching him, we're going to have a problem. You feel me?" You threw back his previous words with a defiant glare.

Raising his hands in mock surrender "Damn, looks like I hit a nerve." Barry chuckled. "I mean it, Barry," You insisted, your voice steady and unwavering. With one final smirk in your direction, Barry pockets the cash and the ring and climbs into his car without a single look back in your direction. You let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding and turn back towards the van. As you approached, the tension was palpable, hanging thick in the air. "What the hell was that?" Sarah was the first to question you, her eyes wide with concern as you climbed into the backseat as if nothing had happened.

"I handled it, it's over." You shrugged nonchalantly, but the tightness in your chest betrayed your calm facade. Sarah scoffed, clearly unconvinced by your bravado. "That was pretty stupid, Y/N," Kiara scolded, her voice filled with frustration. Everyone nodded in agreement, their faces a mix of worry and disapproval. You shrugged them off, trying to meet JJ's eyes, who had yet to say anything. You could see the worry and anger battling for dominance in his eyes, the tension in his jaw making it clear just how much he was holding back. "Let's get out of here," John B broke the silence, his voice a calm command that cut through the tension. Everyone was unharmed, yet you somehow knew this was far from over.

Arriving back at the Château, you watched JJ throw open the door before John B even parked his van. The sound of the door slamming against the wall echoed through the air. You watched as JJ stormed inside, his movements quick and agitated. One hand was gripping his chest, his knuckles white from the pressure, while the other was balled into a tight fist, veins visible under his skin. He didn't look back, his anger propelling him forward. John B, Kiara, Sarah, and Pope turned to you, their faces a mix of concern and curiosity. It was as if they were silently asking if they should get involved, their eyes darting between you and the direction JJ had gone.

"I'll handle it," You sighed, feeling the weight of the situation settle on your shoulders. You stepped down from the van, the gravel crunching under your feet. "Good luck," John B sing-songed, a teasing lilt in his voice. You flipped him off with a smirk, hearing Sarah and Kiara scold him in unison. Their voices faded as you walked through the door, the familiar scent of the Château enveloping you. You found JJ in the spare bedroom, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. His footsteps were heavy, each step reverberating through the wooden floor. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, filled with a storm of emotions - anger, frustration, and a hint of vulnerability.

"JJ, talk to me," You urged softly, stepping closer. Your voice was calm, trying to soothe the tempest within him. He stopped pacing and turned to face you fully. His expression was a mix of anger and hurt, his jaw clenched tightly. "What the hell were you thinking, Y/N? You could've gotten yourself killed!" His voice cracked slightly, betraying the fear behind his anger. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but you took a deep breath to steady yourself. "He's the scumbag who sells coke to my brother. I know him and what he's capable of. As much of a psychotic asshole as he is, he wouldn't hurt me. Not without facing Rafe's wrath." That only made JJ angrier. "How are you so sure?"

He shook his head, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. "Maybe next time you won't be so lucky, or I won't be there to protect you." His voice was low, almost a growl, and you could see the worry etched into his features, mingling with the anger. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his breathing was ragged. "I'm fine," you replied, trying to sound reassuring. "It's over now." "Over?!" JJ's voice rose, and he ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Dammit Y/N, you don't get it!" He screamed, pulling his hair in frustration. "I was fucking terrified. Did you know how scared I felt, watching the woman I love being held at gunpoint?" His voice broke, and you could see the tears welling up in his eyes, though he tried to blink them away.

You opened your mouth, but nothing seemed to come out. The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and significant. "What did you just say?" You finally managed to whisper, your heart pounding in your chest. JJ stayed quiet, almost as if processing the words himself. His breathing slowed, and he looked away, his shoulders slumping. The vulnerability in his stance was palpable, and it hit you just how deeply he cared. This was more than just anger; it was fear of losing someone he couldn't bear to lose. "JJ," You coaxed to stop him from overthinking, knowing that his flight or fight mode was kicking in.

JJ's confession hung in the air, the raw emotion in his voice making your heart ache. You could see the fear and love in his eyes, and it made everything else fade away. The room seemed to shrink, and all that mattered was the two of you, standing there, vulnerable and exposed. "I love you, Y/N," He repeated, his voice softer this time, filled with a desperate need for you to understand. He took a hesitant step closer, his eyes searching yours for any sign of rejection. Your breath hitched, the intensity of the moment overwhelming. Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, your hands reaching up to cup his face. "I'm so sorry, JJ," You whispered, your voice trembling.

"I didn't mean to scare you, but I couldn't just stand there and do nothing either." His eyes softened, the anger melting away as he leaned into your touch. "Just promise me you'll be more careful," He murmured, his forehead resting against yours. "I can't lose you, Y/N." He whimpered leaning his forehead against yours. "You won’t lose me, ever, I promise," You replied, your voice barely above a whisper. Without another word, you both closed the distance between one another, your lips meeting in a kiss that was both tender and fervent. It was a kiss that spoke of all the fear, the love, and the relief you both felt. Bodies pressed together, seeking comfort and connection, hearts beating as one.

“And I love you too,” You grinned the second he pulled away giving you both a moment to catch your breaths. “In case that kiss didn’t make it clear enough.” JJ shook his head, only pulling you closer. "What do you say we seal the deal?" JJ grinned suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. "You're lucky I love you." He didn't even give you a chance to finish his sentence before he kissed you again, wanting to show you just how much he meant it. His hands slid down your back, pulling you even closer, the heat between you growing more intense. The world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you in a moment that promised so much more to come.

2K notes · View notes

salemlunaa · 8 months ago

Text

"OH WELL, IM NOT GONNA BE HERE FOR LONG, IM GONNA SHIFT ANYWAY" girl...

let's break down why this mindset, although very common, isn't super healthy...

I saw a post earlier where op talks about how they are un phased about all the bad things happening to them because they "won't be here for much longer”, which is so real and it honestly made me laugh so hard but, i must admit, this way of thinking can also have an unhealthy side.

I, personally, have also been victim to this mindset, and honestly i can tell you nothing good comes from thinking like this. You experience something bad, hurtful, embarrassing, slightly traumatic (which, bear in mind, you wouldn't have experienced if you hadn't procrastinated and tapped in to the void) and you tell yourself "it's okay, i'm not here for long anyway", you abandon responsibilities (that, again, wouldn't be your responsibility if you would ve stayed disciplined and tapped in) and you tell yourself "it's fine, i'm gonna shift anyway" "i'm probably gonna get into the void tonight so it doesn't matter"

NO NO and NO

of course it's good to have the mindset of knowing, knowing that it's your last day here and knowing that the void is the only outcome for you, because that type of thinking is what allows you to shift consciousness and tap in to the void, but a lot of you say that shit without even properly applying your knowledge, a lot of you are gonna remain sounding like broken records, repeating this shit for years, i swear it will be 2028 and yall will still be saying "it's okay i won't be here for long", "im gonna shift anyway"

don't wait for shit to hit the fan for you to get serious about your desires, don't wait for your circumstances to get horrible for you to finally fix up and actually do something. If you really knew you were a god, you wouldn't be here reading this, you would be as pretty as you wanna be, and as rich and happy as you wanna be enjoying your dream life. Don't fall into a comfortable routine with your current reality, (which is really just your old story) because it's not worth it. I even see you guys making and scripting for a "better current reality" (another excuse to remain comfortable with procrastination), when you could have your DREAM life, you guys get swept up in your old story, just because it can be "alright" sometimes. And then when something bad happens, you repeat the same phrase "oh well, i'm gonna shift anyway", and then when things go back to being "alright", you get comfortable again, further procrastinating, when you could have ANYTHING. Who cares about your "alright", "mediocre" reality when you could have the best and more!!

like girl, don't stay comfortable until you're forced to get uncomfortable with a negative change in circumstances. You should be determined to shift consciousness ALL THE TIME, not just when things get tough or responsibilities pile up. Because again, if you had that consistent mindset you wouldn't be here.

get uncomfortable with what you have to achieve what you want, so that all you want becomes all you have

GET UNCOMFORTABLE NOW SO YOU CAN LIVE COMFORTABLY FOR ETERNITY, DONT WAIT FOR SHIT TO HIT THE FAN ᥫ᭡💋

2K notes · View notes

steddiehyperfixation · 3 months ago

Text

steve harrington's phone number

@steddiebingo prompt: van | 1.7k words | T |

“Stupid- useless piece of shit!” Eddie barely manages to pull his coughing, spluttering van over to the side of the road before it chokes to a stop with a dying wheeze. “Fucking drama queen.” He gets out and gives the side of the van a good kick, chastizing it for its very loud and inconvenient death.

Just his luck it would decide to break down here, on a nothing stretch of road several miles outside of town. Too far to walk but not all that long of a drive if his stupid car could’ve just toughed it out a little while longer. “You really couldn’t have held on for like ten more minutes?” he grumbles, kicking the van again. The van, of course, does not answer and remains quite dead. Eddie mutters a few more curses and pulls his jacket tighter around himself against the late November chill as he wanders around to the front of the car to pop the hood.

It’s an entirely useless gesture, popping the hood. Even before he opens it he knows he’s still not going to have a single clue what’s broken or how to fix it. The inner workings of a car are utterly foreign to him, an alien language of metal and grease that he stupidly never cared to learn. He stares blankly at the incomprehensible jumble of machinery before him, cursing himself for all those times he’d evaded and complained his way out of Wayne’s attempts to teach him how to do his own auto repairs. His uncle’s boring handyman lessons would’ve really come in handy right now, if only he’d had the foresight to listen.

With a huffed out sigh, Eddie slams the hood back down. He’s going to have to call someone.

Thankfully he can see a roadside payphone not too far off in the distance, about half a mile out maybe. He rummages through his pockets and paws around the front seat of the van for any spare change he could use. He’d just blown through most of the money he had on him at a record store in Indy, but he manages to scrounge up enough coins for one call. Just one. So he has to choose wisely. He starts his trudge to the payphone while he runs through a mental list of options, feeling increasingly frustrated and hopeless as he crosses each of them off one by one.

A tow truck is too expensive. His uncle is at work. Half his friends can’t drive, and not a single one of them knows anything about cars anyways so they wouldn’t be much help beyond a ride home (and he’d really rather not have to just leave his van on the side of the road). He needs someone who’s free, can drive, and has enough of a working knowledge of cars to possibly be able to give his van enough of a second wind to make it home.

Which is how he finds himself in a dingy little phone booth punching in Steve Harrington’s number - a number he’s never called before yet somehow memorized, recalling it clearly in his mind’s eye in the scrawl of Steve’s handwriting on notebook paper.

“Harrington residence, Steve speaking,” Steve’s voice comes through the line, automatic and rehearsed.

“Okay, I’ll make fun of that weirdly formal greeting later,” Eddie decides, “but right now, uh- man, I really hate to do this, but do you happen to know anything about fixing cars?”

“Eddie, hey,” Steve sounds almost startled to hear from him. “Um, yeah, I mean, I’m no expert or anything, but I know enough to get by. Why?”

“My van just broke down on my way back from the city and I was hoping you might be willing to do me a huge huge favor and come out here and see if you can help me get her started again.” Eddie puts all the desperation he can into his voice, which really isn’t hard. His distress is 100% genuine. “Please? I’m desperate here, Harrington. I’d be forever in your debt, I’ll-”

“Okay,” Steve says before Eddie can start bargaining. So simply, so easily. He really wasn’t expecting it to be that easy.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll help you. Where are you?”

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh thank god- thank you. Thank you thank you thank you. I owe you my life, seriously-”

“Munson,” Steve cuts him off again, repeating his question, “where are you?”

“Right, yeah.” Eddie gives his best approximation of where he is and Steve promises to be there as soon as he can before hanging up. Feeling a little bit lighter now, Eddie treks back to wait by his van.

The sun has just dipped below the horizon, streaking the sky with pink and gold, when Steve’s BMW pulls up and he steps out of the car bathed in the orange glow of sunset, looking every bit the rescuing angel. A dashing hero straight out of a fairytale; Eddie can almost picture him with a sword in his hands instead of a toolbox, a noble steed behind him instead of a car.

He expresses only a satirized version of that sentiment, clasping his hands over his heart and gasping theatrically in greeting, “Harrington, my hero!” And he grins as Steve rolls his eyes in response.

“Hi, Eddie.” Steve approaches, plunks his toolbox on the front of the van and leans against it. “You know, I’m surprised you called me. It didn’t seem like you were ever going to.”

Eddie shrugs, hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I just- I couldn’t think of anyone else who’d be able to help me. I’m sorry if me calling you, like, freaked you out for a second there.”

Steve’s eyes narrow and his head tilts like a confused puppy. “Why would you calling freak me out?”

“Well, I mean, you only gave me your number in case something happened with the kids, right?” Eddie states. “So, I didn’t mean to make you worried at first that there might’ve been, like, a Dustin emergency or something.”

“Oh…” A number of emotions flicker across Steve’s face as he seems to come to some sort of realization, and his expression ultimately settles on vaguely amused. “Right, yeah. Totally.”

Now Eddie’s the one who’s confused, feeling like he’s missed a punchline. “Is that…not why you gave me your number?” It’s not like it had actually been explicitly stated, but they’d just been talking about the kids right before Steve had written his number down, so Eddie had just assumed that was the reason.

“No, it-” Steve shakes his head and smiles, a little bit fond, a little bit like he’s still sharing some kind of inside joke with himself. “It’s not important right now,” he decides. “Let’s just figure out your van first, alright? What was going on with it before it broke down?”

“Well, I don't actually know,” Eddie says, “but she was being very loud and dramatic about it.”

“Huh, I’ve heard of pets developing similar personalities to their owners but I’ve never heard of cars doing it.”

“Oh shut up.”

Steve grins, pushing himself off the front of the car so he can open the hood and take a look. He immediately starts to tinker around with some stuff. Eddie has absolutely no idea what he’s doing, but he sure looks good doing it. There’s a cold breeze in the air, getting colder by the minute with the slowly darkening sky, but something about watching Steve’s arms as he works a wrench into the machinery has Eddie feeling strangely warm.

Steve’s talking, probably trying to explain what he’s doing or what’s wrong with the van, though Eddie’s not catching a word of it. He couldn’t pay attention even if he tried, and not just because he’s distracted by Steve’s arms. The other half of his mind is still stubbornly stuck on the whole thing about Steve’s number, racking his brain trying to figure out why the hell else he would’ve given it to him.

He spends way too long replaying that moment, and all their previous and subsequent interactions, over and over again in his head before his memory finally starts to give notice to all Steve’s lingering glances, subtle once-overs, and suggestive smirks.

“Holy shit, you were flirting with me!” Eddie blurts out the realization as soon as it hits him. “When you gave me your number - you were trying to hit on me!”

Steve, who had been interrupted mid sentence, barks out a laugh. “Now he gets it,” he teases as he glances over at Eddie. “You know, I couldn't figure you out for a while. All this time you never called but would still say hi to me when I picked the kids up from Hellfire, I figured it was some sort of soft rejection. But you really were just completely oblivious, huh?”

“No yeah, I just have fucking rocks for brains apparently,” Eddie says, shaking his head self-deprecatingly as he rushes to reassure him, “I was definitely not rejecting you. Definitely, definitely not. Believe me, if I’d’ve known- I would’ve called so fast, man. I mean, trust me, your phone would’ve never stopped ringing.”

“Good to know.” Steve smiles, his eyes so golden and warm in the dusk it almost seems as if the sun is on its way back up. He returns his attention to the van, just for half a second to give the machinery one last tweak, and then he straightens and closes the hood, wiping the car grease from his hands off on his jeans as he announces, “Well, your car should start now, if you wanna test it out and make sure. And then we can, uh, continue this conversation?”

Eddie nods, hops back in the van, and turns his key in the ignition. It rumbles to life, and he lets out a laugh like a cheer. “You’re a goddamn miracle worker, Stevie!” he shouts.

“Glad I could help,” Steve calls back proudly.

Eddie revels in the sound of his not-dead van for a moment longer before he takes a deep breath, turns off the engine, and jumps out to stand in front of Steve again. “So.”

“So.”

There’s a brief beat of buzzing silence. Eddie finds he doesn’t have all that much left to say, and he’s feeling far too giddy right now to be able to stand through some sappy discussion about how they feel about each other when it’s entirely unnecessary. He suggests instead, “Do you wanna just skip the conversation and go make out in the back of my van?”

Steve grins at him. “Absolutely.”

#oblivious eddie my beloved #he's just like me fr #steddiebingo2025 #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #ficlet #mine #1k

1K notes · View notes

eclipseslayer · 7 months ago

Text

PRETTY PINK PANTIES

• TOJI FUSHIGURO X F!READER SMUT ONESHOT

• SUMMARY: Toji catches a glimpse of your panties one morning and then gets drunk to take his mind off of it. However, his drunk mind seems to have other plans when he finds himself suddenly in your bedroom.

• CW: DARK CONTENT! Icky!dad!Toji, panty-sniffing, masturbation, incest.

• WC: 1kish

Another night, another drink.

Toji groans as he downs his fourth beer, feeling the weight of the liquid sit in his stomach, making for a rather unpleasant feeling. He scratches his stomach while he feels his head go into a woozy state from all of the alcohol he's consumed.

He grunts.

He wouldn't have to feel this shitty if he didn't drink to get over what he saw earlier today.

The memory keeps playing back in his mind like a broken record, and it makes Toji want to smack his skull against the wall, because he knows he shouldn't think about it, but, fuck, for some reason, he can't help it.

You were leaving early this morning to go to class. Toji was making himself some coffee, when suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he sees you bend over to tie a loose lace on your sneaker, revealing your tight, pink panties beneath your skirt.

Toji quickly whipped his head away the second he laid his eyes on your underwear, not wanting to stare at them a second longer because he knew it was wrong.

But... fuck. Despite it all, he couldn't get those pretty pink panties that hugged your ass so well out of his head.

You're his kid. He can't be thinking like this.

Sure, he's always been kinda a deadbeat due to your mom missing in his life, but he couldn't do this to you.

He gets up from the couch, and, drunkenly, nearly stumbles over the coffee table.

No, he can't. He won't.

His head, clouded with the alcohol, makes the decision for him despite his nagging thoughts, as his mind takes control of his feet and moves them towards your room.

She's my fucking kid... can't do this—

Toji stumbles over his feet again but he catches himself on your doorframe.

Fuck.

He huffs; a heavy breath escapes him while he holds himself on the doorframe, and his eyes scan your room, looking for something that'll remove this weird attraction towards you—anything, especially something that'll gross him out or see you in a new bad light—

Ah, shit.

His eyes widen suddenly when he sees them: pretty pink panties, sitting on the floor of your room, discarded without a thought to the mind.

Toji's heart races in his chest, his throat constricting as if all the air has vanished. He can only manage a shaky exhale, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of fear that seeps into his mind.

What the hell am I doing? Toji wonders to himself, and yet, his feet take him forward again.

Slowly, one foot in front of the other, his feet drag him along, and Toji wants to grasp onto something, anything, maybe hold onto the doorframe to keep himself from sinking into this deep, dark hole, but, the alcohol clouds his restraint, making him lose himself to his deepest, darkest desires as he reaches down and picks up the pretty pink panties.

He swallows thickly as he stares down at the panties in his hands. His heart picks up its' pace again, and he lets out another shaky breath once he feels his cock hardening just from the sheer sight of the panties alone.

He looks around, looking for you, but then suddenly remembers you're still on campus, probably doing a late-night class.

His cock strains against his pants again, as if it's telling Toji to just do it—do what he needs to do and get it over with, so, hesitantly, he listens to his urge. He slowly lifts the panties to his nose and he inhales softly at first, but, once he gets a small whiff, he becomes quickly addicted and so he inhales. He inhales strongly as the fabric of the panties stick to his nostrils, filling his head with the scent of you.

And, God, do you smell good. Your panties smell warm, and ripe, like you had been sweating in them all day. There's even little bleach stains on the lining of the panties where your discharge had been.

Fuck.

If he could get his hands on you right now, he'd be the happiest man alive, burying his face between your thighs to smell and lick your pussy to death, until you'd be cumming all over his tongue, but he can't so his hand begins to grope his own hard dick through the fabric or his pants.

He groans, leaning his head back as he lets out a shaky sigh against the fabric of your panties. He keeps them on his face while his hands move down to slip off his sweatpants where he tugs on the grey hemline, slipping them down until the fall into a pool around his ankles.

He huffs when his eyes dart down to look at his dick poking through his underwear. He should be ashamed that he's this hard after smelling his daughter's underwear, but, he's too far in now to give a fuck.

He tugs his underwear down and lets it fall down around his legs and he sighs when he finally frees his cock from their constricting confines.

