#cool anon guy!!!!!! hell yeah hell yeah!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inmaki · 1 year ago

Text

number one sorcerer (and virgin) .

synopsis: req! in which your boyfriend — notorious for boasting about how good he is in bed — turns out to be all bark and no bite (until you give him some guidance, at least).

pairing: virgin!switch!gojo x f!reader

wc: est. 6k?

incl: unprotected sex, pull-out method, lots of dirty talk, a bit of teaching gojo, petnames, manhandling, size kink, clit play, praise kink, edging (himself), teasing, mocking, fingering, oral (f + slight m), cum swallowing

a/n: ty for awakening smtn in me anon it was nice to be writing a full fic again!! hope im not too rusty,, this is straight up filth tho so mdni

back when satoru and you were just friends, he liked to make it very clear to your circle of peers that he wasn’t just good at sex.

no, according to himself, he was some kind of sex god — to match his power level in sorcery, of course.

and obviously, who was anyone to think otherwise? the great gojo satoru; such a cocky and confident demeanour paired with angelic white hair, piercing blue eyes, and a tall sculpted body that other guys at the gym double-take at. him..? a virgin? hah! good one.

satoru believes that he’s done a rather spectacular job at keeping his reputation sky-high.

the only problem was.. now he had a girlfriend with high expectations to please.

since the day you’d gotten together — going multiple months strong — satoru was starting to sweat more and more knowing that his rather crucial fabrication was bound to be brought up sooner or later. you had your needs just like him, and satoru wouldn’t blame you if you were a bit worried about why he hasn’t initiated anything; y’know, since he was supposedly eros in human form and all that.

little did you know your boyfriend felt equally frustrated. for slightly different reasons.

“bro, it’d be hot if she was a virgin, but me?!” flopping back against the armrest, gojo lets out a theatrical groan while his best friend — the only other person to know of his dark secret — snickers against the cushions nearby.

“everything’d be fine if you didn’t pretend to be some incubus that makes girls cum with a snap of his finger,” geto quips unhelpfully.

satoru lifts his head, sneering when he realizes that the raven-haired man was much too busy scrolling on his phone to notice how he’s resting a pair of dirty shoes on his white couch. “that would be pretty cool..” when he only receives a disgusted glance, he huffs, suddenly feeling a bit vulnerable as his thoughts wander further. “how’m i even gonna tell her? what if she doesn’t trust me anymore?”

at last, suguru looks up with a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “you know y/n isn’t like that. just.. wait for her to initiate something and go with the flow,” he advises, lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“you find a way to be good at everything, anyway, toru. she’ll be begging for you in no time.”

as usual, geto knows him too well, because those last few words have gojo shooting up from the sofa with a grin. “ya think so?”

“hell yeah, man.” the two idiots end the discussion by dapping each other up, a confident gleam in both of their eyes.

only a couple days later, satoru discovers that going with the flow isn’t as easy as suguru advised. with your plush lips sucking his bottom one through occasional moans, along with a delicate pair of nails scratching perfectly at his undercut, he already felt himself getting breathless and aroused like a teenager.

perhaps you’ve put him under a spell; how is it that he lasts through prolonged battles while barely breaking a sweat, but having your cute hand move to rub up on his abs and pecs send his nerves into overdrive? it wasn’t like making out wasn’t uncommon for the two of you, this time it just felt so passionate with the way your hips moved to straddle his, tongue practically begging for entrance while the movie on screen was left long forgotten.

gojo can’t help but groan as your muscle explores his mouth, core ever so smoothly grinding on his bulge and igniting heat through his entire body. even as you pull away to take a breath, his grip on your waist remains stable as if you’d disappear at any moment— growing even tighter with the way you bore into his eyes hungrily. “satoru..”

your unusually seductive voice makes him audibly gulp. “y— yeah?” he whispers, glancing to the hand thats now moving down over his grey sweats. shit, this was too much, was he dreaming? he should do something, pinch himself before—

“touch me, please?” as you voice your request, you squeeze his dick so nicely that satoru swears he nearly explodes in his boxers.

he swallows, words getting lost in his throat. “i— i uh...”

for the first time in history, satoru has been rendered speechless, and you visibly panic at this realization. yet when you try to carefully maneuver off his lap and give him space, the clutch on your waist intensifies. “what— are you okay? what’s wrong?” you murmur, brows creasing with concern.

though you never brought it up, satoru’s worry about your confusion was correct; you’d been expecting him to jump your bones a week into your relationship, but seeing how he never forced anything and remained respectful was cute.. at first. after a month of rejection and being pushed away whenever things got too heated, insecurities were bound to start brewing inside you.

he better have a damn good explanation.

“i’m fine,” he reassures, “it’s just— i should probably tell you something..” refusing to meet your eyes, the sorcerer resorts to drawing shapes against the skin under your t-shirt. in other situations, this would feel soothing, relaxing even — but currently, his lacking and lingering touch made you want to rip the hairs off your head.

all you wanted was to finally get a taste of your steaming hot boyfriend. what could he possibly need to say right now? you ponder, hasn’t he been dying to finally show off how amazing he is in bed?

“yes..?”

“it’s actually a funny story, ahaha..” he stalls, chuckling nervously as you turn his jaw to make eye contact. a feeling of impatience and neediness pulls through you, but you contain yourself with a deep breath.

“spit it out, satoru.”

there was no going back now, right? “so.. i’ve uh— i’ve never actually done this before.”

you blink.

“you’re a virgin?”

it was difficult to believe your own words; it sounded wrong no matter how hard you tried to wrap your head around it. satoru being inexperienced? the satoru with a rock hard 6 pack? the satoru with biceps that bulge out of his shirts and a face sharp enough to be sculpted by aphrodite herself? your satoru?

it sounded ridiculous, but the ugly pout rising across his lips tells you that it wasn’t a prank after all. “hey, don’t call me that, now it sounds way worse!”

a sigh escapes your lips, arms folded across your chest. “so all those never have i ever games and stories you told about one night stands were— mph!" before you know it, a large hand is covering your mouth.

“listen, how about we talk about this after having some fun?” a surprisingly determined gleam shines in your boyfriend’s icy blue eyes, making your thighs clench together in excitement.

who were you to say no to that?

—

next thing you know, pillows support your back as a shirtless satoru lies directly in front of your clothed crotch, hot breath making you wiggle around impatiently.

“jus— just take it off me, toru. so damn slow—“

“baby,” he scolds, looking genuinely upset, “this is my first time seeing a pussy in real life and you’re ruining it with your lack of patience.”

you can only roll your eyes and groan, head flopping back against the cushions in boredom. there was no way to predict how satoru’s first time would go, but you never expected it’d be this agonizing on your end — nor that he’d be so bossy.

though luckily, after another deep breath, your panties are gently tugged down your legs, and satoru can only inhale as he watches your poor hole clench around nothing. it only made sense that after all that dry humping and making out that your neediness increased, and it didn’t help that you could clearly see the way satoru was not only rock hard, but much bigger than average through his grey sweats.

“ooh.. oh shit..” like the invasive pervert he is, satoru moves even closer to the point where your thighs rest on his muscular shoulders before taking two fingers to spread your lips apart. this way, he has a clear view of the place that needs him most, and it makes a furious blush blossom on your cheeks.

“s— satoru.. what are you doing?” now you felt like the virgin, desperately attempting to shut your legs with no avail. damn this big idiot and his strength.

suddenly, his piercing eyes snap up to you, a feral look in his gaze. “shit, how’m i gonna fit in this little hole?”

you can’t deny the way his dirty words does something to you — not that you’d ever admit it. “that’s why you gotta prep me, toru. y’know..” you gulp, “fingering, or like.. eating me out.”

in response, you get a cheshire grin. “sounds fun. show me how you do it, sweets.”

“w-what?”

satoru leans back, attemping to hold in a mischievous smile. “how else am i gonna learn?”

even masturbating alone makes you flush in slight embarassment, so doing it in front of someone else — your cheeky, shamleess boyfriend no less — had you drowning in nerves. the bigger problem was that his words held a strong point; you’re supposed to be teaching him for his first time and ensuring it’s as enjoyable as possible.

these reminders make you mumble out a gentle fine, breath stuttering as you spread your legs further for the man in front of you.

satoru is now resting his weight on the palms of his hands, looking laid back and relaxed, but evidently still focused at the way your fingers move to unclasp your bra with skill. “damn..” as your tits are freed, he finds himself needing to adjust his sweatpants and nearly letting out a pathetic noise you would definitely tease him for.

you gulp, trying to ignore his blatant gawking. “it’s good to.. y’know, tease a bit before getting straight to it. makes it feel better — for me, at least,” you explain while massaging your chest, hiding surprise at the way he sternly nods in understanding.

now that you think about it, something tells you this is the most focused satoru has ever been in a learning environment.

after a bit more pinching and fondling, your hands slide down to your stomach and thighs, trying to get your breathing to relax. having gojo watch you do something so private was.. surreal, but you know for a fact you’ve never been this wet before, if that meant anything.

once you finally move down to your most intimate part, satoru takes a deep breath. he watches as you use your fingers to reveal a small bundle of nerves, pulsing and desperate for attention. “this is the clit, toru. s’very important.”

his eyes light up. “oh, i know that one!” he announces proudly, “i remember suguru saying i have to.. uh, worship it or something.”

you snicker at the thought of geto giving out sex pointers. “mhm, sometimes penetration isn’t enough, so you need to give it attention or i can’t really finish.”

gently, you start massaging the bud in circles, humming at the feeling of finally getting some type of relief. you move down to your hole to collect some of your wetness before bringing it back up, letting out a moan in satisfaction.

the way satoru licks his lips as you finally plunge a finger into your wetness has you shivering, but you remind yourself that for now, this was simply a demonstration and that you’d get a taste of him later.

after adding another, you attempt to reach your sweet spot by curling upwards, but it seems that even your hopelessly inexperienced boyfriend could tell that it was getting nowhere.

“aw,” he pouts teasingly, “lil’ fingers can’t reach anything, huh?”

“shut— shut up, satoru.”

before you know it, he’s moved onto his stomach again, face to face with your pussy and gripping your now soaked fingers. “you use these pathetic things when y’masturbate, huh? imagining my dick while having such tiny fingers up your cunt? kinda offended, babe..”

you feel your tummy flip, where did he learn to talk like that?

“do you have to be so vulg—“ you’re cut off by a choking gasp as a warm, wet muscle licks a stripe from your hole all the way to your clit.

“thanks for the lesson. ‘think i got it from here,” is all satoru says before he’s diving in, slurping up as much of your essence as possible before latching his plush lips right onto your poor little clit.

you can’t help but wiggle around at the jump in stimulation, but that only lasts about five seconds before a muscular arm presses you firmly against the mattress, rendering you trapped and unable to escape to his ministrations.

“hey, slow down!” your words are coincidentally yelped out right as he wiggles a much bigger finger into you. it explores your insides eagerly, caressing and feeling up what satoru believes will be his new favourite place.

“wow..” sluuurp, “so warm n’ soft in here..” he happily mumbles against your pussy. the vibrations of his now deeper voice shoot through you like electricity, eliciting another choked whine from your throat.

it felt like he was just toying with you; looking way too content drinking up everything you offered, fluid rushing down his chin and nose pushed firmly against your pelvis to inhale your scent.

suddenly, he’s jabbing his fingertip right into that pocket of sunshine that makes your eyes roll back, a loud whimper leaving your throat before you could stop it. “satoru, right there!” he swiftly seperates from your clit just to mumble out a here? in confirmation, prodding your sweet spot over and over in record breaking speed.

when you nod, he grins smugly, now adding another finger to stretch you further. “mmmph, this is pretty fun. could lie here all night.”

luckily, you barely process his words, much too busy enjoying the best finger-fuck of your life — and this was only his first time, you remember, what will the bastard do to you once he’s got some practice in?

a shaking hand tumbles into his snowy locks, attempting to pull him back weakly. “wait, m’gonna cum, toru—“

gojo growls almost animalistically, tugging your hand back onto the sheets. “then fuckin’ do it,” he demands. “c’mon, i’ve earned it, right?” then, he sucks even harder, fingers slamming and curling and making the loudest squelch you’ve ever heard.

“see?” he continues, “lil’ cunt wants to cum so bad for me. knows who 'er owner is already.” his filthy words definitely take part in the way your orgasm hits like a train, body shaking and toes curling as you let the feeling of bliss take over you. you flinch at how swiftly his tongue licks up everything you give him, the fingers in his hair tugging harder in overstimulation.

“toruuuuu..”

he simpers, tasting his cum-covered lips. “yeeees?”

“this— this is your first time, i should be making you feel good.”

slowly but surely, your eyes reopen, meeting your boyfriend’s relaxed gaze as he rubs your thigh affectionately. “dunno what you’re talking about, i felt pretty good just now.” when you only pout further, he snickers, pushing some of his bangs back smoothly. “c’mon, there’s lots of time for you to get me off later. m’ too excited for the main event..”

at last, he reaches for his sweatpants, more than excited to tug them down and finally give his aching cock some freedom. satoru doesn’t think he’s ever had a more painful boner in his life, but it was all worth seeing you release all over his tongue and fingers.

right as he finishes untying the knot, pale fingers drifting up to the waistband, you’re smacking him away to make room for your own hands. he watches with an open mouth as you pull his boxers down along with his pants, leaky, hard cock springing free and nearly hitting you in the face.

shit, of course his dick is perfect too. with a bit of white hair at the base, bulging veins adorned the entirety of his massive length, and the tip — shit, the tip was even bigger than the rest, mushroom shaped and angry red. his balls looked equally agitated and full — the epitome of breeder balls, and you gulped at the thought of him filling you up with everything they had.

now his question from earlier made sense, and he seems to be enjoying the realization on your face from his spot kneeling on the bed. “like what’cha see?” he coos, one big hand lowering to relieve the aching in his balls.

“toru, i don’t know if you’ll even fit. why— why do you have to be so big?” it’s annoying, you want to say — but the white-haired man has already laid back and manhandled you onto his chiseled stomach, a yelp escaping you at his suddenness.

he’s smiling so hard at your little dilemma that it’s almost sick, hands resting behind his head cockily. “tell me more while you ride me, baby.”

after processing that all you’ve been doing is feeding his size kink and inflating his already massive ego, you frown. “i’m serious, toru!”

“what!? i’m serious too!” the man defends with fake innocence, blue eyes shining in glee. “you’re the expert here, remember? ‘supposed to be teaching me how it’s done.”

all you do is grumble whilst moving down to sit between the sorcerer’s thighs, lightly prepping him with your fist and a dribble of spit from your mouth that has the white-haired male biting his lip. “fuck..” satoru can’t recall how many times he’s masturbated to the mental image of this exact moment, but now that it was finally happening, he promised himself to savor it as much as possible.

when you move to finally straddle him, hole hovering just above his length, he begins bucking his hips up desperately. “hurryyy…”

“are you in heat or something?” you snort, giving him a dirty glare as if you weren’t about to let him inside you.

“for you? yeah.” satoru offers you a cheesy wink and grin that dissipates the second your warmth encloses his aching tip. his hands slowly move up to grip your waist, jaw clenching in an attempt to not slam you down to his balls right then.

“ngh… fuuuck, baby,” he groans as you ever so carefully move down another inch. “jesus.. you’re sooo damn tight. dunno’ how you’re even taking me..”

you squeeze your eyes shut in attempt to bare the discomfort for him, a slight crease growing between your brows. “satoru, fuck— hurts..” he immediately reopens his eyes in worry, searching for a way to take your pain away.

yes, he could already tell that he enjoyed being meaner with you in bed — but it’s never fun if you don’t feel good as well. though he luckily recalls your lesson from earlier, moving a soft thumb down to massage your clit in tight circles.

when you jolt and nearly faceplant into his neck, he only grins proudly, now using one veiny hand to help push you further onto him. “theeere we go.. aw, feel better?”

“mhm, feels full..” you mumble back, looking down to see that you — unbelievably — still had a couple inches to go.

satoru feels like he’s about to burst on the other hand, thriving in pure ecstasy at the feeling of your walls massaging him just perfectly. he can’t help but thrust up and force his last inches inside you, an echoing smack! of skin against skin singing through the room and eliciting a startled yelp from your throat.

“toru!” despite your scolding, you can’t deny the perfection in which his tip kissed your g-spot effortlessly. his hands felt ever so soothing, comfortingly running up and down as you sat impaled on his cock, wiggling around to get comfortable and ruining him in the process.

just as you start to adjust, you feel yourself being lifted up. “m’ sorry sweets..” gojo suddenly voices, “i can’t..”

“huh? what do you m—ah!” you’re flipped onto your back before you know it, knees resting on the shoulders of your boyfriend who has a gleam in his pupils that you’ve quite frankly never seen before; he looked feral.

satoru carefully pulls out until only his tip is encased in your warmth, and everything is calm for a moment. you both take a deep breath, and he smiles down at your already fucked-out face with pride. “satoru—“

then he’s pushing back in with all the strength his massive hips can produce, and you think if it weren’t for his hands wrapped around your thighs, you would’ve got pushed off the bed entirely. you unintentionally let out the loudest sound of the night, and this sets him off.

now he was getting brutal, bullying your cunt with hit after hit against the spot that has drool dripping down your cheek and eyes crossing. you can’t even stop the pathetic noises and symphonies of right there! that leave your lips, no matter how hot your cheeks flush in embarrassment. it felt as though every time his dick jabbed back in he was right up in your tummy, veins pulsing and ensuring your pussy is molded to the perfect sleeve for him.

“toru, shit— nghh, faster, please! feels s’good!”

“nghh, toru, faster! ahaha..” he mocks you — of course he does, but picks up the pace nonetheless — now holding your lower body up so that your knees dangle higher over his shoulders and each stroke is angled exactly where you want him. “so cute when you’re gettin’ stuffed full, baby.”

he leers as you send him the harshest expression you can manage, reaching down for your clit and giggling as you start squirming in an attempt to escape the overwhelming pleasure. this bastard is having way too much fun, you realize, moans being forced out of you almost tauntingly.

tonight you discover that satoru’s way of fucking is rather animalistic, frantic, thrilling, and with the sole purpose of making you both feel as good as possible. if you want him to go slow or make love to you, you’d probably have to ask beforehand — or perhaps tie him up so you could have your fun in peace.

if your insides weren’t being rearranged, you’d grin at the thought of your boyfriend restrained and at your mercy. another night, you promise yourself.

“tightest pussy ever f’my first time baby.. haah.. can’t believe i’ve been missin’ out on this.” for once, something praising comes out of his big mouth, breathes getting cut short every time you involuntarily squeeze him harder. he swears there’s no better feeling then what you were giving him right now, not even singlehandedly resurrecting himself using the reversed curse technique.

and while no injuries have ever left a scar on gojo satoru, he decides that the claw marks you’re ruthlessly digging into his back will stay as long as his body allows — why should he hide how good he’s made you feel despite being a virgin an hour prior?

maybe if he’s in the mood to brag, he’ll show them to suguru later.

“feels good toru, fuckin’ me so good,” you feel the way his whole body reacts to your praises, a deep growl melting from his lips as the sounds of skin slapping increasingly grows in volume.

“babyyy,” he pants, legs being held higher while he digs deeper into your guts, “m’gonna cum.. need you to cum with me.“ the twitching of his length inside you gave away the fact that gojo has practically been on the edge ever since he pushed into you — and while he knows it’s completely normal to cum prematurely on your first time, when has he ever not gone above expectations?

in a split second you’re flipped onto your hands and knees, veiny hands pushing you into a deep arch while your boyfriend gives his body a moment to relax, pinching his base (a rather perverted method he’s learned by edging himself while masturbating) between his thumb and pointer.

when you needily wiggle your hips in an attempt to find his cock again, he grins boyishly. “lookin’ for this?” he sings the words right before plunging his entire length back into you, abusing your g-spot while a lanky finger impressively finds the bud between your legs right away (a skill that most ‘experienced’ men you’ve previously been with fail to achieve), circling and pinching in a frantic attempt to make your orgasms arrive in sync.

“fucking hell.." you whine, the new angle making his tip bump against spots that have never been rubbed before. “can feel you so deep..”

“oh yeah?” his bicep pulls you up so your head rests on his broad shoulder, now victim to the filth being whispered directly into your ear. “m’ i doing good? fuckin’ this lil’ pussy nice and deep like she needs?”

when you nod, he beams like a maniac, seemingly encouraged to pound you even harder as his hips pick up the pace. “damn, ‘think i’m already a pro at this, huh?”

for the sake of your sanity, you ignore his bragging. “toru, don’t stop. i’m— i’m gonna..”

“you’re gonnaaa?” he derides, kissing the corner of your lip sweetly. “tell me, baby.”

“gonna cum for you, please.” satoru almost decides to fill you up at those words, but his self control is just a bit stronger. he feels the way your cunt is pulsing, body practically shaking as you get closer and closer to release, and he’s determined to help you reach it.

his thrusts get a bit sloppier, and you’re too busy basking in your own pleasure to see the eye-candy that is gojo biting his swollen lips, sweat dripping down his temples all the way to his solid abs, snowy bangs a tad bit moist against his forehead. he looked like the definition of temptation; straight out of a wet dream with stamina that seemingly never declined.

“me too, baby. c’mon, cum on this dick. s’all yours to ruin.”

you moan as you allow yourself to let go, toes curling and nails digging into his toned forearms ecstatically. “thaaat’s it, good girl.. ahah.. such a good girl f’me.” he talks you through it as if he’s done so a million times, both of you looking down to watch your release coat his dick and the crumpled sheets below.

at his praise, you squeeze him just a bit tighter, making his lips curl up in interest. “my girl likes being praised, huh? yeah.. doing so good makin’ a mess on me..”

he pulls out, carefully lowering you to the mattress before tugging on his dick in hopes of reaching his own peak. satoru forces himself to open his eyes just enough to admire the view of you fucked out below him, body shaking slightly as you recover from the intense waves of your orgasm.

“y/n,” he abruptly whines, patting your shoulder with a subtle urgency in his voice.

“..mhmm?”

“where can i cum? quick baby— please, i’ve been holding this for way too long—“ this has your body moving, eyes popping open as you swiftly bend down so your mouth hovers directly in front of him.

you replace his fist with yours as soft lips move to suckle harsly on his leaking tip, and now it’s gojo who has his eyes rolling back; whimpers flying out of his throat every time your tongue massages the delicate underside, sending visible shocks through his body. “fuck!” he can only curse and run his fingers through your hair for support while you pump him dry. “just like that, good.. haah.. good fuckin’ girl, shiiit.”

you’ve never seen your boyfriend — the strongest — look so pathetic and desperate, but it only spurs you on further, enjoying the way he continues to blabber about how pretty you are and how he’s gonna fill your mouth like he would your pussy. in response, you greedily hum around him, licking through his slit as if you were pleading the little hole to give you what you deserved.

and only moments later, satoru’s words become reality; though he attempts to keep revelling in the feeling of your warm lips and hands, his body stills in place instinctively, one last warning tumbling out of his throat as your mouth is flooded with rope after rope of bitterly sweet fluid.

it seems like your accusations about his breeder balls were correct, because once it starts it seemingly never ends; cum now overflowing from the corners of your lips as you struggle to swallow frequently enough to not choke on how much he deposits.

meanwhile, gojo feels like he is quite literally ascending, everything becoming unimportant next to you and the feeling of pleasure being forced through him like an overwhelming earthquake, pulse after pulse as you suck him for all he’s worth.

