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draconic-desire · 6 months

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🔹 Oculus Infinitum 🔹

Yandere Satoru Gojo x Reader

He’s infinity; in comparison, you’re nothing. So of course using your cursed technique on him backfires.

Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI! Yandere behavior, unhealthy relationship, implied kidnapping, forced imprisonment, nsfw, non-con/dub-con, afab!reader, slight mindbreak

Infinity is often interpreted as the largest numerical magnitude to exist. And while that fact may be true in theory, infinity is better defined as the endless division of infinitesimally smaller and smaller values. One can be separated into half, half to a quarter, and so on, until the space between fractions almost ceases to exist.

Almost.

Gojo is a lot like infinity. Blame it on his technique, sure, but you suspect it runs much deeper than that. His actions never reach an end; instead, each one sinks further and further into your skin, fangs so small you barely feel them until it’s too late and the venom irreversibly invades your veins. He’s chipped away at you, piece by little piece, until you are the opposite of infinity; you are nothing.

On a surface level, most would say you have it pretty good. You (are trapped in) live in a huge home, filled with opulent furniture and all the luxuries you could ever want. You’re (expected to) allowed to cook meals for the two of you, including your favorite dishes. You still have (basic rights) privileges, such as free roam of the house, your own selection of clothes, access to the television and your phone (minus the ability to call or text, of course), even outdoor time with Satoru’s supervision. Why would you ever need to leave?

You had escaped, once.

Calling it an escape would be generous. Nothing ever happens without Gojo’s knowledge, without Gojo’s permission. How foolish you had been, to think you could evade his Six Eyes. Despite weeks of planning, he’d dragged you back home within the hour.

The chains hadn’t been removed for an entire month after that, and their lingering presence on each post of Satoru’s bed serves as a constant reminder that they’ll never rust.

Currently, you’re in the (not your, nothing is ever truly yours anymore) house’s lofty kitchen now, preparing dinner for his return home from work. Glancing up at the clock, you see it’s nearly time for him to arrive. You click the stovetop on and place a pot of water over the open flame, watching the blue fire flicker. Your thoughts immediately go to Gojo’s eyes, twin infernos of endless blue. Those eyes never seem to close, never seem to be too far from your own. They have the ability to lock you in place and throw away the key forever.

Moments later, the sound of the door opening and closing, along with the click of multiple locks, echoes from the hallway. Long, casual footsteps alert you to his presence behind you. His velvet voice, so languid and carefree, fans your ear as he settles his hands on your hips. “There’s my girl. Already making dinner for me?” He places a surprisingly chaste kiss to the top of your head. “Missed ya, baby.”

You add rice and a bit of salt and stir the pot in front of you in silence. When did you stop fighting him on that? On losing your full name to simple titles like girl and baby? The old you would have gagged at those pet names. The old you that kicked and bit the hand of your captor like a rabid animal, always fighting for freedom.

His grip tightens when you fail to immediately respond, though you hear him force a light tone to his voice. “What, curse got your tongue?”

Tension immediately floods your muscles. Gojo is a vain man; your silence maims his huge ego, something the most powerful jujutsu sorcerer will not stand for. You must react. “No, Gojo. I was just lost in thought, is all.”

You worry your lip when the quiet drags on. “I-I’m sorry?”

Gojo barks out a laugh, but his smile is strained and all fangs. “Back to Gojo again, huh?”

A mistake you notice too late. The spoon falls from your grip as you turn your head slowly. He’s still wearing his blindfold, but you know those infinite abyssal eyes are currently boring into your soul, daring you to speak. “Ah, no! Satoru, I mean—”

“Shh, baby. I get it.” His hands move to your shoulders, which he begins to massage. “Is it because you’re mad at me for neglecting you?”

To an outsider it may sound like he’s teasing, but you know all too well the creep of annoyance laced into his deepened, husky tone. “Or are you just being a brat?”

