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tonycries · 1 year ago

Text

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.

Because you weren’t here.

“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left.

Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you?

With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-

“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”

“Where is she?”

---

It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse.

Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything.

Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly.

One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?

Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere.

God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-

That was when you felt it.

The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe.

You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words.

Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.

“My love?”

Satoru.

It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought.

Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go.

All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own.

A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back.

“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms.

It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you?

Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru.

“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him.

He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.

You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by.

Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend.

“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”

Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core.

Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”

There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra.

Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.

Shit. He’s lost it.

Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you.

Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.

Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, “Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?

Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him.

Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.

The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.

But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.

Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-

“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”

With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker.

“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”

You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now.

“But-”

“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”

Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.

Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”

“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”

And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down.

Rip!

It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity.

He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor.

“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”

That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts.

And it was so unfair.

Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were.

And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt.

Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used.

And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now.

“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.

“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”

He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you.

And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything.

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”

You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance.

But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.

Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier.

“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”

And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.

You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close.

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer.

But it wasn’t fast enough.

Not for Satoru, at least.

Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-

That cheat.

You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard.

Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time.

“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-”

One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth.

Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything.

Desperate. Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of.

And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue.

“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes.

Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild.

Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then.

You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time.

You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”

“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”

“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum.

He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive.

Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice.

And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick.

God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy.

And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs.

“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…”

“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”

“But-”

God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t.

Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him.

Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break.

It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks.

“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.

He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.

Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.

“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”

You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”

“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”

And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face.

If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting.

“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.

And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”

At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow.

Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet.

“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic. “I’m…”

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.

It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.

“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”

And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut.

Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it.

Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-

“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”

Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”

And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty.

And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.

Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.

“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”

It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind.

“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”

The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain.

And then it’s black.

---

“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”

Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so.

And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.

Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?

“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”

A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel?

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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nochepsicodelica · 9 months ago

Text

"Baby, what's wrong?" Toji leans forward on the bar counter to try and get a look at your face.

You hear Toji's voice, but you feel heavy, like you're being weighed down and you can't move. Your elbow is on the counter, allowing you to rest your chin in your palm. Your head is turned to the side and you're facing away from him. Your leg is bouncing like crazy against the metal bars of the stool you sit on and your heart is racing, your breathing coming out a little shaky as it exits through your nose.

"Hey." Toji's hand goes to your knee, moving along with every bounce of your leg. He doesn't attempt to still you, but he's hoping the warmth will manage to soothe you a little. "It's okay, ma. Listen to me." When you don't move, he stands from his seat and makes his way over to your other side to stand in front of you. "Focus on me." His hands come up to shield your eyes from all the light around you, blocking your peripheral vision so that your main view is him. He lays his fingers over your ears to somewhat muffle the sounds of the lively bar area.

You're overstimulated, overwhelmed by all the lights, and music, and everybody around you. You were so excited to spend some time out with Toji. You've been here with him before, and you remembered you had a really good time— definitely one of your favorite dates with him— so you expected this time to be just as fun. Everything was going well until you made it to the bar, where you're sitting, now, trying to calm down. Everywhere you turned, you made eye contact with someone, there was a group of people that was being way too loud, and the volume of the music being played was inconsistent— sometimes blaring, sometimes at a comfortable volume, and sometimes the music was almost inaudible. You felt like your head was spinning. With all of these things combined, you could hardly focus on Toji who was trying to get your attention, because the bartender was taking your drink orders. You asked him to repeat himself three times, and each time you couldn't process what he was saying. He ended up just getting you your usual.

The sensory overload only worsened as time went by. Whenever Toji said anything to you, you would just hum and nod your head, not really taking in his words. You ended up reaching rock bottom and couldn't respond to him at all. You weren't feeling well, and he eventually picked up on it, which led to this moment, where he's standing in front of you, helping you deescalate this awful feeling.

You blink slowly at Toji, holding his attentive gaze. He picks up your limp hand from where it rests on your thigh and brings it up to his face, positioning it so that you're cupping his jaw and your thumb is pressed against the scar on his lips.

Toji used to really hate his scar. Too many bad memories are linked to it. The blemish reminded him of how unwanted he was, growing up. When he met you, he was really insecure about it, to the point where his heart would sink to his stomach, when he caught you glancing at it for even the quickest second. He found out later on that his scar brings you comfort. Whenever you're stressed about something and Toji does a mental check in, the first thing you do is kiss his scar, before communicating what has you so stressed. Whenever you're sad, Toji pulls you onto his lap and lets you talk out all your feelings. As if by natural instinct, your thumb runs along the strike on his lips, before you wrap your arms around him and melt into his comforting embrace. Even at random times, you'll walk up to him and lay a barrage of kisses on his scar, before walking off to continue what you were doing, like it's a form of recharging, but also your motivation to get things done.

Though the method in which Toji got his scar was vehemently horrid, a lot of the negative memories are overridden by more positive ones of it bringing you tranquility. Before, there was absolutely nothing good about it. It used to piss him off, because it just served as a malignant reminder of his past, and it just sat there on his grim face—useless. Now that he knows that the sight and the feeling of it puts your mind at ease and that it grounds you and keeps you with him, his hatred towards the permanence of the tattered skin isn't as vile.

"Look, mama. You feel that?" He manually drags your thumb up and down his scar, in an attempt to bring you back. Your eyebrows furrow, then relax at the feeling of the familiar texture beneath the pad of your thumb. "Yeah, i'm here. It's okay, doll." When you manage to move your thumb on your own, he lets go of your hand and puts his hand back beside your face to shield you, again. He can feel people watching, but he really doesn't care what it looks like to them. It's none of their business, anyway.

"You wanna get out of here? We can go for a drive or a walk. Anything you want." He sees you press your lips together like you want to say something, but then you stop and just keep looking at him with that same look of exhaustion from your overwhelming amount of awareness. "Alright, let's get out of here, first." He pulls out his wallet and a few bills, leaving them beneath the glass of your unfinished drink, before helping you off the stool. "It's okay, doll. Don't even worry about it. Just hold onto me." You wrap an arm around him and he keeps his hand on your shoulder, squeezing occasionally to remind you that he's looking out for you, as he guides you to the exit.

You both decide to lean against the trunk of the car for a few minutes to get some fresh air. The parking lot is practically empty, save for three other cars scattered in different areas. You've managed to calm down a little more, but you still haven't said anything. It's a mixture of guilt and embarrassment for ending what was supposed to be a nice night out with your lover.

Your shame is visible. You can't even look up from your fidgeting hands. Toji takes one of them in both of his, aiming to start a conversation with you.

"Why are you stressing out on me, my sweet girl?" Your palm rests on top of Toji's, while the thumb of his free hand brushes your knuckles. He tilts his head to look at you as you stare at the ground for a few more seconds.

"I don't know what happened," you say, finally turning to look at him. "I was fine when we were on our way here, remember?" Toji nods, clearly remembering how excited you were when you saw the lit up, neon lettering. "Then, we got inside, and I felt weird—jittery, like when you have caffeine and don't put the energy to use. I felt like people were watching my every move, and my chest felt tight."

Toji hums, taking in the heaviness of your words and considers your feelings. "And why is it that you left me to figure out that you felt like you were dying, instead of telling me from the start?" His words aren't sharp, rather, doused with concern.

"That would have made it our shortest date night ever. We walk in, I say 'baby, I feel uncomfortable with how loud everything is', we walk out." Your brows raise, as if your explanation showcases the better option more clearly—what you chose to do, instead.

"That is one thousand times better than what you went through a few minutes ago." Toji can see your lips twitching, like you're aching to defend your reason for withholding your discomfort from him, but he won't have it. He's not going to waste time arguing over something he will always be right about. Your comfort, your health, your wellbeing— it's prioritized.

"I don't like seeing you that way." He gently pulls you so that you're standing right in front of him. His gorgeous, green eyes effortlessly hold you hostage and his hands settle on your lower back, further adding on to the feeling of being caught up in him. "You were frozen and you went silent— you were just out of it."

Your expression shows the guilt you've been stomaching since you walked out of the bar, and the feeling only intensifies at his evident concern for you.

"Fuck." He sighs, pulling you into a tight hug. "Don't look at me like that, ma. You know I care." He turns his head and takes in the ambrosial scent of your perfume, sourcing it from the side of your neck, where a few of his kisses land. "I don't want you to hide how you're feeling from me like that ever again. You understand?"

You nod against him. "Sorry."

"I'm not mad at you. I don't want you to apologize. Just tell me you understand," Toji clarifies.

"I understand," you confirm, quiet and disheartened, like you've just been scolded.

"Good. Now, tell me you love me." He loosens his hold and pulls you back, still maintaining a fairly close proximity with you. His hands take the ends of your coat and ride up until they reach the first button and hole of it. He merges them and goes up, feeling for the next ones, but when he reaches them, he pauses. Your attention is on what he's doing rather than his request.

"What?" You ask, looking at him.

"I'll wait," he responds, smiling softly at the bashfulness that shines through your expression.

"You're putting me on the spot," you say, giggling.

"You say it all the time. Why is it weird now?"

It's that smirk on his face and the knowing look in his eyes, that has your heart racing. It's the fact that he rescued you from something he couldn't feel—an internal hurricane. It's not hard to say the words, but you're damn nervous, this time.

"I love you, Toji," you, wholeheartedly, declare.

"I wasn't ready. Go again," he teases, because he lives for the way your eyes light up before you laugh.

"I love you, baby," you repeat, a gentle smile curled on your lips, remnants of your amusement towards his playfulness.

Toji sighs, mesmerized by the entirety of you. "You're so pretty, ma," he says, feeding the undying glow of your ethereal smile, in hopes that it doesn't dim again anytime soon. He continues buttoning up your coat, not breaking eye contact with you for even a second. When the last button is done, he shoves his hands into your pockets and pulls you in for a deep kiss. "I love you," he murmurs, against your lips, proceeding with more kisses.

Your hands come up to cup his cheeks, the warmth of his skin spreading through your palms with every ongoing kiss you share. Your hand repositions, your fingers resting beneath his jaw, allowing your thumb to slide down and get as close as you can to his scar, without interfering with the movement of his lips. It rests there until you finally separate from each other. You lean forward once more and press a lasting, final kiss to the strike.

"Feeling better?" Toji asks, a smug grin on his face.

"Much better," you respond. "Can we go somewhere else? Anywhere else. I don't think I can go back in there. It'll be awkward with the bartender having seen everything and just... fuck that. I can't go in there, again."

"Let's go for a drive," Toji says. He pulls his hands out of your now heated pockets, and takes his weight off the trunk, standing up straight and towering over you. "If you see anything interesting, we can stop and check it out."

"Let's get lost," you suggest, grinning mischievously.

Toji's eyebrows pinch in confusion. "Get lost? What does that mean?" He asks.

"It means, let's drive aimlessly and just... get lost," you repeat, enthusiastically.

He loves how excited you are, despite how insane you sound, which is why he doesn't have the heart to shut down your crazy idea.

"You know, it's almost impossible for me to get lost, 'cause of my jobs, doll. I'm sent everywhere, so anywhere we go, I know how to get us back home."

"I can't say the same, so it would be an adventure." You smile, internally giddy at the thought of having a guide through the dark unknown.

"It would be me kidnapping you." His hands go to your cheeks, forcing you to keep your eyes on him, so he can observe you to make sure you are in your right mind.

You laugh at the intensity of his gaze. "Not if I'm willingly going with you. Please? If you hate traveling with me, we'll never do it again. I promise."

Toji scoffs. "That's a little extreme, don't you think?"

You give him a charming smile, one you normally use to heavily influence his judgement.

"Fucking-" He groans, half frustrated, half smitten at the stunning sight before him. You don't even have the time to process the swiftness of him leaning down to press a hard kiss onto your lips. "God, you always do that. You always do that. You know what it does to me and you just... fuck." His breath stutters, and again, he's tasting the sweetness of your lips. His hands are still cupping your face, keeping you locked in with him. Toji doesn't stop until you're both breathing heavily through your noses and panting when he finally pulls away.

"Let's get lost," he says, in your words verbatim. Verdant orbs stare into your soul, in search of the smallest trace of uncertainty, but all he is able to find is wonder and adoration, staring right back at him. "Let's go away, doll."

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snickerdoodlebaby · 4 months ago

Text

Rebound - Thanos/Choi Subong x reader SMUT

Summary: Who should be your rebound after your shitty boyfriend, Namgyu, cheats on you? His best friend, of course!

Warnings: SMUT 18+, Namgyu cheats on you, grinding, blowjob, lots of praise, mating press, no protection, creampie, partying/alcohol, drug mention

A/n: ~ 4k words & super smutty, enjoy ♡

Fuck him. Fuck that lying, cheating, sleazy, junkie motherfucker.

Tears were still spilling down your reddened cheeks as you speed walked away from the apartment.

The more distance the better, you didn’t want to see Namgyu’s face for the rest of your life.

Hell, you didn’t even have time to grab your things. Toothbrush and clothes be damned, he could keep all of it.

You couldn’t even think about going back when the mental image of him and that whore kept popping up in your mind again and again.

You felt sick to your stomach.

Your brain kept torturing you with the brief moment you pushed open the door, wanting to find the source of the strange noises emanating from yours and Namgyu’s shared room.

You could almost hear the excuses he was coming up with when he looked up from the girl and saw your face in the doorway.

The worst part?

There wasn’t a fucking flicker of emotion on his face. Nothing.

He looked at you like he was seeing through you. You would’ve preferred anything to nothing. That was the problem with Namgyu — he was a numb, blunt, uncaring, fucker of a boyfriend.

When he was using substances it was even worse.

You weren’t a user yourself, but right now in this moment you never found drugs so appealing. You needed to numb yourself, lose yourself in some noise, anything.