“thas’ right.. take every damn drop, baby.” when satoru looks down and earns a glimpse of the white fluid trickling down your chin, his dick twitches in your mouth. “god, you’re so sexy..”

once he was done, you both flop onto the bed in exhaustion, and while the vulnerable moment has utmost potential to become something cute and memorable, a certain blue-eyed bastard decides to open his mouth once again.

“what’re you huffin’ and puffin’ for?” he sasses, shamelessly eyeing the way your tits rose and fell with every breath you took. “all you did was lie there while i had a full body workout!”

you take a very deep breath. “i just let you put your dick inside me. shut the fuck up.”

at your reminder of what’d just occurred, he grins like an idiot. “you’re right, thank you.” they’re soft, but he ensures his words are as audible and genuine as he can make them.

satoru isn’t exactly the best with words, but he knows damn well that — despite all the bullshit he'd spouted at those parties — you’re the only person he wanted to have his first time with, and the fact that you allowed his wish to become reality is something he’ll forever be grateful for.

“i love you..” you soften. “even if you’re a pillow princess.” you stiffen again.

nothing could stay lovey-dovey with him for too long.

a fake cry is pulled from his lips as you rudely smack his shoulder. “i tried to ride you but you flipped me over after ten seconds!”

“it’s not my fault you're as slow as a fuckin' snail!”

somehow, you both make it to the washroom despite all the banter. just as you bend over in hopes of starting the shower up, a mean spank is delivered to your ass.

when you turn to meet the culprit, he only narrows his eyes at you playfully. “round two, m’lady?” it’s almost like his voice lowers on purpose, dirty words rumbling in his throat, knowing what it did to your body.

you do your best to send him a disappointed glance anyway. “day one of not being a virgin and you’re already the horniest man i know.”

after following you inside, his fluffy hair flattens from the steamy water before nudging you back, encasing you between him and the solid wall.

“i might be willing to overlook the fact that you know other horny men if you agree to some very loving, extremely intimate making out,” he requests with a smirk, sleek nose poking yours in a much gentler way than expected.

you still send him a distrusting raise of your brow. “only making out, huh?”

the dirty smirk he sends you is all you need to know, along with his hardened dick pressing against your thigh as he moves in to kiss you.

what have you gotten yourself into?

mlist! gojo showing off his back scratches! <- if you enjoy silly virgin gojo pls lmk in the reblogs, comments, or asks <3

tags: @gojoallmine @allofffmypeaches @haitaniholic @pandoraium

11K notes · View notes

planetpiastri · 1 year ago

Text

pairing: lando norris x fem!australian!reader [no faceclaim] summary: honestly, you kind of expected this part-time gig to just be four days of pure chaos that gave you an excuse to see an f1 race up close. then some guy in the fanzone complimented your shoes, and the rest is history. notes: requested by anon!! this has been sitting in my drafts for aaaaages, sorry love <3 y'all are so brave for putting up with me while i try and remember how tf to write these uhhh yeah this one took a turn hope u like it anyway LMFAO

liked by oscarpiastri, ynusername, and 13,024 others

ausgp Arriving in style! The lads looked great at the Melbourne Walk today 🤩🤩

view all 1,654 comments

username1 lewis and zhou are absolutely slaying!! and oscar is also there

ynusername oscar i love you but you gotta step up your game mate, i wanna wear your merch so bad but it is UGLY!!

landonorris excuse me ausgp i think my fit was deserving of recognition in this post :(

ausgp Can't compete with the hometown hero 🤷‍♂️ landonorris but daniel isn't in this either ? oscarpiastri You're funny.

landonorris

liked by mclaren, ausgp, and 811,364 others

landonorris he shoots, he scores! thanks for such a warm welcome melbourne :)

view all 7,023 comments

oscarpiastri You and I have different definitions of scoring I think

landonorris ever heard of playing the long game? oscarpiastri Nurse he's out again

username2 where's the worker with the shoes i think they're indirecting her

username3 GET THIS MAN THE SHOE LADY'S DIGITS

maxfewtrell Now that's just uncalled for

ausgp Love to see the spirit 😉

username4 aww lando always looks so happy in melbourne, he loves it here :'))

ynusername oh wtf

liked by ausgp, yourfriend, and others

ynusername busy busy busy day, absolutely buggered, but very excited for tomorrow 😁 (also peep The Shoes on the last slide)

view all 89 comments

yourfriend i mean... he's right, they are sick shoes

ynusername you're just saying that cos you made me buy them yourfriend well yes!

username5 omg are u the girl who was working the fanzone today??

ynusername i was one of them!

username6 ok if this is the shoe lady i don't blame lando for staring she's so pretty omg

yourfriend "the shoe lady" ynusername i've been titled?????

ynusername

liked by yourfriend, landonorris, and others

ynusername weirdest work day ever (included today's shoes bc apparently it's a thing now)

view all 112 comments

yourfriend that wrap was good as hell tho

ynusername deffo the most exciting part of lunch

username7 wait who is this girl and why does lando follow her?

username8 go to lovestruckln on twitter, she has a whole thread about it!

landonorris ...weird in a good way, right?

username9 your lack of rizz is astounding lando username10 bro STAND UP ynusername weird in an interesting way landonorris i'll take that

landonorris

liked by ynusername, ausgp, and 1,011,023 others

landonorris melb, you have my ❤️

view all 8,327 comments

username11 SHOE GIRLLLLLL

username12 i hope they never hard launch and he just keeps posting pics of cool sneakers

georgerussell63 You're welcome

charles_leclerc You did it, you crazy son of a bitch ausgp Where's our credit?? georgerussell63 You put the pieces in play, I moved them into checkmate ynusername you threw a shoe at me. calm down. ausgp He what???

username13 bro's collecting aussies like infinity stones

danielricciardo ?? oscarpiastri No ynusername :// landonorris 😁😁

ynusername you're cool ig 🙄

landonorris your swag style and utter disdain for me has captured my heart ynusername oh my god stop i'm blushing

tagging: @thearchieves @sheridamn @nikfigueiredo @charlig123456789 @ilove-tswizzle @aandreea2005 @sideboobrry @vellicora @eire-the-egg @marymustdie @cocote1410 @taygrls @koalapastries @vroomvroommuppett @nichmeddar @d3kstar @333kiki @ririyulife @resident-swiftie @zimm04 @jupiter-je-taime @ever_bizzare @clemswrld @hollieeelol @leireggsworld @ironmaiden1313 @lunar-racing @lightninginab0ttle @maddie-naps @bwddermilch @pnkwhskyprncss @landossainz @chaotic_version

request: hiya! i love how funny your smau’s are and i’m begging for an aussie!reader x Lando one. maybe she works for the AusGP and they met in Melbourne? idk -anon

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #f1 #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 x reader #instagram au #f1 imagine #lando norris imagine #f1 instagram au #social media au #lando norris au #saturn writes

5K notes · View notes

thehoneybeestings · 4 months ago

Text

𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐝

𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐚 𝐱 𝐦𝐞𝐥’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

‧₊˚── Synopsis: Your best friend has invited you to a Piltover Gala. You wouldn't be so worried if the guest list didn't include Ambessa Medarda: the woman you've been seeing secretly for months, and, of course, your best friend's mother...

Word Count: 3.6K Content/Warnings: slight divergence from canon (i guess piltover and noxus are cool w each other now), nsfw, reader is referred to w fem pronouns/has fem anatomy, reader has hair long enough to pull, jealous!ambessa, dom!ambessa, sub!reader, bondage, spanking, vibrator use, strap use, reader gives ambessa head mhmmm, consent checks bc ambessa is a good dom, mel stop meddling in your best friend's love life challenge failed, jayce stop being sassy challenge failed, sappho exists in this universe bc she exists in every universe I write sorry not sorry A/N: i just realized that anon asked for the reader's relationship to be exposed and I totally forgot to incorporate that aspect, but i was thinking i might do a little drabble soon of mel's reaction to the reader's relationship with her mom... what do you guys think? anywho... for now, i hope i did this request justice and that you enjoy! based on this ask (thank you anon!)

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

“This is bad, Jayce.”

You’re staring at yourself in the lighted full-length mirror in Mel’s bedroom-sized closet, hands nervously running up and down the tulle skirt of your dress; one of five that Mel had custom made for you to choose from for tomorrow’s gala.

You should be ecstatic. Who wouldn’t love the chance to dress up in Piltover’s finest garments, playing pretend with the nobles while you gorge yourself on fancy hors d'oeuvres and drown yourself in free champagne with your best friend?

You would be ecstatic if it weren’t for the fact that on the guest list was Ambessa Medarda: Noxian warrior by day, your secret lover by night.

Oh, and lest you forget: your best friend’s mother.

“So, so bad…” you mutter, stepping off of the circular podium and plopping down in the velvet chaise beside it.

“Really? You know, I was gonna say the color really brings out your eyes-”

Jayce is cut off by a mouthful of the gown that you throw at him from across the room.

“Not the dress, Jayce!”

Reading the room was not his forte.

“Hey, watch it,” he scolds, “this is Noxian silk! Be delicate!”

Case and point. You roll your eyes at him as he fumbles to place the gown back on its hanger.

“Listen,” he sighs, walking over to where you're sprawled out helplessly on the chaise. He lifts your leaden legs, sits down beside you, and places them on his lap. “It’s going to be fine. Ambessa knows the two of you are keeping things… you know… on the low,”

You cringe at his attempted use of slang.

“Yeah, I didn’t like that either, didn’t feel natural at all- anyway! Ambessa knows you aren’t ready to tell Mel about the two of you. She’ll keep her distance, you’ll keep yours, and you’ll get to have a fun night with your best friend. Don’t overthink it.��

You nod slowly, bottom lip between your teeth as you mull over his words.

“You’re right,” you say with a soft smile. “you’re right. It’ll be fine.”

──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

What you had not accounted for was that Mel had been plotting to set you up with an acquaintance of hers, and she figured, what better night to introduce the two of you than at an event such as this?

“What the hell?” You whisper-scream, pulling Mel into a secluded corner of the beautiful ballroom.

“What?” She asks, feining innocence; although, she knew entirely well that the reason she’d chosen to give you no notice of this potential suitor was because you would have enthusiastically declined, as you always did.

“Mel,” you scold, “why did you not tell me I’d have some date entertain? One has to prepare herself for these things!”

“Oh, come on, you make it sound like you’re on babysitting duty. She’s perfectly pleasant! A little bit older- just as you like-”

Your face heats up,

“And very kind! Brilliant, too; we’re in a book club together and her analysis each week is thoroughly impressive.”

Wariness is still written all over your face.

“Please, Y/n?” Mel pleads, “Just give her tonight. See how it goes. If you don’t click, you never have to see her again.”

You sigh. It isn’t the clicking you’re worried about; you’re sure she is “perfectly pleasant,” and she is easy on the eyes. You might have even been interested if it weren’t for the woman in red across the room whose eyes were already on you like a hawk. At times, you couldn’t even see that she was staring; you simply felt it. The invisible pull, tantalizing and thick with tension…

And gods, here was her daughter in front of you. You’re nearly mortified at the circumstance.

Nevertheless, you’d need to play it off. If you were too averse to the idea of spending time with this suitor- Clara, was it?- Mel would want to know why, and her prying was relentless.

“Fine,” you resign with a sigh, “I will entertain her-and you- just this once.”

The woman in front of you squeals in excitement. You feign amusement, but deep down, you know: if Ambessa sees you humoring this woman, you’re screwed.

──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

“Ah, yes; the poems of Sappho. Some of my favorites,” Clara muses.

The two of you have taken to discussing your favorite authors and works of literature, unsurprisingly, considering that Mel mentioned meeting Clara at her book club. This was a good topic, you thought. Pleasant enough to stay engaged, but not so engaging that she’d get the chance for her to make any moves.

Clara moves in closer, lowering her voice to speak to you.

“Mel mentioned you were a big fan of her work,” she says with a coy smile.

Damn it, you think, I should have stayed away from Sappho!

“She also mentioned that you were very bright, and I must admit,”

She leans down to whisper into your ear,

“You’ve got beauty to match your brains.”

“O-oh,” you stutter with an awkward laugh, “Thanks.”

Clara gives you an amused smirk. She must think she’s flustered you, and not that you’ve just caught sight of Ambessa glaring at her.

“Your drink is empty,” she observes.

“Oh! Yes... it is.”

“Allow me.”

Clara takes the empty glass from your hands, sauntering over to the bar and leaving you alone… finally, until,

“How’s it going?”

You jump at the sound of Mel’s voice in your ear from behind you.

“Gods, Mel! You scared me!”

“Oh, pfft. I didn’t mean to; but tell me! Are the two of you getting on alright?”

You give her a shrug and a half-hearted smile.

“We both like Sappho…”

“Wonderful! I knew the two of you would have so much in common, I simply-”

The rest of Mel’s match-maker ramble fades to white noise when suddenly, from the corner of your eye, you see Ambessa approaching.

“...and the two of you- are you listening?!”

Your wide eyes snap back to her. “Sorry! It’s just-”

Her gaze follows yours, and her eyes land on her mother.

“Gods, Y/n. She isn’t that intimidating, you know.”

“Right,” you exhale.

Right. Intimidated of the renowned Noxian warrior in front of you. That’s what you were. Not terrified of her daughter finding out you were sleeping with her, not bewildered at the fact that you’re sleeping with her in the first place, and certainly not a little turned on by the glare she just gave you…

“Enjoying the party, mother?” Mel greets.

“Only as much as I typically enjoy these sorts of events, dear,” she sighs, adjusting the ornate gold jewelry circling her bicep in a practiced movement.

“You’re bored out of your mind and ready to go home to your library,” Mel deadpans.

“Precisely.”

You let out a chuckle at the interaction. Ambessa’s attention is back on you.

“How are you, Y/n?”

You short circuit for a moment, not expecting her to address you directly.

“Oh! I- I’m fine. Same as you. Ready to curl up with a good book.”

Her gaze softens for a moment. She knows how much you love to read; you’ve spent hours upon hours tackling her personal collection.

Mel sighs with a roll of her eyes. “She’s not enjoying her company.”

You glare at Mel, cursing her mouthiness.

“I try so hard to set her up with people- who I believe are perfectly good matches, by the way- but she’s quite picky, this one.”

Ambessa knows this, too.

You let out an incredulous scoff.

“Mel!”

Ambessa smiles again. This time, there’s something else to it. Something mischievous… calculated.

“Not to worry, dear,” she begins, looking at you, “there are plenty of fish in the sea.”

You’re glad you aren’t nursing champagne at the moment, or you might have choked on it.

“Oh! There’s Jayce,” Mel excitedly begins, sights set on the double doors at the front of the room. “I’ll be back in a moment. Mother, do try not to scare my guest.”

You watch in poorly concealed horror as Mel prances off, leaving you along with Ambessa.

When you finally dare to look at her, she’s staring down at you with narrowed eyes and a set jaw.

“So-”

She cuts you off with a hum.

You sigh, eyebrows furrowing as you begin to plead with her.

“Ambessa, I can explain,”

“No need.”

Your stomach drops. She’s pissed, and there’s not shit you can do about it.

She walks forward, leaning down to whisper in your ear just as Clara had moments ago.

“Tonight, half-past 10. My quarters.”

With that, she walks away, shoulder brushing yours as she leaves to stand there with you face running pale.

Your eyes are trained on the flickering candles adorning the table in front of you as you imagine what she has planned, what she might say to you, what she might do to you-

“Your champagne, miss.”

Clara interrupts your train of thought with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

You turn to her, forcing a smile.

“Might we get something stronger?”

──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

It’s 10:29 when you arrive at the intricately carved wooden door to Ambessa’s room. She was already upset; you wouldn't dare have her wait on top of it.

You raise your hand to knock on the solid wood, hand pausing in the air.

You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and leave a soft knock on the door.

It opens in an instant, Ambessa peering down at you with an icy glint in her eyes.

She takes a deep breath of her own, gaze unyielding as she cocks her head to the side, motioning towards the room behind her and stepping aside to let you in.

The moment you step over the threshold, the door slams behind you, and you, into it.

Ambessa’s hold is firm on your hips, pressing you into the door.

“Have fun tonight, darling?”

Her breath fans your face. You look up at her with wide eyes and racing heart.

“It was… fine,” you whisper, breath shaky.

She pulls her head back with an cocked brow.

“Shared a few drinks with her, hm?”

“It was just… courtesy.”

Her hands drop from your waist, and she walks away with a scoff and a crooked smile.

“A flute of champagne is courtesy. Liquor denotes something else entirely.”

Your shoulders sag in defeat. “I just-”

you sigh,

“I just wanted to take the edge off a bit. You made me nervous.”

She smirks.

“Aw,” she croons, strolling back over to you. She stops in front of you, lifting your chin with her forefinger and thumb and demanding your eyes meet hers.

“I make you nervous?”

Your eyes flick down to her soft lips, then back up to her eyes.

“You know you make me nervous.”

You dare to raise a brow at her.

“You like it.”

Her smirk drops.

“You've been playing with fire tonight, dear.”

Her hand moves to hold the back of your neck, and she pulls you in until your lips barely touch hers.

“I don't want to hear you complain that you got burned.”

Her lips slam into yours. You gasp when the hand on the back of your head weaves into your hair and tugs; she uses the opportunity to slip her tongue into your mouth.

Ambessa does everything with intent-with purpose- kisses included. There was no such thing as a haste peck on the lips, a fleeting kiss on the forehead; each and every touch she delivered to you said something.

Tonight, her touch says, “You're mine. No one else’s.”

She finally pulls away, leaving you breathless under her composed gaze. The corner of her lips pull up into a smirk. She always got a kick out of this; slowly unraveling you while she remained entirely unphased.

You should feel embarrassed. You love it.

“On the bed,” she commands, releasing her grip on your hair, “and strip- that’s Noxian silk. We can't have you ruining it.”

You can't help but chuckle- remembering Jayce’s own comment about the luxurious material- as you lean down to take your heels off. Normally, she'd do this for you; kneeling down to undo the tiny buckle on the straps of your heels before sliding them off of your feet, moving up to pull the zipper of your dress down while planting a kiss on your shoulder, asking you to give her a twirl when you're finally left barren except for the delicate lingerie she would have gifted you.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, you won't be allowed the luxury of her delicateness.

Goosebumps appear on your skin as you make your way to the bed, knowing you're in for one hell of a ride. Ambessa could be so gentle with you, but she could be equally as rough and unforgiving, and as she pulls a vibrator out from the drawer next to her bed, you know you're about to find out just how unforgiving she can be.

“A-Ambessa…” you stutter, crawling back against the pillows against the headboard.

She didn't usually start with a vibrator. She knew the immediate intensity of its stimulation was often too much to begin with, so she'd spend her time working you up before she thought about retrieving it.

She didn't give a damn about that tonight.

“What's the matter, dear? Regretting your bad behavior already?”

“Ambessa, it really wasn't what you-”

“Truthfully,” she cuts you off with a glare, “I don't really care to hear any excuses.”

She places the vibrator next to you. She's also gathered a few restraints: two to tie your hands to the headboard, and two to tie your ankles to the footboard.

“You know that I've never been fond of sharing my possessions, dear,” she begins, tying your first hand to a rung. “Surely, this isn't news to you.”

She restrains the other, then moves down to restrain your feet.

You're starfished on the soft comforter now, rendered completely helpless and at her disposal.

Just as she wanted you.

She climbs onto the bed, running a hand up your leg.

“Surely, you knew what would happen if you decided to test me as you did,” she muses.

She runs a finger through the slick that's already begun to collect in between your legs. A shiver courses through you again.

“Or was this your plan all along? Hm?”

Her hand trails up your stomach, through the valley of your breasts, and stops around your throat. She leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“You wanted to be fucked like a common whore tonight, didn't you?”

You don’t have time to respond before she turns on the vibrator, pressing it to the swollen bud of nerves at your center. You yelp as your body betrays you, hips bucking up into the already overstimulating sensation.

“Shit, Bessa, ‘m sorry,” you cry out, looking up at her with pleasing eyes.

Of course, her only response is a maniacal laugh.

“Begging for me to go easy on you already? My darling,” she croons, leaning down to place a kiss on your jaw, “we’ve only just begun.”

She turns the vibrator up to the next setting. Tears have already begun to prick your eyes.

Yeah. You were screwed alright. Royally screwed.

As soon as your hips stop spasming on the the vibrator placed at your core- as soon as you start to catch your breath- she turns up the intensity, until she’s tortured you through all of its seven settings. She doesn’t bother letting up after you come, just watches you pull and flail against your restraints as your pussy clenches around nothing.

The line between needing her inside of you and needing her to stop all together is starting to blur like your teary vision. Your breath comes out in fast pants, eyebrows furrowed as the pleasure bleeds into pain.

Her commanding voice pulls you out of your daze.

“Color?”

When you don’t respond quickly enough- too busy trying to come back to earth just long enough to find your words- she pulls the toy away.

As unrelenting as she could be, Ambessa was never cruel with you; she’d never cross a line or cause harm to you.

Her hand comes to rest on your cheek, wiping away stray tears as your breath begins to even.

“Green,” you finally exhale with a crooked smile.

She gives you a smirk of her own. “Dirty girl.”

She reaches up to loosen the restraints on your wrists, fingers tracing the delicate skin to be sure it isn’t too irritated. She moves down to your ankles to do the same, but you’re too tired to change your positions, limbs still splayed out for her.

“Have I tired you, dear?” She coos.

You nod with a soft chuckle, hand finally coming down to brush a stray hair from your face. Your eyes flutter closed, the world around you becoming fuzzy. You hear the faint sound of her drawer opening and closing- she’s putting the restraints away, you presume- before the weight of her knees on either side of your hips presses into to mattress.

“You’ve done so good,” she praises, pressing kisses to your face. The touch is a stark contrast to the hands that suddenly grip your sides, flipping you to lay on your stomach. Your eyes fly open, and roll right back into your head when she grabs a handful of your hair, yanking you flush against her chest. Your hands reach out to the headboard, stabilizing you as she delivers a smack to the swell of your ass.

“It’s such a shame when good girls misbehave.”

You hadn’t realized all the rummaging she’d been doing was her putting the strap on, until you feel the dull head of the silicone press against your entrance.

You hiss, still all too sensitive from your first punishment.

“Ambessa, I c-”

“Do not tell me that isn’t exactly what you anticipated when you decided to thow yourself at another woman while I was a mere 30 feet away.”

You don’t respond. You know better than to lie.

“Color,” she demands.

“Green,” you whine.

She presses your head into the pillow below you, and your hips arch up into her own. She guides the toy into your sopping walls, slow and careful to be sure you adjust to her length.

The pace she sets is anything but. Both hands find your hips as her own snap into you. She pulls you back to meet each thrust, the tip of her cock brushing your cervix each time.