He pushes the panties to the side on his face so he can spit into his hand with ease, before bringing his hand back down to his aching cock where he begins to slowly pump himself.

He groans, lowly, as he revels in the smell of your panties. His cock throbs in his hand while he continues to smell deeply, imagining that this was your pussy right here in front of his face.

God, how he wishes it were so. He wishes his tongue was pressed deep into your pussy, tasting the sweat that had leaked from your body during the day. He wishes his lips were wrapped around your clit, sucking on it fervently while you would whine and moan about his good his tongue is. He wishes his fingers were curling inside you, over and over again so he could hear your wet, squelching cunt as it would gush around him.

He'd call you his "good girl" and would kiss your thighs, thanking you for letting him explore your body—which is something he's been wanting to do for what seems like a while now, as he finally admits it to himself.

He just can't help but get hard around you. He doesn't know why, but he does. He knows it's shameful, which is why he turned around so quickly this morning from catching a glimpse from your pretty pink panties.

Nevertheless, he grunts as he continues to pump his cock in his fist.

The pace is slow and lazy at first, as he wants to savor the smell of your pussy on his nose, but then, it grows more desperate, more needy as he imagines different scenarios with you.

Maybe he'll actually be inside of you one day, if he can convince you—as now, he's convinced himself that he wants this—or maybe he'll fuck that pretty mouth of yours and hold onto your hair while doing it.

"Ugh... haa... haa..." Toji moans as his breath starts to get heavy.

His grip tightens around his cock, focusing on the head of it which sends a jolt down his spine. He squeezes it, and lets out another groan, making his body shudder.

He inhales your panties again, and his pumping turns faster. He groans.

It's a constant cycle of sniffing, inhaling, and then pumping at a quicker pace, until Toji feels his balls tighten.

He brings his other hand down and squeezes his balls gently and then—

He cums.

He groans, loudly, and finishes right there in the middle of your room, shooting cum into his fist and some of it leaks onto the floor.

Breathing heavily, he hangs his head while his chest rises up and down, letting the panties fall back onto the floor, where they were.

He huffs, and a low chuckle erupts from him upon looking at the scene on the floor and his hand, as post-nut clarity finally hits him.

"Ah, fuck. What the hell have I done?"

#🌑 postings #🌑 my fics #cw incest #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you #toji smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushigro x reader

2K notes · View notes

deathofacupid · 1 month ago

Text

BUTTERFLY EFFECT ୨ৎ track one : damage control.

racing grounds — series m.list. ᡣ𐭩 ferrari-racer!gojo x redbull-racer!sukuna x redbull-manager!reader. warnings — sukuna being remotely nasty, gojo being a narcissistic freak - they're practically the same, except one has anger issues, and the other takes it up the ass. cursing, allusions to sex. threats. reader gets called "babe." let me know if i missed anything! (呪術廻戦) : note — chapter one, and i'm locked in. 1.4k+ words.

"alright," you say, smoothing out the silken fabric of your dress. you watch the limousine, a sleek black beast, disappear around the corner, then turn your attention back to sukuna.

you're standing outside the grand, brightly lit party hall, the faint classical music already vibrating through the pavement beneath your feet, alongside him.

adjusting his tie, which seemed to have an inherent desire to strangle him, you look up to meet his eyes. "remember anything i said?"

his answer is curt, a single syllable of defiance; "no."

well, at least he's consistently honest, even if that honesty was infuriating.

"alright," you sigh, the weariness settling deep in your bones. "ferrari's going to be in there, okay? and a few other people who… well, let’s just say they have a history with you."

a grunt, a non-committal sound that did little to reassure you.

"that means no picking fights, no throwing hands. if they play mean, don't indulge. be the bigger person. i don't want a repeat of last time," you warn, your voice laced with a stern edge.

oh, god, just the mere mention of last time was enough to shave off another five years off your already stressed-out life. the chaos, the broken furniture, the… you’d rather not relive it.

"oh, c'mon," sukuna groans, his voice a low rumble of annoyance. "last time wasn't even my fault. they started it."

"no one mistakes 'dapper' for 'diaper'," you mutter, pointedly ignoring the faint pink that crept up his neck and warmed his cheeks.

"whatever." he rolls his eyes, a dramatic flourish that seemed to say he was the victim of some great injustice, and immediately went to loosen the tie you had just painstakingly tightened.

"behave," you scold, swatting his hand away with a sharp, decisive motion. "you're not a baby."

he's got that infuriating shit-eating grin on his face, the one that always made you suspect he was plotting something. "or, what? you'll punish me?"

you click your tongue, a sound of exasperation. "i'm serious, sukuna."

"so am i," he replies, his grin widening, making you doubt his sincerity.

"sukuna."

"alright, alright," he concedes, though his eyes held a mischievous glint that suggested he was far from reformed.

you glance at his hair, previously styled with gel into a sleek, sophisticated look, now unkempt and tousled.

"stop touching it," you add, glaring at the way he tugs his hand through it, effectively dismantling your efforts. "you look like you wrestled a badger, and somehow lost."

"ready?" you asked, turning away from him, the question more a weary exhale than a genuine inquiry.

"you sound like you're asking yourself, more than me," sukuna retorted, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement.

"be quiet. let's go." you pushed open the heavy, ornate doors leading into the grand hall, a wave of noise and flashing lights hitting you. reporters swarmed, their eyes immediately snapping to sukuna’s vibrant pink hair. you held your breath, scanning for any signs of imminent chaos.

his record, if you remembered correctly, was five minutes. five minutes before he'd launched into a tirade that involved at least three expletives and a threat to "rearrange someone's face." today, you were aiming for a new record: peace.

"mr. sukuna, how are you feeling about the upcoming race?" a woman, her face framed by a meticulously styled bob, asked, her microphone thrust forward.

"gonna fucking beat their asses," sukuna growled, his voice a low rumble.

you forced a strained laugh, leaning into the nearest camera. "yes, uh, he's feeling rather confident. they've all been training hard, so…"

a man with a receding hairline, his tie askew, pushed past the woman. "with gojo constantly stirring the pot, keeping up to date on the beef—"

"not beef," you interjected, your smile strained but polite. "it's all in good companionship."

he ignored you, his eyes fixed on sukuna. you wondered if your intervention had been a waste of breath. you’d seen enough of their practice runs to know the intense rivalry was more than just “companionship.”

"keeping up to date on the beef," he repeated, "do you have any words for him?"

"i'm not a pussy. he's here, ain't he? i'll tell him to his face."

your eyes widened. the reporter, sensing blood in the water, pressed on. "well, tell the viewers, too. don't want to leave them in the dark, right?"

sukuna paused, his lips parting. you quickly grabbed his arm, pulling him aside. "thank you, but that's all he'll be answering for now."

you dragged him to a relatively quiet alcove, your eyes narrowed. "hey, by any chance, do you remember the conversation we had, what? ten minutes ago? about behaving?"

"sure, and i said i would, if you made me. so, why don't you save us the time, and we get—" he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"sukuna," you said, your voice eerily calm, "this is a thirty-story building with a roof. do not test me, because i will throw you off the top."

"ooh, don't tease. you know i like them feisty."

"sukuna."

he huffed, a petulant whine escaping him. "fine."

"i need a drink," you muttered, rubbing your temples. "if i leave you alone for five seconds, will you get into a bar fight?"

he shrugged. "depends."

you were exasperated. "on what?"

again, he shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips.

"stay. or. else." you pointed a finger at him, the threat clear.

"keep talkin' dirty."

you made a face. "ew." crossing your fingers, you left him behind, heading towards the nearest bar setup. anything, really, to calm your frayed nerves.

gojo and sukuna in the same room together was a recipe for disaster. all you had to do was make it through one night, and then you'd be good.

well, until the next public relations event. but, you'd jump off that bridge when you got there.

maybe, you needed a hobby. no, that was wishful thinking. as if you had time for one. your entire world revolved around the red bull team, and keeping them in check.

you pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to will the migraine away. you didn't need kids, not really.

not when you had sukuna, that toddler in a finely tailored suit.

you practically flagged down a waiter, eagerly grabbing a sparkling water off their tray. your phone buzzed in your purse, and you assumed it was your boss, checking in on the chaos.

drink in one hand, you reached for your device, but—

thud.

your phone went flying, and your drink hit the polished floor, splashing the person in front of you.

your face heated up, and you were quick to respond. so much for sukuna being the only problem. "oh, my god, i'm so sorry! i really wasn't watching where—"

getting up from picking up your phone, they said, "aw, don't fret, babe."

your embarrassment morphed into annoyance. it was a voice you didn't have to look up to recognize.

you took a half-step back, grabbing tissues from a passing waitress. "gojo," you greeted, dryly. "my apologies."

he pouted, flashing his oh-so-charming signature grin. charming to everyone but you. "hey, now, where'd all the groveling go?"

you pressed the napkin to the damp spot on his custom tuxedo. the cold liquid seeped through his expensive fabric, a dark stain spreading across the pristine white.

you rolled your eyes at him, too agitated to be sincere. "sorry about the mess."

"you don't seem too sorry. ah, well, maybe you'd rather show than tell?" he asked, teasing.

you inhaled sharply. "not here!"

"not here? how about a nice hotel?"

one thing about both gojo and sukuna? they loved testing your patience.

"quit that! somebody might hear us."

"you never worry about that when—"

you cleared your throat, loudly, as a couple passed by. "stop acting like we're a thing. it was once. and, i don't even remember it."

you'd yet to decide whether that was a good thing or not, actually. that was the black-out part of black-out drunk. maybe not having those memories ingrained into your brain did you some good.

"well, if you ever want to relive it…" he trailed off, smiling.

"why would i ever want to?"

he laughed, boisterous. "alright, babe. your call. literally." gojo handed you your phone, and you squinted at the screen, which had his number added as a new contact.

"how—?"

"you dropped it unlocked. lucky me," he sing-songed, and you snatched it back, turning on your heel.

you only got a couple of steps forward, lowering your voice as you called back, "if i had any sanity, you know i'd delete it."

sukuna caught up with you after a few minutes, and you sighed, looking over at him. "you good?" he asked.

"never better," you exhaled, clicking your tongue.

your phone buzzed with a new notification, and you made sure you weren't obstructing anyone's path as you checked it.

well, i'm pretty good at driving you crazy.

series taglist (11/50): @jeonwiixard, @paradisestarfishh, @seizecherry, @shinycrybaby, @n1vi, @gojosoups, @poopooindamouf, @susususukanana, @sukubusss, @beereadzzz, @mia-can-yap-too. ask/comment to be added!

634 notes · View notes

cherrxboy · 2 months ago

Text

I had this idea and I HAD to write it because I know my bitchass would NOT write it any other time (it's 5 in the morning and I haven't slept)

CW: explicit smut, I think - GN!reader - Mean!Satoru - uhhh rough seggs - Toru being an asshole - eating out/bj/whatever (reader receiving) - overstimulation I believe - a bit (probably a lot) of degrading/humiliation and stuff... he calls you a slut like two times - pet names used: baby, sweets, love - he refers to himself as "daddy" once but there's nothing else about that - mentions of death but like he's just joking - aftercare. (Not proofread) tell me if I missed anything!

English is my second language and I'm sleep deprived auauughh this is probably shit but I hope you enjoy hehe cause I personally love mean!Satoru he makes me go tehehehhehwojspsjpsj. Sorry if there are any typos ;((

♡

We've all read the fics, we've all seen the man, we've watched the show and I can't get this image outta my head, this little broken tape going off in my brain that Satoru is one of the biggest meanies when y'all are going at it. Doesn't matter what you are, what's in your pants, if you're giving or taking– he's mean.

Satoru is the type of guy that would keep you spread for him while he goes down on you, not caring if your thighs start to cramp or your legs feel sore. At some point it's not even about your pleasure anymore. He just wants to see how far he can push you, what new faces you can make, what little noises he can take out of you and Oh his favorite: how many times can he make you cum with just his mouth in a certain time limit.

He starts going and counts, each and every one of your orgasms, while also keeping track of the time. He's the strongest, he's definitely broken some records and one thing he really loves is breaking his own records. How many times can he make you cum in 15 minutes? How about 10? How about 2?!

"C'mon, love..."

"just one more, yeah? Oh I know, I know it's hurting but I'm almost breaking my last record, isn't that amazing??"

"Puh-leaseee? I'm making you feel good too, aren't I? Don't deny it, babe. I'm pretty sure everyone heard us with how loud you were being."

"No no no, I'm not saying it's baaad. Actually, makes me curious about how many noise complaints we can get in a week–"

Satoru is the type of guy to literally make fun of you while he's rearranging your guts. The type of guy that laughs in your face when you're crying all prettily, telling him that 'oh you can't take it' or how 'it's too big!' He's folding you in half at this point, not even letting you look away, hide your face in the pillows or anything as one of his hands keeps you still for him and the other holds onto your face, cupping you cheeks and squishing them together to make your face all pouty and adorable; you're just drooling and your eyes keep rolling back but Oh you better pay attention to him otherwise he's slowing down until you're begging for him to go faster and harder.

His thrusts suddenly become so weak and lazy and it's just not enough but he doesn't care, doesn't care that it practically hurts him too, he just wants to see you try and beg him to move with that fucked out lil brain of yours.

"Ah- Ah- Ah~! Harder, Toru! Puh-leaseee, faster, daddy!" As he giggles and mimics your voice (very horribly).

"Oh it's too big? But you're taking it so well, love, look at you! Shiiit~ I'm all the way in your tummy, see? Yeahhh well maybe you can't with all those tears but I definitely can."

"Hey, eyes on me, sweets– thereee we go~ Lemme see your pretty face, yeah?"

"What was that? Oh you're gonna cum? Again? That's a bit rude, baby, don't you think? You're being really greedy tonight. But it's okay, you can cum~ I'm feeling generous tonigt."

Satoru is the type of guy to pull on your hair when he's fucking you from behind, just to bring you closer to himself and make your back arch almost uncomfortably, just to whisper dirty ass shits in your ears that he knows would get you off.

He's got you on all fours and his free hand is on your ass, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh as he pounds into you, sometimes giving it a little smack, groaning and moaning deeply against your neck and sometimes whimpering if you give a roll of your own hips as well. He's not shy and doesn't see why some guys hold back their moans... you seem to like it a lot, so he definitely won't stay quiet.

"Fuuuck baby~ you're so tight and so fucking warm– mmm! I'm gonna break you... uh-huh, you're gonna stay here in bed for at least a week, sweets. And I'm gonna take good care of you, yeah? You'd like that, wouldn't you? Staying here, full of my cum as we just cuddle and hide away from the world... I'll give you load after load, baby, as many as you want~"

"Taking my cock so fucking well, like a good little slut– no no no, don't you dare run away, sweets~ fuckkk... I can feel you squeezin' me, baby. You like when I call you that? Like when I treat you like the lil slut you are?"

"Oh fuck– please, give it to me sweets, please! Wanna feel you, baby, wanna feel you tightening up– shiiit.. just like that! I'm gonna fill you up so good~ just a little more, 'k? You can take it... yeah you can, good job~"

Satoru is the type of guy that's mean during sex but Oh so sweet afterwards. Man does not care how many rounds you've all been through or how tired he is... he's giving you a nice warm bath and a massage because he just can't have his sweet partner be in pain, can he?

He talks all that shit about making you unable to walk but god he thinks he'd die if he had to stay in bed with you for a whole day! He loves you, don't get me wrong. He loves spending time with you and just being with you merely in your presence but he's an active person to say the least and he can't just sit still for more than 10 minutes!

So you best believe he's giving you the best aftercare as soon as you guys are done. A glass of water to sooth your throat, soft towels to clean you up with, a nice warm bath along with a massage to make sure you won't be sore by the next few hours and finally he takes you to bed and cuddles you, kissing you all over your face and mumbling little "I love you"s again and again and again.

"You were so good for me today... such an angel. God, I'm so lucky to have you."

"I love you, you know that, right? I love you so much. You're the best thing that happened to me. I love you... did I mention that I love you??"

"If you ever leave me I'm gonna cry myself to death and then haunt you in your dreams and possibly fuck you there if you let me. Sorry, was that too descriptive? I just love you so much, sweets. You can't blame a guy for loving his amazing wonderful perfect sexy partner, can you?"

♡

First post and it's a thirst daaaamn. I'm not making a good first impression y'all I'm sorry 😞☝️

450 notes · View notes

hannie-dul-set · 1 month ago

Text

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — TWO.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this.

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is.

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn. WORD COUNT. 7.6k.

NOTE. i tagged this as hate to love. i meant it. na jaemin is an objectively shitty person and i’ve given myself the herculean task of trying to redeem him (if ever) HAHAHHAHAHAHA. also, i tried to cut as many corners as i could in the trial scene. don’t expect it to be accurate. anyway, hope this chapter is fun! please let me know what you think! CHAPTER THREE.

YOU DIDN’T THINK YOU’D EVER FEEL THIS KIND OF DREAD ON A MONDAY AGAIN. The usual dread borne out of starting yet another week as a capitalist slave is given. It’s nothing special. But the dread you feel today as you drive to Yeongdeungpo Police Station (yet again, to the point that you’re starting to feel like an inmate yourself) is a dread that you haven’t felt in a long ass while.

Specifically, eight years ago. You’re like a broken record at this point, but it doesn’t stop you from continually cursing Na Jaemin in your mind as you stomp through the echoing halls of the station. Officer Jung is leading the way yet again to the visitation room, all while suffering from the brunt of your temper.

“He didn’t decline your request today,” he starts, attempting to make conversation.

No fucking shit, you reply in your head. “Thank you for the patience, officer,” you vocalize with a constipated smile.

It seems like Officer Jung managed to catch the eye roll you didn’t intend for him to see. He gives you one polite smile and doesn’t make any more attempts after that, speaking only once you’ve reached the visitation room to unlock it and wish you luck with a nod.

You thank him, sucking in a deep breath as you force your joints to start creaking. Luck. The door clicks behind you. You damn need more than luck to get through this meeting and this entire case. You need the very devil’s mercy and cooperation.

“Good day, Na Jaemin-ssi.”

But the devil isn’t a merciful man. You swallow down a lump in your throat and force out a smile.

“How have you been?”

He stares you down with the weight of a thousand suns, stabbing you right in the gut with a pain enough to incite a wave of nauseous vomit. “Get on with it,” he rasps. “I don’t think you got Mark on my ass just for some stupid fucking small talk. Hurry up and get on with it.”

Your smile twitches. This guy has never learned how to speak nicely.

*‎

(You’ve established that your new seatmate is Na Jaemin. Yet that’s all you’ve come to know about him up until the bell rings to signal lunch time.

Carefully sneaking out of your seat, you peer down to see that he’s still deep asleep. You huff. Wow. Four classes have gone by, and this guy slept through it all. And none of the teachers even called him out— only going as far as sending a look of resigned acknowledgement at your direction, sometimes even relief. Sometimes fear.

Anyhow, that first half of your day was enough to answer why Natty gave you that warning earlier: that the seat you chose was the worst one possible— next to the very embodiment of trouble, even if you don’t know the details just yet.

Despite not knowing much, you’re already blaming him for the fact that you’re eating lunch alone.

The heat from the stew broth pricks at the skin of your lips as you scan around the cafeteria. You notice a few familiar faces scattered around, all sitting either in pairs or in groups in their respective seats and tables. You even lock eyes with Natty at some point, who simply averts your gaze with guilt ridden twitch as she turns head to her friend, someone you don’t recognize was in your class.

Seems like you were doomed from the moment you sat your ass down on that seat. Fuck’s sake. Whoever this Na Jaemin guy is, you don’t like him already. You decide to temper your annoyed steps with some ice cream from the snack bar, seeing that there’s still a couple of minutes left before the afternoon bell. You pick up an extra snack as well— a melon bread wrapped in green tinted plastic. Something to pick at from under your desk as you go through your afternoon classes. You grab a can of pink peach soda to drink on the way back.

Upon returning to your classroom, the first thing you notice is the fact that no one else is here when there’s only five minutes left before lunch.

The second thing you notice—

“Hey, you.”

There is, in fact, someone here.

Na Jaemin had sat up from the cross-armed, sleep-ridden slump he’d been in all morning. He’s awake. Now that his face isn’t buried, you finally have something to match the name.

“Why the hell didn’t you wake me up?”

There’s a distinct scowl on his face as he sets his phone down on his desk, shoulders slacked and sitting with his legs apart, which pushed your seat away to the very edge of your desk space.

You feel a twitch in your brow. The annoyance prompts your feet to move close, triggers your mouth to open and speak back. “What?” you start. “There’s—there’s a bell that—”

“I was fucking asleep, you dumb fuck.” Na Jaemin cuts you off, and you flinch. “You think I’d hear a damned bell when I’m knocked the fuck out?”