All your fucks were thrown out the window.

Why were you treated like such trash after being such a sweet and attentive girlfriend? It was beyond you.

You were fucking exhausted and emotionally drained from almost 2 years of being a good girlfriend to such an unloving, heartless dickhead.

~~~

When you arrived at the tall, grand doorstep of the mansion you were sure you still looked a little disheveled. It was hard to hide the hours of crying from earlier, even after your best friend’s pep talk and makeover.

Sitting on her bed and sobbing about your shitty now-ex boyfriend turned into an anger-filled rant, which then evolved into a determined, vengeful plan you both came up with.

The plan? It was to look hot as fuck and attend a party to get shit-faced, of course.

No one could instill that confidence in you except your best friend, you owed it all to her that you were all done-up and entering a loud thumping party in a short, tight, dress. She even came along too, insisting on checking on you to make sure you were okay throughout the night.

The mansion was familiar to you, your friend group often partied or crashed here because it belonged to your friend, Subong. Well, at first you only knew him as “Namgyu’s friend” or Thanos.

You met him through Namgyu and quickly became good friends, Subong’s carefree and flirtatious attitude made it easy to open up and grow close with him.

Maybe that’s why Namgyu always hated when you were around him — angry that Subong’s jokes made you laugh and that you smiled more around the purple-haired rapper than him.

One thing was for sure, Subong knew how to throw a party. The music was much louder inside, the bass vibrating through your body and neon purple and blue lights flashing in a sensory overload.

People were everywhere, leaning over the stairway rail, lounging on the couch and smoking, puking in the kitchen.

There were a lot of moving bodies and alcohol.

It’s exactly what you needed.

You drank the first thing that was shoved in your hand as someone from your circle of friends greeted you and your bestie. Your eyes flickered around the crowd, looking for a familiar head of messy purple hair. You didn’t see it.

As the buzz of alcohol slowly kicked in, you found yourself in the middle of the bustling floor.

Namgyu forgotten, the first half of the night forgotten, the world forgotten as you swayed your hips side-to-side with the music and sighed.

You downed several more swigs of the mystery concoction from the punch bowl and felt the bass-y rhythmic music in your body. Your arms traced your own hips and sides, up and up as you closed your eyes and danced with your arms over your head.

You felt good, even better when a stranger’s pair of hands met your waist from behind, his grip firm. You continued dancing, rolling your hips sensually as his hands followed your movements.

God, you hoped the guy was at least hot.

Warm lips met your ear, hot breath hitting it as a low baritone voice sent vibrations against your back.

“Senorita.”

The smirk on your glossy lips was immediate. You bit your lip as your smile got really wide.

You knew the guy was, indeed, really hot.

“Subong.” You sighed breathily, stealing a small teasing glance at the tall man behind you.

His smirk mirrored yours, his eyes trained on your teeth tugging your bottom lip. You two swayed lazily to the music on the main floor of his house.

“What’s a mamacita like you doing, dancing all alone?” He drawled deeply, the last half in English.

His eyes were curious, a brow raising questioningly at the absence of your boyfriend.

The speed at which your smile fell was almost comical. Almost. Ah, way to sour the mood…

He could immediately tell something was up, the way your eyes darted away and narrowed at nothing in particular.

If it weren’t for the alcohol you’d probably have a little more of a filter, but not tonight.

“That asshole is currently spending the night with another mamacita.”

You scoffed, your drunken words coming out more forceful than you’d meant to.

Subong was quiet for a moment and you could feel his body become still behind yours, but his hands remained on your hips loosely. He returned to your ear after a moment, you couldn’t see the look on his face.

“What a shame.” His deep voice had a bit of an edge to it. God, the proximity was making you hot all over. You wished those damned ringed hands would move along your sides instead of staying in place.

You looked over your shoulder at him, the eye contact making you even more breathless.

Subong and Namgyu had always been close, he must be feeling pretty disappointed in his bro right now.

Then how come he looked kind of…pleased?

He pulled you back right against him by your hips, your back colliding with his solid chest making a puff of air leave your throat in a moany gasp.

Then his hands moved, fucking finally.

One slipped down to the edge of your dress, teasing the soft skin of your inner thigh with his thumb. His hips gyrated into your plush ass, sending your tingly mind spiraling.

You reached your arms up and around the back of his neck, pulling him in closer to you.

The two of you grinded shamelessly in the middle of the dance floor.

It’s not like anyone would notice or remember in the morning, and it was his house anyway. If they had a problem he’d kick them to the curb.

You keened and arched into him, needing him closer. His cologne always smelled so good, and he was wearing your favorite shirt of his, that neon green one that you always wanted to borrow.

Namgyu would never allow you in a million years, of course.

The cool metal of his cross necklace dug into your back, you’re sure it was branded into your skin at this point with how close you were.

Your hands on the back of his neck slid upward into his short hair, fingers gripping onto the strands needily.

“Oh my god, Subong. Please…” Shamelessly begging wasn’t usually your first resort, but god did you need him.

In fact, you’ve been needing him MUCH longer than you’d like to admit. You’ll deal with those months of suppressed feelings later though.

Right now he could take you in the middle of the floor and you wouldn’t care.

“Hm? Please what?” You could feel his lips curled up smugly against the back of your neck. Nooo, you didn’t want to be teased right now!

“God…Make me forget.” You whined. His breath hit your ear hotly as he grinded against your ass again.

“Make me forget, please. Need it…need it s’bad.” Your whiny words were slurred with the effects of the alcohol and your overwhelming desire for him.

You really wanted to see what was under those baggy jean shorts, the sheer size of him against your back was making your mouth water.

“Yeah? You need it?” His voice was rough and mocking, he was quickly losing his self-restraint.

It only made your back arch more. You were getting really frustrated.

“Fuck me, Subong.”

Well, you didn’t have to ask him again.

In a blur, people’s faces were suddenly moving around you — you were being pulled by your wrist through the crowd. You pouted briefly at the loss of his hot body against your back.

Up the two of you went, climbing the grand staircase to the second floor overlooking the party below.

A few people were up there making conversation with drinks in hand, you passed by them and they called out to Subong, or “Thanos” as they said, in greeting.

Subong pushed past them without sparing them a glance, on a mission down the hall. Your legs were wobbly walking on the carpet in your pink heels.

You knew where you were headed, you’d spent countless hours hanging out at Subong’s place with Namgyu and your friends.

He hastily pushed open the door to his bedroom, pulling you inside with him. You were behind him, confused for a moment when he barked a short “Get the fuck out.”

A group of three or four people scurried out past you, mumbling apologies and marveling at the sight of him as they left his room.

Ah, you realized they were sneaking a free tour of all of his music equipment and shiny award plaques lining the walls.

He was quick to slam the door shut after them and lock it, immediately trapping your body against it with his large frame. He wasted no time in smashing his lips into yours in a heated kiss and feeling up your body in a frenzy.

God how you’ve been wanting this.

His lips felt fantastic against yours, you kissed back with vigor and opened your mouth eagerly when his tongue teased your bottom lip.

Your hands moved up his lean body feeling him up shakily as his tongue massaged yours in sloppy circles.

Fuck, you knew he’d be a good kisser.

He gingerly sucked on your tongue as the two of you parted for a breath, making you moan loudly.

His mouth latched under your jaw, making your head tip back and hit the door with a thud as you closed your eyes. You gasped as he licked and sucked his way to your neck, biting the tender skin there and making you whine.

His hands were busy as well, fumbling with the hem of your dress at your hips and squeezing the fat there in his big hands.

It’s like he couldn’t get enough of you, not knowing where or what to touch first now that he’s finally been given the chance. You mewled out his name once, then twice, to get his attention.

His tongue lathed over the hot skin under your ear as he stilled his movements. You took a shaky breath to ground yourself as you fumble your fingers along the zipper to your dress, tugging it down hastily.

Subong slowly retreated from your neck to watch you push your tight dress down your body, landing in a pool of fabric at your feet.

“Oh shiiit.” He made no effort to hide his ogling at your tits.

You were so glad you decided to go braless under your dress. You bit your lip in a coy smile, looking up at him through your lashes.

He stepped forward and his hands were instantly all over your breasts, squeezing them in his palms as he pressed sloppy open-mouthed kisses to the top of them.

“Mmm, always knew ya had the best pair of tits.” He mumbled into your cleavage, making your face break out in a smile. You knew Subong was a tits guy the second you caught him staring at your boobs at a pool party. You had playfully made a disapproving face at him from across the pool then.

He responded with a shrug and a smirk at you, like he couldn’t help but stare when you were in your bikini, laying there like that. Namgyu would’ve thrown a tantrum if he caught how blatantly Subong had checked you out.

You moaned out, placing a hand on his soft hair to grab his attention. Ah, he didn’t gel it today, you noticed. He looked up at you from your boobs, his tongue still out teasingly.

“Subong, hang on…” You were already panting just from him playing with your tits.

He stood up slowly, hating to part with your breasts but wanting to know what’s got you all whiny. The look you were giving him was making his cock jump in his jeans. He eyed you darkly as you slowly sunk to your knees in front of him, groaning out loudly at the sight of you like that in front of him.

“Fuuuck. The view I only see in my dreams, baby.”

His voice was strained with arousal. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, your hands moving forward teasingly slow to press over the obvious tent in his jeans.

He groaned low in his throat, his eyes never leaving you for a second as you pop the button and pull his zipper down.

You reach into the warmth of his black boxers to pull out his cock.

The sight of him springing out and slapping his stomach has your cunt clenching around nothing.

Your mouth opens instinctually, eyeing the sheer size and the veins going up and — wait is that a tattoo? It stretches up, a thick solid line along the length of his cock and up his chest. You gawk at the shiny silver ball at his thick tip and the metal ladder piercing adorning his shaft.

Heat fucking radiated off the pulsing monster in your hand, you could feel it on your face inches away.

Oh shit. You visibly tremble a little. This is new. Could you even handle something like this?

Subong must’ve found your expression funny because he chuckled above you, his abs clenching as the low rumble reverberated through his chest.

You stole a glance upward at his face, looking at him with sultry doe eyes. You were up for a challenge tonight.

When your tongue came in contact with the velvety underside of his dick he groaned, making you grind your panty-covered pussy into his carpet at the hot sound.

You licked your way up to his tip, the cold metal ball creating a unique contrast on your tongue as you swirled it around. You wasted no time in sinking him past your plush lips into your warm mouth, eager to finally have a taste.

He tasted salty and musky — it was your turn to moan now.

Ringed fingers tapped your cheek before he was even halfway in. You opened your eyes to maintain eye contact with him while you took him further in your mouth.

“That’s it…” His lopsided smirk and soft praise made your pussy throb.

You sunk down the rest of the way, swallowing around him with your tongue massaging the underside of his cock.

Subong’s room was filled with wet gawking noises and his drunk rambling praises. “Gyeaaahh, fuck. ‘Dunno what I did in the past life to deserve head this good.”

Who knew the man could get even more talkative. He couldn’t shut up about the heavenly feeling of your tight throat.

“Bro was keeping this warm mouth all to ‘imself this whole time…”

You moaned at the mention of your ex-boyfriend. Your mouth was never this full with Namgyu.

You looked at him and hungrily pushed your mouth all the way down on him to the base of his abs, your nose tickling the hairs there.

You gagged, his piercings touching the back of your throat triggering your gag reflex.

Both of your eyes nearly rolled back at the sensation.

You pulled off of his cock with a gasp and he groaned, an obscene amount of drool spilling out of your mouth and running down his shaft. Tears were pooled at the corners of your eyes as you looked up at him longingly, like a begging puppy.

“Lemme fuck that outta ya, pretty.”

His voice was dark with the promise of fucking you so good you’d forget everything that made you sad. It’s exactly what you needed and he knew just how to give it to you.

He held his hand out to you which you took, rising from the floor with trembling legs and soaked panties. He licked the shell of your ear.

“Let big bad Thanos make you forget everything…”

When he pulled back his smirk was downright wicked and you couldn’t help but bite your lip in a smile.

How could he be so goofy and hot at the same time?

He backed you up into his bed, manhandling your soft hips into his big hands and tossing you back onto it.

You yelped in surprise at the rough action as he pounced on top of you.

Subong wasted no time in gripping both of your legs and pushing them back until your knees connected with your chest. He growled while taking in the sight of your soaked panties.

He could smell how wet you were.

“Ya gonna lemme fuck ya nice n’ good?”

You nodded frantically.

He pulled his shirt off his back and threw it onto his floor. His silver cross dangled over your face as he lined himself up with your sopping cunt.

His thumb pulled the crotch of your panties aside.

When you felt the red hot tip of his cock press right against your hole you moaned out. The ice cold feel of his piercings against your folds heightened everything.

He placed his fists next to your head while keeping your legs up, needing a view of your face as he forced his dick past your tight entrance. It was a struggle, your eyes screwed shut at the sting of him stretching you open.

God, your cunt was weeping around him, you’d never taken anything this big before.

And then, in a sharp thrust he bottomed out the rest of the way inside you, balls deep. You cried out, mewling at the utterly full feeling as he doubled over and controlled his breathing in the crook of your neck.

“Shiiiiit…” He bit into your neck, grounding himself as he started to rock his hips.

He pulled back and hovered over you with his jaw slack, looking down between your bodies where you were sucking him in.

His thrusts grew in speed, eyes flicking to your face to see your eyebrows knit together in desperation.

“Yeahh that’s it…feel good to finally be properly fucked?” The force of his thrusts increased as he got worked up, his silver chain swaying between your hot bodies.

Your cunt clenched around him — the filthy way he was talking to you, the way he was reaching parts of you that you didn’t even know existed, the way he looked at you as if you were the sexiest woman alive — it was too much.

His hands went back to gripping the backs of your thighs, pressing you even deeper.

The stretch had you clenching around him and moaning out even louder.

He basically had you in a mating press, jackhammering his cock into you and abusing your poor pussy as he gained more leverage in this position.

You could only lay there and moan and take it. It felt so fucking good you started to cry.

“Yeahhh, that feel real good baby? Ya like that?” Subong’s questions were not getting answers, not that he expected anything remotely coherent with how fucked out you looked right now.

Your eyebrows pinched together in desperation, your wet lips parted in an “O” as your tongue slightly lolled out.

Could you even hear him right now? He wondered.

He chuckled breathlessly and bit his lip as he kept up his rough thrusts.

“Shoulda fucked ya years ago, yeah. Coulda saved ya from cryin’ all those pretty tears. He didn’t deserve a heavenly cunt like this, gah’damn…”

You whined pathetically in response. “Yes yes yes yes!” The only thought in your little brain at this moment was Subong and his big cock.

You didn’t even know what you were so eagerly agreeing with.

He gaped down at you as he continued his rough assault down into your cunt. You were sucking him in so much that he struggled to pull out each time.

What a perfect little thing you were.

Your world spun around for a moment, and you blinked open your wet eyes.

It took you a second to register that he had pulled out and flipped you over onto your stomach, the force making you bounce slightly on his bed. He yanked your ruined panties down your thighs, shoving them in his short’s pocket without your knowledge.

Then he hoisted your ass up roughly, his painted nails leaving deep marks in your hips.

As he forced you to be level with his cock you whined.

He sunk back into the drenched grip of your hole, pulling you back onto him by the fat of your ass. He threw his head back as you met his hips, jiggling at the contact.

You lurched forward, the feeling of his piercings dragging against your walls nearly sending you over the edge right there.

“Gyeahhh…Shit, bro s’crazy for giving up pussy this good.”

He drew his hips back slowly, his cock sliding out of your gummy cunt that tried to keep him inside.

His dick emerged slick with your juices, he leaned right over and spat onto your ass crack, the warm spit drooling down and spreading over your pussy lips as you moaned and pushed back on him at the sensation.

“Namsu must have a small dick, cuz this cunt is tight.”

On his last word he thrusted roughly as deep as he could, staying there and grinding his bulbous tip into your g-spot.

He couldn’t help but run his mouth when your cunt felt this good! The words just kept coming out with no filter, it was bringing you dangerously close to cumming. He could feel it.

“Fuckin’ hell sweetheart, y’gonna cum? Squeezin’ on me so good.”

In the span of a second his thrusts sped up to an ungodly pace, his hips smacking into you with a lewd “plap” sound over and over.

Your scream was pornographic, long forgetting that there were other people in the house. Subong only grinned at that as he continued to fuck you ruthlessly, he was eating it up.

He was never one to care about an audience.

He groaned out as he felt himself getting close as well.

His hand landed on your ass in a hefty smack, the sting finally throwing you over the edge as you clenched around him in quick fluttering pulses.

He thought you blacked out for a second from how eerily silent you became as you orgasmed hard around his dick.

Your mouth was wide open as you writhed against his pillows, gripping onto anything you could reach for support.

The tightness was killing him, he could barely push into you from the way you were strangling his cock.

It took one, two, three more sloppy thrusts until he stilled as deep as he could and came with a loud groan.

You thought it couldn’t possibly get better, until you felt his hot cum filling you to the brim.

His sweaty chest met your back, and he rolled his hips lazily to push his remaining cum in deeper as the spurts slowly came to a halt.