Swallowing, you place a hand on his toned forearm in an attempt to calm him. You feel him practically melt into the touch. “Truly, ‘Toru, I’m fine.” Your honeyed tone makes you sick, but you’ve learned it can subtly manipulate your captor in the right setting, usually this domestic fantasy world of his. “You’ve been so busy with work, and my mind has just been wandering. Why don’t you go sit while I finish up with the food?”

He hums absentmindedly, fingers swirling patterns across your abdomen. “I have a better idea…” Hot breath caresses your ear, eliciting a shiver. “Let me make it up to you.”

A deft hand snakes its way down the back of your bare thigh, barely ghosting across your skin. You can feel him, solid as a rock, yet you know there will always be space between you. He can touch you, but you’re powerless to do the same.

Just like in everything else, you can’t hold a candle to him. Your cursed energy is inconsequential, a tiny spark against his infinitive well of power.

Talk of your innate cursed ability is a topic you actively choose to avoid. Your technique, when activated, allows you to briefly control the thoughts and consequent actions of a single individual—but only after you’ve kissed them. And it often backfires tremendously, with the kiss causing overwhelming feelings of obsession or insanity in the receiver. From more than enough uses you’ve learned to see it as more of a curse in and of itself, and one you prefer to keep hidden.

Especially from the man behind you. Gojo—Satoru, you correct yourself—has enough twisted love that you wouldn’t dare try to possess his thoughts. The mere idea makes your throat tighten with panic.

Satoru’s technique, on the other hand, causes every nerve ending along your skin to explode as his hand falls beneath your skirt and skate across your barely clothed core.

“Been thinking about this all day,” he groans. “Are you wet for me, baby?” Before you can respond, Satoru easily moves your panties aside and spears you with his middle and ring fingers.

The invasion makes you jolt instantly. An involuntary gasp leaves you as he presses deeper, his fingers sheathed to the knuckle. You hate how your walls immediately tighten around him, slick with your arousal. No, you don’t want this, but Gojo gives you no choice in the matter but to practically ride his hand as he lifts your skirt with his other hand to get a better view.

“I’ll never get tired of this.” His thumb passes over your clit, pulling yet another shameful moan from your lips. Your tense demeanor only causes your pussy to accidentally squeeze him tighter, spurring him on. You try to pull your thighs together, but Satoru wrenches them apart easily with his other hand. “Oh, no, none of that. This pussy is mine.”

You squirm, grasping for something to get you out of this mess. “Satoru, stop, the food will burn—”

“Forget it,” he commands, ripping your skirt off. “We’ll order takeout after.”

Your heart drops. “After…?”

“Aw, you thought I’d stop here?” His condescension floods your ears. “No, babe, I’m only just getting started with you.”

His persistence, like infinity, has no end.

Without warning, Satoru removes his fingers from your core and swings you over his shoulder, smacking your bare ass and wrenching a yelp from you. You blanch when you realize he’s carrying you to the bedroom.

“Wait, Satoru—!”

You are unceremoniously thrown onto the bed, said white-haired sorcerer towering above you. He pounces immediately, locking your limbs in place. Satoru must see the fear, the readiness to engage in fight or flight, across your face, because he brushes a tender hand across your cheek to wipe away a tear you didn’t realize had fallen.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” he teases, but it somehow sounds like a threat. His fingers, still coated with your arousal, hook around your thong and slide it down your legs. “You’re acting like this is our first time or somethin'.”

Oh, it was far from the first time that he had touched you or been inside of you. But something about today, about this time, sends fear skittering across your whole being. Perhaps it’s all the reminiscence lately, or the fact that your thoughts drifted to your innate technique for the first time in weeks. Panic sinks its claws into you.

Breath ragged, heart pounding, you grab his face in both hands and react without thinking; for the first time since he kidnapped you, you willingly kiss Satoru Gojo and activate your technique.

Satoru immediately reacts, deepening the kiss and pressing you more firmly into the mattress until you feel as if you’re nearly suffocating.