A gut feeling kicks in, forcing you to preemptively stop, look down, and choke down the remnants of your words into a stifling silence. You try to take a peek at Na Jaemin’s expression, but the sound of a tongue clicking in annoyance and the reeling back of a chair forces your eyes to continue staring at the classroom floor, feeling your entire body reverberating with the loud sound of your heartbeat as Na Jaemin’s presence loom closer.

“I asked you a fucking question.”

“S—sorry,” you sputter out. “I’ll…I’ll wake you tomorrow.”

For a brief moment, you manage to take a quick glance at na Jaemin’s face, standing right before you.

And the sheer disdain and annoyance in his eyes makes you instantly regret that very decision.

“Useless.” You flinch back down and hear him release a huff as he snatches the half-drunk peach soda from your hands. Your feet are nailed to the ground, and Na Jaemin proceeds to down the remnants of the drink before tossing the empty can back to you, shoving past you as the bell rings— and you hear a fumble of apologies from outside the door as Na Jaemin saunters out of the classroom.

Finally looking up, you see your classmates crowding outside the classroom, some slowly trickling in upon noticing that the coast is clear.

You don’t think you’re wrong to assume that they’d seen everything that happened in the room. You don’t think you noticed wrong either that they’re deliberately refusing to acknowledge it.

All of them make it to their seats. No one tries to talk to you after that, but that’s not the topmost thing that you’re troubled with.

You promised to wake Na Jaemin up for lunch tomorrow. You might have just become his personal alarm clock.)

*‎

In retrospect, that was a completely void agreement. God, it pisses you off thinking just how much of a doormat you were. Still are, considering you’re barely keeping it together sitting in front of Na Jaemin when you’re supposed to be the authoritative figure here. It pisses you off even more knowing that he doesn’t even remember you.

His impatient taps on the wooden table echo and bounce off the walls of the visitation room.

“Na Jaemin-ssi,” you inhale sharply. “Your hearing is this Thursday, two days from now. I’ve already made the necessary preparations for your defense, and—”

“So, you’re finally getting me out?”

Can this son of a bitch let you fucking speak? “Hopefully,” you promptly answer. “I’m confident in the case I’ve prepared. However, there’s…something I need you to do in order to ensure that the judge will rule in our favor, Na Jaemin-ssi.”

Here we go. You gotta tread this carefully. Very carefully, because you know damn well that Na Jaemin doesn’t like being ordered around.

“It is very likely that the prosecution will call you to the witness stand. You have every power to invoke your right against self-incrimination. But in our case, allowing yourself to be cross-examined by the prosecution would actually be favorable for us as a testament to your innocence, so long as you stick to the script.” It’s hard to get a hint of how well he’s receiving this because you’re too scared shitless to look him straight in the face. All you can do is hope he’s actually listening and not picking his ears as you continue to prattle on. “You just have to agree to Atty. Jung Sungchan’s line of questioning— even the fact that you fought the witnesses. However, you have to say that you didn’t start the fight. You don’t remember how the fight started. And you sustained significant injuries yourself.”

Na Jaemin got out of that altercation with just a few bruises and scratches, but the doctor Mark Lee referred you to was able to turn that into a couple broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. He agreed to attest to the medical report on the stand as well.

The only missing piece you really need right now is Na Jaemin’s testimony and cooperation.

His lack of response does not bode well for you. The room swallows you up in its cold and eerie silence. “Do you…follow…Na Jaemin-ssi…?” you try to prod out a response. And you get a response, all right.

Just not the kind of response you’d been praying for.

“Are you saying that I have to go up there, pretend I took a beating from those sissy fucks, and act all pathetic and pitiful like a little bitch?”

There’s an angry kick against the table. You suck down a breath when you feel the wooden edge jam against your ribcage.

“Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what to do?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, ignoring the sharp pain on your torso because that’s the least of your problems right now. Why…why does he have to be so goddamn difficult? Fuck’s sake. “Na Jaemin-ssi,” you exhale. “I’m not—I’m not telling you to do all those things. I’m just saying that the only way we could see your full acquittal is if we prove that Yoon Naksung and his party were also at fault.”

“We? That’s your damn job, attorney. You want me to do your fucking job for you?”

This is different from when he was trying to deliberately push your buttons last time.

He’s mad. He’s really freaking mad.

“Get out. Get the fuck out.”

You know a warning when you hear one. You waste no time gathering yourself and speed walking out the door— half out of fear, mostly out of angered frustration because holy fuck. This is a mess. You’re so fucking screwed. Sure, you managed to get Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong to cooperate with you. Sure, you managed to get a doctor to fake his medical exam. But all that would be useless if your bastard of a client decides to run his mouth and brag about just how much he wrecked those idiots’ asses.

Say, you don’t force him to testify. Once the witnesses come out and follow the script you made, the judge might still compel Na Jaemin to take the stand to confirm things. If he says anything to the contrary, you’re as good as screwed. At best, you’d lose the case. At worst, you’d be charged with contempt of court, and you can kiss your license goodbye.

That’s how your meeting ends— with a looming sense of dread that follows you out the doorway.

You exit the visitation room as if you’d just gotten your life ripped out from your own hands. It doesn’t go under Officer Jung’s notice, who’d been waiting by the door.

“JJS is always handling the tough cases,” he remarks.

You grunt. “Give us a call when you wanna get silly with your gun and try shooting at random civilians.”

Thank god he doesn’t attempt any more small talk, nor does he follow you out. You’re way too exhausted right now— mostly emotionally and psychologically, and you’ve almost broken yourself down to simply just admit defeat and abandon this motherfucker’s ass. He can continue being a bitch in jail for all you care. You’re done. You’re so fucking done. You decide that you don’t give a shit anymore and give Mark a call right outside the station.

Four rings. Then he picks up. “Hey,” you immediately start. “What will you do if I fail to release your dog?”

Mark Lee never even got the chance to greet you back when you tossed this question at him. “Hmm,” he ponders, leaving a gap for a quiet pause. “That’s not something I’ve even considered, attorney. I really value our relationship thus far.”

You don’t even give him a response before ending the call. Your arm falls limp on your side. Fuck. You’re so dead.

Either in the hands of Mark Lee, or Na Jaemin, should you continue trying to push him. You’ve only ever seen the lengths of the latter’s violence. You don’t intend on finding out just how much of a psycho the former is. So death by Na Jaemin, it is.

You bring your phone up and call Mark again and ask for another meeting with your client tomorrow. He says he’s always happy to oblige.

*‎

(At some point, after a whole week of being Na Jaemin’s alarm clock, you started to wonder— why the hell do you have to keep doing this?

Lunch bells. Dismissals. Having to leave the classroom for gym or for some other special class. He expects you to wake him up or else you’d get your fucking ass kicked, and even when you do wake him up, he gives you a nasty ass look as if he’s about to kick your ass, until you promptly squeak out that class has ended, or whatever your teachers’ instructed you to do that day.

It’s only after seven days of this bullshit that you realize that you don’t owe him. You’re under no obligation whatsoever to keep being his alarm lackey or answer to him in any way shape or form. He’s just a guy. He’s just a student, just like you. And you bet that he’s probably just bluffing.

All he’s ever done is snatch your drink from you. He hasn’t even laid a hand on you.

So just as you march back to the classroom after having your lunch at the cafeteria— alone, because getting involved with Na Jaemin has ruined all your chances of making any friends— you decide that it’s finally time to put your foot down and tell him that you’re not his slave. You’re not doing this crap anymore.

Yet your newfound sense of will-power is promptly deflated when you slide open the classroom door and see that your seatmate isn’t snoozing in his usual spot.

In fact, no one is seated in their seats. Your brows furrow in confusion upon noticing that all your classmates are crowding the windows on the other side of the room, all pressing up the glass, gawking and gasping at the same thing.

“Is that Park Gunho from Class 9?”

“Yeah, dude. I heard him talking shit about Na Jaemin the other day, and— oh! Ouch. That’s gotta hurt.”

“Holy shit, is that blood?”

“Where the hell are the teachers?”

You managed to squeeze in between two of your classmates, looking through the glass and right at the crowded spectacle in the courtyard— just in time to watch Na Jaemin land a crunchy punch into Gunho’s nose that has you wincing, even when the fight is happening from several feet away.

At this point, the other guy is barely standing on his feet. Practically limping when your demon of a seatmate twists his arm behind, only to shove a kick into his back, sending him straight to the dusty ground. You watch as Na Jaemin stomps a foot into the poor guy’s knuckle’s. You can’t hear Park Gunho from here, but you can feel his choked up yelp penetrating into your skin and shuddering into your bones. Holy shit. This guy is a fucking monster. And you almost just offered yourself up to him like an idiot.

The worst part about it is the fact that Na Jaemin looks like he’s having the time of his life. There’s this crazed look on his face as he walks up to Gunho who’s trying to lip away— only to be yanked by the hair and slammed back into the ground— pinned down by Na Jaemin’s foot as the latter huffs out a grin, and says something that fails to reach your ears.

Needless to say, you’re horrified. This could have been you.

Na Jaemin seems to have heard your thoughts because right at that moment, he snaps his head up, pinstruck gaze shooting through the windows of your classroom— looking directly at you.

Your blood runs cold. You gulp.

Someone draws the curtains back down. “Fuck, you don’t think he say our faces, do you?” You feel yourself stumble back, and with lightheaded steps, you guide yourself to your assigned seat, and start praying to whatever’s up there that Na Jaemin did not recognize you from down there.

Much to your relief, he doesn’t return upon the right of the afternoon bell. He comes back between fifth and sixth period, looking like he’s in the best mood he’s ever been throughout your first week here, and it drives an even deeper pit of dread in your stomach.

The classroom grows colder as he comes nearer to your desk. He haphazardly draws the chair next to you back, you flinch, and he sets himself down with satisfied huff, right before assuming his usual position— arms crossed on the desk, serving as his pillow for the rest of the class day. “Oi,” he muffles out to the only person he could be talking to right now— you. There’s still blood on his uniform sleeve. You start to feel nauseous. “Wake me when the bell rings.”

You thought that that fight between him and Park Gunho was the worst thing you’ll ever witness in Ganghak.

Turns out, things would just get worse from here).

*‎

“All rise! The court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Bae Joohyun, presiding.”

It takes all the strength in your body to get up and not fall over from a mere gust of wind from the courtroom’s ventilation system. You’re exhausted. You haven’t gotten any sleep last night from the crippling anxiety of what’s waiting for you today. It took everything in your power to just look presentable for today’s trial.

You’re a shell of a human being— that much is obvious considering you’re one step behind when Judge Bae instructs everyone to be seated.

“We are here on the case of Yoon Naksung, Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong versus Na Jaemin. Is the prosecution ready to proceed?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Is the defense ready to proceed?”

“Yes, your honor.” No, you’re fucking not. You did in fact manage to meet with Na Jaemin one last time yesterday, and you barely managed to acquiesce something of an agreement out of him— most likely because he was threatened by Mark. But you’re not sure if that threat was strong enough for him to actually cooperate with you today.

“Very well. Prosecution, you may make your opening statement.”

Speaking of the bastard, you notice from the corner of your eye Na Jaemin’s unabashed yawn while Jung Sungchan introduces himself and his clients. God. This is a sickening set up— him sitting directly to your right. It’s like this day was designed specifically to make you feel like you’re back in that hell. More than anything, you just want this over and done with.

“Thank you. May I request the defense to make your opening statement.”

As you make your way to the designated podium, you cross paths with Jung Sungchan. He shoots you an over confident grin and walks past you with his nose high. You chew down a string of swears and curses. Every single man you’ve been dealing with as of late is determined to ruin your life. You hope they all run out of toilet paper every time they have to shit in a public restroom. You hope their zippers get caught every time they have to zip up their pants.

“Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen, the opposing counsel, a pleasant morning.” At this point, your soul is still completely detached from your body. Your mouth is practically moving all by itself as you do your introduction. “The prosecution argues that my client, Na Jaemin, is guilty for disturbing the peace and three counts of physical injury against Yoon Naksung, Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong.” As you say this, your eyes and your eyebags trail across the prosecution’s table, locking eyes with the latter two as you scan past them. “We acknowledge that our party has done some injury to the witnesses. There is a fault in that. However, it is a well understood doctrine that two faults don’t make a right.”

If your client can’t cooperate to save his own ass, those two better do.

They’re smarter than Na Jaemin. They know what’d come for them if they don’t.

“Your honor, the witnesses have acted in pari delicto, sustaining equally grave injuries against my client, and therefore have no right to seek legal relief. A verdict of guilt against my client would be a grave mockery to our justice system when the ones seeking justice are equally at fault. We hope that you will see the wisdom in our defense. Thank you very much.”

The moment you return to your seat and Jung Sungchan is called first to make their case, your brain continues moving in autopilot. You’re so tired. You’re so damn tired. You know that you should be setting Na Jaemin straight right now, but you can’t find it in yourself to even talk to him without bursting a blood vessel. Jung Sungchan continues to present their evidence— affidavits from his witnesses, a janky recording of Na Jaemin and the other three leaving a bar located right on the cusp of Yeongdeungpo and Mapo, separately where they’d allegedly first bumped into each other, and the same exiting the frame.

Eventually, he calls Na Jaemin to the witness stand. The air refuses to enter your lungs as the bailiff leads him up the courtroom. You’ve re-oriented him with what he has to do yesterday. You close your eyes, press your palms together underneath the table, and mutter out pleas and manifestations that your instructions managed to get through his thick skull, that an angel would somehow possess him today and prevent him from screwing you over.

But you haven’t done enough good deeds in your lifetime to be granted this one wish.

Jung Sungchan asks him if he admits to being the person who caused Yoon Naksung and the rests’ injuries.

Na Jaemin responds with a shit eating grin saying, “Yeah, I fucking did it.”

Your face contorts in horror. Your eyes fly wide open, blood draining from your cheeks. Oh, fuck. Oh, fucking hell, please no. Your demon sent client looks like he wanted to elicit his kind of reaction from you— smiling at you from the witness stand, and you feel your nails dig into your clenched palms, biting into the thin skin of your flesh.

To make matters worse, he doubles down. He’s determined to kill you right here and now. “That guy nearly pissed himself when I socked him in the—”

“Your honor!”

This is a stupid fucking move to make, but you’re panicking. And that very panic easily seeps out of your skin and burrows into the notice of your opponent from the other table. Jung Sungchan’s eyes are both sparking incredulously and victoriously at this pretty blatant concession. To think your own client would fuck you over. You’re about to cry. You’re fuming. You’re dying from embarrassment.

“I’d— I’d like to request a short recess to meet with my client.”

Judge Bae narrows her eyes at you. “Overruled.” Yeah, you didn’t expect that to be granted. Fucking hell. You sink back into your seat in defeat, the dread that had once only been creeping up to you now completely swallowing you whole. “Counsel, please continue with your questioning.

No, it’s okay. This is fine, you think to yourself. You still have your witnesses. You’re not totally screwed yet. Maybe that would be enough to dismiss this damned case. Maybe that would be enough to let you walk away scot free.

“Ahem,” Jung Sungchan clears his throat. “Na Jaemin-ssi. Can you tell us the events that unfolded after the four of you left the bar?”

Silence.

“Na Jaemin-ssi…?”

“I don’t feel like answering.”

You let out a muffled noise as you bury your face in your hands. Your face is burning. Not only is he trying to screw you over, he wants to mortify you in front of everyone here.

“Defendant.” Judge Bae Joohyun has decided to intervene. “Are you…invoking your right against self incrimination?”

You almost let out an anguished cry and slam your forehead against the table when Na Jaemin responds with a, “Sure.”

The bailiff escorts him back to your table, and he’s all smiles when he sits down. Is he happy now that he’s thrown a big ass fucking wrench in your plans? Does he not give a fuck that he might get incarcerated as long as he sees you miserable? What a sadomasochistic psychopath, you hope he burns in hell.

“You don’t look too good, attorney,” you hear him chipper from beside you.

Your head snaps to the side. You hear a crash from inside your ears.

For the first time, you look this son of a bitch dead in the eye— and you might not have a mirror, but you don’t think you’re looking at him pretty pleasantly. In fact, you can feel your own self going lightheaded from the sheer animosity darting through blood vessels in your brain.

Jung Sungchan calls Ma Gildong to the stand, and you turn your head back to the front. Sure, the bastard next to you might have thrown a wrench into your plans, but you still have a few working cogs left— and they better fucking work properly. You think you still have that same, manic look in your eyes when you meet Gildong’s gaze from across the courtroom because he visibly gulps and clears his throat.

Jung Sungchan starts questioning him, and he does just as well as you hoped (unlike the last guy). That rookie attorney gets caught off guard when his client answers with a stuttering, “I—I don’t remember,” in response to Jung Sungchan’s request to recount who started the fight that night. “It all happened suddenly. It was hard to tell exactly who.”

“Witness Ma Gildog,” the judge intercepts once again. “In the affidavit you submitted, you stated that the defendant was the one who started the altercation without warning. What is the meaning of this?”

Ma Gildong looks at you. You look him dead in the eye and he promptly looks away with a hard swallow.

“I…I only wrote that because Naksung hyung told me to.”

Fuck yes.

“We—were were all drunk when it happened. It was hard to tell who started the fight. I didn’t even want to pursue this case, he—he was just pissed that that guy got more punches in.”

“What?! What the hell are you talking about?!”

“Order!”

You watch as the bailiff tries to settle Yoon Naksung down. You stifle down a smile. This whole trial wouldn’t have been necessary if he had only been as cooperative as the other two. God, you wouldn’t have needed to deal with this headache either.

You hear Judge Bae set down the gavel. “There seems to be some unresolved issues with the prosecution side,” she starts with a sigh. “In this case, let us have a short recess. We will reconvene after thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes. That’s just fucking perfect.

“Recess? Are we having a snack break, attorne—”

“Please allow us to use one of your conference rooms.” You quickly shoot up and cut off Na Jaemin, a polite stance directed at the bailiff near you. “That would be alright, right?”

The way the bailiff looks at you makes you come to the conclusion that you don’t look exactly sane right now. Nevertheless, he humors you and leads both you and Na Jaemin to one of the available conference rooms in the district court. It’s hard to grasp the fact he is being very docile right now, lazily looking around with cuffed hands before him as he trails beside you, under the watchful eye of the court sheriff.

A door is opened before you. The moment the bailiff allows you and your client and closes the door behind, you swivel your heels, grab Na Jaemin by the fucking collar, and ram him against the wall with a loud rattle.

Your years and years of disdain for this guy just came to a breaking point today.

You’ve had fucking enough of his difficult attitude.

“Listen.” Your voice comes off as a hiss more than anything. You hear the sound of his handcuffs clatter when you shove him harder against the wall. You feel your nails dig into your palms through the collar of his shirt. You’re beyond livid. “I am trying my god damned best to get you out of here, Na Jaemin-ssi. You’re the last person I want to help. You’re the last person I could give a shit about, but here I fucking I am— fighting tooth and nail for you, for christ’s sake. I literally had to build up a defense out of nothing just to clear you from incarceration. All I asked is for you to not throw a fit, to follow my damned script, to sit still and still pretty for the rest of this stupid trial, and you couldn’t even fucking do that?”

Much to your surprise, Na Jaemin looks pretty much caught off guard. Not intimidated by any means, but he does keep his mouth shut, repeatedly blinking his somewhat widened eyes at you— the only other expression you’ve ever seen from him other than a scowl and that bastardized grin of his.

Another beat of silence. Your upper lip twitches into a snarl. “Useless fuck.”

You roughly let go of him with a grunt and roll back your shoulders, facing your back to him and release a sigh. Whew. That felt so fucking good.

Without another word, you take quick strides out the conference room, greeting the bailiff outside with a sweet and refreshed smile, maintaining that same air as you return back to the courtroom, an uncharacteristically cooperative Na Jaemin in tow.

The trial resumes. He doesn’t do anything stupid again after that because you’ve decided to completely remove him from the equation. Ma Gildong and Hong Hyunjae submitted new affidavits as evidence. Jung Sungchan and Yoon Naksung are red-faced and look like they’re sitting on burners from hell— even more so when it’s finally your turn to present your case, speaking before the court with a now clear head and your cards in place. When you call Dr. Qian Kun to the stand to attest to Na Jaemin’s physical exam result, the prosecution table is practically deflated in defeat by then.

You return to the defendant’s table. Your shoulders haven’t felt this light in weeks. Even lighter when the court finishes deliberation, and Judge Bae announces the final verdict.

“In light of the criminal charges against Na Jaemin—”

You inhale sharply.

“The court finds insufficient evidence to declare his guilt beyond reasonable doubt.”

Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes.

“Now, the civil liabilities attached to this case— the witnesses’ participation in the aforementioned offenses creates a unique situation. When both parties are at equal fault or in pari delicto, neither the courts nor law will grant relief to the parties. Although the defendant, Na Jaemin, had indeed inflicted less serious physical injuries against the witnesses, the witnesses have inflicted the same upon the defendant.”

Oh, fuck yeah.

“This court hereby dismisses the case without prejudice for want of prosecution. Court is adjourned.”

There is no one happier in this court than you right now. You lock eyes with Jung Sungchan from across the room. You stick your tongue out because you don’t give a damn anymore.

You’re free. You don’t have to deal with Na Jaemin ever again. You’re fucking free.

*‎

Well, you spoke too soon.

“What...what are you doing here…?”

Four days later, you see the very bastard sitting on your chair at the JSS office. He’s swiveling around, stopping the turn with a foot down to look at you. “Oh,” he starts. “Took you fucking long enough.”

Seriously. What have you done to deserve this? Nevermind, you’ve done a lot of things to deserve ten years worth of bad karma, but that’s neither here nor there. You’d just gotten back from a meeting with one of your clients— a normal client: a sweet, old lady who was drafting her last will and testament to make sure none of her nutjob sobs get even a percentage from her estate.

The meeting ran longer than expected because the lady kept trying to ask you if you’re single and would be interested to meet one of her nephews. So, you’d just returned back to the office at 6 p.m., most of your co-workers having clocked out already, only to be bitch slapped in the face with this psycho again, not even a week since you’ve last seen him.

You ignore him, eyes flitting up to the direction of your boss’s office. The light is still on. You grit your teeth. This son a bitch’s entry was permitted by the other son of a bitch. If he’s miserable, he should keep his misery to himself.

“Hey, attorney. I’m tryna talk to you.”

“Y—yes?” you choke out, taking a step back when Na Jaemin rises to his feet. God damn it. Your outburst mid-trial was an isolated case as a result of your pent up emotions. You can’t be brave anymore— and he notices.

There’s a slight raise in his brow when you flinch back, a barely visible smile playing on his face. It’s almost like this bastard can smell fear, and you’re completely lathered in it. “You were pretty gutsy enough to swear at my face and shove me around the other day,” he says, voice low. “What happened to all that spunk, attorney?”

You bite down the swear at the tip of your tongue. “I sincerely apologize for my inappropriate behavior that day.” You’re doing your damn best to keep your head down, but it’s increasingly difficult when this guy is trying to get all up in your space. “Any—anyhow. What business do you have with JSS, Na Jaemin-ssi?”

A flip switches. Na Jaemin suddenly looks very annoyed.

“Ugh. Right,” he grunts, digging into his inner jacket pockets like it’s a chore before pulling out an envelope. A really thick envelope. Your eyes widen. He hands it over to you. “The boss wanted to give his extra thanks.”

Extra thanks for risking your life to release one of his mutts. Holy shit. You say nothing as you take the envelope from his hands, the weight of the paper bills pulling you down heavier than they’re supposed to be. You clear your throat and stuff it into the bag you’ve yet to set down on your desk. “Why didn’t he come in person?”

“He’s out on business,” Na Jaemin flatly replies. Then, there’s a twinge on his tongue when he follows it up, “Why? You want to see him that badly?”

The fuck? That very through slips through expression for a second. Na Jaemin clocks this.

A grin takes over his expression. He releases a bare laugh when he walks past you with a hand on your shoulder. “I gotta hand it to you. You’re pretty damn good at pulling shit out of your ass out of nothing.”

Your breath hitches when you feel a firm squeeze. Na Jaemin releases you with a hum and a pat and finally starts fucking leaving.

“See you around, attorney.”

When you’ve confirmed that the psycho has finally left, you immediately lunge for your chair and release a long and hefty breath.

Jesus fucking christ. How many times do you have to tell these Nalkeutta bastards that you never want to see their faces again? Not enough, apparently. Because the next day, Mark Lee makes a visit to your office again. He greets you a good morning and you quietly tell him to leave you alone and never talk to you again. He laughs and disappears into Doyoung’s office for the next two hours, before stopping by at your desk again to inquire about your desk nameplate preferences.

“Do you prefer acrylic or marble?” he asks, peeking out from behind your desktop computer.

“Gold,” you soullessly respond. “Avenir font. Engraved. Heavy enough to knock a man unconscious with one blow.”

“Very particular.” Your eyes flit up to see his pleasant smile, and it just ruins your day further. It gets worse when Kim Doyoung follows not long after him. “Oh, Mr. Kim,” Mark greets. “I was just about to head out.”

“Yes, allow me to accompany you down to the lobby, Mr. Lee,” Doyoung chimes in. You look up at him as he leers down at you, noticing that you are, in fact, here. “Congratulations on yet another winning case, attorney.”

He’s five days late. “Thank you. Are you gonna give me my own office yet?”

“You know very well JSS isn’t in the position to grant you that.”

Very expected response, but you’re annoyed anyway. They finally leave you alone so you can mentally curse them once you die from overwork and overexertion. Indeed, you know very well that JSS isn’t in the best spot right now. Your firm’s reputation has been slowly nosediving lately— fully getting tanked recently because of your latest acquittal of Na Jaemin.

The general public has been questioning your integrity as a law firm. That much is fucking expected when you’re partnered with the biggest crime organization in the district. It’s not that this partnership is a recent thing. But with the establishment of a new law firm within your territory, the GP now has a point of comparison to notice just how many obvious criminals JSS has helped to subvert the rule of law.

These articles and nasty forum posts have been the source of Kim Doyoung’s stress as of late. During the next few weeks, you watch his mood sour and sour by the day after every meeting with the higher-ups.

The source of the problem is obvious, but it’s not like JSS can just cut ties with Nalkeutta to clean its name. In fact, it would the dumbest move ever, practically industry suicide considering Mark Lee and his company is your highest paying client. Not only that. All of the firm’s employees practically have immunity from the hefty protection fees all Yeongdeungpo residents have to pay weekly just to pay the streets. And you don’t want to make an enemy out of Nalkeutta either by cutting them off. Your firm is caught in between rock and a hard place with no easy way out.

“I think the boss has started to grow white hairs lately,” Jungwoo tells you over coffee in the breakroom.

“Why…are you looking at his hair?” you ask, almost worriedly. Jungwoo simply shrugs and you two watch as Kim Doyoung stomps into the breakroom in a fit again to angrily snatch a glass and nearly rip the fridge open for the pitcher of lemon water you started to make every morning, overpouring into the glass before chugging it clean and slamming the glass down on the counter.

He didn’t even ask for permission. What a monster.

Anyhow, you could give less of a shit about JSS’s steadily dwindling reputation. This ain’t your problem to fix. It’s your higher up’s problem. It’s Kim Doyoung’s problem, and— quite frankly— the peak of your week is seeing his grumbling swears every time he stomps out of another admin meeting, watching him scratch at the growing grey hairs at the back of his head through his private office like it’s your own personal TV show.

It’s such a great sight to see. Added to the fact that you haven’t received a call from Nalkeutta lately, whether it be for consultations or just simple blotter charges, they haven’t been bothering you at all. In short, you’ve been having the best two weeks of your life.

It comes to a peak when Kim Doyoung calls you to his office one day, prompting the assumption that JSS’s reputation situation has become way, way worse to the point that the firm needs the help of its rank and file employees like you to settle the matter.

“Damn, good luck. Let me know what’s up,” Jungwoo sends you off.

Honestly, you’re looking forward to having a front row seat to Kim Doyoung’s meltdown, if things have gotten as bad as you think. Your knuckles tap against the wooden entrance to his office, and you’re filled with a longing envy when he tells you to come in because damn— must be nice to have an office of his own. Why does he always have a stick up his ass when he’s got his own 150 square feet kingdom where he can do whatever he wants?

“Come in.”

Muct to your surprise, however, Kim Doyoung looks well rested today.

The moment you step in, you notice that his usual constipated expression is nowhere to be found on his face. In fact, his skin is perfectly clear. His white button up is crisp and tidy. His glasses are shining. His hair is neat and styled— as though it hasn’t been run through a million times today.

Whoa. What the hell? Who is this? Who is this man in front of you?

“How has your work been, attorney?” he starts, elbows on the desk, chin resting on interlocked fingers.

You tentatively make your way closer to his desk, slightly unnerved at this sudden disposition switch. “The same as usual.”

“That’s good to hear,” he hums. He’s humming. Kim Doyoung is humming. What? He sets his fingers on a folded piece of paper that’s been sitting on his desk, promptly pushing it forward to you. “Read this.” You’re beyond creeped out. You have no idea what’s going on, but you follow instructions anyway, inching a step closer to peel the paper from the glass surface of his desk, and unfold it in your hands.

He wants you to read it. So, you do.

The moment your eyes register the heading, your neck cranes, squinting. “Sir,” you say, holding the paper down. “Are you sure you gave me the correct sheet?”

“Yes, yes,” he affirms, waving a hand in the air. “Please continue reading.”

You do. You read the heading once again. LETTER OF RESIGNATION, in bold and all caps. Followed by today’s date. Followed by your fucking name.

The paper wrinkles in your grasp. Haha. You don’t remember writing a resignation letter. “Sir,” you start again, voice coming off as a weak wheeze. “There must be some kind of mistake.”

“There’s no mistake,” Doyoung confirms, spinning a pen between his fingers before pushing it forward to you in the same manner as he did with the resignation letter in your hands— your resignation letter. The letter that says you’ve found better prospects elsewhere and sincerely value the experience and growth you’ve had with this firm. What the fuck is this bullshit? You don’t fucking understand. “Would you please affix your signature at the bottom, attorney? I didn’t have your e-signature. That’s why I had to call you out today.”

Your stomach drops to the very depths of your gut. “You can’t just fucking do this,” you say with gritted teeth. Kim Doyoung readjusts his glasses and responds with a sigh.

“Attorney,” he starts. “You’re well aware of the problem our firm has been facing as of late, correct?” You nod. He continues. “It’s a difficult situation. However, Nalkeutta and JSS have managed to reach an amicable compromise.”

Oh no. Oh, god, do. He can’t do this to you. He can’t fucking do this to you.

“Starting today, you will no longer be JSS’s Junior Associate. You will be working as a private lawyer for Nalkeutta Security Company.”

“You fucking sold me out!”

“I did not ‘sell you out’. Think of it as a promotion.”

Your mouth is hanging open. Your blood is boiling to the point of evaporation. The resignation is a crumpled mess at this point. You slam it back down on his desk. “I can’t even get my fucking severance pay if I sign this damn thing!”

“I’m sure the benefits you’ll receive at Nalkeutta would outweigh any amount of a severance pay that JSS can offer you,” your boss— former boss— flatly replies. “Now. Please sign the letter.”

Your head is spinning. You’re nauseous as fuck. It’s not like you can just run away. Mark Lee would have your fucking head. Sure, you hate working under Kim Doyoung, but at least it made you feel like an actual lawyer, serving only as an occasional cleanup dog for that damned wretched company. With this, you’re not just dipping your toes into organized crime. You’d be fucking drowning in it.

“Sign right there— yes. Perfect. Thank you for your cooperation, attorney. It was a pleasure working with you.”

Nalkkeutta has officially ensnared you in its burning jaws, and you’ve got no way of getting out unscathed.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

#na jaemin x reader #jaemin x reader #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #jaemin x you #na jaemin x you #na jaemin fanfic #jaemin fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct fanfic #nct scenatios #nct x you #nct imagines #na jaemin smut #jaemin smit #nct dream smut #nct smut

404 notes · View notes

dulcecherub · 8 months ago

Text

“Great Rafe… now you broke it.” He looks at it, a tinge of red appearing on his cheeks.

“It’s not my fault.” He says, you never bother to calm him down when he’s mad. You let him ride it out. That way you weren’t in the middle of the eye of the storm.

But now he’d broken your favorite record player. You spent countless months, saving up money for it. All down the drain. The poor little needle broken in half and clattered on the ground.

“I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

You snapped, “you didn’t mean to or it wasn’t your fault. Which one is it, Rafe?”

He winced at your tone, something you weren’t used to seeing.

“It’s always the same shit with you. You always do shit like this. You get mad and you break something. Or or, you do something so stupid.” You can’t help your anger.

“I can replace it. No biggie.” He doesn’t apologize, he doesn’t know how. You can tell because his cheeks get even more pinker. He’s embarrassed.

You sigh deeply, picking up the needle.

“Baby, I can fix this. I can. I can make this up to you.” Still no utter of a sorry comes out of his mouth. But this is as good as any sorry you were ever going to get from him.

“It’s not the same, Rafe.” You had earned this record player. You had spend time working for it. Now it was all down the drain.

“Please. I’ll get you an even better one.”

You sigh once more. You hated being mean to him because he often just submitted to you. Not like with everyone else, where he talked back. He could never do that with you.

“Fine, fine. I’m sorry I got mad.”

“No, you have every right to be. I promise when I become hurricane Rafe again, I will stay out of your expensive stuff way.”

You let out a snort at that.

“Hurricane Rafe? Seriously.”

He just smiles adoringly at you. Happy to see you smile again.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #outer banks x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe x you #rafe imagine

907 notes · View notes

bootycallin · 3 months ago

Note

I see your reader who needs their clit played w, I raise you....Vi x reader who needs penetration to cum? And Vi just playing w her clit, edging her, and it feels good obviously but she just need need needs to be filled up to cum and Vi is so condescending about it and just won't give her what she wants okay I'm rambling but think ab it

UGHHH this lowkey sucks but i wanted to write it. cw: wlw. female reader with strict female anatomy. pet names (cupcake, baby, etc.). clit play obvs. dacryphilia if you squint a lil. a littttle degradation? idk. kinda fluffy at the end. not proofread.

this is torture.

one mention of it. one single mention of it to her and she’s on you. she’s making it her life’s mission—not one thing is going inside you. not her tongue, strap, fingers- whatever.

she wants you to feel what it’s like.

“vii…!” she could listen to you cry and whine for ages, really. she’s humming against your clit, and only your clit. she’s not tried to move down once. it’s frustrating—worse when your clit’s so fucking sensitive you’re bucking up into her, back away, all the way back to her eager tongue.

“mhh… what, cupcake?” she knows damn well what. you’re almost in tears, poor girl. but she wants to hear it from you. she needs to hear it from you.

“f-fuck—vi, too much…!”

how do you explain it’s not? it’s not too much, but it’s so little at the same time. every little touch of hers on your clit feels like electric shocks, poor spent bud twitching under the wet muscle. and yet it felt so good. but not enough, and god, you just wanted to fucking cum. by now you could’ve let it all go, but nooo.

because vi is as stubborn as a goddamn mule. and she’s gonna do whatever she sets her mind to. and right now, that’s making you cum through your clit.

“so wet,” she briefly nips at your clit, grinning at the way you squeal and arch your back at the shock that runs up and down your spine.

“pretty fucking baby.” she says, and you don’t have to look at her to know she’s got a shit-eating (well, pussy-eating) grin on her face. her attack is only briefly stopped, as she replaces her tongue with her fingers, pulling the hood of your clit back and running sharp little circles right on the nub. her movements are quick, and she only needs one finger to make you fucking scream.

“shiiit!-“ you’re sure you sound stupid, but you can’t help yourself. your legs try to close out of instinct, but vi is right there to force your legs open, tutting.

“no, no. keep those legs open,” does she really think you’re listening?

“fuck, fuck, viiii…!” you whine, throwing your head back. fuck, so cute. vi can’t help but think, watching your thighs twitch, toes curling into the sheets, pretty back arching. her fingers are working on automatic, even as she lifts from between your thighs and kisses up the valley of your breasts.

“ah-!”

her hand is firm holding open your thighs, fingers still working on your wet, sensitive nub. she kisses up your tits, trailing up, up, up. a kiss to the underside, to your pretty areola, right on top of your nipple, a sharp gasp catching in your throat. she’s hungry, giving open mouthed kisses to your perky nipples, biting, working her tongue the same way she did when you were making out.

your brain’s as messy as your pussy. wet, plain dirty noises sounding, along with your echoing moans and whines and whimpers that turn her own brain into mush. she could cum untouched just listening to you moan and cry like this. there’s a particular little gush of wetness on her fingers that tells her she’s on the right track, the way your noises get somehow needier and louder. you’re close, she can tell. she’s growling as she slobbers on your chest, tits still in her mouth as she makes an effort to look at you and give both tits the same attention as she gives your dripping cunt.

“vi, vi, vi, vi—“ fucking broken record. “fuuuck…!”

it’s something you’ve never felt before. you’re squirming, almost like you’re trying to run from her. you can’t close your legs to find some respite—so you’re left to bend your thighs and kick your feet slightly as if that would help anything.

“mmh, close?” she groans, finally letting your tits go and lifting her head, staring right down at you. you didnt notice how flushed her face was, coated in a slightest sheen of sweat. this was fucking hot for her too. her pussy’s aching like fucking crazy, but she’s not focused on that.

“baby’s gonna cum, yeah?” you could only reply with a dumb whine as her fingers press harder on your clit. she’s a blabber mouth, she can’t help it—“yeah. pretty baby’s gonna cum, hmm? like it when i play with your clit? isn’t it so good? see, don’t even gotta fill this slutty cunt up to make you cum.”

you can’t formulate phrases. you can just barely process her chuckle as you whine and cry, blubbering senselessly, you can just barely process as she fucking slaps your clit—and you burst. a flash of white over your vision, your back arching instinctively, body tensing.

the noises are fucking delicious for her. fingers working quickly on your clit even as you cum, watching as your pussy grows impossibly wetter with sticky cum, your voice raspy by now with how you scream.

she only has some mercy when you genuinely start to cry, figuring your clit’s too sensitive—and you can’t even breathe right, so she definitely got to her goal.

that doesn’t happen without her slapping your clit one last time, though, grinning almost cruelly at how you nearly sob.

her hand meets your cheek, gently rubbing her thumb over your skin and coaxing you to open your eyes. she kisses your tears away. lips just barely brushing over your wet lashes.

“that hurt,” you whined slightly, and she chuckled softly.

“yeah. sorry. overstimulated you a little.” and that’s because she had mercy. if she didn’t, you would be sobbing by now.

“but did it feel good?”

“yeah…”

…

“think you can handle another one?”

“no!”

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 © bootycallin on tumblr. do not copy, translate or cross post without permission. ᛝ

#╰┈➤BOOTYCALLIN⨾#🖇·˚ ༘ ┊͙ring ring!!#arcane smut #arcane x female reader #lesbian #wlw #x reader #league of legends x reader #vi x female reader #vi smut #arcane vi x reader #wlw smut

509 notes · View notes

yungistiny · 3 months ago

Text

camgirl ═ chapter one

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter one: a bit of a mess

╚═════════

summary: mingi just really needs some cash and he was told all he had to do was hold a camera. simple enough. he just didn’t anticipate the type of content he’d be helping to create

warning: emo mingi, stoner mingi, switch mingi, switch reader, mingi is hung, creampie, unprotected sex, choking, spanking, masturbation, rough sex, degradation, size kink, spitting, deep throating

pairing: mingi x afab/reader

genre: smut, angst, drama, romance

word count: 3.9k

chapter two

masterlist

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Mingi knew he was getting too deep into this shit, getting too attached. Too emotionally involved. His jaw clenched, there was no livestream now. No viewers. No one watching.

It was just them, alone in his room. His bedroom door actually shut for a change as he trailed a hand up y/n back, tangling his fingers into her hair.

She moaned, gasping as he pulled her up, back flushed against his chest, a hand snaking around her and wrapping around her throat, gently squeezing. Mingi growled, his grip on her tilting her head back so he could kiss her, his other hand gripping her waist tightly as he continued to thrust into her aching, soaked cunt.

Her walls clenching him, her arousal creaming him and Mingi couldn’t help the whimper that escaped him because fuck if she wasn’t the best thing he’d ever had.

“Look at me.” The words left him with no control, making y/n open her eyes, pupils blown as they began to water from his deep and quick pace thrusts, dick finding that spongey little spot that sent her shaking in his hold.

Mingi held her gaze, his own eyes much like hers, darkened and pupils blown from desire. “You’re mine.” A loud, crying moan left y/n as her orgasm tore through her like a storm. “I’m yours!” She repeated the words like a broken record left on a loop.

“I’m yours…”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Mingi stared at the small piece of paper in his hand, his banking account balance practically mocking him. Just a little over 10, 000 won left in his account. That was barely enough for a bowl of ramen and a drink.

He was starting to slightly regret spending his savings on that Bring Me The Horizon concert. But the chances of them coming to South Korea was low so of course he had to jump at the opportunity to see one of his favorite bands.