~~~

Namgyu’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. He rolled over lazily with a sigh to pick it up and stared at the screen. His brows furrowed almost immediately and his heart lurched in his chest — a text from you. He sat up quickly in bed.

He unlocked his phone and froze at the image in the chat. He had to make sure he was seeing this right.

A picture of your ass spread wide open filled his entire screen. It looked like it was taken in a dark room with the flash on.

Then he noticed the tattooed hands with colorful painted nails parting your weeping puffy cunt. White cum seeped out of your hole and onto the sheets.

Namgyu just stared downward at the photo with a death grip on his phone.

A second later a text bubble appeared right underneath it. He could immediately tell it wasn’t you behind the keyboard.

1:17am

ya fumbled this fine piece of ass, bro. don’t worry though i’ll keep reminding u what ur missing out on lmao

i’m open to making a part 2

threesome??? we’ll see lol

#thanos squid game #thanos x reader #thanos x reader smut #thanos smut #choi subong x reader #choi subong #choi su bong #choi seunghyun #squid game fanfiction #squid game fanfic #namgyu x reader #squid game #squid game x reader #x reader #smut #squid game smut #player 230

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skywalkoverme · 23 days ago

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𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝

a/n: according to my stats, you all LOVE younger Anakin x 20-30 y/o fem so here you are. Tell me if you all are tired of me writing about parties/digital fun!! it's all I can write with summer being here and all.

𐙚 Anakin Skywalker x Fem! Reader 𐙚 18+ MDNI

Summary: Anakin goes to a rave for his eighteeth birthday.

Warnings/contains: bondage, smut, p in v, Anakin loses his virginity to you, sexually experienced y/n, Anakin is 18, Y/n is 20-30, male nipple play, alcohol consumption, mention of drug use (not Anakin), sexual teasing, NOT proof read yet-- english is not my first language!

Word Count: 2.7k // More on my Master list! + follow & reblog pls

For his eighteenth birthday, Anakin snuck out. Instead of retiring to his room for the night, he hid in the bushes of the Jedi Temple courtyard; when enough time passed, Anakin drew his hood and took his Master’s landspeeder to the nearest skylane. From his pant pocket, he took out a torn page from a magazine. On the page was a messily written address. “…gi’kira…SL7…”

Anakin took a deep breath and kept the vehicle steady as excitement coursed through him. Every second was like an eternity until he reached the club. He placed his lightsaber under the front seat and covered the Jedi insignia on his ID with a blue sticker. Hopefully they’ll believe it. Anakin could feel the bass in his chest as he stood outside with other young creatures from across the galaxy; he couldn’t wait another moment; he stepped slowly to the club entrance as to not draw attention. Sure, there was a line, but it didn’t take long before he stood in front of the bouncer.

The man stared down at the boy who hid his face in the dark shadow of his hood. He grabbed Anakin’s chin and lifted it to the beam of his flashlight. Anakin’s dark pupil shrunk, and his blue eyes turned an icy white. The man glared at the photo on his card. “Alright kid.” He huffed, lowered the flashlight and gave him back his ID. “Come in. I’d ditch the cloak, it’s hot in there.”

“T- thank you.”

“Next, c’mon!”

The club pulses with electricity, a kaleidoscope of color and sound. Neon strobes slice through the thick haze—pinks, blues, and greens flicker like lightning across sweating skin and moving bodies.

People are everywhere, some packed in groups, others grind in couples, some alone—dancing, lost in the music, their faces lit by LED wristbands and the glow of blacklight paint. A mist cannon bursts over the crowd, cooling the heat rising from the mass of writhing dancers.

Anakin could smell the mix of perfumes, sweat and alcohol in the air as he took off his cloak, losing it to the crowd. At the center, the DJ looms behind a wall of decks and digital screens. A few nude creatures dance on the bar top as well as other platforms around the large club. Anakin smirked; his gaze lingered on the curves of the women. Above the center of the room, an enormous disco ball spins slowly, splintering light like shattered glass, while lasers trace wild geometric patterns in the smoke-thick air.

Although some were nude, other’s topless— Everyone else is dressed like a fever dream—fishnets, faux feathers, small shorts, glitter-smeared skin in the shape of handprints, and glowing pacifiers suckled between mouths of inebriated creatures. It’s a sensory overload for Anakin; Time starts to blur.

He was flirted with, offered sex of all kinds, most with multiple people; From people that looked his age, he was offered pill after pill, sorts of smoking devices and drinks. “N- no, thanks.” He said each time. Some lingered and others went to the next customer. He rejected another advance and picked his head up. Across the room, he spotted you. Your body was coated in a layer of shining glitter, impossible to miss. You glowed ethereally in a bright pink wig and slingshot bathing suit, held perfectly on your nipples by the will of the Force. A headpiece rest on top of it all, which he came to realize meant that you were working here. A bartender.

You stirred the drink inside the glass and slid it over on a napkin to your customer, “For you, my love.” Anakin found himself leaning against the bar, taking glances at you. “You look sober, wide-eyed, that’s why they approach you, baby boy.”

He glanced up at you and pointed to himself. “Me?”

You smiled while mixing a drink in the cocktail shaker, your curves jiggled with every rock. “Yes, you.” You squinted for a moment and spoke softly across the bar, “Are you at least eighteen? I don’t mean to knock your fun if you’re here to explore but I can’t lose my job.”

A beautiful woman, a mesmerizing creature is so plainly speaking to him! Your voice perfectly deep and your eyes are alluring. He couldn’t think. Instead, he said the first thing that came to his head, “I- It’s my birthday!” He couldn’t help but beam.

“Awww, what year are you turning tonight?”

She’ll never be interested in me if I say I’m a baby. “Twenty-one.” You excitedly cheered for him which made the people at the bar clap and whistle as well--- although most were too inebriated to realize what they were celebrating.

“You’ve got sucha’ baby face.” You touched his cheek, “Happy birthday!”

He blushed, holding his chest. “Thank you! You’re very kind.”

“Here, have a drink on me.” You made him something light. You could tell by the way he looked at the arrangements of alcohol on the wall that he didn’t know his drinks. “It’s mostly juice.” He nervously picked up the drink and took an elder-like sip. “How is it?”

“D- delicious. Did you put any alcohol in here?” He joked as he finished the drink in a few gulps.

“Want another?”

Time began to fly. Before long, he leaned across the counter, his forearms on the bar top as you rest your face on your hand. “What’s your name?”

Should I lie? No…I should stop lying. “Anakin.”

“Do you want to come home with me?” You asked as his lips gently embraced yours. His will faltered as the curves of your breasts pressed on his. Even tipsy, he felt bad for lying to you about his age! Beyond that, he couldn’t go home with you! It’s against Jedi code. Celibacy is… You held his soft blonde hair as your lips dominated his. Celibacy is the most important… Your tongue grazed the inside of his mouth to test the waters before you sucked on his bottom lip. Celibacy. It’s so important. Obi-wan said It’s important. Celibacy? Celery? Your opposite hand cuffed his neck, and he moaned into your mouth. Your kiss intensified, tongues tangled inside both of your mouths, the sound of saliva and sweet groans hidden under the sound of the pulsing beat and intelligible lyrics.

“…yes.” Master’s landspeeder. I can’t leave it. “W- we can take my-“ He dangled the keys, and you took the rattling bunch into your hand. He couldn’t lie; this past year has been hell trying to keep his cock in his pants. It seemed every second of the day, he was drowning in his own hormones; his lungs filled with breaths he couldn’t exhale. Would it really kill him? It’s just one night! His birthday!

He lie back on your soft covers as you dangled a bunch of ribbons in your hand. Your thighs straddled his hips, just nearly pressed your clothed pussy on his erection. “W- what’s that for?” Anakin was a different kind of virgin. He’d never known of sex in its entirety. Pornos? No. Masturbating? No. He couldn’t even tell you the name of what’s between your legs, let alone his.

But he had to keep up the act. “Tying you up.”

Tying me up? Why? Are men not allowed to touch women during sex? Is this a female mating ritual? “I don’t want you to get pregnant.” His heart raced as he stared in your eyes.

“What?” You tilted your head. “We aren’t fucking raw.”

“Oh ok.” What does that mean?

You laughed and began to undress him. He felt as though a magnifying glass was put to every cell on his body. His breathing sped as you ran your hands down his toned abs, leaving goosebumps in your wake. “What do you do for work again?”

“Service worker.” All his brainpower was gathered in his cock. Technically, it wasn’t a lie, but he could feel that you barely believed him. Anakin’s eyes ran down your curves, glitter scattered around the bed and on his skin in the dark room. His eyes suddenly locked with yours as you began to tie him to the headboard.

As you began to loop the tight ribbons around his ankles, a glare on your plump ass that rest on his leg. “W- so I can’t move?”

“Preferably.” He looked up at his bound wrists and quickly, his eyes were covered. You leaned deep over him, although he couldn’t see your nude body, he could feel the warm swells of your breasts on him, your hard nipples against his.

He strains against the ropes, testing the limits of his restraints, but they hold fast, keeping him pinned and helpless. The realization that he's completely at your mercy, that you can do whatever you want to his naked, exposed body, sends a shiver of excitement and arousal down his spine.

Your lips met his in a hungry embrace, your pillowy breasts like no other sensation. His cock throbbed beneath you, pre-cum leaked on his stomach and down his shaft. I don’t even know your name. Touch me; taste, lick, bite me…please me. Give me anything, I’m starved, malnourished. He groaned into the kiss, refusing to breathe as the pent-up passion flowed from every pore.

He’s never needed something, someone, more in his life. Your tongue explored his mouth as it did in the club; he tasted the sweetness off your tongue as his tongue lewdly circled yours. His hands clench into fists; something primal that lingered in him needed to feel you in his hands, this wasn’t enough. “Let me touch you…” His voice raspy and dry as he bucked his hips up needily. Never had Anakin felt so desperate, hungry; it was torture that he couldn’t see your beautiful features from this blindfold.

“No~”

His hips jumped at the feel of your sticky, and warm pussy as you grind on his shaft. “W- hmp!” He shuddered as the wet folds slide along his shaft, your juices coating his dick. Instinctively, his hips buck up to the rhythm, “W- what is that?” He bit back a moan, his voice cracked uncontrollably.

You chuckled, and figured the young man was teasing, “My pussy.” Pussy? Is that code for something?