Release me, you project into his mind, threading a hand through his white locks and squeezing hard.

The world suddenly goes very, very still.

Satoru freezes. Slowly, painfully, he parts his lips from your own and straightens his arms against the mattress to hover above you once more. His breath comes out in jagged huffs. The only sound that remains is the unending tick, tick, tick of the clock on the wall, bringing you closer to your doom.

For a second, you almost believe your technique worked.

That is, until he quickly sheds his blindfold, and you are meet with those stunning, terrifying, brilliant, paralyzing blues. He whispers your name with a foreign stillness that chills your bones to ice. “Do you…have a cursed technique?”

What an idiot you are to have thought you could sneak past Satoru Gojo’s barriers and Six Eyes. You can’t touch his physical form; why would his mind be any different?

It takes all of your willpower to withhold the panicked, hysterical laugh threatening to escape you. “Look, I can explain—”

Satoru leans back on his knees, one hand carding through his hair as he looks up to the ceiling. “God, babe, I knew you could see curses and harbored cursed energy, but here you go surprising me!” He laughs, a gleeful chuckle that has you reeling.

“You’re not…mad?” you dare to ask, inching your knees towards your chest. Maybe your technique failed, but you can still buy some time and get into a safer position.

Satoru gazes down at you, head tilted and a full grin on his lips. “Mad? Baby, why would I be upset when for the first time in our relationship, you were the one seducing me?”

Oh, no. No no no no no.

Grabbing your ankle, he drags you back to a supine position, your pussy on full display for him. He licks his lips at the sight. “Plus, you trying to get inside my head was cute and all. Weak, but you gave it your best!” He laughs again, and you realize that he never took you seriously, not even for a second.

The thought should enrage you—it would have infuriated the old you—but all you can manage now is a low whine as his hands go for his belt.

Satoru pulls himself free, his already hard cock pulsing in anticipation. Precum beads at the tip as he lines himself up with your entrance. “What was it you asked me for? Release, right?”

Your eyes bulge at his implication. “Wait, Satoru, I didn’t mean—!”

You barely have time to react as he buries himself in you completely. A choked sob bubbles up your throat as you breath through the stretch of him.

Satoru moans in ecstasy as he begins a steady pace, thrusting mercilessly into that squishy spot deep inside your core that has you seeing stars.

“Kiss me again.” It’s light and breathless, but it’s an order, not a request. Fear makes you comply immediately, though your kiss is a hesitant, timid thing compared to your earlier attempt to sway him.

He’s having none of that. No, Satoru had a taste of your affection, and now he’ll tolerate nothing less than your full reciprocation. If only you could truly peer into his mind and see that no amount of your cursed energy would change him; your being was already permanently imprinted on his brain. You were his perfect doll, held in the palm of his hand.

Nails rake down his back as you arch against the mattress. Every time he thrusts, he grinds against your clit, and you feel yourself chasing your finish. You hate this, you want it to stop, but you can’t help—

“Please, Satoru,” you plead without thinking, meeting his limitless eyes. You feel yourself drowning in them, a blue sky that never ceases.

For a split second, his rhythm hesitates. “…Say that again,” he whispers, almost reverently. “Beg for me.”

You’re not quite sure what you’re asking for. “P-please, I can’t take it anymore, please let me—!”

“Choose your next word carefully,” he warns, voice shifting to a low growl as his hand moves to your throat, adding ever so much pressure.

Tears streak your vision. The embarrassment of your technique failing and the lewd position he has you in all crash down upon you, and another piece of you breaks. “Please let me cum,” you concede.

To your dismay, his pace slows, and you cry out in protest as your orgasm fades. “I just need you to do one more thing for me, baby.” He leans into your neck, nipping and sucking at all your sensitive spots, torturing you even further. “Tell me you love me.”

Alarms should be blazing through your head, but the fog of your arousal clouds your judgement as you seek your climax.