You're a babbling, drooling mess underneath her.

“B-Bessa… ‘s so deep… fuck, you're deep…”

A hand moves up to splay across your back, deepening your arch so that she can fuck into you further.

The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping skin, a headboard slamming into the wall, your moans and mewls, her grunts and groans. She had no shame in claiming what was hers.

She leans over, heavy breaths fanning your ear.

“Remind me who you belong to.”

Your eyes roll back in your head again, pussy clenching around her in response to the question. She delivers another slap to your ass.

“Speak when you are spoken to, girl.”

“Y-you!” you finally cry out. “I belong to you, I’m yours, ‘m all yours…”

She pulls back with a chuckle before pulling out of you, ripping the harness off of her waist and thighs. She crawls beside you, laying on her back with her arms behind her head on the plush pillows.

“You know what to do. Put that pretty mouth to good use.”

You scramble to place yourself in between her legs and bury yourself into her sweet musk. Your tongue darts out to draw slow circles on her clit, nose resting on the mound of curls adorning her.

Her scent is intoxicating, her taste is ambrosia; you moan into her, and she moans back, hand flying to your head to keep you in place.

“Your fingers,” she instructs, and you slip into her, meeting no resistance. You lap at her eagerly, fingers pumping in and out in tandem with the flick of your tongue on her clit. It isn't long before her burly thighs tighten around your head, and her release coats your chin.

You pull away once she relaxes, staring down starry-eyed at the mess she's made.

“Have some decorum,” she scolds; but when your eyes snap up to her face, she sports that lazy grin you can't get enough of.

She beckons you to sit in between her legs, and you happily oblige with a chuckle. You lean against her strong chest, and she leans down to press a kiss against your temple. A comfortable silence settles over the room as her fingers trace up and down your arm.

“I'm aware that you had no true interest in that woman,” she says softly.

You hum in amusement.

“I’m also aware,” she continues, “That if you had been interested, it'd be none of my concern.”

You crane your head up to give her a confused look.

She shrugs. “You haven't been made mine. Not officially.”

You pause for a moment, reading her expression. If the longing you think you see in her eyes is really there, then it's about time you two had this conversation.

“I want to be yours,” you whisper. “If you'll have me.”

“Don't be ridiculous,”

and your heart drops, until,

“Of course, I'll have you. It'd be an honor to call you mine.”

A wide smile stretches across your face, and her large hand cups your cheek as she pulls you in for a kiss, tender and loving.

You pull away, lips still gracing her own.

“We’ll have to tell Mel…” you dare to whisper.

She scoffs, playfully rolling her eyes before her lips begin to trail down your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. She plants a hand on your thigh, grabbing at the plush before snaking it toward your heat.

“Let me give you one more before we think about that.”

──˚₊ 𝐄𝐍𝐃 ‧₊˚──

Taglist: @kierancaust, @langedelalune, @vii-v, @genderfluidlesbain999, @sevikasrightboob, @leone007, @femliyah, @tojisbestslut, @vyvvycg

#ambessa medarda #ambessa x reader #ambessa x you #ambessa x y/n #ambessa imagine #ambessa one shot #ambessa smut #ambessa arcane #arcane smut #arcane imagine #arcane one shot #wlw #sapphic #lesbian

866 notes · View notes

lazy-ahh · 3 months ago

Text

CHAOS LIKES COMPANY. A.K.A I LIKE YOU

pairing mohawk! mark grayson x (vigilante) male reader

you always imagined your grand exit would be more dramatic - maybe a hail of gunfire, a building collapsing in slow motion, at least a decent fucking punchline. instead you're testing a theory: if you disappear now, will mark grayson (your idiot, your disaster, the love of your shitty life) even notice? were you gonna be a tragic loss that haunted him forever, or the weird stain on the couch he learned to ignore?

this is for you MM (mohawk mark) anon! hope you enjoyed this one <3

you’re standing on a rooftop, the city sprawled out beneath you like a toy set some rich kid smashed in a tantrum. the wind’s tugging at your hair, the strands whipping across your face like it’s personally offended by your existence. not that you mind—gives you that "tragically windswept" look, and hey, maybe the audience is into that.

"nice view, huh?" you say, grinning at no one in particular. "seriously, take a screenshot or something. this is prime wallpaper material."

mark—mohawk mark, because this universe just had to make him extra—lands beside you with a thud that cracks the concrete under his boots. his black-and-blue suit is all "look at me, i’m edgier than the original", complete with that ridiculous "i" logo stretching down to his knees like it’s trying to escape. his mohawk’s practically defying gravity (and common sense), and the bags under his eyes make him look like he hasn’t slept since the invention of energy drinks.

"who the hell are you talking to?" he asks, squinting like he’s trying to spot your imaginary friends.

"the audience," you say, like it’s obvious. "you know, the people watching our lives like some messed-up reality show? hi guys, love ya, don’t forget to leave a like and reblog."

"the… what?" his nose scrunches up, and oh, that’s adorable.

"don’t worry about it." you wave a hand. "they’re cool. mostly. some of them probably ship us already—oh, and spoiler alert, they’re gonna love the angst fest coming up."

mark blinks. "what does that even—you know what, never mind." he shakes his head, but you can tell he feels it—that weird shift in the air when you break the fourth wall like it’s made of wet paper. he doesn’t see them, but he knows something’s off, like the universe just glitched for a second.

"you’re weird," he mutters, but there’s no real bite to it. just that same fond exasperation he’s had since you were kids throwing rocks at mailboxes (okay, you threw rocks—mark just watched and panicked, because back then, he was a "rules" kind of guy. boring).

"and you’re rocking a haircut that screams ‘i got into a fight with a lawnmower and lost’," you shoot back, reaching out to flick his mohawk. he swats your hand away, but he’s grinning now, all sharp edges and "i could kill you but i won’t (today)" energy.

"shut up," he says, but it’s half-hearted. then, quieter: "you’re the only one who gets to say shit like that and live."

and oh, that stings a little, doesn’t it? because you’ve known each other forever—since back when he was just mark, not invincible, not this version of him with blood under his fingernails and a smile that’s too wide to be sane. you know him better than anyone, even when he’s pretending he doesn’t care.

and yeah, maybe you’re a little (a lot) in love with him. maybe you’ve always been.

"lucky me," you say, forcing a smirk. "guess that means i’m special."

"guess it does," he says, and for a second, his eyes flicker with something almost soft.

(too bad you won’t be around long enough to enjoy it. because let’s be real—this is mark’s story, and in every universe, the best friend always dies. you’ve read the comics. you know how this ends. but hey, at least you’ll go out in style, right? saving this idiot’s life like some tragic, self-sacrificing idiot. classic.)

"so," mark cracks his knuckles, the sound sharp in the quiet before chaos, his fingers flexing like he's already imagining them wrapped around someone's throat. his grin is all teeth, too wide, too eager—the kind that makes normal people back up slowly and call the cops. his boot taps impatiently against the rooftop ledge, vibrating with barely-contained violence. "wanna go wreck some bad guys?"

you sigh, dramatic and long-suffering, like he’s just asked you to help him move a couch instead of commit several felonies. "oh, sweetie," you drawl, flipping a knife between your fingers just to watch the way his eyes track it—hungry, amused. "i was already doing that. you’re just late to the party." you tilt your head toward the alley below, where a bunch of armed goons are currently trying (and failing) to look intimidating. "see? they even brought balloons."

mark rolls his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck, but before he can fire back some half-assed insult, he’s already leaping off the roof, arms spread like he’s embracing the inevitable chaos. you don’t even hesitate—just tuck your weapons back and dive after him, the wind screaming in your ears.

(you always follow. you always will. that's how you'll die, remember?)

the fight starts before your feet even hit the ground.

you land in a roll, coming up with a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other, already firing before the first thug even registers you’re there. the bullet takes him in the knee—"oops, guess you won’t be running anymore. well, not on that leg, anyway."

mark, meanwhile, doesn’t bother with weapons. he is the weapon. he plows into a guy twice his size like a freight train, sending him flying through a storefront window. glass shatters, the guy screams, and mark just laughs, kicking him in the ribs hard enough to crack bone. "aw, what’s wrong?" he taunts, tilting his head. "thought you were tough?"

one of the half-conscious goons on the pavement groans, dragging himself up on trembling elbows. his face is a mess of blood and regret as he glares up at you through one swollen eye. "what the fuck?" he slurs, spitting out a broken tooth. "i thought you guys were supposed to be heroes- AGH!"

your boot connects with his family jewels before he can finish that thought - a picture-perfect punt right to the baby factory, the twig and berries, the ol' troublepuffs. his voice cracks into a shrill, eunuch-like squeal as he folds like a lawn chair, hands cupped protectively over his now-useless crown jewels. "heroes?" you echo, tilting your head with mock sympathy as he dry-heaves onto the asphalt. "aw, cupcake. we're the guys your mom warned you about."

a bat comes swinging at your head from the blindside - amateur hour. you duck without even looking, feeling the whoosh of air ruffle your hair as you pivot and sink your combat knife deep into the guy's meaty thigh. he screams like a banshee as you twist the blade, feeling tendon grind against steel. "shhh, it's okay," you coo, patting his sweaty cheek with your free hand while he trembles. "you're doing great for someone with the fighting skills of a concussed koala."

then - classic move incoming - another meathead charges you with a crowbar raised high. is this also a reference to the author's other fictional crush? you sidestep like a matador, snatching his wrist mid-swing and using his momentum to yank him face-first into your rising knee. the satisfying crunch of cartilage tells you his nose just became abstract art. as he wheezes through the blood bubbling from his nostrils, you grab a fistful of his greasy hair and introduce his forehead to the nearest car hood. DING. "and that's the dinner bell!" you announce as he slumps to the pavement. "congrats, you just failed villainy 101. solid d-minus for the effort."

another shrill scream tears through the alleyway, high-pitched and desperate enough to make you pause mid-swing. you glance over your shoulder just in time to see mark - your personal hurricane of violence - plant his boots against the pavement, grip some poor 6'2 bastard by the waistband of his jeans, and heave. the guy goes airborne with a comical yelp, flipping ass-over-teakettle before crashing windshield-first onto a parked sedan. glass explodes outward in a glittering shower, the car alarm immediately wailing like a wounded animal.

"ohoho," you purr, letting your (new) bloodstained bat rest against your shoulder as you backpedal toward the nearest brick wall. you prop yourself against it, crossing your ankles with deliberate casualness as you watch mark work. the way his muscles flex under that skintight suit should be illegal. the way his mohawk bobs with each brutal movement? downright obscene.

mark doesn't even pause for breath before stomping toward the next threat, those unfairly thick thighs straining against his suit with each step - god, the way that fabric clings to him should be classified as a war crime. his fingers curl around a dented street sign, biceps flexing obscenely as he wrenches it free from the concrete with a screech of protesting metal. when he swings, it's with the practiced ease of a major league slugger, his whole body twisting in a way that makes his ass look absolutely sinful in that skin-tight suit - and then the aluminum connects with some mobster's jaw in a spray of saliva and enamel, three pearly whites skittering across the asphalt like tiny dice.

you swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. it's ridiculous how good he looks like this - all coiled violence and barely-contained power, his mohawk sticking up in every direction like he just rolled out of bed (your bed, preferably). the way his shoulders bunch under the fabric when he lifts the sign again, the way his thighs flex as he plants his feet - christ, you could write poetry about those thighs.

but then something tightens in your chest, sharp and sudden, stealing the breath from your lungs. you turn to glare at no one in particular, pointing an accusing finger. "woah woah woah, hey! don't you dare. i know what you're going to write in the next paragraph and i swear to god-"

because one day - soon - you won't be here to see this. won't be here to watch the way the streetlights catch the sweat on mark's neck, or the way his nose scrunches up when he's trying not to laugh at your shitty jokes. one day, you'll just be... gone. and mark will keep fighting, keep living, with some other poor bastard at his side who isn't you.

the thought hits you like a punch to the gut. fuck...

(you hope, when it happens, it's quick. you hope it's saving his stupid, reckless life. you hope he misses you, just a little.)

"homerun!" you crow as you look back at mark, pushing off the wall to deliver slow, sarcastic applause, trying to erase your negative thoughts. no need for allat when you're still alive and breathing, right? one of your gloves comes away sticky with someone else's blood. "ten outta ten for form, but i'm deducting points for lack of showmanship. where's the flair, grayson?"

"shut up," mark growls through gritted teeth, but the way his lips twitch betrays him. he chucks the ruined sign aside like trash before lunging for his next victim - some meathead who clearly skipped neck day. mark's fingers close around the guy's throat, lifting him clean off his feet until their faces are level. the thug's sneakers scrabble against empty air, his face blooming an impressive shade of eggplant as mark just... watches. his head tilts slightly, eyes dark with something between scientific curiosity and outright glee. it's the same look kids get when they poke dead things with sticks.

you whistle low through your teeth, nudging an unconscious goon with your toe. "y'know most heroes don't commit felonies on the daily. pretty sure throttling dudes counts as excessive force."

"we're not most heroes," mark snarls, finally dropping the gasping thug in a heap. he wipes his palms on his thighs, leaving smears of red across the blue fabric. "and i literally saw what you did to those guys back there," he jerks his chin toward the alley mouth where four bodies lay in increasingly creative positions, "so don't even start, hypocrite."

your grin stretches wide enough to hurt. he's got you there. while mark was playing fast and loose with the geneva suggestions, you'd been busy turning a switchblade into a modern art installation in someone's shoulder socket.

"touche, mohawk," you concede, flipping your bat in a lazy arc. "but in my defense?" the aluminum cracks against the skull of some sneaky bastard trying to flank mark. the guy folds like a lawn chair. "my felonies have panache."

mark's answering laugh is all teeth and no remorse. the sirens wailing in the distance mean it's time to bounce, but neither of you move just yet. not when there's still blood in the air and that electric hum of violence buzzing under your skin.

(and if your eyes linger on the way mark's chest heaves, on the wild light in his eyes - well. that's between you and the audience. you can't judge him, can you? perverts.)

luckily for the two of you, the universe apparently decided this shit-show wasn't over yet, with one final act left. with a running start, you plant one boot against the side of a overflowing dumpster and push off, tucking into a neat flip that would make any olympic gymnast weep with envy. you land in a crouch behind two meatheads who clearly skipped villain orientation day - their matching "we do crime" energy is almost cute in its patheticness.

the first guy telegraphs his punch like he's sending smoke signals. you catch his fist mid-swing, twisting his wrist in one fluid motion until the bone gives with an audible snap. his scream is high enough to shatter glass. "dude," you sigh, shaking your head as he crumples to his knees, "you gotta warm up first. this is just sad. i'm embarrassed for you."

his buddy takes this moment to make a terrible life choice, fumbling a glock from his waistband. the barrel wavers wildly as he tries to aim.

you blink. "oh, rude."

the gunshot cracks through the alley, but you're already moving - twisting sideways just enough that the bullet parts your hair like a fucked-up comb. before the echo even fades, your knife is airborne, burying itself to the hilt in the guy's shoulder with a meaty thunk. his shriek is music to your ears as the gun clatters to the pavement. you saunter over, planting a boot on his chest for leverage as you yank your blade free. "thanks for the target practice," you muse, wiping the blood on his shirt before he passes out. "tell your friends."

meanwhile, mark has apparently decided physics are optional. you turn just in time to see him grab some poor bastard by the belt and collar, muscles straining under his suit as he heaves - the guy goes sailing through the air like a ragdoll, crashing through a fruit stand in an explosion of splintered wood and flying oranges. before the first body even stops rolling, mark's already pivoted to grab another thug, launching him ass-first into a trash can with enough force to dent the metal. the clang echoes down the alley like a demented church bell.

"having fun?" you call, spinning your pistol around your finger before slotting a fresh magazine home with practiced ease. the click of it seating is downright pornographic.

"shut up," mark pants for the umpteenth time, but there's no heat behind it - just that breathless, unhinged laughter that makes your stomach do funny things. he grabs the last guy by his collar, hauling him up until they're nose-to-nose. for a heartbeat, they just stare at each other - then mark slams their foreheads together with a crunch that would make a butcher wince. the guy's nose practically explodes in a crimson spray, his eyes rolling back as he collapses in a boneless heap.

suddenly, it's quiet.

the aftermath looks like a tornado hit a butcher shop - bodies strewn about like broken dolls, glass glittering amidst pools of darkening blood, the distant wail of sirens growing steadily closer. mark's chest heaves with each breath, his knuckles split and dripping onto the pavement. his mohawk's gone full hedgehog mode, sticking up in every direction, and there's a smear of someone else's blood across his cheekbone that you have the sudden, overwhelming urge to lick off. weird. last you checked, you were a picky eater.

when he turns to look at you, his eyes are alive - pupils blown wide with adrenaline, that manic grin still tugging at his lips. it's terrifying. it's beautiful. it's so mark that your chest aches with it. so mark that you can literally feel the blood in your veins start to make its way down.

"so," you say, holstering your gun with a flourish, "same time tomorrow?"

mark scoffs, rolling his shoulders as he turns to leave. but he doesn't check if you're following - doesn't need to.

(you always do.)

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

"i feel like i'm going crazy. like my brain's been stuffed with cotton and set on fire at the same time." you stare at the water-stained ceiling talking to no one in particular, fingers digging into your pillow hard enough to tear seams. the eyebags under your eyes have gotten so dark they look like bruises (at least now you and mark match, his from violence, yours from... whatever this is). your hair's a disheveled mess, strands sticking to your forehead after days of bedrotting and only wearing t-shirts and sweatpants. you need to do your laundry soon, you were about to run out of t-shirts and sweatpants from your closet. you can feel death crouched at the foot of your bed like a stray cat waiting to be let in. "i'm literally about to die and what do i do? play fucking martyr instead of just... just..." your voice cracks as you press the heels of your hands against your burning eyes.

this was supposed to be some noble gesture - giving mark a trial run at life without you. you'd dove into the plan half-delirious, imagining how he'd come pounding on your door by sundown, all wild-eyed and vibrating with barely-contained panic. he'd drag you out of bed by your ankle, that adorable angry crease between his brows as he yelled about how you can't just disappear for hours, how he'd torn the city apart looking for you, how maybe - just maybe - he'd been a little more brutal than usual with the criminals today because what if something had happened to you and -

except that's not what happened.

three days. seventy-two hours of radio silence. the notifications on your phone have tapered off to nothing. you keep checking it like a pathetic loser, thumb smearing fingerprints across the cracked screen as you scroll through increasingly distant messages:

sidehoe #1 🐈💨 2:43 AM

we both know you don't got other sidehoes, so why is there a number next to my nickname??

manwhore <3

why would i tell you who the others are? you'd just kill them anyway, so i gotta keep the huzz safe, you feel me?

and don't worry, marky, you'll always be number 1 in my heart <33

sidehoe #1 🐈💨 7:58 AM

oh shut up

8:02 AM

okay when i said shut up, i didn't mean literally

8:15 AM

you alive?

9:29 AM

you haven't watched the tiktoks i sent yet watch them or you're going to get it tonight

9:31 AM

when i said you're going to get it tonight i meant i'm going to grab you by the throat and glue your phone screen to your eyes or sexual intercourse don't even make fun of me for calling it that whichever one gets you to answer my fucking messages

8:16 PM

whatever

"it's like..." you rasp to the empty room, throat raw from disuse. "like when you stop texting your boyfriend first to see how long it takes him to notice you're gone. except you're the idiot who breaks after five minutes because the silence makes your chest hurt, while he's just... fine." you let your phone clatter to the floor, screen-up so you can watch it stay dark. "fuck. that doesn't even make sense. i fucking hate myself."

outside your window, the city keeps turning. somewhere out there, mark's probably elbow-deep in someone's ribcage, not even realizing there's a you-shaped hole in the world. the thought makes you laugh - a wet, broken sound that turns into a sob halfway through. you roll over and bury your face in the pillow that stopped smelling like him days ago.

(you always knew you'd die for him. you just never thought you'd have to watch him stop needing you first.)

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

that suffocating dread finally lifts one night - not because it's gone, but because you've grown too tired to carry it anymore. it had clung to your ribs like tar for days, weighing down every breath no matter how many shitty jokes you cracked or how many bad decisions you made. hiding in your room didn't help either, the walls pressing closer each day like they knew what was coming. part of you wondered if the danger was you all along, if you'd somehow become the villain in this story. but no - you know how this ends. you've always known. you'll die saving that reckless, mohawked idiot who still doesn't realize you're in love with him.

after your first proper shower in days (the water scalding your skin pink), you crack open another soda and watch the bubbles fizz against the can's rim. the carbonation burns your throat as you gulp it down, the sugar rush doing nothing to steady your hands as you strap on your gear. your suit smells like old blood and gunpowder when you shrug it on, the familiar weight of weapons settling against your thighs as you step out into the night.

you take your usual patrol route - yours and mark's route, the one where he always complains about stopping for hot dogs but eats three anyway. every shadow makes your pulse jump, half-hoping you won't see him, half-terrified this might be your last chance if you do. the city stretches below you, all glittering lights and oblivious crowds. it looks peaceful from up here. you almost feel peaceful after finally accepting that you only have a few pages left before your book ends. (liar.)

"but of course," you murmur to no one in particular, gloved fingers tightening around the rooftop's edge, "you've got different plans for me, right?" the wind doesn't answer. then -

a rush of air colder than the night itself. the scent of leather and that cheap citrus body wash mark refuses to stop using.

"where the fuck have you been?" his voice loud like a gunshot, raw with something between rage and devastation. you don't turn. can't. the city lights blur beneath you as you focus on keeping your breathing even. "i said," mark snarls, closer now, "where the fuck have you been, you stupid son of a bitch-"

"you've been doing fine without me." your mask hits the concrete with a dull thud when you pull it off. the smile you force feels like a death rattle. "see? proof you won't completely lose it when something does happen to me-"

"will you fucking quit that?" mark's boots scuff against concrete as he storms forward. when you finally turn, his face is a mess of anger and fear, eyes glassy under the moonlight. "you always - fuck - you always talk like you've got one foot in the grave. why do you keep talking like that? are you- " his breath hitches, hands flexing at his sides like he wants to shake you or hold you or both, "are you planning on killing yourself?"

the laugh that tears from your throat sounds alien even to you. "what? no, i'm not-"

"stop lying!" mark's shout echoes off the rooftops, his composure shattering as tears finally spill over. your chest caves in at the sight - mark never cries, not even when he's bleeding out in some alleyway. his hands find yours with desperate urgency, calloused fingers trembling as they squeeze yours hard enough to bruise. "just... stop. if you're hurting, tell me. am i - " his voice breaks, "am i really not someone you can trust with this?"

he drags your joined hands up, pressing your knuckles to his forehead like a prayer. his breath brushes your wrists as he leans into the contact, hot against your skin. when he speaks again, it's so quiet the wind almost steals it: "i might be a disaster, but i fucking care. so please... let me in."

the dam breaks.