“It feels so good…” He pants heavily as he hears the sound of a condom wrapper tearing. What was that sound? Is she eating? No…The anticipation is killing him, making his heart race and his skin prickle with excitement. His fists clench at the feel of the soft condom that slipped on his shaft. The cockhead caught on your entrance and slowly, your body sank down on his length. “A- ah!” Anakin whined at your pussy’s grip, your hands on his sides. His hands clenched as did his jaw.

“Are you ok?” You cuffed his cheek in your hand.

“Yes, I’m fine. You’re just…perfect.” Your tight walls stretched to accommodate his thick shaft. You felt him fill your insides, engulfed in the heat of your core. “Fuck.” Anakin cried out as you began to ride his cock, his head fell back into the pillow.

Scattered and breathy moans left your lips as you rode him harder, the squelch of your cunt was so disgustingly lewd, he couldn’t help but sink into the rhythm. You turn around in reverse cowgirl, your hips slammed down onto him. This new angle sent shockwaves of pressure to his core. For sure, he’d be limping tomorrow. “Don’t fucking finish.” His body went rigid and tense.

“A- ok!” His nails scratched the wooden headboard, leaving proof of your euphoric sex. Anakin pulled his right leg until the ribbons tore under his strength. He bucks his hips up to meet yours, driving his cock deeper into your perfect, fluttering cunt. “Don’t stop~” You were surprised to hear his plea seeing as how he was already pulsing, ready to cum inside the condom.

You leaned forward; your ass thrown back on him as you took his cock. He was ready to explode inside of you, but you warned him not to cum! The blindfold slipped from his eyes due to the constant movements. Your perfect ass jiggled with each of your controlled strokes. Inside of your wet folds. That’s a pussy! Upon hearing his virgin whimpers, you looked back at him and watched his helpless expression, “I- I can’t~”

Anakin can feel his own climax building, the pressure in his balls growing more and more intense with each passing second.In an instant, you pulled his cock out. “No.” Anakin could feel the pressure he was chasing leave his hot cock and sink back to his core.

“Please, don’t stop.” You pushed the blindfold off his face and straddled his hips. He watched as your head lowered to his chest; your tongue circled his pink nipple. “O- oh!” Such pleasure went straight to his balls as your warm mouth suckled on the sensitive nipple. Your fist began to stroke his cock as you flicked and kissed his other tit. Anakin whined as his climax began to rise once more.

The feel of your breasts on his abs, hand on his shaft and ministrations on his pecs were enough to make him moan like a bitch. “’Want me to finish riding you?”

Yes! “Yes.” You prowled over him, letting your pussy guide his cock inside of you again. Anakin's balls draw up tight to his body, his orgasm building to a crescendo deep in his core. He's never felt so much pleasure, so much intense, overwhelming sensations at once. It's like a tidal wave crashing over him. Anakin cries out in ecstasy as your passionate lips kissed and your tongue swirls around his nipple, the wet heat and sensation sending electric shocks straight to his throbbing cock. His back arches off the bed, pressing his chest tighter against your mouth as you suckle and lick at the sensitive nub.

You swirled your hips in circles and with a final, high-pitched moan, the young man filled the condom with his white load. His eyes fell back in his head while the tense ball of pleasure unwinds ever so slowly.

You chuckled. He faded in and out of the intense moment; he stole a glance at your glittered body, a pearly smile flashed as he gasped for breath.

Morning light began to stream into the room through the open blinds. He sat up in bed, loose ribbons around his wrists and a sheet pulled over his crotch. He felt the heat of your body as you lay over his side, your arm stretched over him. His spikey hair stuck up to the ceiling as he turned to the mirror. His tanned skin was covered in glitter in the shape of stars and octagons covered his body. He slipped out of bed discreetly and tried to get as much glitter off before dressing. He felt around for his… “Lightsaber,…shit! Where did I put it?!” You rubbed your eyes and sat up in bed. His eyes traced your nude curves as he stuttered, “Y…you. Uhm, I had a great night!” From your bedside, you tossed his ID across the bed. “Oh…” When he passed out last night, you found the card on the floor.

“Eighteen.”

“Sorry.” He gulped. “Have you seen my cloak?”

“You didn’t come here with one.”

Anakin felt his throbbing migraine and started to recall the events from early in the night. “I- I’m sorry. For lying and leaving…but I have to go!”

“Where are you-“ Before you could say anything else, the young man left the room and dashed to find his Master’s landspeeder. “Hm. Anakin…”

At the temple, Anakin discreetly walked to his room; there, Obi-wan waited in his room. He froze in the corridor, “Where were you?” A ribbon from his ankle peeks out from under his pants, glitter covered every inch of his body and littered his hair.

“At a surprise party.”

a/n: I plan to start posting my newest series later this week. I doubt many people will read this little spill but it's about if Anakin was stopped during Order 66 and you are his psychiatrist. I loveee red dividers sm!! Any excuse to use them, I jump up and down.

This fic is somewhat Inspired by "Tyrant" by Beyonce.

Interact with my Anakin master list to be tagged: (it's on a rotation, today is the last day for this one!!)

@littlestpadfoot @thescxrpio @fullclodponycop @kirbie44danielle @duck6789 @mcxdiaz @maneater97 @swiftiesimonriley @yeonjinnie @laddle @daughterofstairs @edenizzyx @eymie @xxhvzelxx @bored-as-fuck @viviennebloom @jujustarwars1 @kaaaatta-blog @javierpenaspentis @cherrylvrsworld @kellyburkesblog @decaffeinatedcrowntragedy @kaggelagge @naomiisme2 @heretonerdout @reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @xlovingyoux @hakanaijeon @skywalkershootme @vixenhatesyou @meowmeowjang @slingggshot @cdfvgbhnjm @peachpit31 @carterc15 @smithcaityy @sisterofreverance @hellomwah @blondiebatter @aqqjjk @radiantvader @anthrais @xhino3 @valyna27 @wuxianwrld @discobronzer @melaninswift @justthingzsblog @stanyuqisworld @ppoppy-seed @fawninthesnow @sunwxoxo @santinstar

Dividers (as always) from @cursed-carmine

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lrithill · 3 months ago

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NSFW ARTphabet Headcanon: The Sacred Clown Porn Manuscript (A-I)

Welcome, faithful deviant, to the Sacred Manuscript of Underground Clown Porn.

This isn’t just any alphabet.

This is a ritual.

A love letter to the character.

A deep, filthy, sensual, and brutal exploration of the soul—and body—of Art the Clown.

Letter by letter, orgasm by orgasm, cumshot by cumshot.

In this chapter, you'll find tenderness, obsessions, bed monsters, cum (lots of it), dirty little secrets, dumb luck, emotional damage, genital torture, period blood, clown-level goofiness, Christmas lights… and yes—even Jesus makes a guest appearance.

Here you got the second part (J-Q):

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/780916090799783936/nsfw-artphabet-headcanon-the-sacred-clown-porn?source=share

And the third part (R-Z):

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/781563844942249984/nsfw-artphabet-headcanon-the-sacred-clown-porn?source=share

Enjoy, my doomed and blessed soul.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Sometimes, after the act, he just lies there—completely still, watching you. With those empty eyes that somehow, still say too much. You’re never sure if he’s processing what just happened… or deciding whether he should smother you with the pillow. After all, he’s deeply antisocial, and the idea of affection is something he doesn’t quite get.

But instead of leaving, he clumsily moves closer to you. The only thing he understands is that he likes the warmth of your body next to his, the feeling of skin against skin… it’s something entirely new to him.

It’s not a learned gesture, not romantic: it’s instinctual. Like an animal who doesn’t understand what he feels, but lets it guide him anyway.

All of this confuses and overwhelms him. Since he has no idea how to express emotion, he simply does what his body tells him to do—which is usually to bask in this strange sensation that makes him feel something, close to... peace?

In those moments, you might notice a slight tremble in his hands. Not out of fear, but from sheer sensory overload. It’s all too much. Too much heat. Too much closeness. Too much you. And yet, he stays.

And somehow, he’s warm. Shockingly so. He curls up beside you and pulls you tight against him, like he’s trying to fit two puzzle pieces together—pieces that don’t seem like they should fit, and yet… they do.

Until one day… he just doesn’t stay. Those emotions frighten him, wound him—like an arrow straight to the heart. It hits too hard, and all he wants is to flee back to the cold safety of his solitude (for his sake, and for yours).

But he always comes back—with heart still beating in his hands. As if to say:

“I don’t know how to love… but the idea of losing you scares me more than love ever could”.

B = Body Part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Your hands. No doubt about it.

He adores your hands. Since he’s mute, he needs to interact with you in the most physical way possible—and that leads him to constantly reach for your hands.

He kisses them like a gentleman kisses a lady, in a gesture heavy with intention.

He takes your hand to lead you places; he likes walking hand in hand with you everywhere.

Even when you sleep together, his fingers search for yours in the dark—especially when you’re spooning.

Before you shared a bed, he used to sleep in the most unexpected places.

One of his favorites: under your bed.

Many times, you’d see his hand timidly crawling up to the edge of the mattress, climbing like a snake... just so you’d grab it.

Even if he was down there.

And you were up here.

(Art: the monster under your bed who just wants to hold your hand.)

And when you make love... feeling your hands clawing down his back while he loses himself in your body, your nails leaving red trails on his pale skin—that melts him.

And don’t even get started on when you go down on him: your hands take him straight to heaven. Stroking his length up and down, massaging his balls, touching his abdomen, pressing into him, squeezing— his eyes roll back in ecstasy.

He can’t help but close them and moan, mouth hanging open in wordless pleasure, submissive under your touch.

(Bonus points if your nails are painted.)

As for the part of his own body he likes the most: His smile—or better yet, his whole mouth.

He’s fascinated by how many emotions he can express with it without saying a single word: cruelty, mockery, satisfaction, sarcasm, affection...

He has a blast doing his makeup. He’s an artist, and when he sees his masterpiece take shape in the mirror—in the worst way possible—he can’t help but grin even wider. He’s a simple, happy man. Just eager to go out and spread some fear.

He loves pulling faces at you, watching your every reaction. Most of the time it’s to make you laugh, but sometimes... he likes to scare you.

He doesn’t want you to get too comfortable—he likes reminding you who he is… and that you’re never completely safe around him.

But above all, he loves playing with his victims: laughing maniacally as they bleed out on the floor, begging for help in vain. Watching them freeze when he opens his eyes wide and shows all his teeth… He knows exactly what kind of nightmare his face is.

Though to you, it’s a dream.

(And needless to say… he’s very skilled with it. Every inch of your body can confirm.)

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Hot, thick, and absolutely obscene in volume.

He cums with force—shooting white ribbons of pleasure with abandon throughout his orgasm —which, by the way, is far from brief—, painting the walls of your pussy as you milk him dry.

He loves cumming deep inside you. At the height of climax, he presses his body against yours with desperate intensity, like he wants to fuse with you—like he wants to slam through your cervix and spill straight into your womb.

It’s his way of claiming you—because he’s going to be the first and last man you ever fuck—and he’ll make damn sure to own you in every possible way.

Of course, cumming inside isn’t the only way he marks you.

When you’re going down on him, he’s not letting you off easy. You’re going to swallow everything.

He’ll hold your head in place, press your face against his pelvis, savoring the way your throat tightens and gags around his throbbing cock as he unloads down your throat.

He’ll fuck you until you say stop.

Until his balls ache.

Until his cum turns almost clear…

And eventually, the only thing coming out of his cock sounds like a cry for help—if you listened closely, you might hear it whisper: “Help me…”

The only reason you’re not pregnant is because his sperm are so violent, they probably kill each other while still inside his balls.

But beware: if one of them does reach your egg… it’s only because it murdered all the others.

And whatever creature you give birth to… will definitely be worse than its father.

D = Dirty Secret (pretty self-explanatory—a dirty secret of theirs)

Total submission.

Art is dominant. Possessive. Aggressive.

Sometimes he acts submissive—like when you ride him or suck him off—but he’s always in control. He can put you in your place at any moment, and you know it.

But there’s a part of him—buried deep inside—that craves losing control. Completely.

He fantasizes about you tying him up. Wrists and ankles, bound and helpless. His mouth gagged. His eyes blindfolded. Whether it’s in bed or strapped to a chair—handcuffs, duct tape, rope… whatever it takes to keep him from touching you—or touching himself.

So obedient.

He’s obsessed with the idea of ruined orgasm:

You riding him, stroking him, sucking him—bringing him to the very edge and then… stopping.

Leaving him panting.

Twitching.

Desperate for a friction that never comes.

Dragging him back down from climax, again and again, for hours, until he’s nothing more than a trembling mess of nerves, aching for release.

And when you finally let him cum… it doesn’t end there.

You keep going.

Jerking him off without a second of rest. Not letting him breathe, not giving him his refractory period.

You punish him past the orgasm—milking him to the limit.

Chasing as many orgasms as his body can take, one after another, until he doesn’t know whether it’s pain or pleasure anymore.

And just to top it off: a Venus 2000 locked tightly onto his limp cock—sucking him relentlessly, with no mercy, no rest, no purpose but to break him.

Not for pleasure.

But simply to ruin him.

He imagines you using all kinds of toys on him.

Because that’s the other thing: secretly, he wants you to fuck him.

He wants you to peg him.

You, in a strap-on, setting the rhythm—pounding his prostate—while you jerk him off… or maybe not even that.

A chastity cage would be perfect too. Tight. Uncomfortable.

Making him feel… nothing.

His skin bristles just thinking about it. His cock leaks precum, twitching with each forbidden fantasy, trembling for a touch that never comes.

Sometimes, when you’re asleep, he watches you.

And he imagines what it would be like if you tied him to the bed.

If you said: “I’m going to turn you into a slut.”