The slight chill in the September air caused Mingi to shiver, balling the atm receipt up and shoving it into the pocket of his ripped baggy jeans. His roommate and about the closest thing he had to a best friend, Choi San, was gonna scold him. Remind him how he had distinctly told Mingi not to waste his money on a concert.

Mingi never listened to San.

He ran a hand through his short fading pink hair, the color now a light pastel compared to the hot pink it had been when he first dyed it, his dark roots bleeding through. Mingi knew if he really needed money all he had to do was call his mom, his dad would certainly not be too giving or lenient after he had to pay a good whopping 2.8 million won to pay for damages caused by him at a hotel in Busan.

The Busan incident was now something his dad always brought up when Mingi needed to borrow some money.

“You know son, I would have the money but instead, I had to pay for a brand new window that you and your idiotic friends broke by tossing a mattress out of it.”

It’s not Mingi’s fault that Lee Seokmin and Hoshi Kwan were fucking absolutely crazy when high. He doesn’t even recall what exactly led up to Hoshi pulling the giant king sized mattress, pushing it full speed towards Seokmin who screamed and jumped out of the way.

Mingi promised his dad he’d pay him back, the hotel room had been in his name so of course Mingi was left with the bill. And he really did mean to pay his dad back but then he splurged his savings on dying his hair, he also got a new phone and the rest was spent on that concert.

It wouldn’t be so bad but Mingi’s boss fired him today after he was late, the third job he’d been fired from in the last two months. He just couldn’t keep a job to save his own life and was sure at this point he was going to be stuck going back home and working under his dad at the family restaurant.

Warmth enveloped him as he walked inside the convenience store just a block away from his apartment building. The heat was like a warming blanket against the chill outside.

Mingi grabbed a cup of ice from the small freezer in the front, hand crunching the ice up as he searched for a drink, grabbing a packet of green apple flavored juice. One finger pointed, the black nail polish chipping, searching for a bowl of ramen and snatching a spicy buldak.

He also grabbed a couple of cheese sticks before making his way up to the register where one of his old college friends Jung Wooyoung waited, eyes on his phone before glancing at Mingi when he dropped his stuff on the counter.

“You look all broody today.” Wooyoung teased him as he scanned his items. “I got fired again.” Mingi bit at his bottom lip, pushing his black rimmed glasses up his nose, poking the inside of his cheek, his tongue piercing rubbing against it. “Dude,” Wooyoung laughed. “you’re like job repellent.”

“Fuck you.” Mingi grumbled, unlocking his phone and going into his wallet to display his debit card. “Time and place.” Wooyoung smirked at him as Mingi tapped to pay, just enough in his account for the junk food.

“You know,” Wooyoung watched him walk over to the little snack station, filling his bowl of ramen up with water and putting it into the microwave. “I think I know the perfect job for you.”

“Oh really?” Mingi scoffed as he pulled the seal off of his cup of ice, tearing open the drink pouch with his teeth. “Last time you said that i was left stranded in Busan with your two crazy ass friends and now I’m in debt with my dad.”

“That was like three months ago.” Wooyoung rolled his eyes, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. “This, this you’re perfect for.”

“What is it?” Mingi grabbed his cooked bowl of ramen out of the microwave, snatching a pair of wooden chopsticks from the container beside it, mixing the red sauce into the noodles and pulling his chopsticks apart with his teeth to help stir.

“My friend,” Wooyoung leaned atop the counter, to see Mingi where he sat at the small little dining area in front of the window. “she needs help, someone to be behind the camera for this streaming thing she does.”

“What? Like twitch?” Mingi peeled the sealing off of his cheese stick, pulling them apart and mixing them into his bowl of noodles. “Something like that.” Smirked Wooyoung.

“So… what,” Mingi took a sip of his drink, arching a brow at Wooyoung as another customer walked in, disappearing into the store to shop for their own needs and cravings. “I just hold the camera for her? I thought streamers had stands for that?”

“Well… what she streams she needs some….” Wooyoung giggled. “close ups, different angles.”

Mingi waited, taking a bite of his noodles as Wooyoung checked out the customer, waiting until after they left to ask the most important question. “What’s she pay?”

“Well, when I helped her a few times…” Wooyoung thought for a moment, calculating in his head. “For about one session… 700,000 won.”

Mingi choked on the cheese stick he started to chew on, gasping and quickly removing the lid on his drink and chugging to help wash the food down. 700,000 won? That was like $500 usd! “All that? Just to hold a fucking camera?”

“Well, there’s a bit more to it then just that, but yeah, that’s about the gist of it.” Wooyoung nodded, looking back down at his phone. “I’ll text her, let her know I found her someone.”

“I haven’t even agreed yet…” Mingi took another drink of his juice, a cough escaping him after almost choking on his food. “Yes you are.” Wooyoung grinned at him. “I’ll text you her address when she lets me know when she needs you.”

“And she’s just gonna let a stranger into her home to film her?” Mingi asked, not denying the fact that Wooyoung was right. There’s no way in hell he was passing this opportunity up.

“She trusts me and I trust you.” Wooyoung shrugged, sitting his phone back down. “It’s not like I’m sending her some random creepy dude or anything.”

“Have I met her before?” Mingi was curious now, he was sure him and Wooyoung hung around the same friend group. “No. I met her that summer after freshman year when I went to New York. Her grandparents are from here and she came back a couple years ago to take care of her grandma before she passed.”

A ping from Wooyoung’s phone alerted them that he had a new message. Mingi watched him typing a reply, a devious smirk on Wooyoung’s face. “You can go by her place tomorrow night, she said around 6:00. I’m texting you the address now.”

Mingi unlocked his phone, checking his messages, eyes widening in shock at the address location. “She lives in the Gangnam district?”

“Her grandma left her this nice ass duplex.” Wooyoung giggled at Mingi’s reaction. “So she’s like…. rich?” Mingi looked back down at the address on his phone. “What’s her name?”

Wooyoung had to hold in the snicker that wanted to leave him, the smirk on his face growing because Mingi had no idea what he was getting himself into but Wooyoung knew his friend was perfect for the job.

“Y/N.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

San wasn’t home when Mingi walked into their shared apartment, quickly feeding San’s pet cat, Byeol, before grabbing his stash from under his bed in his room and flopping himself on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table as he rolled himself a blunt.

The tv played a playlist of 2000s rock music videos, a Linkin Park one coming on as he brought the blunt to his lips, inhaling and closing his eyes as the smoke exhaled through his nose.

Byeol curled into Mingi’s lap, the cat purring and snuggling up to sleep. The weed was slowly loosening his mind, relaxing him at the moment as a Three Days Grace music video started to play, he had no care in the world.

Mingi used one hand to thread through the fur and pet Byeol, his chunky steel rings scratching at the cats back making her purr more. The blunt in his other hand burned for a second as he got distracted by the music video on the tv before taking another hit.

Mingi had no idea how long he sat there, too high to care, when the apartment door opened, San finally home after work, a long day spent with kindergartners but San loved kids.

“You’re home early.” San arched a brow at Mingi, he usually didn’t get home after work until after 8:00 and it was only a little after 5:00.

Mingi stared at him for a long moment, eyes red and half lidded letting San know he was high. “I got fired.”

The heaviest sigh left San as he sat down next to Mingi on the couch, shoving his feet off the coffee table. Byeol perked up at her owner, stretching in Mingi’s lap and meowing at San, switching seats and making herself comfortable in his lap instead. “Again?”

“It’s fine,” Mingi waved a hand dismissively. “I already got another job.”

“That was fast.” San scratched Byeol behind her ear. “What is it this time?”

“One of Wooyoung’s friends.” Mingi answered, rolling another blunt. At this rate he was gonna smoke all his weed up before he had more cash.

“You know what happened last time you worked with Wooyoung’s friends.” San reminded, Mingi was never living the Busan incident down. “This is different.” He argued as San turned the tv down.

“Which friend is it this time?” San was curious, he knew all of Wooyoung’s friends just like Mingi did. “I haven’t met her yet.” Mingi shrugged, licking the wrap of the blunt to seal it.

“Her?” San picked Byeol up, holding her closely. He was tired and needed a hot shower. “Just don’t sleep with her.” It’s why Mingi had been fired from his last job, sleeping with the boss’s daughter, while on the clock mind you.

San loved his best friend, practically his brother, but Mingi had become a little bit of a mess and irresponsible after they graduated from college three years ago.

Mingi smirked as he brought the blunt to his lips. “Of course not.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

It was well past noon when Mingi woke up the next day. His eyes blinked slowly, Byeol staring at him where she had made herself home on his bed once San had left for work that morning. Mingi always left his bedroom door open for the needy cat.

A deep groan left him as he turned over onto his back, stretching his arms and legs. His phone lay on his bedside table, the screen lighting up as he unlocked it. Mingi was going to have to do something he was dreading. Ask his mom for money. Sure he started his new job today but he literally had no money to his name at the moment.

The call rang twice before his mother answered. “Mingi, honey, make it quick because the restaurant is starting to get busy.” She sounded in a hurry and he could hear the clutter of dishes and his older brother’s voice in the background.

He hesitated before asking. “Omma,” Mingi put on his best pouty voice, knowing his mom couldn’t say no to him. “I’m starting a new job today but I’m all out of cash until I get paid.”

“If your father finds out I sent you more money he just might cut you off this time.” She warned him, not saying no though. “He won’t find out and give me a week or so and he’ll have every bit of his money back.” Mingi promised. First thing he was going to do was get his dad off his back.

His mother gave in, telling him she’ll transfer him some money on her break. Mingi still had almost five hours before he had to meet y/n. He found himself the night before on twitch searching for any streamers named y/n but found hundreds of results and instantly gave up.

The next five hours started with a hot shower and then dressing in his favorite dark washed ripped baggy jeans and a black long sleeved Jesus Piece shirt. His hair air dryed, slightly spiked from where it was growing out.

Mingi even repainted his chipping polished nails back black. He smoked about three blunts, he kind of lost count, and headed out to check his bank account balance once his mom texted him that she transferred the money.

Just a little over 300,000 won. Mingi looked at his phone seeing the time and cursed to himself. He needed to be over to y/n in Gangnam in twenty minutes.

He quickly flagged down a taxi. The ride to Gangnam took longer then Mingi hoped it would, quickly paying the driver and hopping out right outside of the duplex y/n lived at. It was pretty, colored a light eggshell, flowers grew in the yard already wilting from the September weather.

Mingi rang the doorbell, waiting with his hands in his pockets. He could hear shuffling inside then the unlocking of a lock before the mahogany door opened.

Fuck.

Wooyoung didn’t think to mention just how hot his friend was. Y/N was shorter then him like most were, knee high white socks on that were fully visible due to the pink Calvin Klein boyshorts she had on paired with a cropped pink Mean Girls tshirt that gave Mingi the perfect view of her stomach and legs. Did he catch her at a bad time? But she said be here at 6:00…

“You must be Mingi.” She smiled at him, her gaze taking him in, lingering from his face taking in the entire length of him. Mingi smirked at her wondering eyes as he was doing the exact same thing to her. He placed each of his hands on the entrance of the door, leaning in slightly, looking down at her. “And you’re y/n.”

Fuck his voice was deep. Y/N clenched her thighs, his entire appearance and demeanor was attractive. And he was tall, really fucking tall. Wooyoung didn’t think to mention to her how hot his friend was?

“Come in!” She shook her head, returning her gaze back to his smirking face, stepping out of the way to allow Mingi room to walk in. Fuck! He smelled really good too. Like faint notes of amber, a smooth sweetness she couldn’t exactly decipher and y/n could tell he must of gotten high before coming over from the undertone scent of weed mixed in.

She shut the front door back closed and locked it behind him. Mingi allowed his gaze to roam around the living room as he kicked off his combat boots, the white painted walls lit by fairy lights that decorated the top of them, wrapping around the entire room. A three seated white couch with a fluffy pink throw blanket draped over it was placed against the wall where a big black cat, with probably the biggest mane Mingi had ever seen, sat licking and cleaning itself.

Mingi looked back at y/n not realizing she was right beside him. Her scent invaded his own senses. A mixture of strawberry, vanilla and sugar. He had the urge to drop to his knees and beg her to let him have a taste. He didn’t of course. He couldn’t. This was business, he was just there to work for her. But damn if he weren’t gonna be tempted.

“That’s Gladiolus,” y/n walked over, picking up the giant cat. She held him in her arms like a small toddler. “he’s not really a people person kitty though….”

Y/N trailed off, shocked when her otherwise antisocial cat started to purr as Mingi scratched under his chin. “I guess he likes you though, magic touch.” She teased him.

Mingi smirked, noticing the way her gaze lingered on his hands. “Oh, yeah. Pussys love me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at him, face flushed. She was going to kill Wooyoung for sending her someone he knew she’d be attracted to. Wooyoung was the closest she had to a best friend and he knew exactly her type. He’s a menace.

Gladiolus stretched when y/n placed him back on the couch. “Come on, everything is upstairs.” She led Mingi up the small staircase upstairs to her bedroom.

Mingi took in the white painted walls, the queen sized bed centered by the headboard against the wall in the middle of the room, a mirror on the wall it sat against, another mirror, a floor length one against the wall to the right, a large computer and streaming set up on the opposite end of the bed against the other wall.

White fairy lights wrapped around the entire room much like the living room, fake green leaves and pastel pink roses adorned the decor with them. She likes pink. Mingi bit his lip, humored at the coincidence of the color of his hair that was practically the same color as the rug at the foot of the bed he was standing on.

Y/N watched him, gaze following his hands, loving the way his nails were painted black. Loved the rings on his fingers as he rolled up his sleeves, revealing the bracelets on his wrists. The beaded ones matched the beaded choker necklace he had on with the silver chain dangling with a small cross pendant.

She watched the way he darted his tongue out, wetting his lips and giving her the perfect glance at his tongue piercing. Y/N avoided her gaze from him before he noticed her staring, unbeknownst to her, he already had. “Did Wooyoung explain anything to you?” Her best friend loved to mess with people, she knew that, it’s why Boo Seungkwan didn’t last one stream with her. The poor guy had been flustered and a mumbling mess the entire time.

“You’re a streamer.” Mingi shrugged, pushing his glasss back up the bridge of his nose. “Did he tell you what kind of streamer?” Y/N was trying not to laugh now at the confused expression on Mingi’s face.

She noticed then the little lightning bolt like design shaved into the end of his right eyebrow as he arched it. He watched as she smirked at him, her glossy lips very tempting. “I’m guessing it’s not twitch?”

The laugh that left her caught Mingi off guard. “Is that what Wooyoung told you?” Of course he would. He once told her he likes to watch the stream whenever she gets a new cameraman, all ended up nervous, shy or just got too horny to finish.

Mingi looked around her room, eyes searching for anything that would give him a clue as to what it was she streamed but nothing seemed out of the ordinary or stood out too much.

“Let me give you a hint…” y/n walked over to a pink painted two door wall cabinet, opening the door and gesturing for Mingi to come and look at what was inside.

Mingi walked over, towering behind y/n as he studied what was there. It took him a minute to register it all but when he did, Mingi wasn’t sure if he wanted to kill Wooyoung or thank him for getting him this job.

Definitely the latter.

“And…. you’re just gonna let me film you, live, while you get yourself off?” Mingi’s voice was deeper now, he couldn’t control it with the images flashing in his head, his imagination suddenly getting the best of him.

“Wooyoung trust you…” y/n didn’t look behind her, she didn’t move as he brushed up against her briefly, his height making her feel small. “and I trust Wooyoung.”

Mingi backed up, biting his bottom lip and letting out a quiet disbelieving chuckle. “So, I just…. hold the camera?” He was curious now what exactly all it was he was gonna be required to do.

“Basically.” Y/N turned to him, walking over to her camera that sat on her desk beside the computer. “But… I need you to move with me…” she grabbed the camera, handing it to Mingi, looking up and meeting his heated gaze behind his glasses.

Mingi was glad he was high as hell right now, his senses calm, his emotions centered otherwise he’d probably kiss her, tangle his ringed fingers into her hair and pin her against the wall.

This job might end up being a tad difficult.

“How many cameramen have you had?” Mingi was curious, obviously the last one didn’t make it and he knew Wooyoung had helped her out a few times.

“Just a handful, all sent by Woo but…” she pouted at him, looking up through her lashes, voice teasing. “none of them ever last.”

Mingi took the camera into his hand, gripping it and smirking down at y/n. “If there’s one thing I’m great at…”

His voice was so much deeper now, practically rumbling as he stepped back, gesturing towards the pink wall cabinet she had showed him before, letting her know he was ready to get started when she was.

“is letting a woman come first.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

permanent tag list: @straycat420 @dejatiny @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @hannahlilibet411

#mingi #song mingi #mingi smut #mingi x reader #mingi x y/n #ateez #ateez fic #ateez fanfic

637 notes · View notes

issysh3ll · 4 months ago

Text

Noises ♡ Chris Sturniolo

Summary: Chris knows how much you love his noises Warnings: SMUT, masturbation, recording, moaning

Chris's phone slips in his left hand. His nervous, sweaty palm is making everything more difficult. Readjusting his grip on the device his thumb awkwardly fumbles with the buttons on his screen.

Ordinarily he would use his right hand when scrolling on his phone but that's not possible right now. His right hand is pre-occupied, gripping around something else. When his thumb finally finds the record button he angles the phone towards himself, the speaker of his phone pointing towards his face.

Wet sounds fill the room from where his right hand is moving steadily over his aching cock. The second this idea had crossed his mind, he had found himself hard and straining against his pants. Now he lies naked in bed with one hand wrapped around his cock and the other recording the sweet noises of his reactions as he begins to pump himself. His strokes are slow, controlled, trying to replicate the perfect rhythm you had given him the last time he saw you.

As his stroke rises along the length of his cock, he stops just below the tip and flicks his thumb up to brush over the sensitive area. A soft moan breaks through his lips, causing a spike on the audio recording in his other hand. Quickly, he moves the phone closer to his face.

"mm—ah" another whine breaks free as he repeats his action. His thumb moving over his tip and swirling through the pre-cum leaking over the pink skin.

As his grip moves down his length again, a heavy breath escapes. A desperate, heavy breath, coated with lust.

"aahh, mhmm"

The microphone in his hand continues to catch more heavy breathing as his right hand moves over his cock. The panting is broken by the occasional groan as he draws too close to his tip. But he's trying his best to hold back.

"Ah— yeah, j-just like that..."

He knows how much you love his noises. Each time your hand is wrapped around his cock your voice is always cooing to him, encouraging him to let out those pretty little noises that make you want to do this for him. He loves it.

So as he records himself, he wants give you as much of this as he can. As many of his sweet noises as he can manage in this special recording. And that's what he tells the recording.

"mmpfh— wan' make my noises for you..."

As the slow strokes on his length continue, he grows more desperate, struggling to maintain the teasingly slow pace he's set for himself. Each breath he releases is punctuated by an eager whimper, begging for more.

"Ah— sh-shit."

His tip is aching for contact as his hand continues to ignore it, stroking only along the length. Chris's eyes screw shut, willing himself to maintain control. But his hips lift off the mattress, thrusting to meet his hand as the desperation grows too much.

"Oh, fuck. I can't..." He pants through broken moans. He can't control himself. It's too good.

The pleasure shooting through his body is overwhelming. The grip around his phone tightens, hand shaking slightly as he loses himself in the feeling.

"Oh my g— ffuuckkk" The curse rips through his open mouth as his hand brushes over his tip. The aching nerves so desperate for attention cause a jolt of pleasure to tear through him almost painfully and a loud groan leaves his lips.

"ngh— aahh"

Tears well up in his eyes as the overwhelming pleasure grows even more. A knot forming in his lower abdomen pulls tight, threatening to snap and he gasps, quickly stuttering out a warning.

"sh-shit. Gonna cum, ohh"

With one final flick of his thumb over his aching tip, a stream of hot cum erupts from his cock. Spraying over his chest in spurts as he whines helplessly with each pump.

"Oh... ahh.. fuck... s'good"

After a few seconds to catch his breath, he fumbles with the screen of his phone and clicks end on the recording. Quickly sending it to you before collapsing back to the bed, exhausted.

Masterlist

#chris sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #christopher sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #sub chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris x reader #chris smut #chris sturniolo p links #boyfriend chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo drabble #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturiolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #Issys works ᝰ

973 notes · View notes

kawowoa · 6 months ago

Text

wrote this so fast if it’s messy .. shhhh… no it’s not🌀🌀🌀

imagine toji finding out he has a thing for praise. it wouldn’t get somewhere downstairs up and going, but it would make his heart race a little faster and his cheeks a little warmer.

he would realize on such a random day too. it would be around midday, just after you put megumi down for his after lunch nap. it was a hassle trying to get the tiny one year old to sleep when all he wanted to do was bang his plastic cubes together and watch some kids show you refuse to even mention.

after what felt like hours to you but in reality was just a few minutes, you would come back downstairs to see toji halfway done with the dishes.

he wanted to be useful to you, make your life a little easier instead of leaving all the shit to you and watching his game.