"i'm sorry," the words spill out in a broken whisper, saltwater dripping off your chin as tears carve hot paths down your wind-chapped cheeks. "god, mark, i'm so fucking sorry."

your hands slip from his trembling grip, moving on instinct as you drag him into the tightest embrace your battered body can manage. one hand finds its way between his shoulder blades, fingers spreading wide over the familiar topography of his suit's fabric as you rub slow, grounding circles into the knotted muscles beneath. the other settles at the dip of his waist, thumb tracing absentminded patterns against the curve of his hip through the thin material - that same spot you've secretly ached to touch for years, now warm and solid under your palm.

his breathing hitches when you pull him closer, his forehead coming to rest heavily against your shoulder as his hands fist in the back of your jacket like you might vanish if he lets go. (and he's almost right.) the scent of his shampoo mixes with gunpowder and copper as you tuck your face into the mess of his mohawk, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear when you murmur another apology into the space between you.

but it wasn't enough to just whisper apologies into his skin, not when you still hadn't told him the crushing truth - that soon you'd be nothing more than another ghost haunting his memories.

his breath is warm against your neck as you hold him, his heartbeat thundering against your chest in a rhythm you've memorized through countless battles. you let your fingers card through the short hairs at the nape of his neck, smiling faintly when he shivers at the touch. "hey audience," you murmur silently against mark's shoulder, your voice barely a thought, "funny how i can take a bullet without flinching, but can't say three stupid little words to the guy who actually gives a shit if i live or die, huh?"

mark shifts in your arms, his calloused palm sliding up to cradle the back of your head like you're something precious. the moonlight paints silver and blue along the curve of his cheekbone when he tilts his face up, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes your throat tight. you press your forehead to his instead, breathing him in - the citrus of his shampoo, the iron tang of blood from split knuckles, the unmistakable scent that's just mark. your thumb traces the arch of his cheekbone, wiping away tear tracks you pretend not to notice.

(you don't say i love you. but when his lips brush yours in something too soft to be a kiss and too tender to be an accident, you think maybe he knows anyway.)

OH MY GOD 4.5k WORDS??? THIS MIGHT BE THE LONGEST ONE-SHOT I'VE EVER WRITTEN, and honestly... i think i might have cooked with this one-

#lazy-ahh #invincible #invincible variant #mark grayson #mohawk invincible #mohawk mark grayson #male reader #x male reader #invincible x male reader #invincible variant x male reader #mohawk invincible x male reader #mohawk mark grayson x male reader #4th wall breaking reader trope is currently my favourite #MM anon i love you man #I NEED THAT INVINCIDIH-#are you sure?

358 notes · View notes

lipglossanon · 18 days ago

Text

Sweets to the Sweet

Vergil x fem!reader (one shot)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dilf Vergil (need I say more 😉), au, I’m sure OOC Vergil (😞 i tried), kissing, teasing, dirty talk, praise, biting, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie(s), multiple orgasms, squirting, mirror sex, cum eating, slight breeding kink

over 7k worth of pwp lol

not proofread ✍️ enjoy!

editing to add: big thanks and shoutout to @ashlinxsloves and 💀 anon 💜 thanks to you two, i had the inspo to finish this fic 😭

Summer break could not arrive any faster. Your finals sucked the life and joy from you, but now it’s over and done. Nothing left except to empty your brain of concepts, formulas, and essays—and finally relax.

Nero, who you randomly met in the library trying to cram for an anatomy exam at the beginning of the semester, has invited you to hang out with him for a few weeks. I promise my dad isn’t going to care, a crooked grin in place, hell that's if he’s even at home. And I want you to meet Kyrie. Here, a dreamy look comes over his face. She’s the best.

So, you pack up and head out with Nero as soon as the last final’s finished (it’s yours, and it’s history). Then, after a short road trip—made easier by trading off driving until late the next night—Nero pulls up in front of a modest two story house. After parking, you both climb out of the car, stretching to work out the kinks of sitting in one spot for hours. You grab your bags while Nero grabs his and leads you up the pebbled foot path to the front door.

Before he can stick the key in the lock, the door swings open into a warmly lit foyer. The hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life stands there, cool gaze flicking from Nero to you back to Nero. He’s well dressed to be at home, a dark blue cable knit sweater paired with soft grey joggers ending on bare feet; his spiked hair looks messy, like he’s run his hands through it, with several fallen strands highlighting his face. A strong jaw offset by a soft mouth draws in your eyes.

“Son,” his raspy voice sends chills dancing down your spine. “Who is our lovely guest?”

Nero brushes his thumb against his nose, a nervous tic you’ve noticed about him. “Ah, well, surprise,” he hunches his shoulders, a sheepish smile pulling at his lips. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

His dad’s glacial eyes snap to you. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Nero hurriedly introduces everyone, making you grin over at him once he says his dad’s name is Vergil.

“You guys like to keep it classic, huh?”

Vergil’s mouth twitches, the hint of a smile trying to appear. “Yes, quaint, isn’t it?”

You laugh outright and Nero scratches the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, Well.. we’re kinda beat.”

His dad nods, smoothly stepping forward to clasp your bags in his hands. “Follow me to your rooms.”

You sputter out a protest that is quickly shot down—“A lady never carries her own luggage”—Vergil’s raised eyebrow and dismissive tone makes your heart flutter. He leads the two of you further into the house and upstairs. Once you get settled in, you fall asleep in no time.

The next few days are filled with Nero showing you around his house and neighborhood.

Oddly enough, whenever you and Nero hang out around his home, his dad is nearby. Nero offhandedly mentions a few times that that’s not his norm.

“He must be on vacation this week,” he complains to you under his breath, watching Vergil make his way through the living room to the kitchen. “I swear he’s never around when I’m on break.”

“Is he never around or are you always out with Kyrie?” You tease good naturedly.

“Shut up,” he laughs, tossing a throw pillow at you before slumping back on the couch. ”It just feels like he’s hovering.”

You shrug, attention going back to the television. You’d never say it out loud, especially to Nero, but you definitely don’t mind seeing his dad hanging around.

Nero eventually introduces you to his neighbor and childhood friend, Nico—a rowdy young woman who you click with almost instantly. She razzes Nero about everything, and it never fails to make you laugh. The last person he brings around is the infamous Kyrie. She’s so kind and pretty, you understand why Nero is so smitten.

The four of you hang out a few times and it’s fun, but you're glad when you have a free day to yourself. Craving homemade scones, Nero is nice enough to run out to the store to grab some ingredients. It’s only until he’s back that you realize a few items are still missing, and he promises to run out and grab those, too.

Alone once more in the kitchen, you decide to get a head start on the recipe.

Humming, your brows pinch together, immersed in looking over the recipe you have saved in your phone. You’re ninety-nine percent sure you have everything added to the bowl, but you just want to double check before you start mixing. Too busy cataloging ingredients, you don’t notice Vergil standing near the kitchen entryway.

“Okay,” you say to yourself out loud, pushing the phone further up the counter so you can pull the bowl and whisk to you. “Beat by hand for two minutes.”

“What are you making?”

An embarrassingly high pitched squeal escapes you before you can stop it. Spinning around, you see Nero’s dad gazing at you in amusement although his face remains stoic.

“Oh my gosh,” you hold your hand over your heart. “I-I didn’t hear you come in. You scared me to death.”

“Apologies,” he lets his lips quirk up, a shadow of a grin. “It was not my intention.”

Blowing out a short breath, you shake your head. “No, I mean I know you didn’t mean to. And, uh, I’m just baking lemon scones. Nero picked up some ingredients for me earlier, but he’s off getting the rest right now.”

He steps closer, eyes dragging down your body before flicking up to your mixing bowl. “And do you require any assistance?”

His low tone has you biting your bottom lip, watching when his eyes catch on the movement. “Uh, s-sure, I mean if you don’t mind.”

He graces you with a half smile, “I would not have offered otherwise. Tell me how you need me.”

Your skin feels hot and a nervous sweat breaks out across your hairline. Aside from a few stuttered words, you’re able to explain to Vergil and in no time you both are working side by side in quiet harmony.

His hands catch your eyes; pianist hands, you think. Long dexterous fingers offset by pale skin with blue veins snaking their way from his knuckles up his forearms. You want to sink your teeth into his skin. It’s unfair how good he looks.

You’ve only spent a little bit of time with Nero’s father; it’s mostly been with his friends and girlfriend. Vergil, you’ve noticed, is quiet—more prone to reading in the soft lamplight of the living room than loud conversation. Nico says Nero is much more like his uncle (“A loud mouthed braggart to paraphrase Vergil,“ Nico snickered). So lost in thought, you almost miss him speaking.

“This is nice,” he murmurs at you, side-eying you before glancing back at his hands.

Smiling down at the mixing bowl, you nod. “It is.”

“I am..” his mouth purses, like he’s tasting out the word he’s searching for, “glad Nero invited you.”

At his admission, you turn to fully look at his side profile. A straight nose with strong cheekbones—he notices you looking and turns to face you, shifting your view onto his sharp eyes and Cupid’s bow mouth.

His thumb comes up to brush against your cheek, hand cupping your jaw, and you gasp. Heart tripping over itself in your chest, you feel rooted to the spot, trapped by indecision and nerves. The heat from his hand draws you in, head angling toward his palm.

“You have a streak of flour,” his low voice sends butterflies fluttering in your chest.

Your lips part and his eyes flick from your gaze down to your mouth. Before anything else happens, the side door of the kitchen swings open with a bang, Nero cursing under his breath as he steps through. Vergil easily slips away from you, turning back to the kitchen counter. Hands clenching at your sides, you try to calm your nerves, pulling in a deep breath before shakily letting it out.

Nero drops a small paper bag on the counter next to Vergil. “Did she rope you into it, too?”

He grins at you and you flip him off.

“Nooo,” you roll your eyes with a sigh. “He volunteered.”

“More like volun-told,” Nero laughs, holding up his hands as you reach over to push his arm.

“Why don’t you make like a tree and beat it?” You grouse.

A soft chuckle meets your ears, and you shoot a quick look at Vergil and catch his amused expression.

Nero sighs, “Well, I know when I’m not wanted. I just came to drop off the rest of it, gotta meet up with Nico to look over some project.”

Nodding, you watch as Nero heads out the way he came in. “Tell her hi from me.”

“Will do!” He waves without looking, shutting the door behind him.

A slightly awkward silence rings out after Nero’s departure. Clearing your throat, you turn back to the work space.

“Okay, so where were we?”

Vergil tilts his head at you, “I believe you were waiting on Nero’s delivery in order to continue.”

“Right,” you smile, embarrassment warming your chest.

You try to reach over Vergil to grab the bag Nero left when he shifts out of the way; nearly losing your balance, he braces your hips and twists the same time you step forward, leaving you pinned between his firm body and the counter. Nervous excitement has your palms sweating as you grip the countertop.

“Apologies,” you can feel the rumble of his voice from where your back presses against his chest.

A warm, woodsy smell encompasses you; the scent of bergamot and birch with an undertone of cloves. It sends a pulse of need through your core. Your fingertips tingle, arousal thrumming heavily in your veins. Belatedly, you realize he now has both hands on your hips. Where Vergil presses against you, he’s warm, the kind of heat that seeps into your bones and keeps you.

His lips brush across the side of your neck, as faint as butterfly wings, sending chills to race down your spine.

Lips touch the shell of your ear. “Is this.. okay?”

“More than,” you breathe out in reply.

In one fluid motion, he turns you around and lifts you up, seating you on the kitchen counter. The gain in height only makes you a few inches taller than the older man in front of you. Running your fingers up across his chest, your hands come to rest on his shoulders. His lips quirk into a half smile and it makes your heart thud heavily in anticipation.

His hands slide from your hips down to your thighs, palms a hot brand against the skin. Attempting to squeeze them closed, he clicks his tongue, thumbs digging into the dough of your thighs.

“Relax,” he breathes out, stepping even closer—his clothes rasp against your bare legs and makes you shiver.

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, and he leans forward with a soft groan.

“Tempting me with this sinful little mouth,” his words send a pulsing throb to your clit. “Shall I sample a taste?”

“Yes, please,” you whisper, eyes dilating, fingers curling into his sweater to anchor yourself.

Molten heat, like sun warmed honey, drips down your throat. Hungrily, he parts your lips, tongue slipping inside to taste you. Eyes fluttering closed, the dark may hide your sight but the feel of him surrounds you. His hands grip onto your thighs more tightly, a delicious bite of pain that makes your cunt clench around nothing.

He whispers something against your lips when he pulls away, but kisses you again before you can ask what. Vergil’s tongue slides into your mouth like he owns it. He kisses slow and deep, taking his time to map out your mouth. You're swept up, unable to think outside of the litany of more more more drumming inside your skull.

Hands slipping across the back of his neck, your fingers run through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp earning you a low groan. You greedily swallow it down along with the saliva from his insistent mouth. Rocking forward, you seek out more pleasure for yourself. The zipper on his slacks press against your cunt perfectly, clit swollen and questing for more.

Pulling you closer to the edge, he chuckles against your mouth. His lips drag across your jaw, lightly nipping the skin where it hinges. His tongue and teeth slowly map a trail across your neck. Slick saturates the gusset of your panties, pussy feeling hot. Your hand blindly reaches down and gropes him through his slacks and he grunts, fingers squeezing the fat of your thighs.

“Let me take you to bed,” he mumbles into your neck, dropping a small kiss to your skin.

“Okay,” you whisper against his hair. Lifting his head, he kisses you again, soft and wet.

It seems like you only blink, and you find yourself in his bedroom. You don’t really take much in except for the bed, a large mahogany centered against the wall. Feeling him at your back, your trembling legs take you over the mattress. Laying down, a whiff of cloves and bergamot steals into your nose.

Recognizing the smell from earlier in the kitchen, his sheets are saturated with it, making you bury your face into them. Breathing in makes you dizzy with want.

“Let me see your face, lovely one,” he coos, strong hands gripping your waist to flip you onto your back. “Such a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

“Vergil,” you whimper, legs parting, allowing him to slot himself between your thighs.

He kisses you, rough and heated, tongue slipping into your mouth before coaxing your own past his lips. Sucking the wet muscle, his canines press down gently, sending a pulsing want through your clit. Your fingers tangle in his hair and tug on the light strands. Whining, your hips roll up, grinding along the bulge pressing against the apex of your thighs.

Vergil sits back, hands dragging down your body. The knuckles of one his hands rubs across the seam of your lounge shorts, rubbing soft circles against the material, pressing it into your clit.

“I can feel how hot and needy you are,” he murmurs, blue eyes blown out in arousal. “May I?”

At your nod, his fingers slip into the band of your shorts and underwear, tugging them both down and off at the same time. Strings of slick cling to the gusset of your panties before snapping when he pulls them away.

“Look at you,” he groans. “Such a slick little cunt.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, thighs twitching with the effort to keep them open.

Kneeling between your thighs, he drops a kiss at the bend of your right knee before slowly trailing kisses with the soft hint of teeth up your thigh. Skipping over your soaked slit, he presses kisses into your left thigh, leaving off with a gentle bite to your leg.

Hands grasping at his sheets, you writhe and whimper, hips jumping up to tempt his plush mouth to kiss your dripping pussy. He smirks up at you, mouth nipping at the junction of your thigh and cunt.

“Please, Vergil,” you pant, letting go of the sheets to run your hands through his hair.

“So sweet.” His fingers wrap around your wrist and tugs your hand to his mouth, kissing the inside of your wrist.

His teeth sink into soft skin, lips and tongue roughly sucking a mark onto your wrist. Clit throbbing with the dull pain from his mouth, your free hand claws at his shoulder, head tilting back with a whine. Letting go with an audible pop, his tongue laps at the teeth indentations left on your skin.

“Now, to taste that hot little cunt,” he murmurs, kissing the mark one more time before dropping his head back down to your thighs.

The breath leaves your lungs in a gusty moan. Vergil’s tongue glides along your slit, ending with a soft kiss to your clit. With a groan, he buries his face into your cunt, tongue parting your slick folds to lick into your drippy hole. His hands frame your pussy, thumbs pulling your lips apart, allowing him to lick into you deeper. You clench down on his hot tongue, eyes rolling back when he chuckles against your sensitive cunt.

Pulling away with an obscene slurp, his tongue laps upward until he can circle your pudgy clit. Shifting one hand, he softly pulls back the hood of your clit, kitten licking the swollen bud until you’re scratching his shoulders and keening loudly. Humming, his blue eyes gaze up your body, and it makes your core burn hot. Flattening his tongue, he licks a broad stripe across your clit, and it sends more slick leaking from your pussy.

“Feels so good,” you gasp, nails sinking into his soft sweater. Tears clump your lashes together.

“You taste good,” he mumbles against your pussy. “Like ambrosia.”

His tongue presses back inside, hungrily tasting your cunt, strong nose rubbing across your fat clit. Moaning, your toes curl from the pleasure humming through your body.

“Please, I need you,” you keen, “I need you inside me.”

“You need what inside you?” He pulls away with a suckling kiss to your clit.

Blinking the wetness from your eyes, you tighten your grip onto his shoulders, lightly pulling him upward.

“Your cock,” you whimper, lips parting when he presses his mouth to your jaw. You can feel his lips curve into a grin.

“Good girl,” his low voice washes over you as he kisses the apple of your cheek.

He sits back on his haunches, hands stretching behind his head to grasp his sweater. Tugging it off in one fluid motion, strands of hair messily falling around his face while he drops the sweater into the floor. Biting your lip, your eyes greedily take in his toned chest and stomach. Your hands unconsciously reach out to drag down his sternum. Eyes following your hand, they drop down to his lap, tracing the outline of his cock pressing against the fabric.

Flushed with heat, you bite your bottom lip, blown out gaze meeting his own. Palm pressing flat to his abdomen, you slide down to cup him through his slacks. A low sound escapes him from deep in his throat; it makes your clit throb. His hands quickly undo his pants, tugging them down his muscled thighs. Your mouth waters, a whine slipping out to see him bare before you since he’s not wearing anything underneath.

“The way you look at me drives me crazy,” his raspy tone sends chills across your skin.

He fists his cock with one hand while the other one moves up to your face, brushing a thumb across your bottom lip. Pressing forward, the digit slips into your mouth, pinning your tongue down as he cups your chin with his forefinger. Whimpering, you hollow your cheeks, sucking on his thumb softly, inner thighs trying to close but stopped by his body centered between your legs.

Letting go of your face, he swipes his wet thumb across his leaking tip before popping it back into your mouth. Salty musk floods your mouth and you moan, eyelashes fluttering as you run your tongue all around his thumb, lapping the precum up greedily. Tugging the digit free from your mouth, he smears your spit all across your lips.

“I’m very eager to be inside you, to stretch you open until you cry,” his eyes are nearly black, pupils swallowing up the blue until it’s a thin ring.

Reaching down, you grasp the hemline of your shirt and tug it up. Vergil joins you in removing your clothing, nimble fingers undoing your bra and slipping it away from your body. His hands grope your tits, thumbs brushing over your stiff nipples and making you cry out pitifully.

“So sensitive, too,” he murmurs, more to himself; his eyes take in your naked body before snapping up to meet your gaze. “Aren’t you a sweet treat?”

A shadow of a smile flits across his face; if you had blinked you would’ve missed it. His head dips down and he drops a kiss to your sternum. Breath hitching in your chest, your hands drop to the sheets to grip them tightly. His lips trail across your breasts, taking his time to kiss and lick each one. Sinking his teeth into the underside of your left breast, you keen softly, thighs falling open even further.

Suckling at your nipples, Vergil reaches down and grasps his cock, rubbing it across your soaked slit. The slick dripping from your pussy costs his dick, letting him easily grind against you. Fingers circling the base, he grips his cock and slaps it down onto your cunt, aiming the tip to graze at your swollen clit.

“Oh, please,” you gasp, hole clenching around nothing.

Ghosting his teeth against your hard nubs, he continues to suck on your nipples. His wet lips grail from one stiff peak to the next, blue eyes slitted in pleasure. Using his thumb, he presses the head of his cock against your hole.

“I can feel you trying to suck me in already,” his lips brush against the soft skin of your breasts.

Notching his cock at your fluttering pussy, he slowly pushes inside with a low groan. He buries his face into your neck, strands of hair tickling your jaw.

“I-it’s too big,” you pant, hands moving to claw at his shoulders. “Oh, god, it’s so good.”

He growls at your words, hips rocking into you harder than before. Your breath slips from you, the total feeling of fullness overtaking your senses—cunt stuffed with Vergil’s thick length.

He laces your fingers together, palm to palm, heart line to heart line; you can’t stop yourself from kissing him, helplessly, irrevocably ruined on his cock.

“Doing so well, taking me so deep.” He licks the shell of your ear, and you shudder, clenching down on his dick. “Snug little pussy feels like she was made for me.”

You’re unable to stop yourself from babbling, “Please, please, feels so good, you’re so big, please, I need it, I need it so bad.”

“Hush,” he coos, kissing the corner of your eye, tasting the salt from your tears. “I won’t leave you wanting, my sweet.”

The heat is suffocating; the heat pulsing through your veins, the heat buried in your cunt, the heat from his body pressing you down down down into his bedding.

“Are you going to cum for me?” His grip tightens around your hands. “I can feel this needy hole suckling at my cock.”

Whine smothered by his tongue licking into your mouth, your eyes roll back, climax washing over your body like a slow rolling wave. He keeps up the smooth rocking thrusts that have his pelvis grinding perfectly into your swollen clit.

“Good girl,” he drops kisses across your cheekbones and the corner of your lips. “Milking my cock so perfectly.”

Nails digging into the backs of his hands, your legs squeeze his waist, pussy clamping down on his dick, post climax tremors racking your body. He bites down on your neck, and you rock your hips, grinding his cock deeper into your pussy.

“I shouldn’t cum inside you,” Vergil whispers against your neck, voice wrecked. “It's not responsible.”

“Don’t care,” you plead with him. “Want it, want you to cum inside me.”

He groans, hips thrusting harder, cock easily slipping in and out of your sopping wet pussy.

“I’ll spill so deep inside you.” He drags one set of your clasped hands down your body to press into your abdomen. “You’ll feel it, so hot and thick.. my cum breeding your needy cunt.”

Your pussy walls flutter and squeeze down on his cock, slick coating his cock as his words fan your arousal from smoldering embers to a blazing flame.

“Vergil, please.” Sounding like a broken record, you beg him for more. “You can cum in me as much as you want.”

He growls, teeth sinking into your shoulder.

“Yes, fuck,” you choke out, tears beading your lash line. “Mark me up, do whatever you want.”

“You must stop offering me such delightful gifts,” he groans. “I’ll keep you full all night.”

He presses your hands more tightly against your lower abdomen.

“You’ll be dripping for days.”

With a low grunt that makes your cunt pulse, he flips you two over without pulling out. Now, his back is to the mattress with you sitting atop his lap. Your cunt flutters wildly around his dick, clit throbbing like a second heartbeat.

“Look at you,” his eyes are dark, drawing you in easily. “So lovely.”

Moaning, you eagerly bounce on his cock; Vergil laces your hands together again, helping you brace yourself. Biting your bottom lip, you roll your hips faster, grinding his cock along your g-spot and making your pussy gush so much slick it drips down his balls.