And he hates it.

And he loves it.

And he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with any of it.

Just once… to be the tortured, instead of the torturer.

But then he gets up. Frustrated.

And digs his nails into his skin—punishing himself for having such weak thoughts.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He has no experience at all—at least, not with living human beings.

He was taught not to see people as potential partners.

Literally, when he saw an “attractive” woman—say, one with big tits—his first thought wasn’t “I’d fuck her.”

It was: “I want to rip those off and hang them on a clothesline.”

Like someone might hang a bra.

He’s always seen people as meat. As toys for his amusement. As prey.

“Can a wolf feel sexual attraction toward a rabbit?” That’s what it felt like for him.

But then you came along.

And no—it wasn’t love at first sight.

There was no miraculous, romantic awakening. Not even close.

You just had the dumb luck to cross paths with him at a moment when he was too weak to kill you.

Normally, he wouldn’t have hesitated: He would’ve sliced you open and eaten your body from the inside out.

But you got lucky.

And that, combined with the fact that you never asked questions, never challenged him… meant he started to tolerate you.

To use you for his own benefit.

And yet…

Turns out he did eat you after all—face buried between your thighs, not your organs.

F = Favorite Position (this goes without saying)

Art is very flexible when it comes to positions.

Literally—he can do them all.

He even invents new ones, like the inverted scarecrow (see under 'O'), his personal signature.

But he has a favorite.

Fucking you from behind.

(And no—we’re not necessarily talking about anal… though that’s certainly on the table.)

Whether it’s in bed, standing, bent over a counter, on all fours, against the wall— he doesn’t care, as long as he gets you like that.

And if there’s a mirror in front of you? Even better—watching your whole body as he takes you is an art form.

And if you’re on your period…

That’s the cherry on top.

Seeing your blood drip down your thighs, smearing it across your body like he’s painting his favorite canvas… it drives him insane.

From this position, he can do everything that unhinges him:

—Bite your neck, your shoulders, your back…

—Yank your hair back to expose your throat, watching your veins pulse beneath your skin.

—Grab you wherever he wants: hips, tits, neck, ass…

—Pin your wrists behind your back—or chain them above your head, anchored to the ceiling.

—Spread your legs open, sometimes with a spreader-bar.

—Stimulate your clit with his fingers and your G-spot with his cock at the same time.

—Kiss you and swallow the way your moans break against his mouth.

Sometimes it’s brutal.

Sometimes it’s slow and devastating.

And sometimes… he just wraps around you.

Like he doesn’t want anything in the world to touch you—except him.

It’s a simple position. Primal. Possessive. Intimate…

Because from behind, he can hold you. Push into you. Devour you.

And make you feel that—even when you can’t see him— he’s always there.

And that’s the most revealing part.

You can’t see his face.

You can’t witness the kind of pleasure that undoes him. The kind that shakes him from the inside out.

The kind that leaves him trembling.

The kind that doesn’t match the image of the irredeemable monster he wants you to believe in.

Because if you did see him— If you really saw his face when he moans, when he cums, when he softens with love he didn’t ask for…

He might lose some of his power.

Or worse: You might actually love him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Art is a clown.

And not just a clown. A professional one—he never breaks character.

So yes… expect him to be goofy in bed.

The horn is coming into the bedroom—whether you want it or not.

Since he can’t moan out loud, he uses it to simulate moans, perfectly timed to his thrusts.

Honk! Honk! Honk!

He’ll also bring in every kind of toy imaginable to recreate every sound possible—Art will make you question if stepping into that pet store was ever a good idea.

And of course, it always makes you laugh.

When he strips for you, he gives you a full-blown striptease.

He encourages you to play music—just don’t let him pick the playlist, unless you want a bizarre remix of crying babies and static noises.

He’s shameless when it comes to playing with “sexy outfits.”

“Is that a wig, Art?” you ask, barely able to breathe from laughing.

He shakes his finger at you, pops it in his mouth, then winks— while still doing the helicopter (with full sound effects).

Let’s just say: Art’s not a fan of synthetic hair. He likes it… natural.

He’s obsessed with roleplay.

So get ready for full theatrical productions between the sheets.

Since he got that Santa suit, you’ve already played an elf, a reindeer, a snowman, an angel, a bow-wrapped gift, a cookie (remember that scene with Lord Farquaard?), even Jesus (he literally wanted Jesus to suck his dick.)

And who knows what comes next…

Of course, you love every second of it.

You two joke about going to Broadway someday— maybe you’ll win a Tony… or kidnap one.

Either way works.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He has no body hair at all. Just a fine layer of pale fuzz, almost imperceptible—after all, his body is still human.

(He used to have hair on his head, too… until he died.)

Any other man might feel insecure about that. Might think it makes him look too feminine.

But he doesn’t care.

In fact, he likes it that way.

Hair would itch. It would get in the way. He’d have to shave constantly, and that would be a pain in the ass.

He doesn’t have time to worry about things like that.

He has more important things to do…

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

There’s an invisible line Art never crosses.

And while he loves pushing you to the edge—making you tremble, cry, scream his name like you’re about to shatter—he never actually breaks you.

He’s the kind of man who can drag you to the cliff’s edge… but he never pushes.

Not because he couldn’t.

But because he won’t.

Art wants you in a way he wants no one else: vibrant, happy, alive.

He wants you laughing between moans, begging him to stop and not stop at the same time.

He’s obsessed with watching you suffer from pleasure—and he knows that for every rough moment, he’ll make up for it with the best orgasms of your life.

But if the suffering stops being pleasure—if it ever becomes true pain—he stops.

He watches you with a terrifying level of focus.

Even when he seems distracted.

Even when he’s laughing.

Even when he’s completely absorbed in stuffing a 1000-watt string of Christmas lights up your ass so he can light you from the inside and turn you into a disco ball possessed by the spirit of holiday cheer…

He knows.

Your breath.

Your eyes.

Your pulse.

Your voice.

And when something changes—when the spark in your pupils flickers for even a second (yes, even with the lights inside you—it’s hard to see, but he sees it)—he stops.

He caresses you.

He kisses you.

He holds his personal holiday decoration abomination like it’s something sacred.

And he looks at you, with sincere tenderness and a crooked smile, as if asking:

“Am I still your worst best decision?”

If you say yes, he finishes decorating you with a star on top of your head.

If you say no, he takes the lights out.

He makes you laugh.

He makes you a post-sex milkshake.

Or he cleans you with a damp cloth, absurdly gentle—like you’re a marble statue.

Because at the end of the day, beyond the chaos, the sadism, the prop addiction… Art adores you.

And everything he does is to watch you enjoy yourself.

To hear you laugh.

To make you shine (literally).

Like you’re his favorite performance.

His light.

And when it comes to sex, there are days when Art gets unexpectedly soft—so sweet it takes you off guard.

You never know if he’s about to ask you to do something deplorable—like kidnapping children, fattening them up, and cooking them for next Thanksgiving—or if, by some miracle, he’s become the most romantic, domestic man on Earth.

He takes you in missionary.

Because he loves your mouth.

Because he loves kissing you while he fucks you like a desperate lover.

His arms wrap around you completely.

Your bodies melt together.

There’s no telling where one ends and the other begins.

You can hear him panting in your ear, breath wild—a faint whisper, almost imperceptible, that still says so much.

You can’t help but touch him the whole time—his scarred back, his soft arms, his beautiful face…

And you look into his eyes.

And he looks back.

And he doesn’t need words to tell you he loves you—in his way—but he does.

He doesn’t need words to thank you.

Thank you for surviving him.

Thank you for surviving his love.

Thank you for reading all the way to the end. I hope I made you blush, laugh, horny, suffer, or scream to the sky.

I'd love to know if you'd like to see any of these letters developed into future fanfics.

Would you like to see Santa Art spanking someone dressed as a reindeer, as if urging his sleigh forward?

Would you like to live out Art’s total submission fantasy?

Would you like Art to shove Christmas lights up your ass and turn you into his human Christmas tree?

I'm open to all kinds of requests, of course. Though I seriously doubt anything you suggest will top what’s already here… (and we still have a whopping 17 letters to go).

For those who just can’t wait, the full alphabet is already up on AO3. You’ll recognize it when you see it.

Here you got the second part (J-Q):

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/780916090799783936/nsfw-artphabet-headcanon-the-sacred-clown-porn?source=share

And the third part (R-Z)

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/781563844942249984/nsfw-artphabet-headcanon-the-sacred-clown-porn?source=share

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lurochar · 11 months ago

Text

Before It All (Pt. 3)

Warnings: Obsessive Alastor

Part 1 + Part 2

---------------------------------

It really was you.

His nameless Doe.

You seemed tense, clearly uneasy by the static he emitted and his presence alone by the looks of your erect ears and puffed fur of your tail.

(How cute, you had your clothes altered for your tail. A shame he hadn’t noticed it back when he had summoned you).

Alastor was now used to fellow demons being unnerved and frightened in his presence and so they should be, but you – there was no reason for you to be so anxious in his company, though he supposed he could understand it somewhat.

The power dynamics were completely turned around.

You had no advantage over him, he wasn’t that weak human anymore.

But still, Alastor didn’t like the fact you were so wary of him, so he needed to lighten the mood, break the tense atmosphere, and there was no better way than reminding you of your encounter with him when he was the weaker one, when you had the power over him, was there?

“How I’ve missed your wonderful ears, my nameless Doe.”

Alastor always did find your ears fascinating.

He may have his own pair of deer ears now and they had their uses – his auditory senses were vastly superior when compared to his human self, so much so, it took a week or two for him to adjust to sensory overload. They also gave any would-be attackers a false sense of security, he was just a deer demon, so he had to be weak.

Ripping those sorts to shreds felt much more satisfying.

But his ears were so damn sensitive to touch that Alastor had no idea how you didn’t just melt into a trembling mess when you allowed him to stroke your ears all those years ago.

He needed to move on from these thoughts before–

You blinked at his odd greeting, your body relaxing slightly from its earlier tensed position that had been poised to flee at any given second.

You blinked again.

And then you let out a loud yelp of surprise, springing forward when you felt icy cold hands playfully tug on your ears from behind.

–before his shadow acted upon them.

You reeled around to see what had touched you, not expecting to see a grin right up in your face and you stumbled back a bit, happy enough that you didn’t embarrass yourself in front of the Radio Demon/Alastor by letting out some sort of pitiful sound like a scream or shriek.

“I do hope you can excuse my shadow’s behaviour. The poor thing can hardly contain itself, seeing it is a reflection of me.” Alastor gestured the shadow away, which it did after giving you a last glance before it vanished. “Well then, should we do now what we should have done twenty-four years ago?”

You’re unsure what he is talking about.

“Introductions, my nameless Doe! Unless you prefer that name over your real one.” Alastor bows in a flashy way. “Alastor Hartfelt! But you already knew that, correct?” He stood up straight and eyed you expectantly.

“It’s nothing special, it’s just Y/N.” You shrug before eyeing Alastor intently and you hope you don’t get killed or worse for your question. “You just seemed like a miserable boy brought up in a miserable situation, so I gave you a pass. I thought if I got rid of your main problem, maybe you could live the rest of your life normally. You didn’t even make it to forty. What happened?”

Alastor hummed. “It would turn out that my father was only a drop in the bucket. After that wretch was gone from our lives, my Mama instilled in me the importance and value of women. Women are not second-class citizens nor are they property, but this way of thinking was uncommon and misogyny was everywhere.”

You think you can guess where this is heading to…

“I killed men, men like my father. Men who see no problem in beating their wife. Degenerates that stalked the alleyways for their next rape victim. For over a decade, I was the ‘Bayou Butcher’. It’s only due to the incompetence of a hunter that I am here now.” The expression on his face was that of delight. “I have no remorse. I thoroughly enjoyed every second of it.”

Oh.

It’s… it’s not what you wanted for Alastor, but you remembered that sheer hatred in his eyes. Something that deeply rooted wasn’t so easily erased, even if the main cause was taken out of the situation.

Unfortunately, you were not wrong in guessing Alastor would eventually condemn himself to Hell.

Fortunately, you had held onto Hartfelt for the past twenty some years.

You do have another question, but you know better than to ask.

Some demons don't care, but some demons can get quite offended if asked about their appearance and why they ended up looking the way they do. It’s personal, tied to their sins in life and their manner of death.

Asking Alastor why he ended up as a deer demon, a prey-based demon, could get you killed or maybe worse.

“I was mistaken for a deer by an inept hunter who took a shot before bothering to confirm what he was shooting at.” Alastor answers easily and casually, as if reading your mind and knowing what you want to ask. “Do not be afraid to ask me anything, my lovely Doe. I assume you heard my message on one of my broadcasts, yes? I meant every word of what I said.”

Lovely Doe?

‘I told him my name…’ You decided it didn’t matter too much as it wasn’t demeaning or degrading. You’ve been called much, much worse and on a regular basis by Hartfelt, so hearing an affectionate(?) nickname was a bit of refreshing change–

Should you be thinking that way?

Your ears dropped.

“Listen, Alastor,” you noticed his eyes seemed to glow brighter from you simply saying his name, “I messed up that day. I… I shouldn’t have touched you, let alone hug you. There are countless reasons why most demons don’t have free access to the human world. Contact with demons tends to screw humans up. Even just one night with a Succubus or an Incubus can fuck up humans for months and they’re low-class demons.”

Alastor simply tilted his head.

“I’m mid-class and… and I should have known better.” You sighed. “I think I messed you up in some way by touching you and letting you touch me.”

You were taken back when Alastor started to laugh and your ears flattened completely, slightly bothered by his reaction to your words.

Did you say something amusing?