“huh, didn’t know you knew how to do that,” you joked, bumping your hip against his. you picked up one of the dishes laid out on the dish towel, it was pristine, you shot a sideways glance to toji. “good boy, ‘ji.” you patted his back before slipping away.

toji didn’t even have a witty remark to respond to you. it was like all the gears and circuits in his brain just suddenly decided to stop working simultaneously. he knew you were just joking, yet the sound of your voice calling him a good boy echoed in his mind like a broken record.

you started to catch on after that, he wasn’t good at hiding his reactions as he thought. you found any reason to give him subtle praises, whenever it was when he was holding megumi, mumbling how good of a father he was or when he was working out and you’d loudly exclaim how he’s so good at lifting weights.

it didn’t matter to him because it all affected him the same way. and eventually he started looking forward to hearing you praise him, though he tried to be slick about it.

but, it took him even longer to fully come to terms with it. after a mission that took an entire day where toji sluggishly came through the door. to his surprise, you were still up despite how late it was. the low murmurs of the tv broke the still silence, you both just stared at each other before your arms stretched out, beckoning him over.

he didn’t think twice to be in your arms, laying on your chest as you petted his hair.

“you did good, ‘ji. y’know i’m proud of you, right?” there’s that fuzzy feeling coming back. his eyes staring up at you through his shaggy bangs.

“why do you keep doing that?”

“doing what?”

“complimenting me ‘n shit.”

you chuckled, which only made his eyebrows furrow and his lips curl into a frown.

“do you hate it?” toji didn’t really have a response to that. as much as he hated to admit it, he liked it more than you think. when you say it out loud or pat him on his back that reassures him that whatever he’s doing is right, he all reacts the same way: feeling like his heart was going to burst out of his chest.

“i don’t.”

you pressed a kiss onto his forehead, “that’s what i thought, you deserve to know it.” you whisper against his forehead, he can feel your cheeky grin forming against him. “i always knew you had a praise kink.”

“don’t fuckin’ call it that.”

#★ ! fics #literally want to give him the biggest hug #UGH toji the man u are #toji x reader #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk fanfic #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk toji #toji fluff #jjk fluff

1K notes · View notes

gloomskulls · 3 months ago

Text

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ WHAT LIES UNDERNEATH [cult member peter parker x reader]

pairings: dark! peter parker x reader

blurb/part 2

⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ after losing your family, your friends, and your boyfriend, Peter Parker casually crashes in your life out of nowhere. His presence was welcoming, as his so-called village is too. But his hospitality seems to have something darker underneath

⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNING ୨୧ NON-CON/DUB-CON (RAPE), heavy manipulation, toxic relationship, cult beliefs, oral (fem receiving), drugging (use of an aphrodisiac), p in v, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, obsessive behavior, mild violence, mentions of death, depression, suicidal thoughts, implied murder. lemme know if I missed any. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

If you don't wanna see my dark stories, please block the tag #madi: dark content

a/n: this is loosely based on Midsommar, it's a really good movie. I have changed some stuff that i didn't feel comfortable writing or I just didn't want to write. Also this maybe the worst smut you've ever read probably. don't steal any of my shit or I'll steal ur head.

"I'm sorry sissy, the darkness is consuming me, and I will take them with me"

Those were the last texts your sister sent you. You were worried sick about her cryptic message and wanted disclosure from her, but she hasn't written back.

Your sister has been known to be a rather mentally challenged person. She was just venting to you. Right?

It was unnaturally still in the air, sitting at your kitchen table with the phone pressed close to your ear. Your fingers drummed an erratic rhythm against the edge of the table, still collapsed trying to ground yourself. All night, your sister has not picked up her phone. The strange text messages she had sent earlier in the day replayed like a broken record in your mind.

How many times have you been thinking of something really wrong, more than you would admit, but still dismissing it?

Somehow tonight felt different.

You texted Harry to reassure you, but the typical unsympathetic reply only served to add more weight to that chest heaviness again. Now you are left alone with your thoughts, and each one seems darker than the other.

You were about to not pick the phone because it looked like a spam call to you. The number was unknown, but that gut feeling inside you made you press accept.

"Hello?" Your voice dared as you strove to steady it.

The unknown caller said your name as they spoke, "Is this her?" The voice on the other end was calm but carried a cold detachment that made your stomach drop.

"Yes," you replied.

"This is Officer Hill with the NYPD. I'm sorry to tell you we've had an incident regarding your family," she said.

Air disappeared from your lungs suddenly, and your grip tightened against the phone. "What kind of incident?"

"I understand this is tough," she said, her voice carefully measured. "But I need you to come to the station. It's better to speak in person."

The issue of reality has been stretched and heavy between you, and it was so unbearable. “No,” you spoke finally in a panic voiding interiorly. “Please, just tell me now. What happened?”

There was a moment's hesitation in Hill's case. In that moment, you could feel the world starting to crack around you.

"There is no easy way to say this," she finally managed to come up with. "Your parents and sister were involved in a fatal accident. I am so sorry."

You could not comprehend those words for a moment. They swayed in the air outside with an unreal and incomprehensible quality. "What do you mean? Are they okay? What—"

"They didn't survive," Hill said softly, and that cut through your spiraling questions.

The phone fell from your hand and banged tipsily on the table. To this resonating rattle in the small space, however, your ear was tuned out. Your chest tightened, and the phrase ran in your brain, echoing in shallow gasps.

They didn't survive.

The days that followed the funeral just passed in a haze of hollow condolences and noise deafening silence. Your world had been torn apart while everything moved forward—all relentless and lame. Harry, your boyfriend of 2 years stayed as he assured you, but his presence seemed more of a fulfillment of an obligation than any comfort.

He was not exactly a cruel person; at least not really overt, for distance was a high-dubious chasm with every awkward conversation and with every minute spent by him scrolling through his phone instead of talking to you. Not blind are you to those glances he exchanged with his buddies once they assumed you weren't watching. There is pity instead of love and comfort in his eyes whenever you cry.

The last straw fell on a quiet Friday evening. You had dragged yourself to the apartment of Harry, looking for refuge in his presence after yet another sleepless night. He was lounging in the couch with one hand gripping a phone while the other was a beer.

"I feel like I'm falling apart," you admitted softly and settled next to him. Your voice cracked, and at last, the tears that were kept in were poured out. "I don't know how to do this without them. I don't know how to… keep going."

Harry glanced towards your direction, the look on his face inscrutable. After that, he set his phone down and fell into this heavy sigh as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I understand, okay? But you can't keep unloading things like this on me. It's…it's too much."

Your heart sank. "Too much?"

"I'm not your therapist," he said in defensive. "I don't know what you want me to do. I can't fix this for you."

"I'm not asking you to fix it!" You snapped while accepting the anger that had replaced the hurt. "I just need you to be here. To actually care."

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he diverted his gaze from her, tightening his jaw. "This isn't fair," he muttered.

"What do you mean fair!?" you yelled, your volume rising. "Me grieving my whole family? It isn't as terrible as needing the person who's supposed to love me to act and comfort me?"

Harry stood up immediately and started pacing the tiny living room. "I didn't sign up for this," he said. The words cut like knives. "I feel like… like I'm drowning too. I'm trying to keep my head above water, but here you are, pulling me under."

Your breath literally caught in your throat at that last sentence, as if a blow on the physical plane had hit home. "Is that really how you see me? As one who drags you down?" You asked in disbelief.

However, he stopped pacing and turned toward you, shoulders sagging. "I don't know," he said more quietly. "I don't know what I feel anymore. My friends tell me I should end it. They say I can't do this to myself. But I thought, you know, that might help."

"Help?" you echoed, voice breaking. "You think pity keeping me would help? Do you know how humiliating that is?"

Harry looked away. "Well, I'm sorry! alright!? It's not like I want to be part of your fuckin tenth reason in your suicide note!". Guilt was scrawled across his face when those words left his mouth. "I didn't mean for it to be like this."

You stood waveringly. Nevertheless, your voice remained firm. "If this is too much for you, then spit it out. Be frank for once, Harry."

He hesitated, his silence answering the question you hadn't dared to ask outright.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Well, that's what I figured."

You took your bag and stepped out of the apartment, closing the door behind you just before the torrent of tears fell as you stumbled down the street. For the first time in weeks, you were truly alone. Sure, Harry wasn't the best boyfriend, but now you didn't have family, Harry, heck, you don't even have friends to pat you in the back and tell you it's alright.

You were truly alone, crying in the middle of the streets.

A week later, at the dinner party of an old classmate's friend, Peter Parker walks into your life.

Peter wasn't meant to be there—he admitted that soon after you started the talk. "I kind of crashed this," he confessed with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. "I heard there was free food, and, uh… I have no self-control."

You laughed against your will. It was a real laugh that felt vaguely familiar after weeks of grief.

He was awkward but charming, with rapid tumbling out of words out of his mouth as he tried to start a small talk. "So, uh, how do you know Sam? Are you a friend from work? Oh wait, no, you don't look old enough to work with him—wait, not that you look like a kid or anything. I just meant—"

"It's okay," you interrupted, smile still there regardless. "I get it. I am also kinda crashing here, I never really got a proper invite, I just found out from one of my old classmates that there was a party, now here I am"

The more you could talk to him, the more you would discover how easy it was to be in his company. Unlike Harry, who had always been polished and withdrawn, Peter was frank and genuine, emotions laid out for all to see.

And by the end of the night, he had known your family. You had not intended to tell him, but somehow the way he listened— actually listened— made it spill out.

"I'm so sorry," Peter said softly, voice laced thickly with empathy. "That is… I can't even imagine what you're going through. But, if you ever need someone to talk to—or like, someone to distract you with dumb jokes—I'm here."

You've been taken aback by his earnestness. Finally, after what felt like years, someone might have noticed you.

It was indeed one of those nights which made time stretch out into eternity. You were there with Peter on a park bench where the faint light of the flickering city lights was shining through dense bushes and trees. The air was crisp, a cool kind that could very much seep into one's bones, yet Peter's company made it bearable.

He had this way of filling the silence without forcing it: sometimes talking, rambling on about whatever random thought invaded his head, sometimes just sitting with a person comfortable in the quiet, and today, he was acting especially thoughtful, staring at some faraway towers protruding above the skyline.

"Can I ask you something?" he suddenly blurted out, breaking the stillness.

"Sure."

He hesitated, bit his bottom lip as if he couldn't decide how to start, and began speaking. "Do you ever feel like…I don't know, like you're stuck?"

You blinked. It caught you off guard. "What do you mean?"

"Like everybody around you is moving ahead, but you're just there standing still," he explained, his words pretty crumbling out in that earnest, awkward way of his. "Like no matter what you do, you can't catch up."

The question was a little more awkward for you than you'd expected. "Yeah," you quietly admitted. "too many times than how I want it to be"

"It's tiring" he said, his eyes still far. "I get that. After my uncle… well died, after all that, I felt like I was trapped in this… I don't know, this loop. So, I couldn't allow myself to be happy because it would feel wrong, you know? Like I didn't deserve it."

You were gaping at him, flabbergasted by his openness. Peter was not the kind to talk much about himself—not like this, anyway.

"How did you get out of it?" you asked in a soft voice.

He smiled faintly. "I didn't. Not really. But I found something that helped."

"What was it?"

Peter gazed upward at the stars. "My hometown. It's a little dot in the middle of nowhere on the map. Quiet, kind of old-fashioned place. But there's something… something grounding."

He stopped for a brief while, casting a doubtful glance at you. "I go back every summer. It's like hitting a reset button or something. And, uh… would you want to join me this year?"

Totally unexpected. "You want me to go with you?"

"Yeah," Peter said quickly, blushing in the face of it. "If you want to. No pressure, or anything. Just you have been through a lot, and I thought maybe time away might help or something. It's not fancy or anything—definitely not the kind of place with five-star hotels—but it's peaceful. And I'd be there, so… you wouldn't be alone."

At his words, your throat became somewhat tight. He was not offering a vacation. He was inviting you to an escape.

"I don't know," You finally ventured with a little quiver of voice. "What if I just feel worse?"

"You won't," Peter said firmly, his brown eyes locking onto yours. "I won't let you."

There was something so genuine about the way he said it, like he truly believed he could protect you from the weight of your grief.

"What is it like?" you asked, helpless curiosity walking over your hesitation.

Peter's eyes set aglow at that moment, brimming over with a lot of excitement. "Oh gosh! Now where do I even begin? Okay, so there's this diner right in the middle of town. It's run by Mr. and Mrs. Beck. They've been married for like fifty years or something, and they make the fluffiest pancakes you've ever tasted in your life. And then there's this old library. Small, yes, but it has this weird charm, you know? Everything is crooked, and half the books are falling apart, but I love it. Oh, and there's this great big field just outside of town—it's perfect to stargaze because you can see the Milky Way out there. It's insane."

Now he was practically bouncing out of his seat, his enthusiasm almost contagious.

"It sounds… amazing," you found yourself admitting. A small smile tugged your lips.

"It's amazing," Peter said earnestly. "And I think you would love it. Everyone is so welcoming there. It's like… a little bubble of goodness in this horrible world sometimes."

For just a moment, you let yourself imagine it, far from the city and the reminders of everything that had been lost, somewhere I might again breathe.

"Okay," you said finally, barely above a whisper.

Peter's eyes lit up. "Really? You're going to come?"

"Yeah," you said, surprising even yourself. "I think I need this."

"Trust me; you won't regret it," Peter continued, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this trip wouldn't fix everything. Maybe it wouldn't fix anything. But for now, it was enough to know you wouldn't be facing it alone.

It was a surreal feeling about the trip toward Peter's hometown. It was almost a relief because you sensed that you were really leaving everything behind, even thought it was just a few weeks. Driving in a comfortable pattern with Peter talking animatedly about all of the town's strange things, while you listened and occasionally chimed in with a question or a laugh at one of his goofy replies.

As you drove farther from the city and the scenery opened to rolling hills and dense forests before you, Peter shifted in his seat to adjust the radio. The soft tune filled the car and merged with the sounds of the tires over the road.

"You are going to love it," Peter said, glancing at you with an innocent smile. "Air's so fresh it nearly smells fake, and the stars. They're nothing like anything you've ever seen before. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," you said, smiling despite the nervous knot still twisting about in your chest.

The town came into view just about the time the sun started sinking, dipping the horizon in gold and pinks. It was a little bit smaller than you had in mind, the kind of place that probably knew everyone by name.

Peter slowed the car as you entered the main street, which was lined with quaint buildings that appeared to have been plucked from another era. A few of the local's whereabouts were either on their porches talking, in their gardens working, or taking their dogs out for a walk. They would almost wave at Peter as they drove past.

"See? Told you. Nicest people on the planet," said Peter returning the waves enthusiastically.

"No shit," you said, watching a woman coming across with a basket of flowers smile toward you warmly.

Peter stopped in a graveled driveway leading to a homely two-storied fairy tale house. Crooked white picket fence and wildflower-laden garden, there was little that screamed charm.

The moment the car stopped, from the front door, she came, a petite woman in her 30's with brown hair, beaming with kindness in her eyes and warmth in her smile.

"There's my darling nephew!" she called out.

Peter jumped out of the car, practically bounding onto her, hugging her. "Aunt May!"

"And you must be the girl Peter keeps talking about," she said, her bright eyes finding their way to you. "Peter has told me so much about you."

"Oh, um, hi," you said, stepping out of the car and giving a small wave.

"Then that's it," she said, surprising with her strong hug for her small figure. "It's so lovely to finally meet you. Come in! It's rather hot out here during the summers"

Once you stepped into the house, you were met with interior that was as cozy as anyone could expect, the design suggests mixes between vintage and modern furniture, with colorful throw blankets and knickknacks making it feel lived in. There was also a faint waft of freshly baked cookies, which you soon spotted on the kitchen counter.

"Make yourself at home," May said, "Your room's already set up upstairs. Peter can show you around."

"Thanks May," Peter replied, already grabbing your bag before you could protest.

Up came Peter, leading you to a small but cozy guest room overlooking the backyard.

"Hope that's cool," said Peter, dropping your bag next to the bed. "Not fancy, but it's quiet."

"It's perfect," you said, placing your backside on the edge of the bed and taking a moment to breathe.

In the following days, Peter became your own personal tour guide, leading you through the town every nook and cranny, and introduced you to everyone as if you were already a part of the community, and to your surprise, they all welcomed you with open arms

Mr. and Mrs. Beck would insist on serving you their best pancakes while there at the diner even after breakfast time.

"We have heard so much about you," Mrs. Beck said it with a twinkle in her eyes. "Peter's nearly counting the days until you came."

Peter turned red and scratched the back of his neck. "Thanks, Mrs. Beck. Subtle as always."

Library, this was to be; the charmingly ramshackle structure seemed to sag under the weight of its many books. Peter's eyes lit up as he walked through those rows of crooked shelves with his fingers trailing over the spines.

"This here was my escape growing up," he said, pulling a worn copy of The Hobbit from the shelf. "Any time things got… overwhelming, I'd come here. Just me, a book, and a whole lot of silence."

This was the kind of moment when one caught a glimpse into Peter's world of quiet, reflective, introspective thinking where the depths beneath the sunshine state, as always, reside.

The very field that Peter had described so vividly turned out to be even more breathtaking than you ever imagined. The grass stretched out in every direction, swaying gently in the breeze, and the sky above was that of a canvas painted with stars, brighter and bolder than he had ever seen.

With a dramatic sigh, Peter flopped onto the ground, patting a spot next to him. "Come on, you're not getting the full experience unless you lie down."

You hesitated to lie down beside him, letting the cool grass tickle your arms as you stared up at the infinite expanse of sky.

"Wow," you breathed.

"Yeah?" he said, turning his head towards you. "It's like the universe decided to show off or something."

They lay there silently for a good while with the sound of the rustling grass and an occasional chirp of crickets. That was the most peaceful you had felt in a long, long time.

Maybe it was a little initial self-talk that told you it was just small town hospitality. People in cities don’t wave at strangers, though maybe that’s simply what people do out here. Maybe they were just genuinely curious about a stranger in a little place where everyone knows everyone.

But as the day went on, those small gestures, those innocent jests began to feel… different.

It started out slow.

At the diner, Mrs. Beck lingered longer than she ought to while refilling your coffee, her smile warm but sharp, penetrating eyes boring onto you.

"You're feeling like one of us already, aren't you?" she would have said, almost as if it were a statement rather than a question.

You gave a polite smile with no idea of how to answer. "Uh, yeah, everybody's really welcomed here."

"Oh, good," she said, with a firm nod. "That's what we want."

There's something in the way she said it, words weighing a lot more than they were supposed to.

And so it went; the Becks household was not the only one. The pattern held true for nearly every encounter.

"How are you settling in?"

Not "welcome" or "hi and how long are you staying?" The last kind of question you would expect from someone meeting a newcomer. The question, however, assumed permanence. It assumed that you were settling in, that you live here now.

Initially, you passed it off as just another one of those quirks that could be attributed to small-town hospitality. Maybe that's just their way of being polite. But after a few more days, it became pretty hard to ignore the repetition.

You brought it up to Peter one morning as the two of you sat on May's porch, sipping coffee and watching the sunrise.

"Is it just me," you began, keeping your tone light, "or does everyone here ask the same question?"

Peter looked up from his mug, a confused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "What question?"

"How I'm 'settling in.' Like, literally everyone has said it."

"Oh, that?" Peter chuckled, brushing it off with a wave of his hand. "That's just how people are around here. Small towns, you know? Everyone's in everyone else's business, and they just want to make sure you're happy. It's aggressively wholesome."

You nodded while struggling to let his explanation take root in you, but that feeling of unease lingered.

Then came the presents.

The librarian insisted that you check out a copy of Little Women, even if you just went there to browse.

"You'll love it," she said, sliding it over the counter to you with a knowing smile.

"How do you know?" you asked, only half-joking.

Her smile didn't waver. "I just do."

At the hardware store, the owner gave you a tiny potted shrub. "Every home needs a little bit of green," he said cheerfully, but his eyes had a dark intensity that made him more intimidating.

"Thanks," you mumbled awkwardly, holding the plant as you walked out.

It was the kind of gift given to a father like you, not at all because you wanted it, but so they could wave it in your face.

The real breaking point occurred one night at the diner.