You want to cum; you want to cum so bad. He feels so good inside you, you think you might go crazy. He’s thick, stretching you open on that perfect edge of almost too much and just enough. His fat tip keeps knocking into your womb, the pleasurepain skittering down your spine and making your eyes water. He has to cum inside you.

You think you say as much out loud since he gives you one of those hidden smiles, wicked eyes promising you pleasure. He thrusts upward, cock rutting into your squelching cunt with deep, steady strokes. He bunches your hands together so he can clasp them in one of his, using the other to loosely grasp your neck and pull you down. Your noses bump before he nips your bottom lip.

“Are you going to cum for me, dear heart? Squeeze me until I spill all sticky, sweet inside your perfect cunt?” He whispers against your lips, the words stealing into your mouth and settling deep into your core.

Pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips, his tongue slides into your mouth, flicking against yours. You whine, pussy clamping down on his cock, climax beginning to crest inside you once again.

“That’s it, let me feel you,” Vergil coaxes, voice low and silky. “Cum for me.”

His hand moves from your neck down between your bodies to lightly rub across your clit. Pussy clenching, your grind down onto his cock and whimper. A few more soft circles against your pudgy bud and you’re cumming again. Moaning his name, your body flinches and shudders, orgasm buzzing through your senses until all you can feel is him.

“Do you still want me to fill you?” He asks, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, tugging it slightly before letting go.

“Yes, yes, please, Vergil.” You nod, body still trembling. He groans and kisses you with fervor, hands gripping your hips so tightly it stings.

Cunt dripping your cum and slick, Vergil’s cock fills you over and over until he buries himself inside your soft, fluttering walls. Groaning, his head falls back to the mattress, eyes clenched shut, his balls pumping rope after rope of cum deep inside your pussy.

Slumping forward, your nose presses uncomfortably against his collarbone. His hands loosen their grip and he runs his fingertips across your back and side, raising chillbumps in their wake. Humming, you tilt your head and kiss his neck.

“Such a sweet girl,” he rumbles in your ear.

Your eyes drift closed, and it’s not until you feel movement that you realize you have even fallen asleep.

“I did not mean to wake you.” Vergil shifts you in his arms. You can feel his spend oozing from your puffy cunt sending a frisson of heat through your clit.

Shaking your head, you ease yourself up onto your feet. “I need to go clean up.”

His eyes drag down your naked body to see the mess he left between your thighs. His cock flexes, but stays soft.

“Shall I accompany you to the bath?”

Feeling shy and a little intimidated, you nod. “That would be nice.”

He ushers you into his en suite bathroom, fussing over the towels and water temperature before finally settling you both under the shower spray. Vergil lathers you in his body wash, being careful to wash every inch of your skin. You hum, eyes closed and totally relaxed. Soft kisses are pressed into your shoulders and neck. Between the warmth of his body and the drumming heat of the water, you think to yourself it’s quite easy to fall for someone like Vergil.

Once he finishes with you, he sets to cleaning himself. Vergil bats your hands away from helping him wash off. He keeps it perfunctory, just a quick and thorough cleaning before he’s pressing back against you in the water, lips seeking yours out. You look up at him, his hair beaten down by the water and making him look younger. Fingers running through his wet strands, you slick it back.

“You’re really handsome,” you mumble, feeling embarrassed and juvenile once the words escape you.

He grasps the wrist marked by his teeth and drops a soft kiss to your palm.

“And you are unequivocally lovely.” His blue eyes never waver from your gaze. “You have bewitched me quite easily.”

His hands cup your jaw, thumbs brushing across your cheek bones. “Would it be forward of me to ask for a courtship?”

You laugh, blinking the water from your eyes. “Kind of did things a bit backwards, huh?”

His lips tic into a half smile. “Yes, a bit backwards.”

Smiling, you slip your arms around his shoulders. “I’d love to go out with you.” Pausing, your eyes dart to the side, a frown pinching your brow. “You don’t think it’s weird I’m Nero’s friend?”

“As long as you do not find it odd that I’m his father,” he jokes, and it makes you smile up at him again.

“Then, it’s settled,” you stretch up on your toes to kiss his nose.

A huff of laughter escapes him before he kisses you sweetly. His hands still cup your jaw, keeping your head angled perfectly for him to deepen the kiss into something hot and heavy. After a few minutes of making out under the shower spray, you both begin to feel the water cooling off.

“Let’s get out.” He kisses you one last time, a quick peck to your lips, before shutting the water off and stepping out of the shower.

Returning quickly, he wraps a towel around you and gently dries you off. Once you’re ready, he drops the towel and has you put on one of his bathrobes. It’s too long in the sleeves and the hem touches the floor, but it’s soft and comfortable. He towels off quickly, eyes never straying too far from you. You watch him, with a dopey smile on your face you’re sure.

After cinching the towel around his waist, Vergil runs a hand through his damp hair, brushing it back from his face except for a few strands that stubbornly refuse to move.

“Let’s find you something to wear.” He tugs the end of the robe’s sleeve. “But it seems like my clothes may wear a bit long on you.”

You shrug, following him back into the bedroom. “I can head back to my room and—”

“Nonsense,” he cuts you off. “Especially since you’ll be sleeping in here, there is no reason to leave the room for tonight.”

“Oh!” Surprise suffuses your features.

“Did you think I would have you leave?” A nonplussed look combined with an eyebrow raise leaves you feeling sheepish.

“I didn’t think about it honestly,” you smile awkwardly. “But I’m more than happy to stay.”

“Good,” he tugs you in for a kiss before guiding you over to his closet. “I have a few items you can wear comfortably.”

Walking into the closet, he moves over to a built in wardrobe, leaving you to look around the space. You wander over to a tall mirror seated into the wall. Vergil turns with a shirt in hand and sees you admiring the ornate frame.

“It was a gift from my mother,” he says conversationally, stepping behind you.

“It’s gorgeous,” you smile at him through the reflected surface.

“Thank you,” he nods, then holds up the shirt. “May I?”

“Oh, sure,” you go to turn and he stops you.

One hand undoes your robe and lets it fall to the floor; his nostrils flare, eyes dragging down your naked body. Surprisingly, he doesn’t do anything more than help slip the shirt over your head. The fabric is soft and it smells like him, making your heart beat fast. He smoothes it down your body, hands resting on your hips.

Vergil pushes up against you and you bite your lip to feel his cock rutting against your thigh.

“Like what you see?” You tease, lifting the hem of the shirt from where it falls against your upper thighs, barely concealing your naked cunt.

“Always,” he nips your earlobe, hands drifting under your shirt to pull it up over your breasts.

He pinches your nipples and your head falls against his chest. Mewling, you rock back against his chubbed cock. One hand groping your tits, he slips the other away to undo his robe. Vergil’s hand then grasps your hip, thumb digging into your lower back. Notching his cock at your pussy, he swipes through the slick leaking from your hole.

“So eager,” his svelte voice fills your ears the same time he sinks inside your wet pussy.

He pins you to the mirror, the cool glass almost too much for your hard nipples. He pistons his cock harder into you, smushing your tits into the reflected glass. Face turned to the side, your breath fogs the mirror with each gasping pant. Your reedy moans and his soft grunts fill the closet space; long deep strokes of his cock send pleasure surging through your body. You’re still so sensitive from earlier, it doesn’t take long to push you to the edge.

“Look at you,” he groans. “Spread open and perfect. Taking me so well.”

“Vergil,” you whimper, eyes fluttering with every bump against your cervix.

“Do you know how delectable it is that you can cum like this?” He rumbles, raspy tone making you clench down on him. “I don’t even need to touch your pretty clit, just fill this slick cunt with my cock until you’re cumming around me.”

“Oh, god, I’m so close, please,” you babble, spit smearing against the mirror from your parted lips.

He shifts his grip from your hips to your ass, squeezing hard enough for fat to dimple between his fingers. Grunting, he fucks into you even harder, cock splitting you open with every deep stroke. His drippy tip bumps into the opening of your womb and sends pleasure careening through your veins. Pressure builds up in your core and you twist your hips, trying to change the angle of Vergil’s dick.

“W-wait, I’m—I think I’m gonna pee,” embarrassment makes your voice squeaky. “Vergil, please, I don’t wanna make a mess.”

He grunts, hips thrusting harder. “Let yourself go. I promise it will be fine. Your sweet cunt is just feeling good.”

Hands pushing at the mirror, you raise up but the angle only drives his cock in deeper, the head nailing your cervix and making your legs tremble. Clit pulsing, the tight band of arousal centered in your core finally snaps. Slick gushes around Vergil’s cock, nearly pushing him out of your pussy. Pussy walls flutter and pulse around his thick length, sucking him further into your soaked cunt.

“Perfect girl,” he groans, leaning forward to bite and kiss your neck. “Look at you squirting for me.”

Your watery eyes turn to your reflection and you take in your fucked out expression. Eyes moving from yours to Vergil, you watch him in the mirror. His eyes meet yours and he smirks.

“Didn’t that feel good?” He coos. “Now, rub that sweet, swollen clit. Let’s make you feel even better.”

Feeling wrung out, you sluggishly do as he says. Your fingers rub your clit in soft circles and your pussy flutters around his cock.

“Perfect,” he whispers, burying his face against your shoulder, teeth biting into the muscle. “So lovely.”

You whimper and whine, pussy swollen and sensitive and yet you still want to cum for Vergil, let him feel you squeeze down on his cock. He continues biting into your shoulders, breath hot on your neck when he finally raises his head to stare at you in the mirror.

“I’m close,” he murmurs. “Are you ready for my seed? Ready for me to spill inside you.. right here?” One hand slides up to press his palm flat to your lower abdomen. “Cum inside you so deep, you’ll be dripping for days.”

“Please, please,” you beg, tears clumping your lashes together. “I want you to cum inside me. Please, Vergil, please.”

“How can I deny such a sweet request?” He hums.

His hand joins yours, fingertips strumming across your clit and sending electricity zinging through your brain. He kisses a sensitive spot on your neck that leaves you shuddering, and he latches onto the skin, teeth and tongue working to leave a mark. Cock brushing against the spongy spot at the front of your cunt paired with his fingers playing with your pudgy clit sends you spiraling into another orgasm.

“Utterly perfect,” he growls, letting your walls milk his cock as you slump into the mirror, climax wiping out your muscles.

Reaching under your thighs, Vergil hooks your legs over his forearms and lifts you up. Too tired to care, he spreads you open, showing you both where he’s splitting you open. Grunting, he fucks you, cock barely pulling out before filling you once more. It doesn’t take long for him to drop you down onto his dick as he thrusts up, stilling with a low groan. Hot spurts of cum coat your pussy walls, making you gasp and clench down on his cock.

“Such a good girl,” he moans in your ear and your hole clamps down on him even harder.

Grunting, he pumps his cock slowly in and out, spurting the rest of his thick, sticky load into your cunt. There’s so much, you can see some of it bubble out from around his cock. When Vergil finally pulls out, his dick is coated in your slick and his spend; a quick glance at your hole shows it completely stuffed with his cum.

Feeling self conscious, you squirm in his hold. “Y-you can put me down now.”

He chuckles and it sends butterflies through your chest.

“I rather like this view,” he noses against your ear before kissing the shell.

His half hard cock rubs against your ass and you whimper.

“Maybe we should call it a night, hmm?”

You nod, watching as Vergil continues to nuzzle against your ear. He turns his attention back to you, eyes locking on yours in the mirror.

“So much for that shower,” you mumble, surprising him enough he barks out a laugh.

“Apologies,” he kisses your cheek. “Should we have another?”

Shaking your head, you turn your head to kiss his temple. “No sense. I have a feeling we’d only end up this way again.”

“I fear you are right,” he kisses you before slowly lowering your legs down to the floor. Clicking your tongue, you wince at the thick glob of cum oozing from your pussy.

“Bend over,” he suddenly orders and you have no reason to resist.

He spreads your cunt and slides his tongue into your messy hole.

“Vergil,” you squeal.

“Hush,” he pats your ass and you bite your lip. “I’m cleaning up my mess.”

Overly sensitive, you moan quietly, feeling every swipe of his probing tongue as he licks his cum out of your pussy. Once he can’t taste any more dripping out of you, Vergil pulls away, dropping one last kiss to your lower back before standing up.

Once more, he smoothes down the shirt he picked out for you to wear to bed, eyes warm in and otherwise stoic expression.

“Now shall we head to bed?”

You laugh, legs shaky enough that Vergil wraps a hand around your waist to let you lean against him.

“Are we going to bed? Or are we going to bed?” You raise your eyebrows at him, amusement coloring your voice.

“Both,” he deadpans, and you snort before covering your mouth.

“How is that funny?” He murmurs, grabbing your waist and manhandling you down onto the bed.

His hands brush your thighs and your hips, seeking out any ticklish spots. Laughing, you sink your hands into his hair and guide him up to your mouth for a kiss. He sighs against your lips, and you whimper to taste yourself on his tongue.

Pulling away, he glances down at your bare thighs. “Shall I procure undergarments?”

“No, thank you.” You run your hands down his neck to his shoulders. “I don’t think I’ll need any.”

His shoulders twitch under your hands as he breathes out a soft laugh.

“Are you suggesting that I cannot keep my hands to myself?”

“I’m suggesting,” you whisper against his mouth, “that I don’t mind if you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

He licks into your mouth, groans muffled against your tongue. Hot, open mouthed kisses simmer down to sweet, soft presses of his lips until he finally pulls back.

“As delightful as another round would be, we should attempt to sleep,” he sighs, forehead pressing against your temple.

“Mmm hmm,” you agree readily, your body starting to feel how tired you truly are. “No complaints from me.”

He hums, the sound tickling your face and making you giggle. Tossing the covers back, he helps you get comfortable before tugging the sheets back over your bodies. Sighing happily, you snuggle into Vergil’s chest, letting his scent and body heat lull you to sleep.

#vergil x fem!reader #dmc vergil #vergil devil may cry #vergil x reader #vergil x you #vergil smut #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc fanfiction #dmc smut #devil may cry smut #au #dmc au

357 notes · View notes

freakmcnastyy · 26 days ago

Text

Paid to hurt

Kang Woo-young x f!reader (Angst, one-shot)

Warnings: violence, blood, betrayal, coma, angst

Summary: It started with stolen moments and soft punches and It ended with hospital lights, unanswered questions, and a name reader couldn’t forgive. (Reader is Ahn Suho's sister.)

Note: anon request!

⸻

There was this place at school that no one really went to.

Bottom floor, end of the back hallway. Right next to the P.E. area.

It was just… an old gym room.

You found it by accident the first time.

Looking for Suho’s jersey, you opened the wrong door.

And when you stepped inside—

You stopped.

Your breath straight-up caught in your throat.

Because there was someone in the middle of the room, punching the hell out of a hanging bag.

But it wasn’t just the hitting.

It looked like a war, not a workout.

His fists moved so fast, so full of rage, even the air in the room felt tight.

Who the hell is this guy?

He was drenched in sweat.

Black shirt stuck to his back, drops running down his forehead all the way to his jaw.

But he didn’t care.

He hit. Stepped back. Breathed. Hit again.

His wrist was bleeding at one point— didn’t even notice.

You were frozen by the door.

Watching him like you were hypnotized.

“Damn… he's hot.” you muttered under your breath.

Then, he threw one last punch, turned his back— and saw you.

“What the fuck you staring at?” he said.

You looked down, but didn’t move.

He shrugged. “This is your gym or somethin’?”

You didn’t say a word.

Then he smirked.

Fake, mocking kind of smile.

“No.. but I just don’t like people staring too long.”

And in your head, you said: “Well, get used to it.”

You swallowed your words, didn’t say anything.

But your heart—

That shit was beating in your chest like one of his punches.

⸻

After that day,

you started coming to school a little earlier every morning.

And he was always there.

Kang Woo-young.

You learned his name from fight videos,

from whispers in the hallway,

from the fact that he was basically at the top of the school’s “don’t fuck with him” list.

When you first heard it, you kinda smiled.

Damn. Even his name’s cool.

There was something about that boy.

Something familiar.

Maybe… you saw a piece of yourself in him.

⸻

You kept showing up at that gym door.

Telling yourself you were “looking for something Suho left.”

Hmhm, yeah, right.

Your eyes were always locked on the same thing—

The same guy.

⸻

Today, you were a little braver.

Walked in with a bottle of water in your hand, meant to give it to him.

The moment your eyes met, your heart did that weird skid again.

But you didn’t show it.

You walked up slow.

“Your hand’s bleeding,” you said.

He looked down at his wrist.

Didn’t flinch.

“I’m fine.”

Fine? Bullshit.

If that wrist belonged to someone else, they’d be in the goddamn ER.

But you didn’t shut up.

“ Why do you care so little?” you asked.

He raised a brow.

“Why do you care so much?”

You couldn’t help but smile.

He was quiet for a second. Then he sat on the floor.

You didn’t even hesitate—sat next to him like it was nothing.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Ahn Y/N.”

He glanced sideways. “Suho’s sister?”

You sighed. “Unfortunately.”

He laughed.

“That dude beat the shit outta me in middle school.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. And if you keep hanging with me, he probably will again.”

His tone wasn’t angry or warning.

It was sarcastic as hell.

You wanted to switch the topic.

So you asked,

“Why do you come here every morning? Hobby or some kind of self-destruction ritual?”

He didn’t even blink.

“This is the only time I feel okay.”

Then, after a pause, eyes staring up at the ceiling—

“When I’m not fighting… I start thinking.”

You swallowed.

This boy was broken.

But the kind of broken that drags others into the mess.

Exactly the kind of shit your heart falls for.

⸻

At first, it was just nods in the hallway.

A few words here and there.

But somehow, those few words turned into hours.

Woo-young wasn’t a talker.

But he listened.

Really listened.

You know how sometimes someone just looks at you,

and it’s like they’re saying, “Go on. I hear you”

That’s what his eyes did.

So you talked.

About school. Home. Suho.

And sometimes, just random shit.

He didn’t say much.

But he stayed.

⸻

You started sitting in the back corner of the cafeteria together.

Walked home from school.

Snuck smokes on the roof more times than you could count.

His name was on your phone now.

Under:

“Don’t Open”

Because if Suho saw it? World war.

But every time he texted you, a stupid little grin hit your face.

“Come outside.”

And you always did.

No questions asked.

One day he told you,

“Feels like we’re dating or something.”

You thought he was joking.

But then you looked at his face—

and he wasn’t.

So you said,

“…Aren’t we?”

⸻ /TIMESKIP/

It was one of those quiet, grimy alleyways wrapped in grey concrete. Woo-young sat hunched on a beat-up cardboard box, cigarette burning between his fingers.

When footsteps echoed nearby, he didn’t even flinch. Beom-seok turned the corner, flanked by two kids trying hard to look tough—but the nervous energy around them was obvious.

“Woo-young. I got a job for you,” Beom-seok said like they were old friends.

Woo-young flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushed the glowing tip under his heel. He slowly looked up. “What do you want?”

“Suho. You’re gonna fight him. Call it a ‘practice match.’”

“What the hell’s your problem with Suho?” His tone was flat, but his eyes had narrowed—tension brewing just under the surface.

“Thinks he’s a superhero. Always in everyone’s business. I’m sick of it.”

Beom-seok stepped forward, dropped an envelope at Woo-young’s feet.

“How much?”

“Million won.”

Woo-young stood up, threw his jacket over his shoulder. “When?”

“This Saturday. After school.”

A short pause. Their eyes locked. Something flickered dark in Woo-young’s stare. He gave a small nod. “Alright.”

Then turned around and walked off.

You were a little down the street, leaning against a wall. Hands in your pockets, eyes locked on him. You hated seeing him like that—deals, violence, money. None of it was really him. But still… just like everything about Woo-young, this side of him pulled you in too.

He walked up with that usual cocky smile. “What’re you doin’ out here alone, huh?” he asked, squinting at you.

“Who’d they ask you to fight?” you asked, already feeling a tight knot forming in your chest.

Of course he couldn’t say your brother. So he lied.

“Some loser from school.”

The wind seemed to whistle between the two of you. Your heart was pounding, but you couldn’t say a word. He shoved his hands into his pockets, then nodded his head toward the road. “C’mon. It’s late.”

⸻

The fluorescent lights buzzed above. The ring stood in the middle—ropes fraying, the floor scratched up and stained with old blood. Kids—Beom-seok’s crew—stood on the side, laughing with their chips and sodas. A few had their phones out, already live-streaming.

All cameras turned toward Woo-young.

Suddenly, his phone rang.

He pulled it out, saw the name on the screen—and smiled. Answered it.

“Yeah, baby?”

Your voice exploded on the other end: “Where the hell are you?!”

It was shaky, pissed off—like you were ready to punch through the phone.

Woo-young rolled his eyes, shrugged, and walked over to the ropes. “Remember that deal I told you about? Yeah, that one. Don’t worry, baby. Just a quick warm-up match. Nothing serious. Promise,” he said, his tone softer now.

“Woo-young, I—”

But before you could finish, he cut you off with a fast, “Love you,” and hung up.

When Suho walked in, Woo-young smirked. Set his phone on the tripod, aimed the camera. Turned his back to the ring and stared straight into the lens.

Licked his lips slightly, exhaled through his nose.

“This asshole made me look like a loser back in middle school,” he muttered under his breath. “Tonight I return the favor. Big time.”

Then he turned around. Suho was standing across from him.

Suho… ice-cold as ever. But this time, you could see it—he was nervous.

“You ready, punk?” Woo-young said.

Suho didn’t answer. Just raised his fists.

And then the fists started flying.

They exchanged blows for a bit. Woo-young stepped back. Took a breath.

Then spun around and kicked Suho straight in the head.

Suho’s body collapsed. His knees gave out. Eyes open—but totally gone. He hit the ground hard.

For a second, nobody moved.

Then someone started laughing.

Beom-seok jumped into the ring. The other guys followed, swarming Suho—kicking, punching, over and over.

“Yo! That’s enough!” someone yelled. But nobody listened.

Woo-young didn’t move. Just stepped out of the ring, wiped the sweat from his face with a towel. Grabbed the phone, stopped the recording. Slipped it into his pocket.

Before walking off, he looked back at Suho—just once.

Said nothing.

Just walked away. Like nothing happened.

For money. For revenge.

And with that, he destroyed the only family the girl he loved had.

⸻

That night, the hospital called you.

When they said your brother was in a coma, your heart just… stopped.

You didn’t even think. You just ran.

Ran until your knees buckled.

All you wanted—was for him to be alive.

You made it to the hospital.

Locked eyes with a nurse. Asked where he was.

They pointed you toward the room.

You sat down.

Your hands were shaking.

And then you cried. Hard.

Uncontrollably.

⸻

Somehow, the story came out.

You heard a lot of things—but the one thing that hit you the hardest was:

“Woo-young was there too.”

The world stopped.

Your vision blurred—but not from tears.

Something darker was rising inside you now.

Betrayal.

⸻

Night.

You showed up at his place.

Didn’t ring the bell.

You pounded on the door.

Screamed. “GET OUT HERE! NOW!”

Woo-young opened the door.

His shirt was messy. Eyes red.

He looked like he wanted to say something.