“Oh dear me, you have twisted it all around in your worrisome mind, haven’t you?” Alastor chuckled. “So you have yet to realize you saved me and my Mama from that piece of scum I had to call ‘father’? My life even? Had you not killed that man for me, I would have made a clumsy attempt to murder that man, whether I succeeded or not. Such a thing would have cost me my life much earlier. I would not have been able to pursue my career and take good care of my Mama until her final days.”

You flustered, not sure what to say back.

“I lived my life the way I wished to because you freed me from that man. I am here in Hell purely of my own actions, though perhaps a little earlier than expected. You are very much downplaying what you are to me and I cannot say I care much for it.” Alastor couldn’t help the loudening crackle of his static.

“...okay…”

“Pardon?” Alastor’s ears twitched at the mumble of your voice, though he heard you just fine. He wanted you to clarify what ‘okay’ meant and look him in the eyes as you did so. He wouldn’t trap you in a contract like the fools whose souls he owned, but with his guaranteed protection for nothing more than just staying at his side and within his sight, how could you refuse?

(Though, if you wanted to give him your soul, he certainly wouldn’t turn it down).

“Okay! Maybe I didn’t fuck you up! Maybe you were… a little ‘different’ from the start!” You weren’t sure how to say ‘psychopathic’ in a nice way. “I still felt guilty about it this entire time. I hoped differently, but I knew you would probably end up in Hell.” You admitted, huffing when Alastor let out another chuckle. “So I did something to try to make up for it in case I did mess with your mind somehow.”

“Hmm, and what is that, my lovely Doe?” Alastor’s smile seemed to widen and it may be hidden from view, his tail wagged in excitement. “You thought of me, even before I landed myself in Hell? I must say, I’m quite flattered!”

“I looked for him as soon as I got back from the human world and found him before he understood how… things worked around here.” You didn’t feel bad in the least. “So I tricked him into making a deal with me. Shelter, food, simple basics for his soul. He didn’t seem used to living on the streets, so he took it right away. He didn’t understand what it actually meant to give your soul away.”

“Well done! What a delightful little tidbit! I had no idea if you would be interested in the art of deal-making. I would be more than happy to guide you. Why, I already own a great number of souls myself.” Alastor’s smile turned a little more sinister and he felt his blood heat at the thought of watching you trick some desperate fool into giving you their soul.

He would slaughter an entire district just to see that.

“I’ve… never really thought about it? I just do what I can to get by. Prey and livestock-based demons don’t have it easy in Hell.” You were sought out for your meat after all. “Anyway, I thought I’d make it up to you by – well, that demon whose soul I own is your father’s.”

The static around Alastor went completely silent.

You swallowed thickly, suddenly nervous. “I, uh, I always intended on giving you ownership of his soul whenever you ended up here, if you ended up in Hell. You can do anything you want to him, I have no intention of interfering if you… wanted to broadcast his torment or something.”

Shit, why was Alastor staring at you like that?

Was it the wrong choice? Did he want nothing to do with his father?

“W-WAH!” It was the most pitiful fucking noise you could probably make, worse than that earlier yelp when Alastor seemed to melt into the floor through a void of shadows and then reappear right in your personal space before you comprehended what happened. That was not the reason you let out a damn bleat before you could help it, though.

Alastor was stroking your ears just as he had done twenty-four years prior.

“A gift from you is always welcome, but this – I never imagined one that would bring me such… joy. Truly, you were always meant for me, my lovely Doe.”

“S-so, I take it you want ownership of his soul?” You struggled to get the words out, feeling your vision blur for a moment. You let out a breath of relief when Alastor reluctantly released your ears, but he didn’t step away from your personal space.

“Yes. I’m more than willing to give you a soul – ten even, in return. Mama may disapprove of it, but I will pay back a thousandfold and more for what that man put her through. He will suffer the worst torture I can possibly think of.” To your amazement, Alastor’s pupils spun into a shape that resembled radio dials before returning to normal.

“It’s a gift. You don’t need to give me anything back in return.” You blinked in surprise when Alastor poked your cheek, pinching it playfully before tutting at you. “What was that?!”

“You have been here longer than me, but it seems I must teach you a few good lessons.” Alastor held out his hand invitingly. “Before this transaction, would you like a tour of my radio tower?”

You placed your hand in his. “You’re going to have to explain it like you would to a child how this radio stuff actually works. I can turn my radio on and change the station, that’s about it.”

Alastor felt that chill that followed him all his life leave him and his smile felt genuine for very few times that it was as he felt your hand wrap around his.

He may be dead and in Hell, but his (after)life was looking rather bright – he still could enjoy his passion for radio and he no longer had to hide his true sadistic nature and homicidal thoughts. Better yet, he could combine the two and broadcast tortured screams for denizens of Hell to hear!

He was powerful and feared, toppling Overlords to become himself in an extremely short period of time and he owned multiple souls to do his bidding whenever and whatever he wanted – and soon, he could add his miserable wretch of a father to his collection to torment all he likes.

Best of all, he finally found you, the demon who made this all possible for him and now that he had you in his grasp, there was no conceivable way he would ever let you elude him. He could certainly give you the illusion of freedom and space if that’s what you wanted.

He was charming, he knew that, it’s all he needed to win you over.

Perhaps it would take a little time and patience, but he would get what he wanted in the end like he always did.

His lovely Doe. His new wife.

It was a dream that Alastor was going to turn into his reality.

----------------------------------------------------------

I hope this ending was satisfying

Tags: @alishii @yourdoorisunlocked @godsent69 @eris-norwega @catticora @tayraedoll @michi-keinz @martinys-world @n0tmentallystable @xalygatorx @everwolf-20 @yui-onnero

#alastor x reader #x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel

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pomefioredove · 10 months ago

Note

Hi uh—I would like to request platonic hcs for Diasomnia and any of your favorites with a very young Yuu? Like, not a child, but not college age either (so like 13-15 maybe). The reader is very quiet and gets overstimulated easily, but they can be very sweet—they just show their affection through actions rather than words (like giving someone a pretty rock because it reminded them of that person, without really thinking about it). Recently, my older brother passed away, and your writing has helped me lots! I hope this request wasn’t too much—apologies if it was!

thank you so much for doing what you do, it genuinely makes me happier :)

hi anon, I'm very sorry to hear about your loss, take care <3 I hope this helps

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ brotherly

summary: young yuu type of post: headcanons characters: diasomnia (malleus, sebek, silver, lilia) additional info: platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

Malleus just absolutely treasures you

(dragon pun intended)

it's not strange for him to feel protective of his loved ones, but even so...

call it what you will, paternal, brotherly, either way he sees you as family

and he doesn't take such labels lightly!

he definitely has a little space in his room where he keeps everything you give him

and he's quite reciprocal, too

be it the finest jewels from Briar Valley or a glass bead he found on a walk

he quite likes spending time with you, too

let him into Ramshackle and he'll never leave

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Sebek is, as always, a little distant at first

...he can be a little hard to get close to, that's all

but once he's deemed you worthy of his friendship, you will never get rid of him

he's loyal to the core

the kind of guy to start crying because he loves his friends so much

so, you're definitely safe with him

he teaches himself how to recognize sensory overload so he can get you out of uncomfortable situations faster

he keeps the things you give him on his person as good luck charms!

actually a sweetie, 10/10 no notes

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

though, out of the four, I see you and Silver being the closest

he can be a little... awkward at times

but he's got a soft spot for the meek and quiet

and he knows how overwhelming a place like this can be, especially for you

he knows what it's like to feel out of place

his friendship is full of comfortable silences and moments of peace

any time you feel overstimulated, or sad, or even just feel icky, he's got somewhere quiet you can hide away in

he's a sweetheart <3

he's just as protective as Malleus is, in a way

though he's more likely to teach you how to wield a sword and defend yourself

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

the creaky old man himself!

much like Malleus, Lilia keeps everything you give him

unlike Malleus, it's... everywhere

all over his room, hidden in his pockets, he swears Grim ate one of the pretty rocks you gave him...

he cherishes the little gifts no less, though

and he'll often pass down some of his own old knick-knacks to you

(half of them have some kind of curse he forgot about. Silver deals with it)

he's basically adopted you at this point

Lilia has a soft spot for children, after all

and he's been getting oh-so nostalgic over Silver's youth, lately...

he probably makes everyone take terrible embarrassing photos together now that the family is complete

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #queued #malleus draconia x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #silver x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader

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all-the-fish · 1 year ago

Text

Oh, you know, just the usual internet browsing experience in the year of 2024

Some links and explanations since I figured it might be useful to some people, and writing down stuff is nice.

First of all, get Firefox. Yes, it has apps for Android/iOS too. It allows more extensions and customization (except the iOS version), it tracks less, the company has a less shitty attitude about things. Currently all the other alternatives are variations of Chromium, which means no matter how degoogled they supposedly are, Google has almost a monopoly on web browsing and that's not great. Basically they can introduce extremely user unfriendly updates and there's nothing forcing them to not do it, and nowhere for people to escape to. Current examples of their suggested updates are disabling/severly limiting adblocks in June 2024, and this great suggestion to force sites to verify "web environment integrity" ("oh you don't run a version of chromium we approve, such as the one that runs working adblocks? no web for you.").

uBlockOrigin - barely needs any explanation but yes, it works. You can whitelist whatever you want to support through displaying ads. You can also easily "adblock" site elements that annoy you. "Please log in" notice that won't go away? Important news tm sidebar that gives you sensory overload? Bye.

Dark Reader - a site you use has no dark mode? Now it has. Fairly customizable, also has some basic options for visually impaired people.

SponsorBlock for YouTube - highlights/skips (you choose) sponsored bits in the videos based on user submissions, and a few other things people often skip ("pls like and subscribe!"). A bit more controversial than normal adblock since the creators get some decent money from this, but also a lot of the big sponsors are kinda scummy and offer inferior product for superior price (or try to sell you a star jpg land ownership in Scotland to become a lord), so hearing an ad for that for the 20th time is kinda annoying. But also some creators make their sponsored segments hilarious.

Privacy Badger (and Ghostery I suppose) - I'm not actually sure how needed these are with uBlock and Firefox set to block any tracking it can, but that's basically what it does. Find someone more educated on this topic than me for more info.

Https Everywhere - I... can't actually find the extension anymore, also Firefox has this as an option in its settings now, so this is probably obsolete, whoops.

Facebook Container - also comes with Firefox by default I think. Keeps FB from snooping around outside of FB. It does that a lot, even if you don't have an account.

WebP / Avif image converter - have you ever saved an image and then discovered you can't view it, because it's WebP/Avif? You can now save it as a jpg.

YouTube Search Fixer - have you noticed that youtube search has been even worse than usual lately, with inserting all those unrelated videos into your search results? This fixes that. Also has an option to force shorts to play in the normal video window.

Consent-O-Matic - automatically rejects cookies/gdpr consent forms. While automated, you might still get a second or two of flashing popups being yeeted.

XKit Rewritten - current most up to date "variation "fork" of XKit I think? Has settings in extension settings instead of an extra tumblr button. As long as you get over the new dash layout current tumblr is kinda fine tbh, so this isn't as important as in the past, but still nice. I mostly use it to hide some visual bloat and mark posts on the dash I've already seen.

YouTube NonStop - do you want to punch youtube every time it pauses a video to check if you're still there? This saves your fists.

uBlacklist - blacklists sites from your search results. Obviously has a lot of different uses, but I use it to hide ai generated stuff from image search results. Here's a site list for that.

Redirect AMP to HTML - redirects links from their amp version to the normal version. Amp link is a version of a site made faster and more accessible for phones by Bing/Google. Good in theory, but lets search engines prefer some pages to others (that don't have an amp version), and afaik takes traffic from the original page too. Here's some more reading about why it's an issue, I don't think I can make a good tl;dr on this.

Also since I used this in the tags, here's some reading about enshittification and why the current mainstream internet/services kinda suck.

#modern internet is great #enshittification #internet browsing #idk how to tag this #but i hope it will help someone #personal #question mark

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rottenpumpkin13 · 2 months ago

Note

The entire soldier floor is covered in bubble wrap. How is everyone dealing with this, and long until Lazard cracks because someone is clearly conducting a social experiment, possibly on him specifically?

Sephiroth: At first: visibly irritated at the constant crisp pop-pop-pop-pop in his ears. The first pop beneath his boot was accidental. The second… was not. Now he's been stuck in popping hell for three hours. He must pop. Can't not pop. It is compulsion, addiction. It's an enriching activity. He paces the halls silent except for the rhythmic snap-snap-snap echoing with him. Has started rearranging his training routines just to maximize popping surface area. Walks up behind Genesis and just… pop. Stares at him. Walks away. It's his favorite form of microaggression. He does it solely to ruin Genesis' day.

Genesis: "Sephiroth. Please. I beg of you. ENOUGH." Has reached the end of his rope. Stuck in a nightmare of sensory overload because someone won't stop pacing like a metronome. Tries to read Loveless and gets interrupted every five seconds by a POP from across the room. Sephiroth pops in beat to the Stamp theme song now. Genesis is in hell. Last anyone saw Genesis, he had both fingers jammed in his ears, power-walking down the hall like a man fleeing divine punishment. Behind him, the divine punishment— Sephiroth— followed aggressively popping the bubble wrap.

Zack: Living his dream. "You can't get hurt if you can't get friction!" is his new battle cry. Has invented seven new stunts, 5 of which involve fire. Security camera footage surfaced of him bubble wrapping the entire floor. Now being hunted by Angeal like a war criminal. Currently hiding in the vents. He knows what he did. He is a fugitive from justice. And also Angeal.