That piece of your soul he took shatters into a million shards as you whisper, “I love you, Satoru.”

The two of you shatter simultaneously. You register all too late the warmth invading your core as Satoru pumps his cum deep inside you.

He’s never come in you before.

Your name is murmured over and over like a prayer against your neck—or maybe it’s a curse. You jolt in overstimulation when he pulls out and bends down to place a kiss against your puffy folds. “So good for me, baby. This perfect pussy belongs to me.”

He kisses you a final time, long and slow. When he pulls away, a languid smile sweeps across his features. “You’re all mine, (Y/n). Even your mind.”

With the use of your innate technique, you’ve dug your own grave for good. Satoru will never let you go now.

After all, infinity is indivisible.

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thespectralcottage · 9 months

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Witchcraft 101:

Cleansing vs Uncrossing vs Banishing

Alright witches. Lets dive into some witchy basics and discuss the differences between cleansing, uncrossing and banishing. This will hopefully help you differentiate between them. But.. lets be honestly if you do something like call a spell an uncrossing when "technically" doing a banishing, who cares its all in good spirit. The reason i think its good to have a difference in mind between these falls into how you handle a spell. If I'm doing an uncrossing vs a banishing i would choose different spell ingredients, maybe work with different gods, or choose a different element to work with.

Cleansing: I consider cleansings as the foundation and most basic of these. Its almost an umbrella term the other two fall under. All banishings are cleansings, but not all cleansings are a banishing. Cleansings are when you're trying clear something away. Most often people will use this term in day to day workings and general upkeep to make sure nothing has stuck to them. This would include more casual things like smoke cleansing, showering and asking the water to cleanse you, sound cleansing, etc. Its not a full spellworking or ritual, but still done with energy and intention. Sometimes you may do a cleansing and realize whatever is there, is stuck deeper then you expected. So you take the next steps and do a more "intense" cleansing like an uncrossing or banishing.

Uncrossing Spells: Uncrossing specifically refers to removing unwanted energy. Usually when discussing what is an uncrossing, I sperate it from just a cleansing by describing it as a very intense cleansing where you're trying to strip away intense and specific energy. These are more work and a step up from an everyday cleansing for more intense scenarios. This is very spirit focused; think of it as taking out the bad and putting in the good. Some types of spells I would consider an uncrossing are: removing hexes/jinx/curses, removing the evil eye, spiritual detoxes, road openers, removing any stubborn energy, removing feelings, etc. I associate uncrossings with water: it's soaking in and getting that energy out. I would choose herbs/spell ingredients that are uplifting and purifying. Think salt, rosemary, rue, and lemons.

Banishing Spells: Banishing spells remove unwanted entities, spirits or people. You can use it to get rid of very deep rooted things like habits or insecurities. Banishings are quite a strong forms of spellwork. You're really kicking something out and away from you when you do a banishing. Its connected to more deep rooted things that you're trying to remove from your life. Some types of spells I could consider a banishing: cord cutting, exorcisms, banishing a spirit attached to you, getting rid of insecurities, freezers, etc. I associate banishings with fire. Burn and gtfo. I would choose herbs that have more of a kick to them and are defensive. Think nettle, blackberry leaves, cloves, even pepper in some cases.

Please note this doesn't have to be something strict. Like i said at the beginning this is just a guide that will help you differentiate so you can tackle the spellwork as effectively as possible.

✨Stay Spooky ✨

#witchblr #pagan witch #witchcraft #witchythings #witch #the spectral cottage #spellwork #witch tips #Banishing #Cleansing #Uncrossing #Spell Tips #grimoire #book of shadows #witchy how to #baby witch #beginner friendly

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sorceresssundries · 2 months

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Of Pain and Pleasure

Warnings: Talk of chronic pain. Masturbation.

Length: 2.5k of self-indulgence.

Summary: A wizard cursed with a volatile, dark magic discovers that his growing sexual frustration is making the Netherese orb embedded in his chest more painful and unstable. How does he deal with this issue? By having a wank, obviously!