But you didn’t wait.

You punched him in the chest.

“YOU BASTARD!!”

“HE WAS MY EVERYTHİNG!!”

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!”

Woo-young didn’t back away.

He swallowed hard.

But didn’t say a word.

Just… stared at you.

You hit him again.

Your fists shaking. But you didn’t stop.

“WAS IT THE MONEY?! THAT WORTH MORE THAN ME?!”

Softly, he said:

“I didn’t know it’d go like that.”

You screamed.

“DON’T LIE TO ME!!”

“YOU KNEW WHAT YOU WERE DOING!”

Woo-young stepped toward you. Reached out.

You pulled away.

“Don’t touch me… I don’t know who you are anymore.”

“Please, just listen—”

“Listen?" You laughed. “That kick? Those fists? That was me you hit, Woo-young.”

Tears finally spilled again.

But your face twisted in pain and hatred.

Your heart broke in real time.

And in that moment—

You chose to hate him.

“I’ll never forgive you.”

And you turned away.

Kept walking—tears falling all the way.

And he just stood there.

Watching you leave.

#weak hero kdrama #weak hero x reader #weak hero class 1 #whc1 x reader #whc1 #cha woomin #kang wooyoung x reader #kang wooyoung #wooyoung x reader #weak hero class 1 x reader #weak hero one #ahn suho #cha woo min

204 notes · View notes

sweet-heavenp · 1 month ago

Note

Can you make headcanons or oneshot of teen!reader who is protective of 007n7 since he's the outcast and stuff and gets petty towards other survivors if they dare to even 007n7?

(You can tell a certain someone ehem me, is not coping well with 007n7's lore)

𓏵 . New friend

Helloo anon!! I’m getting sick of 007n7 angst GRRRR MAKE THIS MAN HAPPY FOR ONCE!!!!!!! :(( i also hope i got this right… heh…. I love headcanons…… 🤤

────୨ৎ────

Some info before the headcanons ;

you were a new member of the forsaken survivors team! And oh boy, it was hell.

you are still a teen and this whole thing is not really… making sense?.. to say?..

well, it was cool tho, you took a liking to one of the survivors.. (NOT in a weird way :// ). And that survivor was no other then 007n7. The others told you to stay away from since he did bad things in the past. Huh? The past.. the past is just the past. Can’t change the past.

────୨ৎ────

- at first 007n7 surprised, very surprised when someone (you) approached him. He asked if u needed something and you just simply answered;

“I wanna talk to you since you seem lonely.”

- and that’s when you’re guys’s friendship started. You didn’t get away people still didn’t like him and leaving him out of things.. just because of the past? What you want him to do? Go back and change it?.. it isn’t easy.

- you grow a bit protective of him even tho 007n7 said there is no need too.. but, you couldn’t stand there letting the others talk bad about him. It isn’t the right thing!

- you liked to check up on 007n7 at times. He did the same.. always having each other’s back!

- the topics you guys had was about ; favorite music, favorite movies , favorite animal, and does other things..!!

- drawing was a think u two did sometimes. It was were you could relax and talk about random things meanwhile drawing.. tho, drawing did give 007n7 flashbacks of his… son.

other then that, you guys were very cool friends.

Done’s !’ Sorry if it’s short.. my brain is kinda fried at the moment and im kinda tired…. Yeah… hope u like this anon!!!!!

#forsaken x reader #angel writes🦠🪽#forsaken #forsaken roblox #roblox #007n7 forsaken #yipeppe

194 notes · View notes

puppym3 · 11 months ago

Note

Heyaa! Is it possible to request an enemies to lovers one bed trope smut with bangchan? Like maybe reader and skz go on a trip but there’s not enough rooms so they decide to pair u guys up so that y’all can make up or whatever. Little did u know that Chris has a massive crush on u and was only being insufferable because he thought he didn’t have a chance but little did he know you thought he was cute too. Maybe he pops a boner while sharing the bed and becomes embarrassed but you decide to take matters into ur own hands and dom him for treating u liek shit lol 💀

↠ friction ↺ and ⊜ fire

*+:｡.｡ bangchan x fem!reader

wc: 4.8k

warnings: MDNI! 18+, smut, enemies to lovers, one bed trope, dom!reader, servicetop!bangchan, subby!bangchan, brat!reader, one-sided pining (kind've?), they're both idiots, piv, unprotected sex (sighh), they traumatize the other members, oral (m. rec), creampie, (lmk if i missed any)

a/n: thank you so much for the suggestion anon hehe.. it was so good and i hope i served what needed to be served!! ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

*+:｡.｡

Stepping out of the van after a long, winding drive, you stretched your arms above your head, relishing the cool mountain air. The cabin loomed ahead, a cozy refuge nestled in the heart of the forest, promising a weekend of relaxation and fun. You were close friends with the boys and these trips were a regular occurrence. However, there was one member you couldn't stand.

Bang Chan.

Ever since you first met, the two of you had bickered incessantly over the most trivial things. Whether it was your taste in men or the way you folded your clothes, Bang Chan always found something to nag you about. You rolled your eyes just thinking about it. How could someone be so insufferable?

It reminds you of the time you had just broken up with your ex-boyfriend after you found out he had been cheating on you the entire time, you had unknowingly been the side piece throughout your relationship. Bang Chan warned you about him the entire time, saying he wasn't good for you. And now that things had crumbled, he was in your ear about how right he was. It frustrated you.

"Hurry up! We need to check out the rooms!" Felix excitedly called out, breaking your reverie.

You grabbed your bag and followed the boys into the cabin. As they scattered to explore, you took in the rustic charm of the place. It was perfect, except for one glaring issue: you only spotted eight bedrooms.

"Hey," Minho announced, holding up a hand-drawn map of the cabin. "There are only eight beds."

"Great," you muttered under your breath.

The boys gathered around, frowning at the realization.

"Well, who wants to share?" Seungmin said, glancing around.

"I don't mind sharing," Jisung shrugged.

Everyone seemed to share a knowing glance across the room.

"How about Y/N and Chan share a room?" Minho suggested with a mischievous glint in his eye.

You and Chan simultaneously snapped your heads toward Minho, protests ready on your lips, but the rest of the boys quickly agreed.

"Yeah, maybe you two will finally stop bickering," Jisung added, smirking.

"Fine," Chan sighed, his eyes meeting yours with a challenge.

"Fine," you echoed, refusing to back down.

"Awesome," Jeongin laughed nervously, trying to defuse the tension in the room. "We can check out the rest of the cabin tomorrow, so why don't we call it a night?"

"Yeah, I'm exhausted," Changbin agreed, calling out from his room, already laid out on his bed like a starfish.

You followed Chan to your room and set down your bags. The bedroom was spacious, but the lack of a second bed left a bitter taste in your mouth.

"Guess you're sleeping on the floor," you smirked, taking note of the single queen-sized mattress.

Chan raised an eyebrow and looked you up and down.

"Like hell, I am. You can sleep on the floor," he argued, his eyes glinting with amusement.

You let out a scoff, but before you could open your mouth, Felix appeared in the doorway.

"You're both responsible adults, you can share a bed."

You shot Felix a glare.

"Goodnight!" He quickly ducked out of the room, leaving you and Chan alone.

Chan crossed his arms, a smug expression on his face.

"Don't get any ideas, pervert," you sneered, brushing past him to get ready for bed.

"Wouldn't dream of it, darling."

The rest of the evening passed in tense silence. The two of you were cordial when brushing your teeth and washing your faces, but once you were settled under the covers, you turned away from each other, as far as you could go without falling off the bed.

Lying there, staring at the wall, you couldn't help but feel the tension in the room. It was more than just annoyance; it was a palpable electricity that seemed to spark every time you argued. You hated to admit it, but there was something about Chan that intrigued you, something that made your heart race in the most frustrating way.

And you were overly aware of how attractive he was, secretly ogling him when he would perform on stage. It annoyed you, a lot.

You shifted in the bed, trying to get comfortable. You could feel the heat radiating off of his body and it was driving you crazy. The more you tried to ignore him, the more aware you became of his presence.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore. You rolled over, determined to confront him, but the words died in your throat. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted, and his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

He looked so peaceful, so vulnerable, that you couldn't bring yourself to wake him. Instead, you watched him, admiring the way the moonlight illuminated his features.

You traced the line of his jaw with your eyes, trailing down to his full lips. Your heart skipped a beat as you imagined what it would be like to kiss him.

You quickly shook your head, berating yourself for even thinking such a thing. Chan was the last person you would ever want to kiss.

But the more you denied it, the more you thought about it. What if his lips were soft? What if he kissed you gently, his hands caressing your body?

The thought made your cheeks flush.

"Can you stop eye-fucking me? I'm trying to sleep."

Chan's voice snapped you out of it, and you quickly averted your gaze, your cheeks burning.

"I wasn't- I just, wanted to say something," you stammered, the defensiveness in your voice showing.

The fact that he was so cocky and attractive drove you crazy, you wanted to put him in his place then and there, you wanted to pick another fight with him, the fights you had him ignited a certain fire in you that you couldn't explain.

"What is it?"

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. What was wrong with you? You couldn't even form a coherent sentence around him.

"Just..." you scoffed, giving up when the words in your head scrambled.

"Goodnight."

With that, Chan rolled over, putting his back to you.

You huffed, annoyed at the way he dismissed you. You knew he was trying to get under your skin, and it was working. You glared at the back of his head, wishing you could slap the smug look off his face.

But even as you silently fumed, you laid in bed next to him. Unable to relax, you tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. But the bed seemed to grow smaller with each passing moment, and the space between you felt like an infinite chasm.

You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his mere presence setting your nerves alight. You were overly aware of his breathing, his steady inhale and exhale. And the longer you lay there, the more restless you became.

"Will you stop moving?"

His voice was barely above a whisper, but the sound made you jump.

"I can't sleep," you replied, keeping your eyes trained on the ceiling.

"Try harder."

You scoffed again, turning your head to look at him, and before you could come up with something to spit back at him, your gaze lowered, and your eyes landed on the very prominent tent on the bed.

Your eyes widened, and you quickly averted your gaze, but the image was burned into your mind.

Your cheeks flushed, and your heart began to race. Chan was hard. The realization sent a jolt of excitement through your body.

Now this was an argument you could easily win, you could definitely embarrass him with this.

So why couldn't you say anything? Why was the heat in between your thighs growing undeniably unbearable?

You couldn't stop yourself from stealing another glance. Your eyes trailed down the length of his body, coming to rest on the bulge straining against his pants.

Chris turned over to face away from you. You couldn't help but smile. You knew he was embarrassed, and the thought of him being uncomfortable made you feel satisfied.

Without hesitation, you moved closer, pressing your body against his. Your chest was pressed against his back.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice wavering.

"What do you mean?" you asked, your voice in an innocent tone as if you had no idea what he was talking about.

"Don't act stupid."

You couldn't help but smirk. You could hear the embarrassment in his voice, and it only made you more confident.

"You know exactly what I'm doing," you said, your voice dropping to a whisper.

"This isn't funny."

You couldn't believe how much this was affecting him.

"You're telling me," you purred, sliding your hand down his torso.

Your fingertips brushed over the hard outline of his cock, and you felt his breath catch.

You couldn't resist, he was a brat, and now it was time for payback. You wrapped your fingers around him, feeling the heat of his skin through the fabric of his pants.

He sucked in a sharp breath, and his hips jerked involuntarily. You bit your lip, trying to contain your own excitement.

"You're a fucking tease."

"Says the one with a boner," you retorted.

"I'm serious," he breathed.

"So am I," you said, tightening your grip.

The sound that escaped his lips made you shudder.

You knew that if you didn't stop now, there would be no turning back.

But you didn't care. You wanted this.

You grabbed his shoulder, pulling so he was lying on his back. His eyes were wide, his breath ragged.

Without a word, you straddled his lap, the thin fabric of your pajama shorts doing little to hide the heat between your thighs.

"You're a brat, you know that?" he groaned.

You smiled, your confidence growing by the second.

"Maybe, but I think you like it."

You rolled your hips, and his cock twitched beneath you.

"Fuck," he cursed. You couldn't help but smirk. He was clearly losing his composure.

"Don't get too cocky," he said, grabbing your hips and grinding up into you.

Your breath hitched, and you bit your lip to stifle a moan. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how turned on you were.

"That's funny, coming from you," you managed to say, rocking your hips against him.

He was rock hard beneath you, and the friction was sending waves of pleasure through your body.

The outline of his cock through his pants was aligned perfectly with your cunt, gently brushing against your clit through each movement.

It was agonizing.

You leaned forward, your lips grazing his ear.

"Is this what you want? Then beg me."

You could feel his resolve breaking, and the satisfaction was almost overwhelming.

"Please," he choked out, the shyness poking through his cocky demeanor felt rewarding.

"I'm not sure I heard you."

You rocked your hips again, the friction making your head spin.

"Fuck, please" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

You could tell he was embarrassed, but you didn't care. This was too good to stop now.

"You're a pervert," you whispered, tugging at the waistband of his pants. "Getting hard from sharing a bed with a girl?"

He couldn't meet your eyes, his face flushed red.

"It... it's not like that..." he murmured, but the tent in his pants told a different story.

You slipped your hand inside his boxers, wrapping your fingers around his length.

He gasped, his eyes widening.

"You-" he breathed.

"Tell me what it's like then," you teased, stroking him slowly.

His jaw was clenched, and he looked like he was struggling to form words.

"I'm waiting."

"It's because- fuck, it's because of you."

His response caught you off guard, and your heart skipped a beat.

"What?"

You couldn't hide the surprise in your voice, and the way it caused you to clench around nothing.

"It's you," he breathed, his gaze finally meeting yours.

You could see the desire in his eyes, and it took your breath away.

"But don't we hate each other?" you protested, unable to hide the hint of confusion in your voice, feeling like maybe you lost the plot somewhere along the way.

"I don't hate you," he admitted. "I just- I thought I did. But it was only because I couldn't handle the fact that I liked you so much."

You couldn't believe your ears. Chris liked you? It made your heart flutter, a million fantasies running through your head in a second. Why did this excite me so much? Why did I like hearing those words coming out of his mouth?

"You like me?" you echoed, unable to hide the disbelief in your voice.

"God, you're dense," he groaned, his frustration evident.

Before you could respond, he sat up and pulled you in, his lips were on yours, and his hands were gripping your hips.

You melted into the kiss, the taste of his lips and the warmth of his skin setting your nerves on fire.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours, and you moaned, the sound muffled by his mouth.

His kiss was fervent, lips melding with yours in a way that made your mind go blank. Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as he pulled you closer, pressing you against him.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, his heart pounding in time with yours. The kiss deepened, tongues dancing in a rhythm that felt both urgent and unrelenting. The taste of him was intoxicating, a mix of mint toothpaste and something uniquely Chris.

His hands roamed over your body, caressing your back before settling on your hips, guiding your movements as you rocked against him. Each touch sent sparks shooting through your veins, and the friction between your bodies was driving you wild.

You couldn't think, couldn't breathe. All you could focus on was the feel of his lips, the warmth of his skin, the sound of his breath, heavy and labored.

When you pulled back, you pushed him back to lay on the bed.

"You really are a brat, huh?" he panted, his eyes dark with desire.

"You have no idea," you smirked, tugging his boxers down his hips.

His cock sprung free, and the sight of him made your mouth water. He was big, bigger than you expected, and the thought of him inside you made your stomach twist in anticipation.

You wrapped your hand around him, stroking him slowly.

He let out little breaths, his head falling back. You could tell he was struggling to hold himself together, and the sight made your stomach flutter with butterflies.

This feeling wasn't unfamiliar, you felt this way sometimes when you watched him on stage, his expressions, his confidence, everything about him. It was why you pretended to hate him. You were attracted to him, and the thought terrified you.

But right now, in this moment, there was no room for fear. All you could focus on was the feel of him in your hand, the taste of him on your lips, the heat of his skin.

You moved down the bed, kneeling between his legs. You couldn't take your eyes off him.

"Fucking hell," he cursed, his hand tangling in your hair.

"I'll be gentle," you teased, wrapping your lips around his tip.

The sounds that came from him was unlike anything you had ever heard, and it only fueled your desire.

You swirled your tongue around his length, savoring the taste of him. He was intoxicating, and you couldn't get enough.

You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks and sucking gently. Your hands searched his body as you tasted him, feeling every inch of his chest and every detail on his body.

He was shaking, and you could tell he was holding back. And you had no intention of stopping, not until you had your fill of him.

"F-fuck," he breathed, his hand tightening in your hair. The feeling of him tugging on my hair sent shivers down my spine.

You hummed in response, the vibrations making him gasp.

You worked him slowly, teasing him with your tongue and lips. He tasted amazing, and the sound of his breathless moans was music to your ears.

You could feel the tension building in his body, his thighs twitching as he fought the urge to thrust into your mouth.

The power was intoxicating, but it wasn't enough, you wanted more.

You released him with a pop, his length coated in your saliva.

"Don't move, I'm going to ride you."

"What?"

You could see the shock on his face, and it only made you smile.

"I'm going to ride you," you repeated, climbing back onto his lap.

"But- wait- are you sure?"

His expression was comical, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Chris, do I need to spell it out for you?"

He shook his head, his eyes wide.

"Good, because I don't have the patience for it."

With that, you pushed your panties to the side, letting your legs spread wide so he could get a perfect view as you prepared yourself for him.

His breath caught in his throat, and you could feel his eyes on you, watching you as you slipped a finger inside yourself.

You couldn't believe how wet you were, your arousal coating your fingers as you stretched yourself open. You could feel him twitch beneath you, his length throbbing with need.

You added another finger, moaning as you worked yourself open. He was still watching, his gaze locked on the movement of your fingers as you fucked yourself on them.

"Fuck," he cursed, his hands gripping your hips as he tried to keep himself from thrusting up into you.

"Impatient, are we?"

He shot you a look, and you could see the desperation in his eyes.

"Fuck you," he said, though his words lacked any bite.

"I thought that was the plan," you teased, withdrawing your fingers and wiping them on his thigh.

"God, just- please," he breathed, his resolve crumbling.

"Since you asked so nicely."

You positioned yourself over him, his tip brushing against your entrance. You were already so wet, so ready for him.

"Are you sure, with no protection?"

"If you ask me one more time, I'll leave you here to take care of this yourself," you threatened.

You were on the pill, and you were too needy now to look back, the thought of feeling his raw cock stretching you out also made you super impatient.

You inserted the tip, the feel of him filling you up was overwhelming. He was big, bigger than anyone you've ever been with, and the stretch was almost too much.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice strained.

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you adjusted to his size.

"Fuck," you breathed, sinking down until he was buried to the hilt.

"You're so fucking tight," he groaned, his grip on your hips tightening.

"And you're fucking huge," you replied, the pressure and heat building within you.

He couldn't help but laugh. "Well, I've never had complaints."

"Shut up," you smiled, pulling him in for a kiss.

Your tongues met, dancing together in a messy tangle. He kissed you like he was starving, and you could feel his hunger for you.

You began to move, slowly at first, rocking your hips against him. His breath hitched, and his hands gripped your waist, guiding your movements.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air.

"God, that's it," he groaned, his head falling back. His hands pushing at your inner thighs to spread your legs further.

His eyes intently staring at your body made you shiver, you grabbed at the hem of your shirt before pulling it off, giving him a better view to take in.

He groaned, his gaze roaming over your body. "So fucking beautiful," he murmured, his hand trailing up your thigh.

"I could say the same for you," you replied, tracing the lines of his abs with your fingertips.

He couldn't take his eyes off you, and the attention was overwhelming. You increased the pace, rolling your hips as you rode him. He was buried deep inside you, the sensation of him filling you up was incredible.

"God, yes," he breathed, his fingers digging into your skin.

You moaned, the sound escaping your lips before you could stop it. He was hitting all the right spots, and the pleasure was building, coiling in the pit of your stomach.

"Don't stop," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper.

You couldn't bring yourself to form words, the sensation was too much, your head was spinning.

You leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss, the taste of him only adding to the pleasure.

His tongue darted out, tracing your bottom lip.

"Fuck, Chris," you breathed, breaking the kiss.

He was breathing heavily, his gaze locked on yours. "Use me to come," he urged, his hands on your hips encouraging you.

"Chan," you moaned, his name on your lips like a prayer. You could feel him throbbing inside you, and the sensation was incredible.

"Come for me," he groaned, his fingers digging into your skin.

And then, the pleasure washed over you, the waves crashing into you with such intensity that you saw stars. You felt yourself tremble as you clenched over him, falling on his chest as you cried out, whimpering as you lightly grinded your high out.

He broke when he felt you cum on him, the soft breaths coming out of his mouth, and you could feel him twitch inside you, his cock throbbing as he came, his cum filling you up.

The feeling was unlike anything you've experienced, and you could feel the pleasure coursing through your veins.

When he finally stilled, the two of you were a panting, sweaty mess. You could feel the aftershocks of your orgasm rippling through your body, and the sensation was incredible.

"Fuck," he breathed, his fingers digging into your skin.

"That's exactly what we did," you teased, your breathing slowly returning to normal.

He couldn't help but laugh, burying his face in your shoulder. "You're insufferable," he murmured, his breath tickling your neck.

"Oh, and you're not?"

"I guess we're perfect for each other then."

He raised his head, his eyes meeting yours. The sincerity in his gaze made your heart skip a beat, and you couldn't help but press a light kiss to his lips.

"Maybe," you conceded, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

"I'd like that," he smiled, the dimple in his cheek deepening.

Your heart swelled, and you leaned in for another kiss, a little longer than the last.

"So... I'm guessing this means you like me too?"

His question caught you off guard, and the thought made your heart flutter.

"You could say that," you replied, unable to hide the hint of hesitation in your voice.

He frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. "That's not an answer," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of annoyance.

You bit your lip, the uncertainty rising within you. You couldn't help but worry that this was a mistake, that it was all a joke.

"Hey," he said, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. "Talk to me."

"It's just... are you sure? I feel like you're fucking with me again, this is just too good to be true," you said, completely honest and a little too vulnerable in front of him.

"Oh my god," he sighed, his frustration evident. "How much proof do you need? If it wasn't obvious, I don't usually let people ride me."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound escaping your lips before you could stop it.

"Fair enough," you conceded, leaning in to steal a kiss.

He hummed, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

"I think I'm going to enjoy proving myself," he murmured, his fingers running along the curve of your ass.

"Is that so?"

He nodded, the glint in his eye making your heart skip a beat.

"I promise you'll be begging for it next time."

"That's a bold claim," you challenged, unable to hide the amusement in your voice.

"One that I'll gladly prove," he said, his tone playful.

"We'll see about that," you teased, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"Don't challenge me unless you're prepared for the consequences."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the idea of him having his way with you was intoxicating.

You giggled, stealing a quick kiss before climbing off his lap.

You couldn't help but laugh looking at him, "God, you're so cute," you teased, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before padding over to the bathroom.

You woke up early, the sunlight streaming through the window and the sound of birds chirping outside.

You groaned, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and sitting up.

The events of last night rushed back, and you couldn't help but smile, the memory of his touch, the taste of his lips, and the sting you felt on your legs from the workout.