Angeal: Has become a walking PSA. Circles the halls like a stressed mother hen in a school with sugar-addled toddlers. "Don't wrap it around your neck!" "No, that's not food—DON'T EAT IT!" "Kunsel, if I see you jump off that railing one more time—" Constantly pulling Thirds out of burrito-rolls of wrap. Has written five memos on safety protocol, none of which anyone has read. Also furious at Zack. Keeps trying to chase him, popping everywhere he goes like a stampede of popcorn, still lecturing as he vaults over desks and screams "ZACK FAIR YOU ARE GROUNDED UNTIL CHRISTMAS"

Cloud: Doesn't even know what he's doing at SOLDIER (help him). Just trying to get to the infantry barracks. Slipped, hit the floor, bounced into a wall, popped three layers of wrap, and now just refuses to walk like a normal person. Is seen crawling on his hands and knees, popping aggressively. Zack keeps dragging him into stunts. "It's safe, buddy! It's all wrap!" Cloud: "I don't want to be safe anymore. I want death."

Lazard: Has stopped going home. Sleeps under his desk. Has printed out the HR handbook and is eating pages from it. Is now muttering about how SOLDIER is a psychological experiment designed by Dr. Hollander and "they" are watching.

Kunsel: Rolling in gil after selling Zack metric tons of bubble wrap. Absolutely knew what he was enabling, did it anyway, no regrets. He's already printed business cards that say Chaos Supplier. He slipped one beneath Lazard's locked office door and heard Lazard scream and start sobbing.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii #sephiroth #genesis rhapsodos #angeal hewley #zack fair #kunsel ff7 #cloud strife #lazard deusericus #crisis core #agszc

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coffeeshades · 11 months ago

Text

credits to the gif maker!

GUILTY AS SIN...? - PART I

summary: one summer with the man you can't have, but can't stop thinking about.

pairing: cillian murphy x popstar!reader

word count: 5.5k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). mentions of sex. angst. cussing, slight age gap, mentions of alcohol and divorce. no use of y/n, heavily inspired by ts and ttpd. if i missed something please let me know. (also this is a work of fiction, none of it reflects how i feel about the people mentioned in this, most importantly cillian's wife, who im sure is a sweetheart irl. it's fiction, just relax and enjoy it, and if not, move along, friends.)

a/n: hi everyone! this turned out pretty long so i will be splitting it into parts so it's easier. next part will be posted soon. i hope you all have as much fun reading this as i had writing it. enjoy!

part two

The breeze riffled through your hair as you drove, the sun warming your skin through the open windows. The Irish countryside stretching out before you, lush and green, with rolling hills and quaint villages dotting the landscape. The scent of wildflowers and the sound of nothing but the wind in the trees filled your senses.

It was rare, really. The silence, the feeling of complete freedom, and the solitude that enveloped you. A fleeting escape from the chaos of your everyday life.

The ping of your phone interrupted the peaceful moment. You tapped on the pop-up notification after briefly glancing at the directions to your destination. It was a message from Cillian. Well, two, actually. One was asking how far you were, and the other was a Spotify link followed by a question mark. Ever since he started hosting his bbc radio show, he's been sending you potential songs for his playlists to get your opinion. Not that he needs it anyway. But you always appreciate being included in his process.

Your lips curled into a smile as you clicked on the link. The familiar sound of The Blue Nile's "The Downtown Lights" flooded the car, instantly making you feel a wave of nostalgia. It's been ages since you've listened to that song. The synth-pop melody carries you up the pine-dotted path to where his house perches atop a hill, overlooking the crashing waves below. You've been here a couple of times, and yet it never gets less breathtaking. The Victorian architecture contrasting beautifully with the rugged coastline, creating a scene straight out of a painting.

The car glides right past the wrought iron gates, and you cut the engine in front of the stone steps leading up to the grand entrance. You shoot Cillian a quick text letting him know you're here, unbuckle your seat belt, and hop out of the car.

The June sun beats down on your skin instantly, heat radiating off the cobblestones as you open the backdoor to look through your bag for a hair tie. The smell of saltwater mingles with the sound of gulls overhead, sending you into sensory overload. "Gotcha," you mutter to yourself as you finally find the hair tie and pull your hair back into a loose bun.

"You drove here?" you hear him call out from behind you, his voice tinged with surprise. "And you're alone?" you turn around to see Cillian walking towards you, a curious expression on his face.

"I actually had to throw a tantrum to convince them to let me come alone," you reply with a chuckle, feeling a sense of pride at your small victory. "I was like, It's Ireland. What's the worst that could happen?"

Being who you are means being guarded against any potential danger or harm at all times, being driven to almost everywhere, and always having a security team around.

Cillian laughs, a sound that makes your heart flutter and makes you want to hear it again and again. "Well, I'm glad you made it here in one piece, love," he says with a grin. "You're not a very good driver."

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment. You did regret your decision to drive from the airport 10 minutes later when you realized you were on the wrong side of the road. But he didn't need to know that.

"I made it in one piece, didn't I?" you playfully retort, trying to salvage your wounded pride. Cillian chuckles and shakes his head with a twinkle in his eye. You stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. He looks good, you thought. Unbelievably good. Well rested. His jet black hair was perfectly styled, even though you know he didn't put any effort into it—the slightest hint of silver at the temples, his sharp jawline, and those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through you. Though they looked a little tired, as if he had been through a lot since the last time you saw him.

You quickly avert your gaze, feeling a rush of heat on your cheeks.

"It's good to see you," you finally manage to say, trying to sound casual. Cillian's smile softens, and he replies, "It's good to see you too." He opens his arms, inviting you in for a hug. The soft fabric of his t-shirt brushes against your skin as you embrace him, and for a moment, everything feels right in the world.

"Come on, let's get inside," he says, leading you towards the house. Once inside, you make your way to the kitchen. The house was quiet; you wondered if anyone else was home. Cillian's family wasn't by any means loud or boisterous, but the silence felt heavier than usual.

"You hungry, love?" Cillian asks, opening the fridge, pulling out a white ceramic container, and setting it up on the kitchen island. You take a seat on one of the stools while he stands across from you.

"For something sweet?" you smile, seeing the container filled with what seems to be a piece of strawberry sponge cake. His mom must've made it. "Always," you reply. He hands you a spoon and takes one for himself, the two of you sharing the dessert in comfortable silence.

Until he broke it.

"How was Madrid?" he asks softly.

"It was good, great crowd," you reply, taking another bite of the dessert. "But tiring," you add, feeling the exhaustion of the long trip settling in.

"How many nights did you perform?"

"Four."

"Jesus, that's quite a lot, isn't it?"

Your eyes meet his; confusion clear in your expression. "You think that's a lot? Didn't you used to do four or five nights in a row of the same play?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "for months…?

"Yeah, but that was a different kind of exhaustion," he explains, taking another bite. "Performing the way you do in front of a live audience for three hours is a whole different ball game, love."

Love.

There it was again. That godforsaken term of endearment that he seemed to throw around so casually. It made your heart race every time he said it, even though you knew it probably meant nothing to him. But the way he looked at you now, with a hint of admiration in his eyes, made you wonder if maybe—

"Want the last bite?" he offered, taking you out of your thoughts. He pushed the container towards you, a small smile playing on his lips. His gaze was intense, as if silently urging you to take it.

"Oh, hello," a voice exclaimed from behind you, breaking the moment. You drop the spoon on the counter, a little startled. As if you were caught in the act of something forbidden. You turned around to see Yvonne, Cillian's wife. She said your name with a surprised tone, making you feel guilty for some reason. "I didn't know you were here," she continued, her eyes flickering between you and her husband.

You started to rise from your seat, confusion clouding your thoughts. That's weird. Cillian usually lets his wife know when you're visiting, but this time it seems like he didn't. She walked towards you, enveloping you in a hug. "When did you get here?" she said.

"Not long ago," you replied, relieved that she didn't seem upset. "I, uh, wanted to take a break and thought Ireland might be a good place to do that," you added, hoping to diffuse any tension that may have arisen. She nodded understandingly. "And you're staying here?"

"Oh, no, no," you quickly assured her. "I rented a place nearby, so you don't have to worry about me."

"Nonsense," Cillian interjected. "You can stay here. There's plenty of room."

"She's already paid for it, Cillian," Yvonne retorted, giving him a stern look.

Something was definitely off.

This was the last thing you wanted. You've specifically chosen the cottage for two reasons. First, to have space. The whole point of this trip was to finally have peace and write music. You've been stuck for months, not being able to find inspiration in your usual surroundings. Everything felt dull inside you all day—an emptiness that was smothering.

Second, you needed to stay the fuck away from Cillian. Being close to him was dangerous territory, one you didn't want to navigate right now. The plan was to come and visit and occasionally hang out and that's it. The thought of being in such close quarters with him was overwhelming. Staying here meant risking your heart and sanity.

You hesitated, also not wanting to intrude on their space, but Cillian insisted.

"Okay…How about if I stay for a couple of days and then move to the cottage?" you suggested, hoping to compromise. "Sounds perfect to me," he said.

This was going to be a long summer.

For the next few days, you dream too much, don't write enough, and try to find inspiration everywhere. As you settled into the routine of staying at Cillian's, you found yourself enjoying the peaceful surroundings and his company more than you expected. The days seemed to blend together, filled with laughter, deep conversations, and stolen glances that left your heart racing.

But you also felt constantly distracted by his presence, making it difficult to focus on your writing or anything else, for that matter.

All you could think about was him.

The piano room surrounded you with its warm, inviting atmosphere, and you found yourself drawn to it more often than not. The big windows overlooking the garden let in streams of sunlight, casting a warm glow over the bookshelf. You felt the softness of the carpet as you sat on the grand piano bench, running your fingers along the keys absentmindedly.

You started humming a tune that had been stuck in your head for days, the words appearing softly and effortlessly as you played:

Please

I've been on my knees

Change the prophecy

Don't want money

Just someone who wants my company

[Hum, Hum, Hum]

Who do I have to speak to

About if they can redo

The prophecy?

The humming went on whenever you didn't know what to say next, filling in the gaps between the notes on the piano and the lyrics:

A greater woman has faith

[Hum, Hum, Hum]

I'm so afraid I sealed my fate

No sign of soulmates

I'm just a paperweight

[Hum, Hum, Hum]

Spending my last coin so someone will tell me

It'll be ok

[Hum, Hum, Hum]

The melody filled the room until you stopped abruptly, frustrated that the lyrics weren't coming as easily as before. You closed your eyes with a groan, trying to clear your mind. "Fuck," you muttered under your breath, elbows resting on the keys of the piano.

"You good?" Cillian's rough voice broke through your frustration, causing you to look up and offer a weak smile. You don't know how long he's been standing there or how much he heard of your struggles. "Just hitting a wall with this song," you admitted, running a hand through your hair.

"Ah, I see," he nodded sympathetically. He moved towards the records stacked on the shelf and pulled one out, placing it on the turntable. "I don't want to mess with your creative process or anything, but maybe a break with some music will help," he suggested.

Radiohead's "Fake Plastic Trees" began to play, taking over the room with its haunting melody.

"So you play one of the saddest songs ever?" you deadpanned, "Thanks."

He chuckled softly, "You were playing some pretty intense stuff; I figured it would fit right in."

Oh, so he did hear you.

"Ah, I know it's different from my usual stuff," you said quietly, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious about your music. "I might scrap that one. They might not be onboard with the change."

"And why's that?"

Thom Yorke's voice faded into the background as you contemplated his question, unsure of how to respond.

You shrugged, "I listen to sad music, not make it."

"I liked what I heard," he reassured you, "and change is good. It keeps things interesting."

His low voice was soothing, and you found yourself feeling more at ease with the idea of trying something new. Pop has been your comfort zone for so long, it's what stands out of you, but most importantly, it's what sells. At least, that's what's important to the industry. Maybe it was time to push yourself out of it.

"I guess you're right," you replied, a faint smile creeping onto your face.

"As always," he said, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. He stood leaning against the table where the record player sat, arms crossed, looking as if he had too many things to say and not enough words for them.

"Would this be a good time to ask you if everything's okay?" you inquired, noticing the weight of unspoken thoughts in his eyes. "With Yvonne, I mean," you added, nervous to bring up the topic.

That first day, when you arrived at the house, you could sense there was something going on between them. Something bad. The tension in the air was so obvious, but you didn't want to pry. However, as the days went by, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that she hadn't been around or the absence of a certain ring on his finger.

"And here, I thought you were never going to ask," he replied, his words laced with sarcasm.

"I was waiting for you to bring it up," your voice trailed off, unsure of how to proceed. "I-I didn't want to overstep."

He studied you for a moment, or at least, you assumed that was what he was doing. Finally, he averted his gaze and cleared his throat,"We've separated."

A cold feeling settled in your chest as you processed his words. The reality of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks, and suddenly everything made sense. "Cillian," is all you managed to say, the concern evident in your voice.

He still wouldn't look at you. Knowing him, in moments like this, he wouldn't want to be coddled or pitied, so you save your apologies for later.

"What happened?"

He waved his hand dismissively, still avoiding your gaze. "Nothing, really," he said, his tone final. He didn't look upset, but rather resigned to the situation. "It hadn't been working for a long time; we both knew it was coming. I guess we were holding on for the boys more than anything." You could see the sadness in his eyes, despite his attempt to appear nonchalant. The weight of his words hung in the air, leaving you feeling defeated and unsure of what to say next. You don't think there's anything you can say that will make this or him feel better.

And boy, did you wish you could take away his pain with just a few words.

Cillian walked slowly over the piano, stopping in front of it. He streched his arms over the wooden soundboard, gripping the edges tightly as if seeking some sort of solace in the instrument. He finally looked at you.

"Why didn't you say anything, Cill?" you asked softly, "I would've—"

"You would've what?" he interrupted, his voice strained with emotion. "I didn't want to worry you, you have more important things than my marital issues."