Peter was treating you to dinner there after spending the afternoon wandering around town. It was quieter than usual, the counter occupied only by a few regulars. The place smelled of coffee and fries, and while Peter was busy demolishing a plate of the latter, you excused yourself to go to the washroom.

The hallway at the back of the diner is dark and narrow, the overhead fluorescent lights humming in slightly grating tones. At the door marked "Women," you caught snatches of voices from the kitchen-garbled, urgent.

"…And she's settling in?"

"She seems fine so far. Peter's doing a good job keeping her comfortable."

You were frozen with your hand on the doorknob. Your pulse raced. "Good, she has to feel like she belongs, it's important."

Then there was a crashing sound of many dishes, followed by a long heavy pause.

"So," says the first voice, "you think she suspects anything?"

"No. Not yet."

There, silence fell between the voices after that, then just the faintest clink—the sound of silverware-and the quick pounding of your heartbeat resounded in your ears.

When you stepped back to the table, Peter's easy smile greeted you. "Everything cool?" he asked as he dipped a fry into ketchup. "Yeah," you said quickly as you slid into your seat. "Fine."

The mind remained racing.

They must be talking about someone else—a new hire at the diner. Maybe a new family into town. There was no way they were talking about you.

Right?

You tried to shake it off, sinking into Peter's chatter about the upcoming festival, but the unease clung to you like a second skin.

May's small guest room became so beautiful in the rays of the morning sun that they filtered through lace curtains and softly flecked the walls. You stared ridiculously at the ceiling, a heavy weight on your chest, making sleep unusually elusive. Thoughts had been just too loud and tangled.

Those whispers from the diner, the rehearsed kindness from townspeople, and the way he seemed to brush it all off so easily were elusive things you couldn't shake off. The most you told yourself was that it was probably nothing.

This is what you told yourself as you forced yourself out of bed and down the stairs. Peter wouldn't lie to you; he was the most genuine person you knew. Right?

The smell of pancakes and coffee greeted you in the kitchen.

By the stove stood Peter, his hair at odd angles and humming a tune under his breath. For a moment, you let yourself relax. This is Peter, your Peter.

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" he greeted, grinning at you with that boyish grin. He slid over a plate of pancakes drenched in syrup and topped with fresh strawberries.

"Morning," you replied, low enough to be heard.

"You okay?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Yeah, just didn't sleep much," you tugged and picked little at your food.

"Frowning," Peter said and kept down his fork. "Anything troubling you?"

"No," you lied quickly. "Just one of those nights."

He studied you for a moment, and you forced a small smile. Whatever the unease was, there was no reason for dragging Peter into it. He'd just dismiss it as he always did.

At last, the day was spent in a well-practiced blur of activities. It seemed Peter had made up his mind to keep you as busy as possible, even dragging you around the town park and to that creek he used to catch tadpoles as a kid. And if that weren't enough, he picked you up from the bakery where the sweet aroma of pastries was very strong. Offering you so many pastries till your stomach ached

Evening had cloaked the house in darkness, and so much for bottled up emotions. After dinner, the two of you sat alone in the living room: May well and truly off to bed. And that left you here with Peter sprawled across the couch flipping through some book, while you closed yourself into a tight little knot in the armchair.

"Peter," you broke the silence.

He blinked up at you with alarmed eyes. "Yeah?"

"I need to ask you something."

His brows knitted slightly, but he set aside the book. "Sure. What is it?"

You pause, heart racing. "Last night at the diner I heard something. Two people in the kitchen were talking about me."

Peter's face remained impassive. Still in his eyes, there was a flicker of something that disappeared as quickly as the light.

"What did they say?"

"They said you were doing a good job keeping me comfortable. That I need to feel like I belong." You paused, faltering with your voice. "Peter, what does that mean?"

Peter leaned forward, dangling his elbows on his knees. "It's nothing, they were probably just being nosy. People here care about each other, and when someone new comes in, they get… curious."

"That is not how it sounded," you said shaking your head. "It sounded like, intentional. It sounded much like plotting."

"You're overthinking this" Peter sighed rubbing back on his neck "Seriously, this town—it's different—close-knit. They just want to ensure you feel welcome, happy here, nothing but that".

“Then why does it feel so fake?” you pressed, raising your voice. “Everyone acts like they already know me. Like they’re expecting something to come from me.”

Peter tensed his jaw, and then he did not speak anything for a moment. He then stood up suddenly. "I brought you here for your help," he said in a hard tone. "I brought you here so you might begin a fresh mental state, a place where you could heal. And instead of appreciating it, you are looking for ways to tear it apart."

"I didn't ask for this!" you shot back, standing as well. "I didn't ask to be dragged into some town where everyone acts like I'm part of some… some secret club!"

Peter turned to you, eyes flashing. "You didn't have to ask! You were falling apart. You needed this. And I've been trying my best to make things easier for you, but you can't even see that, can you?"

The words hit you like a slap. Staring at him, breathless, tears filling your eyes. "Peter… why are you doing this?"

He softened immediately, shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to—look, I just… I care about you. I hate seeing you so lost. I thought bringing you here would help, but maybe I was wrong."

You wiped your eyes, and the mind is busy with thoughts. Maybe he is right. Maybe you are over-reacting. Peter was not that manipulative. He was just worried.

"Okay," you said finally, your voice shaky. "But if this town is so great, then why does it feel like there is something you are not telling me?"

Peter's eyes drifted towards the window momentarily—as if to check whether there were eavesdroppers outside—"It is not like that," he said, whispering faintly barely audible.

"Then tell me what it is," you said. "If you want me to trust you, then stop keeping secrets."

Peter sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging. "Alright," he said. "But you're not going to like it."

"And that's supposed to mean what?"

He moved closer, looking you straight in the eye. "Some things are better demonstrated rather than told," he said, his tone even more pleading. "I'll tell you everything tomorrow. Just…give me another day."

You gawked at him, feeling your belly tie up in knots. Every instinct in you screamed to demand answers right now, but for some reason, the look in his eyes stopped you. He looked… desperate.

"Fine," you said with reluctance. "One more day."

Peter nodded, a relief washing over his face. "Thank you," he said almost inaudibly. "I assure you, it will all come into perspective soon."

But climbing into bed that night only made more pronounced the doubts gnawing at you louder than they had done before.

The cold, crisp evening air wrapped tight around you like a noose, as they led Peter into the woods. Try as you might to ignore the uncomfortable hollow in your gut, the longer you sat in this strange, unsettling village, the more you felt that something dark ran underneath it all. Every villager's smile, how they seemed to know just a little too much about you—everything just felt orchestrated, perfect.

You had held the doubts to yourself, buried deep down because Peter had always been the perfect anchor. But tonight, something flickered in his eyes—his tense shoulders and that almost undetectable flash of something darker crossing his face—told you that you were no longer in control.

You entered the clearing, gasping for air by the time you stepped into the structure resembling a stone chapel. The door agonizingly creaked open, bringing in the cold air from outside in juxtaposition with the stifling heat within. There, illuminated softly, were the others. A few you recognized from the eerily quiet familiar faces that watched you through predatory eyes.

It felt thick and heavy in the air, almost stultifying. The walls were closing in, and the silence was becoming almost oppressive. Peter gently but firmly drew you forward, his comforting presence still providing warmth, though everything else seemed wrong.

He was more weathered and older than you imagined, the drawn skin of his face tight over sharp features, pale and unblinking eyes matching his face. The robe hung dark and almost blended into shadows as he approached you. A murmur swept through the people gathered, and you paid little attention. Everything spun in your head and your heart drummed against your ears.

"Peter," said the man with a voice which grated like a rusty hinge, as if he had been whispering for years. "She has come."

Peter's eyes had been fixed on you for some time, and now he nodded slowly. The heat of his gaze made your skin crawl. The man checked you out from head to toe, and his intense eyes seemed to promise a lot of something. "Perfect," he said under his breath but not for too long so that others could hear him as he shouted, "She is the one. It's time."

Time, just like that word, seemed hollow, reverberating in the air around you like a bad omen. Instead, you opened your mouth to argue or question what part of this was really happening, but then, Peter squeezed your shoulder so tightly that it felt like it might crush your bones.

"It's okay," he whispered against your ear with his very warm breath. "I'll explain everything. You'll understand soon enough."

But understanding was the last thing you wanted to happen. All you had in mind was running. The man stepped forward, never breaking the eye contact. "Our village has managed to survive for many centuries and still thrive at its odds. But there is one rule that we have to abide by—there is one rule that can't be broken. After every eighteen years, one of our own must depart from this world and find someone in the outside world—from beyond these walls to someone pure."

Your mouth went dry. "What… what do you mean by that?"

"Every time a child turns eighteen, he must leave for a period of time to spend in the world outside, learn its ways; but after this period, he must return, and he must bring someone from the outside to add to the village."

Your body suddenly turned ice cold. "What do you mean, bring someone from the outside?" You spluttered. Your voice barely made an impression on the silence.

The smile of the man became broad. "A new family member. A mate. Someone to whom they will get married, with whom they will create children. This is the law."

You turned to Peter with wide eyes filled with horror as your heart stuttered deep in your chest. "What do you mean… a mate? You want me to…?"

Peter tightened his grip on your shoulder and breathed shallowly. "That's how it is done. This is how we survive. The village needs strong new blood. The children produced from these unions keep the bloodline pure, preventing inbreeding."

Inbreeding. That one word roared through your mind like no other thought. You couldn't breathe. You felt suffocated under the weight of all that.

"What… what are you saying?" you gasped, stunned and unable to take in everything being revealed to you.

Peter stepped even closer; eyes dark with something almost predatory. "That's how this works. You're part of the plan now. You have no choice. You are here because you were chosen. You are going to help us keep the village alive. Our survival depends on… "

"No," you whispered, stumbling backward as you tried to retreat. "No, this isn't right. You can't—this isn't—"

And suddenly, an old man stepped beside you, his shadowy tallness overshadowing you. "You will understand soon. You are not the first, nor will you be the last. Every child who leaves returns with someone. And they will mate, they will bear children. This is how we preserve our people, how we protect our bloodline." He said as if it was your duty, as if this was your destiny.

"No!" You screamed tearing the air with your voice now choked in emotions. "This is insane! You're insane!"

The gentleness from Peter that used to soothe you all vanished, replaced by the steely resolve. He took another step forward, and instinctively you recoiled. "I did not want you to have this," he said, his voice low and strained, "but it is how it is. You will come to understand, and you will see that it is for the best."

The other villagers watched you with silent intensity as the space surrounding you felt as if it were closing in on you, with walls pressing from all sides. You could feel their hungry and expectant eyes on you.

You wanted to run. You wanted to yell.

But as soon as the old man reached out his hand to grab you, Peter's hold on your arm tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, keeping you anchored. "You don't understand yet," he said quietly, his voice tinged with something darker, something that, as it sent chills down your spine, made you think he was going to take you off somewhere to be tortured. "But you will. Soon, it will make sense. The only way to survive is this. This is something we can't let you ruin."

You were trapped. The weight of their expectations crushed you, their smiles now twisted masks of something monstrous beneath.

"Your child will also do the same duty," the old man said softly. "When they come back to the village with their mate, they will fulfill their destiny. They will carry our future."

Your chest constricted. Every part of you screamed to escape, to run, to fight against the suffocating nightmare into which you had been dragged. All the while, in the depths of your consciousness, you knew that there was no escaping this; they had planned for this. They had chosen you.

Back against the stone wall of the chapel now, your breath came in rapid, gasping suction since the reality began to drown in you. It beat loudly in your chest, a frantic mind racing for exit routes, for freedom from the path that had been laid out for me like a spider's web in all its horrible detail.

Peter's gaze was cold and cruel; it was no longer the warm presence one had hoped for. The heady words of the old man echoed in your ears, chilling and impossible to escape, like a curse. "You will return. You will bear our future."

As impossible as it was to believe, you finally realized it, this fucked up cycle wanted you to be part of it—and not by choice.

But you weren't going to let that happen.

You pushed past Peter and felt the sharp sting as he grabbed at your arm. You broke free, legs now trembling beneath you, as you headed for the door. You had to get out. You didn't know where you were running, but the woods were the only option. The only chance at freedom. You burst through the chapel door and into the cold night air, stumbling over uneven ground.

You heard footsteps behind you, but you didn't dare look back. The wind howled around you, swallowing up any sounds from the village. Your lungs burned as you pushed yourself faster, harder, your breath ragged from panic clawing at your chest.

You didn't look up when you heard a car approaching, but you didn't stop either, as your mind told you to keep running, to escape, but your legs were beginning to fail you.

The car stopped short before you, the headlights blinding. You turned with a wild heart as the door to that vehicle swung open. A man in a police uniform stepped out, his expression unreadable.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asked, with a soft voice but underneath carrying an authority.

He wouldn't let you trust him, and you could be in danger. "I-I need help," you stuttered, barely able to catch your breath. "They're chasing me. They—they won't let me leave."

The officer stepped closer, his eyes darting toward the woods behind you. "Who's chasing you? What happened?" His voice was smooth, coaxing, calm.

You stumbled toward him, the last shreds of your resistance slipping away. His presence was comforting, the uniform a familiar sign of safety in this strange world that had turned upside down. "Please," you gasped. "I need to get out of here. Please help me."

The officer smiled, that warm, almost paternal smile that gave you a moment's feeling of cocooned safety. "You are well within safety here. Get into the car and I'll take you to the station. They won't find you."

You didn't even think twice about it. Worn out and shivering, you climbed into the passenger seat of the car. The door slammed behind you, then the engine revved into life. You sank into the seat, closed your eyes, letting the sound of the engine create an illusion of safety. Finally, you escaped. Finally, you could breathe again.

The engine growled before heading out with the officer looking at you and softening his expression to almost a grin. "A strange night out here, huh?" Are you really sure you are, okay?"

You shook your head, catching your breath. "I need to get away from those people… I don't know who they are but they're dangerous."

"People can be dangerous, can't they?" he mused.

You glanced at him. "Yeah, I guess. I just don't know who to trust anymore."

Soft chuckle from him, as if to sense that it sounds contrived, that it has to be learned. "What's trust? You just have to know whom to get along with and whom to avoid. It requires experience."

You just turned to the window and trees and darkness rushed by. The mind was reeling from the attempt at grasping everything that has happened as it was really too much: the town; the event; Peter's cold stare; and now this—this officer who has apparently materialized at just the right moment. He must be the one sent to rescue you.

"Where are we off to?" You asked

"Oh, just a little way out of town," he replied, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. "Nothing to worry about."

You nod, fatigue dragging heavily on your eyelids. For a moment, it felt good, like all was well. But then the cop's voice became a personal one.

''I'm Steve by the way, Steve Rogers. Was just coming here for a quick stroll," he began, "I never thought I was going to be out here, helping someone like you. It is really funny, how life turns out."

Brow furrowed, and incomprehension written all over the face. "What do you mean?"

The very slight narrowing of the officer's eyes at you, just for an instant, was followed by his returning gaze to the road ahead. "I spent a lot of time in these parts, and the people can be somewhat…. they are peculiar. But then, I guess you already know that."

Heck, what was he talking about? "What do you mean by a little hard to understand? Who do you mean by that?"

Just above a smile, something confidential, something dark, flickered across the officer's lips. "Well, my wife, Peggy… she was from around here. She got them, you know? Understood what was going on. It took me a long time to realize it, but eventually, I figured it out. I did too."

Your heart stops, hammering against the confinement of your ribs. "Peggy… Carter?" That name rang in your mind like a bell, sharp and dissonant. You had heard that name before, only in whispers, a long time ago.

From what you remembered Peggy Carter was one of the most vicious woman in the police force, even in her short time in doing her job. One day she got married to a man named Steve and nothing was heard from her again. As if she disappeared, she completely left her job and duty, and so did Steve who was a fellow police like her who also vanished from the face of the earth. That was all you knew, and all of that happened 10 years ago. Many believed they moved. Some believed

The officer's smile brightened, but now it had no warmth. His voice went down low, as if telling you a secret you weren't supposed to know, "That's right. Peggy Carter. She was special. A part of something much bigger than either of us ever realized. I didn't understand it at first. Thought she was just a regular woman… but then I saw it. I saw everything for what it was."

It had caught in your throat because your mind was connecting all the dots. Peter, in actual fact, couldn't stop saying that you were here for a bigger thing, that you actually belonged. And now there is the officer, Peggy Carter, the strange village thing, the quite twisted ceremony—now everything starts to get clearer while terrifying you.

Your pulse raced, and once more, you cast a glance at him, eyes wide with realization. "You… you’re one of them, aren’t you? You’re one of their… their plan.”

For just a second, something shadowy, something colder, flicked through his eyes; and with that flicker, somehow you knew you'd made a terrible mistake trusting him.

Steve Rogers, the cop smiled "I was hoping you'd come around sooner or later. You're a bit smarter than I thought," his voice was light, like he was discussing the weather. "However," a dangerous tremor lurked below his words. "Peggy always said you'd be the perfect addition - just like I was, just like she was."

You sprung back, your first instinct was to reach for the door handle, but before your brain could register what was happening, the vehicle shifted violently. Body flung against the door; your head crashed against the metal side with a sickening thud. Stars exploded behind your eyes, and suddenly, everything muffled.

When you woke up from what felt like the worst sleep in your life, but you weren't sleeping, or did you just doze off and you couldn't remember any of it? Everything felt like a blur, memories were juggled up, and everything seemed out of place. How did I get here again? You thought to yourself.

It was strangely silent all around. The engine's rhythmic humming gave way to a stifling, heavy silence. You couldn't move. The air around you was thick and stifling; you had a throbbing headache that was likely to make you nauseous.

You couldn't even comprehend what was happening before you saw the door of the car opened, your whole-body weight made you fall off the vehicle. You audibly groaned as your body hit the rough dirty cement

Lo and behold, standing right in front of was Steve Rogers, towering above you, his face expressionless. His cold stare that piercing through your soul at you while your arms continued to adjust the sleeves of his uniform with a calm expertise.

He circled you as if he was predator cornering its prey. He stopped just at your head. He looked at you with an expressionless face, he slowly smiled, the creepy type of smile you would see psychopaths do on movies.

You wanted to run, punch him in the face and fucking run. But you couldn't, it felt as if your feet have already given up on you, plus the blooming pain in your head made it hard to think.

"It just never gets the job done" He frowned momentarily, your eyes widened in fear as you saw him take a beer bottle from behind his back, you shook your head, no please, please, please. You tried your best to crawl away from him, but you couldn't even feel your legs.

You sobbed in defeat, but he just caressed your cheek and wiped your tears away, as if to lure you into a false sense of security. With all the softness of a feather, he said, "You'll be fine," really more to reassure himself than you. "The ceremony's just waiting for you."

Before you can act, a hard bang on your head seems to lurch your stomach. The officer had swung a beer bottle at your skull; it hit with a sickening crack and within the instant the pain exploded into darkness pressing behind your eyes, and the world went black.

It was the scent of incense—sickeningly sweet and heavy enough to churn in the stomach. Candlelight flickered. shadows danced on stone walls, making the small space feel smaller by the second.

You woke up all lethargic with a blooming headache. You felt relaxed underneath the soft bed that you laid, but once you took in the stone walls, it felt like a train has hit you. All of the events from a few hours ago running you over.

Your mind raced, scrambling for an escape route, but all you saw was Peter standing between you and the door.

He never looked more like a stranger.

The once boyish charm which drew me to him was now a hollow mask as he hid himself behind his dark eyes. The face had no malignance—worse, it was soft, almost tender, like he really believed in what he was about to do. And that thought haunted me most terrifyingly.

"You are trembling," Peter said, his calm and soothing voice only making the fear spike higher. "I know it's a lot, really overwhelming, taking it all at once… but… it will be okay, I promise you."

"Peter, please," you whispered, your voice breaking into pieces at the seams. You could hardly utter a word without your throat choking it. "You don't have to do this. Let me out. I promise I won't tell the police—"

But that was where he cut you off by shaking his head sadly. "You don't understand. This is my home. It is where I belong. And now, it is where you belong too. We are part of something bigger here. Something meaningful."

"Meaningful?" you spat. "You kidnapped me, lied to me, and brought me here to…" The words cracked at the tightness in your throat. You couldn't even say them. I dawned onto you that you have been too trusting with Peer, but who wouldn't? Who knew that clumsy little sweet Peter was capable of doing something this fucked.

Peter stepped closer, casting a shadow over the too small room where it suddenly felt claustrophobic and anchoring. “I didn’t kidnap you. I saved you.”

His voice is insistent, though not harsh. “You were lost out there. Alone. No family, no one who cared about you. Don’t you see? This is your chance to start over, to have a purpose. To be loved.”

“Loved?” The word struck your lips like venom. “This isn’t love, Peter. This is… this is sick.”