As you looked around, however, you were met with an empty bed, the sheets beside you cold.

A wave of panic washed over you, the realization that he wasn't here was jarring. You couldn't help but think that it had all been a dream, the thought of us doing anything already seemed unreal to you.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of the door opening, and the sight of him made your heart skip a beat.

"Morning," he greeted, a wide smile on his face.

You felt way too giddy seeing his face, seeing him just made you want to plant kisses all over his face.

"Morning," you replied, the warmth spreading across your cheeks.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, walking over to sit on the edge of the bed.

You couldn't help but stare at him, the sight of him in a plain t-shirt and shorts, his hair tousled and his skin glistening from his morning shower.

"Well, you didn't snore." you teased.

He rolled his eyes, the gesture making you giggle.

"I'm glad my princess could sleep without any disturbances, then."

The words made your heart skip a beat, and you were left speechless. You couldn't believe how quickly he had gotten under your skin.

You couldn't deny the effect he had on you, the way your heart raced when he was close, the way your body craved his touch.

You bit your lip, trying to push down the feelings that threatened to overwhelm you.

"You okay?" he asked, his eyebrows knitted together in concern.

"Yeah, just... I was worried, that's all," you confessed, unable to meet his gaze.

He frowned, clearly not understanding. "Worried? Why?"

"I thought... I thought it was all a dream, that I was just imagining it."

He couldn't help but laugh, the sound filling the room.

"You're too adorable," he smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"I really do like you," you countered, the words escaping your lips before you could stop them.

His expression softened, the laughter dying on his lips.

"I really do like you, too"

You couldn't help but melt, the words echoing in your head.

You leaned in, closing the distance between the two of you.

Suddenly you heard loud pounding knocks at your door.

The door opened and Minho with a tired face walked in, Seungmin shyly trailing behind him.

"I'm glad you guys... 'made up', but for fucks sake," Minho complained.

"Couldn't you have saved that?" Seungmin joined in, equally mortified.

You couldn't help but blush, the thought of your friends hearing the two of you was embarrassing.

Chris, trying to keep a straight face, couldn't help but giggle a little.

"Okay, okay, we're sorry," you apologized, holding your hands up in surrender.

"Sorry," Jisung says, barging into the conversation, "I'm just so happy for you, I've had to endure this guy whining about you for the past 2 months."

"Shut up," Chan blushed, his cheeks tinted red.

"Oh my god, is that why you were such an ass? You were pining?" you teased, pinching his cheek.

"Don't," he whined, pulling away from your grasp.

"Well, Jeongin left last night, he fled to a hotel room." Minho chimed in. "I should've just done the same."

"Why didn't you?" Jisung asked, clearly amused.

"I don't know, I was hoping the walls would be thick enough."

"Lee know, oh my god," you blushed, hiding your face in Chan's shoulder.

"You were loud, we could hear you from our room, which is right next to yours. We can also hear everything," Minho complains.

"Okay, okay," Chan concedes.

"So are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?" Felix pipes up.

"What elephant?" Changbin asks, who clearly hasn't caught on.

"These two fucked," he says, just now coming into the conversation.

"Okay, that's enough, I'm leaving." You say, your face red with embarrassment.

"I'll come with," Chris agrees, and you both get up and leave the room.

"Oh my god, can they just hate each other again?" Seungmin complains.

"For the love of god, yes," Minho agrees.

*+:｡.｡

#stray kids x reader #skz #stray kids #skz bang chan #bang chan smut #bang chan #bangchan smut #chan smut #stray kids smut #stray kids imagines #straykids #skz smut #skz imagines #skz x reader

954 notes · View notes

jrjeremy · 3 months ago

Note

ok i dont remember if i sent an ask today. if i did then you just get Two! for later but if i did then im doing it now........................ im going to see the minecraft movie tomorrow...... im a . heh. little bit of a gamer i do enjoy some minecraft sometimes i have to say.... do you lke watching movies tumblr user jrjeremy.... also is jeremy your name or is it some sort of reference in your url. i keep calling you Tumblr user jrjeremy and while thats funny i do want to know. 🫶okay anon guy OUT!

wwwowoooah wwooahw Wiioaah wooaahh!!!!!! 😛😛😛woah woah thats so cool!!!!!!! heh i was actually asked if i wanted to go watch the minecraft movie tomorrow but im not a big fan of going out to watch movies 🤫🤫🤫🤫even though movies are like super super cool sometimes i need like a really huge motivation to just get me up and go to some cinema and sit there

hehehe do tell me about it!!!!!! 😁😁😁😁once youve watched it!!!!!!!!

🤫🤫🤫🤫also jeremy is so so actually a reference of something goofy😛😛i was like a big tf2 scout fan back in the days and i kept using the name jeremy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! my actual name is leon 🤫🤫🤫🤫🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥hell yeah

#cool anon guy 😋😋hell yeah hell yeah!!!! cool anon guy!!!!!!

3 notes · View notes

carlislefiles · 10 days ago

Text

meet not-so-cute | fushiguro toji, fushiguro megumi, geto suguru, gojo satoru, ino takuma, kong shiu, nanami kento, sukuna ryomen, yuuji itadori ╰►sorcery aside, how might you two meet? what organic ways do you cross paths? and how long will he allow this little meet-cute to go on before he asks you out? 6.7k words

a/n: hello!!! this was actually a request I got in my inbox and I had a lot of fun writing it, so thank you anon :] super fun idea, I thought. I included more characters than I usually do because a lot of the headcanons are shorter than usual. I kind of lost the plot with some of these. meet cute is kind of an umbrella term that I loosely followed for these headcanons. one day, I should go more in depth into my writing process with these, but basically, I usually try and make them as individualistic as possible, so each character feels like it's own oneshot. I did still try to do that with this, but I tried not to focus too much on length. I wanted these to be short and sweet. hope you like them <3 warnings: mentions of murder/death, cussing, kissing, use of my singularly detested term "y/n."

megumi thrived in the university library. three evenings a week, like clockwork, he clocked in at 4:00 and out at 9:00. no noise, no drunk roommates, no sweaty basement parties—just the steady hum of fluorescent lights and the smell of old paper. it was quiet. predictable. he liked that. he didn’t like much else about university. the loudmouths, the frat boys, the posturing. but the library? the dewey decimal system? that was his sanctuary.

he’d seen all kinds pass through. coughing stem majors who hadn’t slept in three days, loud econ guys using the back tables to scam freshman girls into dates, study groups that dissolved into tinder swiping. occasionally someone genuinely cool wandered in, someone who treated the books with care, read for pleasure, maybe even respected the quiet rule. but those people were rare.

which is why you stood out. he was mid-shelving—a tattered copy of the brothers karamazov in hand, scowling because who the hell willingly read dostoevsky in college—and then there was your voice. “is that the brothers karamazov?” he blinked and turned. you stood a few feet away, clutching your backpack strap like you’d been walking the aisles for a while.

“uh,” he glanced at the cover. “yeah. it is.”

you lit up. lit up. “I've been looking for that forever! I thought it was checked out or something.” and then you were smiling at him—really smiling—and he was malfunctioning.

“uh—yeah, it was. but it’s back now. I mean—obviously.” he handed it to you before his brain could sabotage him any further. you took it like it was a gift from the gods.

“thank you,” you said, so sincerely it made his heart squeeze. “seriously.”

he opened his mouth to say something, anything clever or smooth, but what came out was: “you’re welcome.” flat. useless. he was great at this. you wandered off before he could embarrass himself more, and he stood there for a moment longer than necessary, trying not to look like he’d just seen a mythological creature. it should have ended there, but it didn’t.

he finished shelving the rest of his cart and was heading back up front when he saw you again, tucked into a table in the back corner. a warm cup of tea beside you. laptop open but ignored. three books sprawled out: two obviously your own, littered with tabs and notes and your handwriting in the margins. but the one in your lap? that was the brothers karamazov. you were flipping through it like it was the most engrossing thing on earth. your glasses were slipping down your nose. you pushed them up absently. you looked soft. focused. smart.

megumi refilled his cart and wandered toward your table under the flimsy excuse of returning some books nearby. how had he never seen you before? he lived here. he breathed this place. and yet—you were new. fresh. gorgeous. he slowed his walk, pretending to skim the titles on his cart as he passed you. he saw the pen twitching in your hand as you hesitated over the library book. “you can—you can write in it, you know?” he said quietly, hoping he didn’t sound like a total creep.

you looked up, startled. then you smiled. “isn’t that considered vandalism?”

he gave the smallest smile back. "I won’t tell.”

you laughed, and megumi felt something uncoil in his chest. like maybe he wasn’t going to die alone after all. “I'm y/n,” you said, casually. “you work here?”

“yeah,” he replied, straightening a little. “megumi.”

“nice to meet you, megumi,” you said, and he nearly floated off the floor. you chatted. about the book. your major (literature, he was right). the annoying freshmen who always talked too loud. it was easy. natural. he didn’t feel like an awkward lump of bones for once.

then your phone buzzed. you glanced at it and winced. “shoot, I've got a meeting. I gotta go.” he nodded, trying not to look visibly crushed. “I'll be back tomorrow, though,” you said, smiling again. "I like it here.” you left with the book hugged to your chest, and megumi spent the next hour thinking about ways to casually die and be reborn as someone cool.

the next day, he wasn’t supposed to work. but his coworker, yuuta, owed him a favor, and megumi was suddenly very motivated to collect. you walked in right on time. cardigan today. worn jeans. hair up, soft tendrils falling around your face. you looked like you belonged in the pages of the very novels you read. effortlessly poetic.

megumi had gone full nerd. he’d pulled a few other books from the stacks—ones he thought you’d like. similar authors, maybe some translations. he told himself it was just good customer service. he caught your eye and walked over, awkwardly offering the books like a cat dropping a dead bird at someone’s feet.

you beamed. “you brought me more?”

he shrugged, face heating. “thought you might like them.”

you motioned to the seat across from you. “well then. you should stay and tell me which one to read first.” he sat. you talked. again. books and music and weird professors and the best study spots on campus. it was casual and fun and somehow flirty in a way that didn’t make him want to crawl into a hole. you were honest. kind. ridiculously smart. he was trying not to fall in love on the spot.

eventually, you glanced up from your tea. “so, megumi,” you said slowly. “you ever hang out outside the library?”

he blinked. “sometimes?”

you laughed. “would you want to? like—with me?”his brain short-circuited. but his mouth worked faster. “yeah. yeah, I'd like that.” you smiled, and he liked that.

toji knew this hit was going to be a bitch. rich politician. high-end steakhouse. twice as many bodyguards as brains. shiu had warned him—these weren’t the type of guys you take out clean. no, they came with backup, surveillance, and bulletproof everything. but toji wasn’t losing to a security system. he was losing to a guy built like a refrigerator. they’d gone two rounds already. the alley behind the restaurant was littered with blood, broken glass, and toji’s pride. this last bodyguard was a tank—fast, brutal, and apparently immune to concussions. toji wasn’t about to admit defeat, but the bruises forming on his ribs were saying otherwise.

he was about to cut his losses, pull a classic “abort and call shiu like a little bitch” move, when—crack. the sound was sharp and final. something heavy slammed into the back of the guard’s skull. he dropped. toji hit the ground too—knees giving out, breath ragged, knife still clenched in his fist.

you were standing over him. tall. calm. a black bodysuit clinging to you like shadow. hair pulled back. tire jack still raised in your hands like you’d done this before. like this wasn’t even your first alleyway knockout of the evening. toji blinked up at you, bloody and blinking, heart pounding from the fight—or maybe not just the fight. “…huh.”

you arched a brow. “that all you’ve got to say?”

"I usually have a better opener, but I'm concussed,” he grunted, propping himself up on one elbow.

your eyes dropped to the blood on his shirt. “looks like more than a concussion.”

he smirked. “still breathing, aren’t i?”

you didn’t laugh, but something about your mouth twitched. like you were tempted to. like you’d enjoy it if he kept talking. “you alright?” you asked, voice too casual for the situation.

“peachy.”

“good.” you turned away. “because I'm not carrying you.”

he let out a short laugh—painful, but real. “didn’t realize I was your type.”

“you’re not.” that shut him up.

but not in a bad way. no, it lit something up behind his ribs. he liked women who could kill him—liked them more when they didn’t fawn or fuss. you were the opposite of delicate. you didn’t even offer him a hand. toji leaned against the alley wall, watching you disappear through the side entrance like smoke. you didn’t look back.

by the time he made it to the other side, limping and pissed, the hit was done. clean. efficient. bullet to the skull in the bathroom. silenced. silent. he was halfway to sulking in the shadows when you emerged again—cool and composed, slipping a pistol into your waistband like you’d just clocked out of a shift at the office.

the client was already waiting, briefcase in hand. “name?” you didn’t hesitate. you tell him. he hands over the money. toji clenched his jaw. six figures. gone. and then—you brushed past him. no smug grin, no lingering glance. just a whisper of perfume and your fingers ghosting briefly over his chest.

he didn’t even register it at first. just stared after you as you vanished into the night like you belonged to it. three minutes later, he was slouched in the passenger seat of shiu’s car, grumbling and cursing and trying to find a position that didn’t make his ribs scream. “you look like shit,” shiu said, not looking up from the road.

“feel worse.” toji shifted—and felt something odd in his inner pocket. he fished it out. thick envelope. heavy. inside: the cash. most of it. he stared. then pulled out the folded slip of paper tucked beside the bills.

shiu whistled. “guess someone felt sorry for you.”

“you know her?” he asked, casually. too casually.

shiu shrugged. “seen her around. heard good things. tell me if she’s looking for work—I'd hire her in a heartbeat.” toji didn’t answer.

later that night, after the stitches and the cursing and the bottle of whiskey, he found out where you lived. two days later, half the cash was back in your mailbox—stuffed in an unmarked envelope. along with a slip of paper of his own. toji. xxx-xxx-xxxx.

the next morning, you found it. you rolled your eyes. smirked. called the number. “hope you’re not just looking for a thank-you,” you said.

on the other end of the line, toji’s voice was rough and amused. “nah. I'm asking if you’re free friday. wear something that won’t get blood on it.” cute. in a criminal sort of way.

gojo satoru was beloved. that was just a fact. teachers liked him because he was smarter than he let on. students adored him because he was charming, funny, and hot enough to make skipping class feel worthy of the punishment. waitresses at his regular spots knew his order, his quirks, his usual table. baristas at the corner café? knew him by name and drink.

which was why, when the to-go cup handed to him tasted like battery acid and death, he blinked. “what the hell—” he muttered, peeking into the cup. black coffee. no sugar. no cream. just three shots of death with ice.

he turned back to the counter just as you stepped up. hoodie sleeves too long, voice soft as you said: “sorry, I think there was a mix-up. this…isn’t mine.”

he took you in with one glance. pretty. like really pretty. the kind of pretty that made his brain go a little sideways. “actually,” he said, stepping up beside you, flashing a grin like it belonged on a billboard, "I think I've got your drink.”

you turned your head, eyes wide. blinked up at him. that was when it hit him. you weren’t giggling. or playing with your hair. or leaning into the flirtation. you looked…startled. a little confused. blushing, yeah—but more out of discomfort than delight.

“I'm so sorry,” you said, placing the actual sugary masterpiece he’d ordered back on the counter and pushing the black coffee his way. "I didn’t even look. that’s on me.” it wasn’t. he knew it wasn’t. but you were still taking the blame like it was second nature. his gaze flicked to a lone backpack at a corner table. your table.

“well,” he said, picking up both drinks, “seems like fate wants us to chat.” you looked horrified. and then he was walking, sliding into the seat across from your things before you could protest. you hesitated. stared. but eventually followed. sat slowly, unsure. gojo leaned his chin into his hand, sipping his coffee—your coffee—and pretending not to wince. “this is evil,” he said conversationally. “are you okay? do you hate yourself?” you didn’t laugh. just looked at him, expression flat.

conversation came easy for him. he asked about your major. your music taste. your hair routine. the specific reason you were drinking a war crime in a cup. your skincare. your favorite color. how you felt about pancakes. you answered with as few syllables as possible. you weren’t shy—you just didn’t care. you weren’t flattered. you weren’t amused. you weren’t impressed.

it drove him insane. because gojo was used to being liked. he was used to being the sun, and people orbiting him with giddy smiles and heart eyes. but you? you had no orbit. you had gravity. heavy and still and unmoved. you didn’t need to be charmed. you weren’t looking for anything. least of all him. he loved that.

after the twentieth question in under five minutes, you set your pen down. “what’s your goal here?” you asked bluntly. “are you just really bored or something? because I don’t have time for this.”

gojo blinked. grinned wider. “let me take you out.”

you stared. “like…on a date?”

“mm-hmm.”

“why?”

“because you’re beautiful, clearly immune to my overwhelming appeal, and I like a challenge.” he lifts your cup. “I'll take you somewhere they serve things better than this war crime in a cup. there's this place uptown—prix fixe, white tablecloths, the whole shebang.” he gives you the name of the restaurant he has in mind.

you blink again. “dinner at that place costs more than my laptop.”

he shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I'll cover it.”

you raised your eyebrows. “there’s zero chemistry here.”

“you think so?” he asked, cocking his head. “because I feel a spark.”

“there’s no spark.”

“there will be,” he said confidently. “eventually. you’ll see.”

“no,” you say, quick. not sharp, but not hesitant either. “no, thank you.”

there’s a beat. a breath. he deflates—not dramatically, just slightly. like he expected it. like this was how it was always going to go. “fair enough,” he says. he leans back in his chair, looks up at the café lights with something too soft for someone wearing sunglasses indoors. then he looks at you again. “I'll be here tomorrow. same time. I'll get your drink. still think it’s gross, though.”you huff—almost a laugh, almost—and stand. you don’t say yes. you don’t say no. and gojo watches you walk out like he’s watching a star slip below the horizon. because maybe you didn’t want his fancy dinner. but you still might want him. and he’s got time.

it starts with a dare. a dumb one. your friends are three shots in and bloodthirsty for chaos. loser has to kiss a stranger. that’s the rule. you lose. you pick someone fast—because thinking about it too long will make you chicken out—and the first person you lock eyes with is a boy in a grey hoodie, laughing with friends near the kitchen. he's cute. sweet-faced. his smile looks like sunshine distilled. takuma, your friends tell you his name is.

you walk over. "hey," you say, tapping his arm gently. "weird question. can I kiss you?"

he blinks. "huh?"

"I lost a bet," you explain, already wincing. "and the consequence is kissing a stranger. you’re very cute. but I totally get it if you don’t want to—"

"no, no—it’s okay!" he blurts, eyes wide and pink creeping up his neck. "I mean—uh. sure. if you're okay with it."

you grin. “okay. I'll be quick.” except you’re not. because as soon as your hands fist in the front of his hoodie and you pull him down, it spirals fast. the kiss is hot. messy. decidedly not pg. someone somewhere yells for you to “get a room!” and then laughs fade into static as your mouth moves against his.

he tastes like mint and strawberry soda. his lips part and yours follow. he grips your waist like he might float off otherwise. it lasts a lot longer than fifteen seconds. when you pull back, you’re breathless. his eyes are glassy. you smile—bashful now. “thanks,” you say quietly. and then you’re gone, swept back into the crowd like a fever dream.

takuma doesn’t even catch your name. but he thinks about you constantly. your perfume haunts him. warm, floral, clings to the fabric of his hoodie like ghostly fingers. he wears the same sweatshirt three days in a row. maki notices. “seriously?” she asks on day four, watching takuma sniff his sleeve like a lovesick freak. “you kissed one stranger. let it go.”

“I'm trying,” takuma mutters, curled on the couch. “it’s not working.”

he replays it in his head at least twice an hour. the way your lip caught between his. the breathy little sound you made. the way you smiled—soft and kind, like you were shy even after that feral, earth-shattering kiss. he’s down bad. and he knows it.

the next weekend, there’s another party. takuma throws it, mostly because he’s hoping, maybe…and there you are. in a different outfit, with different friends, but unmistakably you. you see him before he sees you, and when your eyes meet, you freeze. like a deer caught mid-escape. then you’re stumbling over.

“oh my god,” you say. “hi. I—I didn’t know this was your apartment again. I didn’t mean to just like—last week—if that was weird or—”

takuma shakes his head fast. “it wasn’t weird. at all. I mean, it surprised me, but, uh. in a good way.”

you pause. blink. “really?”

“really,” he says. then, braver: “I've actually been hoping I'd run into you again.”

your breath catches. “oh.”

“and, um,” he adds, scratching the back of his neck, “if you're not doing anything tonight, maybe we could actually hang out? like talk. you know. with our mouths off each other.”

you laugh, cheeks warm. “yeah. I'd like that.”

you spend the whole night on the couch together, feet tucked up, drink forgotten on the side table. he asks you everything—your major, your favorite movie, whether you like cats or dogs more, whether you’ve always been this quiet.

you remind him of nanami. a little guarded. thoughtful. reserved. not cold, just self-contained. but unlike megumi, you don’t scoff at everything hopeful. you listen with wide eyes and small nods. takuma finds himself talking more than usual, because you actually make him feel heard. and you surprise him, too. you say dry, clever things that make him snort into his cup. you have this crooked smile that sneaks out when you least expect it.

he’s officially toast. by the end of the night, he doesn’t want to say goodbye. “so…” he says, hands nervously wringing together. “would you wanna go out sometime? like a real date. somewhere I can impress you.”

you raise an eyebrow. “are you planning on kissing me again?” you say, as if you weren’t the one who kissed him in the first place.

"I mean—only if you want—”

you laugh. "I was hoping you would.”takuma’s face goes red. he beams. “then yeah. I'd really like that.” and he means it. he likes you, a lot. and he’s already planning ways to prove it.

shiu’s on his way to work. not the kind of work that comes with a suit and 401k. the kind that involves shady offices, burner phones, and blood in the back seat if fushiguro doesn’t show up on time. he’s either heading downtown to his dingy little hideout or sitting curbside waiting for a client to bring the kind of mess no one else wants to clean up.

he doesn’t see exactly how it happens. one second he’s turning at a green light, and the next a shiny black tesla is gunning it across two lanes like it’s trying to break the sound barrier. and then—crash. metal. glass. crunch. his car takes the brunt of it. slams into the tesla, and somehow still clips you too.

he jerks forward with the impact. the seatbelt leaves a nasty burn across his chest. his baby—hot rod, his beautiful, custom-tuned, low-riding sweetheart—is groaning from the front end. hood buckled. front bumper dangling. engine coughing like it’s on its last breath. he’s pissed. he’s out of the car before the airbags deflate, already stalking toward the tesla like he’s going to drag the driver out through the window.

but then—you're already there. apologizing. repeatedly. like it was your fault. and the asshole in the tesla is loving it. he’s rubbing his neck, already prepping for the insurance scam, and smirking down at you like you’re a wounded puppy. “it’s alright, sweetheart,” he drawls, all fake charm and condescension.

shiu sees red. he steps in, all six-foot-something of muscle and rage, shoves tesla guy back with a hand to the chest. “you kidding me?” he snaps. “she wasn’t at fault here. you blew the light. you were speeding.”

tesla guy protests, something about his neck and a green light. shiu silences him with a glare. he knows his type—slick, greasy, and probably calls his mother’s maid “toots.” not happening. meanwhile, your car’s got a scratch and a ding, tops. his car? getting towed away in pieces. and still—you’re turning to him, soft and apologetic, offering your insurance info like you had anything to be sorry for.

he grabs your arm, not rough, but firm. directs you gently but unmistakably away from the mess. “don’t apologize,” he says, voice low. “not to that dickhead. you didn’t do anything wrong.”

you blink up at him, startled. he really gets a good look at you for the first time. you’re…pretty. real pretty. a little disheveled from the crash, still in work clothes. kind, clearly, even to people who don’t deserve it. that kind of kindness doesn’t survive long in his world. “you headed somewhere?” you ask, glancing at the wreckage of his car as it’s hooked to the tow.