You could see the pain in his eyes, and it tore at your heart to see him suffering in silence. "You're my friend. These things are important to me, Cill," you said gently, reaching out to touch his hand in a gesture of comfort. He flinched slightly at your touch, but then relaxed, leaning into your hand.

He didn't say anything, but you knew he appreciated your words. You could tell by the way his shoulders slumped in relief and the way his fingers loosened their grip on the edge of the piano.

One morning, you woke up to the wind gently rustling through the trees outside your windows. The morning light was clear and clean, leaking through the glass and falling against the walls of the room in soft patterns. It felt too early to be awake, too peaceful to disturb the tranquility of the moment.

You roll over to look at the little clock on the bedside table: 6:20 AM. It wasn't worth trying to go back to sleep, so you threw the covers and climbed out of bed, feeling the cool wood floor beneath your feet as you walked to the bathroom.

You splash cold water on your face and brush your teeth, trying to wake yourself up fully. Holding up your hair, you tie it into a ponytail while walking over the bedside table to grab your phone and airpods. You put one in your ear and hit shuffle on one of your morning playlists. You couldn't function without some music. "Keep On Loving You" by Cigarettes After Sex starts playing.

On your way to the kitchen, you walked by Cillian's room and noticed the door was slightly ajar. Who the hell sleeps with their door open? Psychos, probably. Curiosity getting the best of you, you peeked inside to see him sprawled out on his bed, body illuminated by the soft morning light filtering through the curtains—characteristic warm and cool shades revealing every hollow and speck of bare muscle. He slept with every limb stretched out, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. It was a rare sight, quite poetic.

He looked so peaceful, completely unaware of your presence. So you let your mind wander.

You imagined yourself crossing the room, pulling yourself on top of him. You imagined the way his bare body would look beneath you, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his dark hair messy around his face, his skin warm against yours. His hands—rough and soft at the same time—running over your thigh, your breast, your neck. You could almost feel the heat of his touch, the intensity of his gaze as he looked up at you.

But then reality snapped back into focus.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath. This was just a fantasy, a dangerous game to play with someone who was somewhat off-limits. But truth be told, the temptation was becoming harder to resist with each passing moment. It was all you could think about ever since he told you about his troubled marriage.

It took a long time for your heartbeat to slow. You headed to the kitchen to get some coffee, hoping that the caffeine would help clear your mind. As you rummage through the cabinets for a mug, his voice startles you from behind. "Need some help with that?" he asks, making you jump.

For a moment you thought you were still imagining things, but you turn around to see him standing there with a t-shirt on as opposed to five minutes ago. Great, him walking around shirtless in his kitchen, sleepy-eyed, messy hair, and rough morning voice would've been lethal.

"I've got it, thanks," you reply, shaking the mug slightly in your hand. You quickly pour yourself some coffee and try to focus on the task at hand: looking for the sugar.

"Sleep well?" he asks, voice still husky from sleep, his accent more prominent. He's rifling through the cabinet for a mug of his own. You can't help but notice the way his muscles flex under his dark t-shirt as he reaches up. You hum in agreement, trying to hide your blush as you take a sip of your coffee. "You?"

"Grand," he replies, pouring himself a cup of coffee and leaning against the counter. You exchange small talk about the upcoming day, but your mind keeps drifting back to how good he looks in the morning light.

"Any plans for today other than locking yourself in the piano room?" he teases, and you shoot him a playful glare. "Maybe I'll actually venture outside for once," you quip, laughing.

"How does the beach sound like?" he asks, "The boys are coming over, and they're bringing some friends, and I thought a trip would be a nice change of scenery."

"I could use some sun," you admit, feeling a smile tug at your lips.

"Let's make it a beach day then," he suggests, setting his mug on the sink. "We leave at 10, piano woman."

"Ha ha, very funny," you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes. "But I'll hold you to it, annoying man," you reply.

"Annoying man?" he repeats, raising an eyebrow. "I thought I was your favorite person."

"Only on days that end in 'y'."

•••

"Are you done with your sad boy music?"

Cillian bursts out laughing, the sound taking you by surprise. He's been playing Radiohead on repeat for the whole car ride, and you were starting to feel like you were in a melancholy music video. "I like their music as much as the next person, but I think I need a break from the sadness," you say.

"Fine, fine," Cillian concedes, reaching for his phone to change the song. The bleak atmosphere in the car lifts as "Linger" by The Cranberries starts playing, filling the space with a more pleasant vibe. Cillian glances at you, he's wearing dark shades that hide his eyes, but you can still see his stoic expression softening as he catches you smiling at the change in music.

"Better?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Instead of answering, you start silently singing along to the lyrics, gesticulating dramatically for added effect. Cillian smiles at your antics, his own lips twitching in amusement as he watches you. The boys were so caught up in their conversation with their friends in the backseat that you were pretty sure they weren't even paying attention to the music or your impromptu performance. With a small smile on your face, you face out the window and enjoy the rest of the car ride in content silence.

When you arrive at your destination, all of you unbuckle your seat belts once Cillian puts the Bronco in park. You all pile out of the car, stretching your legs and taking in the sights around you. You close your eyes for a second and take a breath. The sea air—you loved that smell.

•••

A few hours later, after countless swims and some snacks, you find yourself lying on a beach towel, book in hand, feeling the warmth of the temperature on your skin. You're reading a book you picked up at an airport several months ago by Elin Hilderbrand, or the queen of beach reads, as many call her. You were completely engrossed in the story until you felt Cillian settling down next to you.

His hair was damp from the water, and his skin was slightly glistening. Gosh, he looked absolutely stunning. "Mind if I join you?" he asks.

"Not at all," you reply, closing the book and sitting up. "Having fun?"

"Lots," he says with a smile, reaching over to grab his sunglasses. The two of you sit in comfortable silence. The laughter and chatter of his sons and friends coming from the water redirects your attention back to the beach scene before you. You look back at Cillian, his eyes fixed on his sons.

"They love you, you know," you say softly, watching the genuine joy on his face as he watches his children.

"I don't know if I'm doing it right," he says, eyes still fixed on the boys. "I worry I might've fucked them up by letting my relationship with their mother fall apart."

He continues, "Sometimes I feel they resent me for it."

"Why do you feel that way?"

"I don't know, they just seem distant sometimes. Like they're holding back."

"Hey, that's normal for kids to have mixed feelings about their parents' separation. I was so happy when mine got divorced because it meant no more fighting, but it was also tough to adjust to the changes. It's very conflicting stuff," you say, huffing a small laugh. "Also, they're teenagers now, right? That's a tough age to navigate even without the added stress of divorce."

Cillian nods in agreement, exhaling out a yeah.

You squint against the sunlight beaming behind his head before continuing.

"You're a great dad, you always have been. Just show up and be there for them when they need you, even if they don't always seem to appreciate it. They'll remember it in the long run," you offer, remembering how much your own father's presence meant to you after your parents' divorce. "And I'm not a parent, but what parent feels like they're doing everything right all the time, anyway?"

Cillian turns to look at you. He studies your face for a moment before offering a small smile. "I guess you're right," he says sincerely.

"Fork found in kitchen," you retort, breaking the tension with a bit of humor.

He chuckles, "That's clever."

"Well," you continue, "I've been accused of many things over the years, but being unoriginal isn't one of them."

He laughs. Just like he did back in the car: a genuine, carefree laugh that makes you feel a little lighter.

"Want to go for one last swim, piano woman?"

You roll your eyes. "Will you stop calling me that?"

"Not likely," Cillian replies with a grin. "It's too fitting."

You stand up and stretch. You're wearing a one-piece teal-ish swimsuit that you swear you only chose based on comfort and not because it makes your ass and breasts look fantastic. Cillian's eyes linger on you for a moment before he looks away, and you swear you can see a hint of a blush on his cheeks. He doesn't move.

"Are you coming or…?"

"Right, one last swim," he finally says, standing up and following you towards the water.

Maybe that one last swim wasn't a great idea after all.

And why is that?

Because not even five minutes into the water, you thought it would be a good idea to jump from a high rock, and now you're sitting in the car with your knee scrapped, throbbing in pain, and regretting your impulsive decision.

•••

"You're so fuckin' stubborn."

You try to move into a more comfortable position while ignoring the pain shooting up your leg by pressing a hand against one side of the door to keep yourself steady. "And you're so clearly overreacting."

Cillian pushes his bedroom door open. He's also clearly pissed. The ride back to the house was deathly silent. Well, not silent. His sad boy music made a return, and this time with Broken Social Scene. You couldn't ask him to change the music without starting another argument. Even the kids were quiet, beyond asking several times if you were okay, which you assured them you were. Obviously a lie.

As Cillian walks around the room, you reach for your midi white beachy dress and look down at your knee in horror. It's no longer just a bruise, but a gash that is slowly oozing blood. Not as much as before, but still. It looks nasty underneath the shirt Cillian used from his car as a makeshift bandage.

He grabs the first aid kit from a shelf and turns around to face you.

"Take off your dress."

"Pardon me?"

"Take off your dress so I can properly clean and bandage the wound," Cillian repeats, his expression serious. You look down at the blood-stained fabric as if you needed any more confirmation. "Off, C'mon."

You stiffen at his demand, your body going completely rigid at his bossy tone. You watch him stride into his bathroom. He pushes aside some stuff on the counter and tosses the kit onto the counter.

Okay, yeah. He has good reason to be upset. You had no business jumping from that rock.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he'd said before, right when he went to get you. And now you can see the anger still simmering beneath the surface.

You can hear him shuffle in the bathroom while you remove your dress. You still have your swimsuit on underneath, but you feel exposed without the extra layer. Maybe the pain is catching up to you or the fact that you have upset him or that he's waiting for you in the bathroom to take care of you but tears sting your eyes as you try to process the situation. You take a moment to collect yourself. You cannot go in there like this, he cannot see you this vulnerable. At least, not now.

He's braced against the counter, head hung low, when you push open the bathroom door. You nearly back out to give him some space or time to compose himself, but his eyes meet yours and his expression straightens. He clears his throat and then freezes. "I—you're wearing your swimsuit."

"I am. Were you expecting me to change into something else?"

"No," he grumbles, "I mean, nevermind."

He turns back and starts grabbing sterile gauze, his movements slightly jerky. He gestures for you to sit on the counter. "Up."

"I'm not sure I can do that given my—" Before you're done speaking, he scoops you up and sets you on the counter. Your hands are locked around his neck, and his are firmly gripping your waist. They fit perfectly there, like they're made to hold you close.

He reaches behind him, both your faces close together now, and grabs your wrists, pulling them away from his neck and onto your thighs. He puts a hand on your uninjured leg, his touch gentle yet firm. "This is going to hurt." You stare at his impossible blue eyes and think to yourself: yes, this is going to hurt.

"Oh, shit shit," you gasp, gripping his forearm. "Holy fuuuck."

"I've got you, breathe," he commands, and you allow yourself to focus on his voice, letting it ground you. The antiseptic burns both your nostrils and knee as he continues to clean the wound, the pain shooting through your leg causing you to clench your teeth.

"I'm sorry," you breathe out.

There's nothing but silence in response.

"I told you multiple times not to go up there," he finally says, his voice tinged with frustration. "And yet."

"I know," you whisper, feeling guilty.

"Don't do that again," he commands, his accent thickening with emotion. "You could've hurt yourself even more."

"I know," you repeat, not sure how else to respond.

His head is bowed in concentration as he finishes cleaning the wound, his hands steady despite the anger in his voice. You can see his dark eyelashes fluttering slightly as he works. He applies a little more pressure to the bandage than he should've, and you let out a soft moan. This doesn't go unnoticed by him.

The air in the room seems to shift. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see something soften in his gaze before he looks away.

"You're not supposed to like that."

Your cheeks heat up immediately.

He's gotten closer to you, your hands somehow made their way to fist his navy blue linen shirt. His body is between your legs, the delicate material of his pants brushing your skin. His breath is warm against your cheek as he leans in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't say I mind it either." Your heart races at his proximity, unsure of what to do next.

His hands slide up your thighs, gently caressing your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He's going to kiss you, and you can't help but wonder if it's the right decision to let him.

But now is not the time to be rational about it.

"I'm not gonna stop you," you say quietly, "I wouldn't know how."

His eyes darken, pupils dilating with desire. He doesn't move.

It's like you're both aware of the line you're about to cross, so neither of you moves.

You keep your eyes firmly on his face. His lips inch closer to yours, and you feel the heat of his breath on your skin. Your body is angled towards his, hand gripping the edge of the counter. Your slightly damp hair, now cold, making you shiver.

He's impossibly hard against you, the material of his pants is thin, and you're aware of every inch of him pressing against your throbbing core.

"And I wouldn’t know how to stop kissing you," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. He shifts slightly, causing his erection to press even more firmly against you, both letting out a soft moan. His mouth hovers just inches from yours, just kiss me, you thought.

There's a knock on the bedroom door, which is, by the way, open.

"Dad?" You both freeze.

The bathroom door is slightly ajar, offering a sliver of privacy but not enough to shield you from any potential interruptions.

"Yes?" Cillian calls out, trying to sound casual despite the intense moment that was just interrupted. "We're ordering takeout, do you want anything?"

"No, buddy, we're good, thanks," Cillian replies, his voice strained as he tries to keep his composure. You hear the steps retreating down the hallway.

Cillian steps back, and the absence of his body against yours is jarring. It clearly would've been a mistake to take this further, but a mistake that would've felt so fucking good.

"We shouldn't do this."

He clears his throat. "Yeah."

He moves towards the door, his movements tense and purposeful. "I'm gonna—" he says, motioning the door.

"Yeah," you quickly reply, "I got it."

You watch him leave, the air heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires.

a/n: thank you for reading! please share your thoughts with me, let me know if you guys enjoyed it :)

part two

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