It darkened slightly his countenance, as a spark of frustration crossed his face before it was replaced by forced patience. "You're scared," he softly pronounced. "That's normal. But fear does not last. Once you embrace your role, once you understand what we're building here, you'll see that it's not sick. It's beautiful."

“No,” you whispered, the soft sound swallowed by the thrumming of your heart. “No, this isn’t survival. This is—”

“But” Peter cut you off firmer now like a knife slicing through your protests. “It’s already decided. The village chose you. I chose you. And now… it’s time to fulfill your purpose.”

Peter looked at you, with a voice deceptively soft. “It’s not about what you want. It’s about what the village needs. What I need. We can’t let our bloodline die. Every generation, we bring someone in—someone like you. It’s how we survive. How we thrive.”

“Not,” that voice barely came out through the rapid pounding of your heart. "No, this isn't survival. This is—"

The words sent the waves of nausea throbbing through you. Your knees buckled, landing you onto the edge of the bed, your body shaking violently. Peter knelt before you, hands gentle as they gripped your knees. The touch made your skin crawl, but you were frozen, paralyzed by fear.

"You are afraid," he repeated, the tone almost tender. "it needs to be this way. After the ceremony, you'll see there is clearly a need for it."

"Peter," you choked out, barely in a whisper. "Don't do this, please."

He tilted his head, softening in expression as if he really thought given how pitiful you look. "This is for them. For us. For the village. You'll thank me one day."

The door creaked open, and two women stepped in to the door. They moved with quiet, almost unnerving precision their white, long, and flowing robes covering the ground as they entered. Both had faces that seemed devoid of emotion—serene but cold as if they had performed this ritual hundreds of times before.

You instinctively tried to press yourself into the corner of the bed pulling down from Peter. “Who are they?” you asked unsure though your voice came out shaky and weak.

Peter turned toward the women; his posture casual almost welcoming. “They’re here to help,” he said softly as though the explanation should comfort you.

Help. The word in your stomach was like poison. You didn’t need help. You needed to escape.

One of the women carried a bowl filled with a dark unknown substance that shimmered strangely in the candle's light. She laid the bowl down on a small wooden table near the bed, her movements carefully controlled. The other carried a smaller cup with her fingers clutching tightly as she looked at you.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice trembling as you shook your head. “I’m not drinking that.”

It’s just to help,” he said calmly. "You’ve been through so much. You lived so much. You’re shaking. You’re exhausted. This will relax you.”

“I don’t want to relax!” you cracked your voice rising in desperation. “I want to leave! Please, Peter, don’t do this!”

He sighed, as though disappointed but his patience did not waver. “I know you’re scared,” he said reaching out to hold his hand on your knee. “But this isn’t about fear. It’s about trust. You trust me, don’t you?”

Your stomach tilted and a cold wave of nausea was rolling over you. Why would he even ask that question? "Peter, you are not the person I thought you were. I don’t trust you. I don’t even know you anymore.”

Peter’s jaw tightened somewhat ever so slightly, as if flickering with guilt. Peter was the funny and clumsy guy you met at a party, but this Peter. You don't know which dimension he came from. But his guilt was immediately gone in an instant replaced by the same calm, unnervingly patient expression, accompanied with a reassuring smile that could've been comforting in different circumstances.

“It’s my fear. I think that can be said,” he said, his tone softening again. "Once you let go of this, you will see. You’ll feel better.”

He gestured toward the woman with the cup to reach closer to you. Her movements were graceful, fast rehearsed as she held the drinking. The cup itself was simple, wooden. But compared to what's inside looked nothing compared to ordinary. It was a dark murky brown with faint swirls of crimson that seemed to ripple on its own.

Your stomach churned at the sight of it, you wanted to gag at the thought of even coming in contact with that liquid, you said again "I won't drink that." Your voice barely above a whisper.

The woman didn’t respond. She held the cup in her hand, as if waiting for you drink it still.

Peter reached for your hand and firmly gripped on it, but not a forceful one. "It’s okay,” he said softly, his eyes locking with yours. “This will help you. I promise.”

You tried to pull your hand away, but his grip tightened, and the woman moved the cup closer to your lips. Panic rolled. Your heart began to beat, and tears were falling from your eyes. “No!” you shouted thrashing against Peter’s hold. “Let me go!”

But he didn’t let go. His strength was shocking and unyielding as he held your and instructed the woman to force the drink in your mouth. The dark liquid sloshed down the rim, spilling onto your trembling chin as you refused to open your mouth, moving your head back and forth so that you could just avoid the unknown and disgusting liquid.

“Please don’t fight this!” Peter shouted; his tone now laced with urgency and desperation. "It’s better if you just let it happen."

The woman tilted the cup and poured the thick liquid into your lips. You clenched your teeth, refusing to let it in. Peter’s hand moved to your jaw, his fingers pressing firmly until your mouth opened involuntarily. Liquid graced on your tongue, its taste vile and metallic like rotting herbs and rust.

You gagged and coughed violently as they forced you to swallow. The bitterness burned all the way down, leaving an acrid aftertaste that made you want to rip out your tongue, you fell on the bed as you gripped your throat—massaging your throat, a pathetic attempt to soothe the taste that felt like it travelled all the way down to your throat, it didn't have any burning sensation, it just felt like your throat had taste buds.

You convulsed on the bed, “What the- What was that?” you asked; out of breath as you tried to gasp for air.

Peter stood “You’re going to feel it soon,” he said, pushing a damp lock of hair off your brow.

It was a gentle warmth blooming in your chest, then outward like the bright afterglow from the strongest of drinks. Then it grew. It scorched through your veins, making your skin feel alive with a burst of tingling sensations. Your breaths came quicker as you kept trying to dismiss the feelings, but they just wouldn't listen.

“W-What is happening to me?” came the stammers from you in a trembling voice.

Peter knelt beside you again, touching your knee ever so lightly with his hand. “The elixir is working its magic on you,” he said kindly. “It allows you to let go. To free yourself to connect with what is meant to be.”

This warmth soon transformed into a more diabolical sensation, a slow burn that throbbed low in your stomach that stretched to your clothed womanhood. Suddenly every nerve ending on your skin was hypersensitive, sending a shiver down your spine against that crawl of fabric over your body. Heart racing, but it was hardly with fear.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, this isn’t right.”

Peter merely smiled all the wider and relaxed his squeeze on your shoulder. “It’s okay to feel this way,” he said. “Your body is just responding. It’s natural.”

While your mind was telling you every reason to fight it off, your body would have none of it. That heat, the damn heat; it clouded everything snuffing off every thought but that strange feeling growing in you.

Peter leaned in closer as he whispered “This is how it’s supposed to be. Don’t fight it. Just let it happen.”

Your brain screamed against this intrusion, invoking all the force it could muster to reject it, to reject him. But your limbs felt heavy, thick, sluggish, as though they had been clapped into a steel frame. The drug took effect, you loathed it and wished to deny the dull calling of unwanted pleasure.

"Please," you managed to whisper, letting your tears flow down your cheeks. "Don't do this."

In every way this was wrong. You didn't want to partake in this, you wanted out. Peter was not the person you thought he would. Maybe he was before all of this, but not now.

Peter held your face with both his hands—gentle yet firm. "It's been done," he said, pinning his gaze on yours with steady resolve.

The heat had become unbearable; it drummed against your thoughts and created ceilings that pressed down on you. You could hardly breathe, each breath barely manageable since all control was lost over thoughts revolving around him. The very touch of him inflamed every nerve in your body.

Peter continued to lean forward until the distance separating your two faces became almost nonexistent. The darkness of his brown eyes was rendered soft, for all that, it was chillingly out of place now. "You're trembling," he said softly, his voice dipping with mock concern as he brushed his palm over your damp forehead, lingering perhaps a moment too long.

You turned your head away, yet your body was heavy and unwilling to cooperate. "P-please," you whispered, not even sure what it was you were begging for at this point—mercy, some distance, anything but this.

Peter's hand slid down again to cradle your face, thumb grazing your cheek. The warmth of his touch felt like additional treachery against your body, which leaned into his hand, once again, even though the screams of your mind were saying otherwise. "Shh," he said, his voice dropping to a soothing pitch. "It's okay. You're safe here. With me."

His words twisted a knife that lodged in your heart, and you were still trying to find a protest when his other hand clamped on your waist—gentle yet firm. Just enough pressure was applied to make acutely aware of every detail of your closeness: the scent of wood smoke and something faintly sweet, flooding your senses and drowning all your composure.

"You've had to fight for so long," he said; there was almost a tenderness in his voice. "Let it go—let me take care of you."

You shook your head weakly, your lips parting to say no words that would come. Everything in you resisted, heavily dulled by the drug that now crumbled your defenses and left you helpless to bask in warmth blossoming in your chest and the sickening affinity of Peter's presence.

He angled his face, gazing down at you as the thumb of his right hand traced the curve of your jaw. "So beautiful," he murmured, almost a whisper. "Yet you don't even see it? You are something else—so special."

The tears that had built up in your eyes crashed down, scalding lines down your cheeks. "Please," you said again, but it came almost like a feeble whisper, your power to protest fractured.

Peter leaned forward, and his breath ghosted over your lips. "I've waited for this," he murmured, as though revealing a secret. "Waited for you. I thought I would never even have a chance with you since you were so fucking smitten with your dick of a boyfriend. But you're mine now,"

And before you could think, hit him back or convince him otherwise, his lips crushed against yours.

The kiss was languid, purposeful, and claiming. His mouth flowed with an unsettling confidence, an almost eerie manifestation of such rehearsed movement, if it existed at all. You wanted to break apart from him and scream and fight him, but your body let you down one last time; it was folded under the drug and against the full force of his presence.

His hands moved, one remained cradling your face, while the other tightened at your waist as a gentle reminder that you belonged nowhere else. It was a kiss more claiming than forceful, a silent proclamation of his ownership over you.

He finally pulled away but only to press his forehead to yours, feeling warm against your skin. "It's time" he whispered, it was loud enough for the women to hear. They immediately scurried out of the room and closed the door on their way out.

Before even asking what was going on, Peter attacked your neck. You shrieked at his sudden actions. He kissed, licked, and bite every single portion of your neck.

Peter's hot tongue licked your skin as he leaned closer, lips barely grazing the curve of your neck. A shiver made its way down your spine as he softly sucked on the sensitive flesh, forming this sweet vacuum that made your heart stand still.

Peter kept on kissing and nibbling at your neck, fueling his excitement that grew hotter like a fire, determined to engulf you both. His hands tightened around your waist, drawing you closer as he deepened the kiss, lips and tongue moving together in a dance that spoke both pleasure and pain.

You winced; you want nothing more but for this to end. You tried to imagine yourself in another scenario, a happy one. That one time where Harry bought you this wonderful necklace for your one-year anniversary. Things were still calm, peaceful.

You were so deep in thought that the ripping sound of fabric made you flinch. You have realized that Peter has ripped off your thin graphic t-shirt, leaving nothing but your bra on full display for him. But of course, the bra didn't stay on for long.

He ripped your bra off you with such force. He threw the bra elsewhere, that was the least of his worries as your he saw your mounds with all its glory. Blood rushed up to his cock at the sight of you half naked and slightly damp from sweat. You on the other hand just wanted nothing more but all of this to end.

Peter leaned in, his lips grazing your skin down to the soft curve of your delicate breast. His mouth latched onto your nipple, and he started to suckle; the soft gentle tug sent a jolt of sensation radiating through your body. Your hands fisted the sheets as you let out a shriek.

"You have no idea how long I have waited for this moment" His words came in muffled since he was still stuffing his face with your breasts, but you heard it loud and clear. How blind were you? Peter has been lusting over you, longer than you even met him, how come you never realized it? All the warning signs were there, but they were subtle, now they're just coming to light now that it was too late.

He had grown more daring now, sucking, kissing, and licking every inch of your breasts. He nibbled and sucked at the curves, gently biting the flesh around them. Meanwhile, his hands traveled all over her torso, cupping and squeezing dear breasts as if to remember every contour.

"So beautiful," he whispered in between kisses. "Perfect. Mine." Those words sent a shuddering chill up your spine.

Peter stared into your eyes while he was sucking and nibbling on your breasts. They would have been a sweet sight if the present state of affairs were any different.

He released your nipple from his mouth, as drool connected from his lips to your erect nipples.

With urgent impatience, Peter fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and then tore it off, revealing a sculpted torso that demanded attention. The muscles of his torso flexed while he moved, and for a second, you could not help but look at the sheer grace and control that radiated off his body.

Now, Peter had long ceased to be interested in himself; he was now concentrating all his energy and attention on you. The moment he grabbed hold of your pants, and his fingers had clasped tightly around the waistband, panic ran through you at the sight of him pulling down on them. You didn't want to give in, not now, not ever.

Your hands went straight up to push against him; you punched at his chest with all the remaining strength that you have that wasn't stripped off by the drug. Your fruitless attempt on trying to gain some space between your bodies.

"Peter, no," you said, your voice wavering but earnest. "I don't want to. Please!"

His eyes never left the prize, and nothing was going to stop him. He yanked your pants down, regardless of how you kicked and thrashed against the force with which he was pulling. Your underwear met the cool air.

A wave of embarrassment washed over you as you realized that Peter was staring down at the small scrap of fabric that barely covered you in your most intimate area.

He wrapped his fingers around your underwear's waistband. You tried to squirm away from him, but he held you tight, his grip like a vice. In one swift motion, he ripped the fabric from your body, leaving you completely bare.

Peter's eyes had wandered across every inch of your naked body, you tried to look away from him, but your face was met with a wet pillow, you didn't even notice that you have let out a few tears.

Peter dove on to your crotch and his warm breath rolled over your sensitive skin like a wave of fire. His tongue flicked out as he suckled at your clit, and involuntarily, jolts of electricity pulsed up your spine. You attempted to push him off you once more, but Peter was far too strong

Peter continued his assault on your pussy, you felt a familiar sensation happening. You shook your head as your body betrayed you. Peter seemed to notice this, "There she is"

Before you knew it, he inserted a finger in your hole as he continuously licked your clit with such vigor.

You let out a strangled moan as your hand flew to his hair. Peter smirked at this as he slowly fucked you with his finger, which was a stark contrast to his tongue who ravished you like you were his last meal

"God, such a tasty pussy" He murmured, which just sent vibrations to your pussy. He continued, his tongue circles your clit, licking and sucking on it like he can't get enough. "Good lil fuckin pussy" He moaned as if he's the one getting head.

He continues to lap on your juices, slurping any arousal seeping through as if he hadn't drunk water in many years.

His voice low and soft, whispering how good it is, how perfect your sweet pussy was for him. "Fuck, baby, you're so fucking sweet—so good for me. God, I'm so glad your mine now." He kisses it so passionately, muttering praises to it while his tongue laps you up.

And as he continued to lick and suck at your clit, you felt a building pressure inside yourself. It felt like every nerve ending had been ignited by Peter’s ministrations.

Your legs stiffened, your hips jerked upwards, and your entire body began to tremble with anticipation.

With such joy and pain, you felt like you were seeing stars right in front of you. The intensity was too much to bear as your grip on Peter's hair tightened

That instant when the knot finally snapped and a deluge of pure, harmless ecstasy engulfed you, your body contorted, muscles oscillating and contracting rhythmically; an intense orgasm swooping upon you like a tempest.

Your legs stiffened and your toes curled in pleasure. You clutched at anything and everything. Peter's hair, bed linen, anything to hold on to the threads of reality, as everything before your eyes dissolved into an ocean of forced bliss.

River of tears were falling from your eyes. You couldn't help but reminiscence your time with Harry. For the first years you were together with Harry, he was sweet and loving, even if your relationship has turned sour after Harry found another hobby, he would never force himself inside you. When you had sex, it was always consensual.

With the final ripples of the orgasm fading away, Peter finally pulled his head from between your legs. His gaze brushed over you with a kind of possessive pride, and he took the disarray of your body in the messy fondle of your hair, the daze that lingered from where he brought you so close to the edge that you fell over it, and the slick of sweat glistening over your skin.

“You look tired,” Peter said with a soft almost guilty tone, "But I'm afraid that that was just to prepare you, were just beginning"

When those words came out his mouth you shook your head as you begged him, "Please Pete, please" You sobbed, your words barely even intelligible.

"Shhhhhhhh" He shushed you, "The more your accepting, the sooner this will end" No, you didn't want to accept this, there must be another way, there must be.

As he stood up and took off his pants, exposing his erect cock. His cock slightly bounced once the boxers were fully off of him. He climbed on top you as both of you were now fully naked as the day you were born.

"The bedding ceremony is about to begin” Peter said, low in his throat, his voice husky with desire. “It's going to hurt, but I think I prepped you enough”

He then aligned his cock to your slit. You gasped as his bulbous tip entered you, he wasn't big, but he was thick. He slowly pushed his cock inch by inch inside you, your sensitive flesh was still sore from the previous orgasm.

Peter suddenly thrusted deep inside you, fully losing patience, with a forcefulness that took your breath away. His cock touching your cervix when he bottomed inside you, it felt almost painful how intense it was.

“Please, Peter,” you pleaded, attempting to push him away. "You're hurting me."

But Peter just smiled at you, it gave you tingling shudders through your spine. “That's the first step of the ceremony” he said, pulling out then plunging back in. “You just have to learn to accept what I’m giving you, if you learn maybe Goddess will reward you"

His relentless cock was battering your insides, and you were starting to tear up. It was nearly unbearable agony; the pleasure was subtle that you could barely even get the gist of it, the searing warmth that burned itself into your very essence.

“Stop,” you said again, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. "Please just stop."

Through the pain and the fear, you never lost hope. So you fought back with a passion you never had before.

Your hands raked Peter’s chest, ripping at his skin to the point he grunted in surprise. Your fingers sank into his skin, but he only chuckled—a sound that was hollow and empty.

Unfazed, you fought on. Your teeth dug into his shoulder, biting down hard enough to make him hiss. But even as he grimaced, he wouldn’t stop — his hips pumping a relentless rhythm, one that threatened to swallow you whole.

You swung your fists, punching into Peter's face and chest with a frenzied abandon. Forced down in front of him as he sunk his cock deep within your needy hole, you tried to twist away, to squirm free as he held you in place, the weight of his body pinning your hands above your head, forcing you to take this.

And you tried, even though it was entirely pointless. You kicked your legs to try and buck him off you. But he was too heavy — too powerful — and he laughed again as he kept your legs pinned down beneath him.

With each thrust Peter grew more aggressive; almost brutal the heat inside you was burning you up; threatening to consume all reason and make you numb.

You were lost in the agonizing bliss, as Peter's cock continued its merciless assault on your insides. The fire in your belly grew more intense, it felt like it was spreading through your insides like wildfire.

"God, you're squeezing me so hard" Peter breathed as his thrusts slowed down just a little bit.

Yet whilst you sensed you were in pieces on the inside, that you were toppling apart, something in you relished it. It felt like your body had turned against you, reacting to the vicious attack with a disgusting cocktail of agony and pleasure.

Peter thrusts forward and you felt your hips bucking in time with his, your mind spinning in horror. It was like your body had created its own consciousness that responded immediately to the arousal with animal instinct that couldn't be suppressed.

You were losing yourself in the sensations, being sucked into a world both dark and depraved, where no line could be drawn between pain and pleasure. It was the most terrifying feeling in the world, when you wondered if you would ever find a way out of the grip of this monster who was responsible for everything.

With every thrust, Peter became more aggressive, more brutal - You could feel yourself losing control; teetering on edge, ready to plunge headfirst into unknown; uncertainty ignited both fear and anticipation.

Your breaths were coming in small gasps now as Peter gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin like a vice. You attempted to move; attempted to wriggle against him—but it was futile: he was too strong

This friction just poured gasoline into the flames that had been raging within you—turning those pleasurable sensations into unbearable ones. The edge of your sight blurs out; stars dance along the border of your vision as the world narrows down on a single point of focus: Peter

In pure ecstasy moment you found yourself surrendering, submitting to the wave pleasure that is tearing up your body. Its fear inducing and freeing sensation — like leaping off a precipice without a net — not knowing what awaits at the base.

The world went white and quiet. You hear Peters voice in your ear whispering "Come for me" and with that your body explodes into thousand pieces

You weren't sure what happened, your mind all fogged and your pussy sore. The only thing you have noticed was that Peter was still thrusting inside you.

He leaned as he whispered the most haunting words into your ear, "I almost feel bad for you. I guess you should always follow what your parents says, don't trust strangers"

@gloomskulls 2024. DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE ANY OF MY WORKS HERE OR ANY OTHER WEBSITES. Photos don't belong to me

405 notes · View notes