“work,” he says, automatically.

“want a ride?” you offer. "I just got off a night shift. I'm free.”

he hesitates. his line of work isn’t…civilian-friendly. but you don’t need to know what’s behind the unmarked door he’s getting dropped off at. it’s just a ride. no big deal. and besides—he doesn’t like the thought of letting you disappear just yet. so he accepts.

it’s been a long time since shiu kong has ridden shotgun. but your car? it’s spotless. immaculate. it smells like you—floral, soft, sweet in a way that clings. the steering wheel is pink. there’s a little plush charm hanging from the mirror. it’s all so not his style. but he likes it anyway. you drive with one hand on the wheel and the windows cracked. talk a little, laugh quietly. you don’t ask too many questions. he likes that.

then your car pulls into his lot. you hesitate. the building is sketchy. unmarked. windows tinted, graffiti peeling. a place people walk past fast with their heads down. you glance at it, then at him. but you don’t ask. you just say, “want me to come back and get you when you’re done?” he stares at you for a moment. surprised. you don’t know him. you don’t owe him.

but you’re looking at him like you want him. like you see him—and you’re not scared. or maybe you should be, and that just makes him want you more. he shakes his head. “won’t be necessary. I'll have the car thing handled tonight.” shiu without a car is like a shark without teeth. just wrong.

but before he gets out, he pauses. glances at you, hand on the door handle. “give me your number,” he says.

you blink. “what for?”

he shrugs, casual. “just ‘cause I don’t need a ride…doesn’t mean I don’t wanna see you again.” you smile. kind. a little wary. but you hand over your number anyway. and shiu kong, criminal consultant and part-time getaway driver, walks into his back-alley office already planning when he’s going to call you.

nanami works in finance. suits. deadlines. numbers that won't stop blinking at him. hiromi higuruma’s law firm shares the building. their companies partner often—legal and financials always tangled—and nanami’s walked the same halls as their employees more times than he can count.

you, though. you’re new. he’s seen you a few times. usually with your nose buried in a stack of paperwork, always moving with purpose. paralegal, he’d guess. he catches snippets—your name in passing, your voice on late-night calls echoing through the stairwell. you’re polite, focused. never unkind, but busy. too busy to notice anyone else. which is fine. he prefers to observe anyway.

it's late. the building is near-empty. everyone’s gone home except the usual suspects—higuruma still holed up in his office across the hall, nanami finalizing projections with an exhausted sigh, and you, curled up on the floor of the breakroom surrounded by documents, legal pads, and a cold, half-eaten sandwich. a storm rages outside. not just rain—sheets of it. thunder that rattles the glass. nanami packs up around 9:45. he pulls on his coat, briefcase in hand, and steps into the hallway right as you do.

you’ve got your hood pulled up and your tote bag slung over one shoulder. he nods at you out of habit. polite. respectful. his hand already on the door handle when he sees you hesitate, peering through the glass at the torrential rain. you sigh. adjust your coat. mumbling something about the mile-long walk to the station. nanami pauses. “pardon me,” he says, voice even. “are you headed toward the station?”

you look up at him, surprised. “yeah. I'm just hoping I don’t get struck by lightning on the way there.”

he doesn’t laugh. but the corner of his mouth quirks. “I'm parked out back. I'd be happy to offer you a ride.”

you hesitate. he sees it. but your eyes soften as you take him in: the tailored coat, the neat briefcase, the calm, steady presence of a man who never raises his voice and always holds the elevator door. “…you sure?” you ask. "I don’t want to be a bother.”

“it would bother me more,” he says, “to watch you walk through that storm.”

you blink. then smile. small. grateful. “alright. thanks.” he leads you to his car—a sleek, black luxury sedan. immaculate interior. smells faintly of cedar and clean laundry. he opens the passenger door for you, of course. it’s quiet for a moment once you're inside. the rain patters against the roof like static. you glance around, a little sheepish. “nice car.”

“it gets me where I need to go.”

“still. very…bond villain of you.”

that earns a ghost of a smile. “hopefully less villainous.”

you chat lightly on the way. he learns that you're not from the city. that you’re working while putting yourself through night classes. that you're tired—he can see that—but proud. you ask him what it is he actually does, because finance sounds like a broad umbrella.

he tells you. you listen. actually listen. it’s simple. it’s nothing. but it’s been a long time since someone has looked at him like you do. interested, engaged, without a trace of performance. he pulls into the station, and for a second neither of you moves. “thanks again,” you say, finally unbuckling your seatbelt.

“of course.” then you’re gone. rushing through the rain toward the platform, hood up again. nanami watches you go, hand still on the gearshift, mind curiously quiet.

but after that night, nanami is…resolved. he’d like to get you back in his car. but this time, for dinner. somewhere quiet. classy. you in a nice dress, him with his sleeves rolled to the forearms. maybe afterward, he’d take you to that little dessert café he only ever goes to on sundays. maybe, eventually, he’d take you home. not just a ride. a night. a morning after.

the thought surprises him. the intensity of it more than anything. he doesn’t act on impulse. never has. but he asks hiromi about you—just once. casually. hiromi doesn’t buy it for a second. “you?” he says, raising a brow. “since when do you flirt?”

"I wasn’t flirting.”

hiromi laughs. “alright. sure.” nanami doesn’t respond. but he’s thinking about you again before he even leaves the office.

two weeks pass. late nights. brief glances. passing hellos. it doesn’t rain again—until it does. a quiet friday, near closing time. thunder rolling in low and steady like a warning. he finishes his work deliberately late. watches the sky darken through the high windows. waits. and when you appear in the lobby, your coat too thin and no umbrella in sight, he’s already there. already standing beside you. already holding the door open with quiet expectation.

“it’s raining again,” he says. "I can give you a ride.”

you blink up at him, surprised. “oh—really? that would be… really nice, actually. thank you.”

you step into the car, brushing water from your sleeves. he turns the heat on a little higher, makes sure your seat warmer is on. you compliment the vehicle absently—something about how it smells nice, or how clean it is—and he simply says thank you. he says he’d be happy to drive you home, not just to the station. you assure him he doesn’t have to. he insists.

the drive is mostly quiet. comfortable. your voice cuts through every now and then, soft and curious. you ask about the building he works in, if he likes the coffee on the third floor, how long he’s known hiromi. normal questions. friendly ones.

and nanami, steady as ever, answers all of them. carefully. thoughtfully. when he pulls up in front of your apartment, you start unbuckling, murmuring another round of gratitude. but before you go, he says, without looking over, “I'd like to see you outside the office sometime. if that’s something you’d be open to.”

there’s a pause. a small, confused silence. “like—help with something for work?”

his hand stills on the steering wheel. “no,” he says. “just dinner. if you’d like.”

you stare at him for a second. then smile, a little sheepish. “oh. um. sure. yeah, that sounds…nice.”

nanami nods once. keeps his expression neutral. but after you close the door and disappear into your building, he lets out a quiet breath—just a little longer than necessary—and smiles, just a little softer than usual.

sukuna doesn’t usually wander the human world. it's tedious. soft. full of noise and smell and weak little creatures with short lives and even shorter memories. but today, he’s feeling… strange. restless. so he ends up in a museum, which is somehow worse and better at the same time—like walking through a graveyard of things he already buried.

he’s passing through a wing on ancient warfare when he hears your voice. “—and this particular design was popularized during the late kamakura period, though its origins likely trace back to—”

“that’s incorrect,” sukuna says flatly.

you glance over at him. “I'm sorry?”

he steps closer, hands tucked into the sleeves of his coat, eyes scanning the blade behind the glass. “the craftsmanship. that curve. the hamon. it predates kamakura.”

you arch a brow. “well, most scholars disagree.”

he shrugs. “they’re wrong.”

you smile tightly. “and how would you know?”

"I was there.”

there’s a pause. then you laugh, a single breath through your nose. “you were there. in the thirteenth century.”

“earlier.”

you blink. “right.”

he doesn’t elaborate. you don’t ask. the middle schoolers you’re touring shuffle awkwardly, sensing something off, and you keep moving with a practiced ease. sukuna follows. silently, at first. then he speaks again when you pause in front of a replica scroll. “that’s not how it looked.”

you sigh. “let me guess. you were there, too?” you think you’re playing into some theatrical joke. of course he wasn’t there…right? right?

he hums. “not there. but I remember who drew it.”

you give him a sideways look. “well, if I'm getting all of this wrong, feel free to take over.”

"I would, but your delivery’s not terrible.” you don’t realize that’s a compliment. you just nod, like you’ve decided he’s one of those eccentrics who know a lot and talk a lot more.

the kids leave, eventually. ushered out by a second staff member. but sukuna stays. you glance back and find him still behind you, hands clasped, eyes sweeping the room. “you’re not part of the tour,” you say.

“I'm aware.”

“then why are you still here?”

he shrugs again. “nothing better to do.” that’s not true. he’s killed for less boredom than this. but you…you’re interesting. not because you’re beautiful, though you are. not because you’re clever, though you are. but because you’re confident. steady. you stand in front of him like you don’t realize what he is—or maybe like you don’t care. either way, it fascinates him.

you make another offhand remark about a historical treaty and he corrects you again. it’s barely even a correction. just a detail. a preference. he knows you’re not wrong. he just likes disagreeing with you. you glance over, amused now. “do you have a degree in this or something?”

“something like that.”

you roll your eyes, good-natured. “well, if you are a reincarnated warrior from a thousand years ago, you could at least be a little less smug about it.” he doesn’t smile. doesn’t correct you. you’re only human. maybe ninety years if you're lucky. you don’t know what it means to be alive forever. you wouldn’t believe him if he told you. so he doesn’t. he reigns himself in.

“what’s your name?” you ask eventually, still half-suspicious. he lies. gives you a simple one. something borrowed. you nod. “well, thanks for the impromptu history critique, I guess.”

“I'll be back,” he says, almost without meaning to.

you snort. “try not to heckle the next time.”

he watches you walk away—back through the staff hallway, badge clipped to your belt, keys jingling in your hand. he watches the way the museum lights flicker just slightly as you pass. he reminds himself that he doesn’t like humans. but maybe you’re not like most.

he returns two days later. lingers near the entrance like a shadow. you notice him immediately, lips twitching in some combination of fondness and exasperation. “you again?” you say, meeting him halfway.

“you never corrected the kamakura exhibit,” he replies.

you roll your eyes. “let me guess. still wrong?”

he nods. then, after a beat: “there’s another museum. less modern. more...accurate. you should see it.”

you hesitate, trying to gauge if this is another one of his strange quirks or an actual invitation. “you want to take me to a museum?” you ask.

“to set the record straight,” he says. “nothing else.”

nothing else. not the way he wants to see how you light up when you talk about things you love. not the way your voice sounds when you're unsure but keep speaking anyway. not the way he could maybe—just maybe—show you things no one else can.

you tilt your head. “alright. but if you start arguing with the exhibits again, I'm leaving you in the feudal era.” he doesn’t smile. not quite. but his eyes burn a little brighter.

yuuji waltzes into the er like it’s a casual wednesday. arm bleeding, shirt clinging to his skin, and a cocky little grin that’s doing a poor job of masking the fact that he’s very much in pain and maybe just a little dizzy. he did not mean to get this hurt. he also did not mean to walk into the trauma bay and immediately fall in love.

but there you are. clipboard in hand, blue scrubs, hair tied up, calm as a monk. you glance up at him and blink like, oh great, another idiot. and yuuji? he’s a goner. full-body, soul-leaving-the-chat goner. you’re beautiful. so beautiful it makes his teeth hurt. like, he thinks he might be bleeding more just to get your attention a little longer. and you’re cool. collected. you haven’t even smiled once and he already wants to marry you.

“looks deep,” you murmur, taking his vitals. your hands are gentle. professional. efficient. you don’t even flinch at the mess of his arm.

he tries to play it cool. “yeah,” he says. “you should see the other guy.” you don’t laugh. not even a pity smile. okay. fair. he’s bombing. but he can recover.

you pull on gloves and start prepping the tray. “you need stitches. a lot of them.”

“sweet,” he says, because his brain is goo and he doesn’t know how to talk to pretty girls when he’s not also actively leaking blood. “do you do this often?”

you glance at him again, dry. “stitch people? it’s kind of my job.” right. yes. obviously. cool cool cool.

he shuts up for a bit while you clean the wound, staring at the ceiling and trying not to faint. from blood loss. or how close your face is. either/or. she has really nice eyes, he thinks. is that creepy? probably. don’t say anything about her eyes, man. don’t do it. don’t be that guy. you lean in closer to check his pupils with a tiny penlight, and yuuji’s stomach flutters like he swallowed a whole nest of butterflies. he can feel your breath on his cheek. smell your shampoo. his brain whites out for a second.

“you feeling lightheaded?” you ask, scribbling something down.

yes. because you exist. “nope. all good,” he croaks.

you’re stitching now. he winces. “sorry,” you murmur.

“no, no. it’s cool. you’re doing amazing. like, if I ever get injured again—which statistically I probably will—could I request you?” you glance at him like you're not sure if he’s joking. he is. but also, he’s not. and then he starts blatantly staring at you while you work. he can’t help it. he’s trying to memorize your face. commit this moment to memory. you in your element, brow furrowed in concentration, lips pursed in a way that makes his chest hurt.

you finish the last stitch and start taping gauze. “all done,” you say.

already? he sits up too fast and wobbles. you steady him with one hand. he’s in love. “do I get a sticker or something?” he asks, a little dazed.

you raise a brow. “do you want a sticker?”

“I'd keep it forever.” and there it is—a tiny laugh. barely a breath. but it counts. it’s the greatest sound he’s ever heard. he wants it as a ringtone. you start typing something into the chart on the monitor, clearly wrapping up, and yuuji panics. fast. “actually, uh—wait. I think I'm still a little lightheaded.”

you pause, peer over your shoulder. “you stood up fine.”

“yeah, but like, internally. I'm dizzy. maybe nauseous. blurry vision. could be internal bleeding.”

you squint. “from a forearm laceration?”

he nods, very serious. “anything’s possible. medical mysteries happen all the time.”

you sigh, come back over with your stethoscope. “alright, dr. house. let’s check you again.” he lets you, thrilled to be buying more time. you check him. everything’s normal. his pulse is a little fast, but that might be from the way you're touching his wrist. “ino,” you say slowly. “you’re fine.”

"I might throw up,” he tries.

“you won’t.”

he pouts. “can’t I just like…hang out here for a bit? make sure I don’t collapse outside?”

your lips twitch. “the waiting room’s that way.”

he winces. “so cold.” you’re already back at the chart again, wrapping things up for real this time. and now he’s desperate. time’s running out. so he blurts, “do you wanna maybe go out sometime?” silence. you glance at him over your shoulder, amused. exasperated. fond, somehow.

you don’t say yes. but you don’t say no, either. just shake your head, smiling despite yourself. and when he’s walking out of the er, still a little loopy, he’s already planning how he might maybe get injured again next week. nothing major. just…a mild concussion. or a broken finger. something small. just enough to see you.

181 notes · View notes

auroreliis · 9 months ago

Note

Honestly if I was batsis I'd pretend to have a crush on the batboys close friends(excluding Damian because he and Jon are still babies) just to annoy them. Jason bring Roy over? Suddenly I'm very interested in his tattoo's and I want to know all about archery. I catch kon in the kitchen in Tim? Suddenly i'm very into the conversation they're having and am making eye contact a lot with Kon. I feel liked they'd do something like this; Batsis: You know I really like your tattoos. Roy: Oh thanks. Jason: ... You gotta go, like, now. Roy: What-

Brilliant, anon!! What a great idea!! This was very fun to write :)

(don't mind the spelling mistakes please lol. i am tired out of my mind)

For starters, when Bruce first introduced the members of the Justice League to you (it took a lot of convincing), you just couldn’t help but flirt with them.

I mean, just LOOK at Aquaman. The moment you laid your eyes on him, you felt a spark. He hadn’t noticed you staring, but surely he had felt it too. Bruce, however, had noticed you staring. He didn’t seem particularly amused, almost as though he saw you daydreaming about your wedding with Aquaman. Just when you were making your way over to them, Bruce scowled and swiftly led Aquaman away. After that, you never saw him ever again…

Or that one time when Green Lantern came over. Wow. What a man. You didn’t waste a second walking up to him and introducing yourself. The giggles you were suppressing nearly slipped out after you saw Bruce’s eye twitch. Green Lantern entertained your advances, though you knew he wasn’t interested in you. Whenever Bruce started with his, “Hal. We should leave”, you would always interrupt him with more questions directed at Hal.

“So…do you like pasta? I’m actually really good at making it. You should come over, you know? I could treat you!” You all but winked at him.

Hal found it very interesting, don’t get him wrong, he thought you were very funny, but when Bruce is standing right there beside him, he felt…intimidated. So intimidated, in fact, that he can barely reply to your questions.

“Oh…um…” he nervously glanced at Bruce. “Green. You know what, kid? Your father and I have some business to attend to…so…see you next time. Good luck with the um…yeah, never mind.”

Hal sped off, leaving you and Bruce alone. You had been in the mood to laugh until your father turned to you with a serious expression. Suddenly you weren’t in the mood to laugh anymore. To put it simply, it was a clear warning: Don’t do it again, his look communicated.

Now, Constantine, he was fun to hang around with, likely because he isn’t as scared of Batman as the rest is. And also, he’s hot. “You are so cool, honestly. It’s really impressive how often you’ve escaped death”, you leaned against the wall. To be honest, you weren’t even listening to what he was saying, all you needed to hear was his strong English accent and little sprinkles of humor.

After some bribery, you had gotten Tim to tell you that Bruce was most concerned about you meeting Constantine. For some reason, you figured…

“So…I like older men, what about you?”, you batted your eyelashes at him. You didn’t have Bruce in your periphery, as you were focusing on John, but you could imagine him shaking in fury.

“Yeah, I like older men too”, he replied nonchalantly. Dammit, he got you. Well, he was a funny guy.

Bruce seemingly relaxed at that, but that’s not to say that he was satisfied with the interaction taking place. “You’re funny, are you single-”, you could barely finish your sentence before Dick dragged you away to spend time with you. Though, you believe that Bruce asked Dick to get you away just so you couldn’t talk to Constantine like that.

Bruce had way too many attractive friends. Well, almost all his friends were attractive: Wonder Woman, Superman, Flash…hell, even Martian Manhunter. I mean, he can read minds! Just imagine the potential…

“So, I heard you can read minds. Read mine right now”, your grin was…suspicious. Bruce couldn’t read minds like J’onn could, but he could imagine what you were thinking about. No, actually, he didn’t want to imagine it.

“J’onn.”, Bruce, ever so stern, called out and gestured towards the door. The J’onn in question had merely walked off in that direction silently, as though having understood Bruce’s point from one word. Martian Manhunter hadn’t read your mind that day, to your dismay. However, you had managed to make Bruce uncomfortable, so that was considered a win.

Dick himself had very attractive friends. Wally West, quite the flirt, was among them. Though, oddly enough, you had imagined him to be more flirty. It couldn’t be that Dick took a page out of Bruce’s book and told him to watch it, right?

“So, you’re fast, huh?”, you looked Wally up and down. “I happen to be”, Wally glanced at Dick.

“Okaayyyyy, Wally, you should leave”, Dick spoke with a strained smile.

“Yeah. Oh, by the way, what about the-”

“Now.”

Wally looked around awkwardly, “…right.”

And Raven—what a woman. Plus, Cyborg and Starfire filled your thoughts. Though Wally was the first and last friend of Dick’s you ever saw. A pity. He seemed to have learnt his lesson…

Now Roy Harper, Jason’s friend, was quite something. Tattoos? Archery? Hell yeah.

“Wow, so you like engineering books? Well, the manor has a huge variety. You should come by more often”, you smiled innocently.

“Um, actually, he will NOT be coming over ever again”, Jason frowned at your words.

“Why not?”, both you and Roy turned to Jason.

“BECAUSE I said so”, you and Roy made eye contact awkwardly.

“You”, Jason points at Roy, “Get out.”

“What? But you said you needed my he-”

“NOWWWW. Do NOT make me repeat myself.”

Yeah, Roy leaving was more awkward than anything else that had happened so far.

Jason didn’t have that many friends, as far as you knew at least. In other words: You would never see Roy ever again…

Now Tim, being charming himself, had many attractive friends.

For starters: Conner Kent.

You hadn’t had much contact with the Kents, however Conner had come over a few times. And wow. Despite being overly confident (and often obnoxious), he was very, very attractive. However, you have never talked to him. The reason? Tim makes sure he keeps you at arm’s length. In fact, you’re not sure you could ever find a way to interract with Tim’s friends…unless…

“Hey, Tim!”, Jason called out, “Bruce says you need to go to the cave right now.”

“What? But I have guests over…”, Tim eyes Jason suspiciously.

“I mean, if you wanna get in trouble with him, be my guest”, Jay raised his hands defensively.

“I-…fine. Conner, just a second, I will be right back. DO NOT move”, Tim sighs.

After Tim left, you shot Jason a thumbs-up and went to mingle with Superboy.

“Good evening. You must be Conner. I’ve heard a lot about you from Tim”, you say, taking it slow.

“Good evening! Hopefully you only heard good things!”, he grins.

“Oh, plenty of good things. Say, if you really can fly, then why don’t you take me for a ride? I haven’t ever seen the sky from…well, up in the sky”, you copied his grin.

“Ah, well, I would, really, but I’m not sure how Tim would feel, you know? I mean, he’s a bit of a-”, Conner started.

“A bit of a what.”, a new voice shocked the both of you.

Tim. Where the hell did he come from?

“I though I told you to leave if they started talking to you?”, Tim ignored you, only focusing on scolding Conner.

“Well, that would’ve been incredibly rude…”, Conner struggled to defend himself.

“You.”, Tim turns to you.

“Me?”, you said, though you weren’t scared of him anymore.

“Yes, you. What’s the big idea? Why did you pull that just to talk to Conner? I don’t know what you have planned, but forget it immediately. If you don’t leave right now, I’ll tell Bruce to reinstate the therapy sessions. Then you can explain to him why you enjoy sabotaging others so much.”

That was, quite frankly, terrifying. You hadn’t been this scared of Tim in a while.

Well, safe to say you won’t be doing this again…

687 notes · View notes