The once-charmed locket lay useless and stripped in the dew-damp grass. The usual feeling of relief—a fire smothered and a hunger sated—was absent. The Netherese flames still licked at him, his breathing not yet back to its natural rhythm, and his ribs felt as though they were stretched and warped around something too big for them to hold. They were. The pain was too big for his flimsy mortal bones to contain.

Panic began to mix with the dull, pulsing ache, making it worse. Any kind of spiral, any desperate feeling that tightened his chest, slipped down into the relentless pit and antagonised the gluttonous curse that was settled there. The tendrils of the orb had not only marked his skin but coiled their way around his nerves, fraying and gnawing. They wrapped around him so intently that he could no longer tell which hunger was his and which belonged to the orb.

Count, he thought to himself between audible, struggling breaths. You have to count.

He imagined climbing the stairs of the tower, with morning light spilling over the walls as Tara’s soft pawprints padded along beside him. One step at a time.

He imagined picking up a book he had the luxury of lazily savouring by the fire on a rainy day, feeling the thrum of pages against his fingers, counting each one until he found where he left off. One page at a time.

He counted the times Tav had touched him. Seventeen. There had been seventeen touches. The last time was when she had taken his hand for no other reason than that she thought he needed it. He had. He always needed it. He had wanted to raise her hand to his lips and brush his mouth against her bloodied knuckles. He craved her touch like a bare branch craves spring.

The yawning ache stretched itself out again, threatening him, pressing the jagged edges against his lungs until each breath felt like it would split him open.

Okay… bad… not helping.

At first, he had been confused - he had spent over a year in his tower absorbing slivers of weave from various magical items, and it had been enough. He could live a relatively normal, albeit isolated, life. The pain would arrive every now again like a familiar stranger and he would be able to keep it at bay, there were rules it obeyed and patterns it followed.

Then he met Tav...

He thought of her smile, and another flame licked at his insides. The realisation struck him like a blow: it was his hunger for Tav that was making the orb unstable. His discontent, his desperation for her, was becoming dangerous. The orb’s power wasn’t growing stronger—his resolve was crumbling. The barriers he had erected to contain the orb’s influence were weakening. His control was slipping through his fingers, and the terrifying truth was that he didn’t know how to stop it.

He hurt pretty much all the time now, but the greatest ache of all was from not touching Tav the way he wanted to. The ache of not peeling each piece of her sweat-soaked, blood-spattered clothes from her and kissing his way across every inch of her skin. He wanted to find each and every scar that flecked her skin, pale and iridescent like the inside of a salt-licked seashell. He wanted to lose himself in each hidden, secret place. The restraint of keeping himself from her was becoming too tight, too choking. His desperation stoked the already barely contained fire within him, threatening to burn him from the inside out, reducing him to nothing more than flecks of weave-tainted ash—and a crater the size of a city.

A few hours ago, with the dregs of adrenaline from a fierce fight still swirling through their systems, she had removed her shirt in front of him. and used it to wipe sweat and blood from her skin before dunking it in the river to clean. She had caught him staring at her, topless and unabashed. Why should she care? They were soldiers, not etiquette-bound nobles. But gods, the sight of her… Another wave of pain rocked him.

Something would have to be done.

He managed to stumble his way back to his tent without attracting any attention. It was late, and most were still in bed or out hunting. The camp was quiet, the darkness a blanket that shielded him from prying eyes. Once inside, he collapsed onto his bedroll, finally giving the pain the attention it craved. Instead of pushing it down as he usually did, he let himself sink into it, hoping that by opening the door and inviting it in, the pain would take up residence for a while and then, having exhausted its welcome, eventually leave. It was a gamble, a desperate hope that by embracing the torment, he could somehow hasten its departure. But it didn’t seem to work. His thoughts kept drifting back to Tav, and his need for her was an ember that kept the pain simmering and spitting.

He lay there, hurting, and considered his options.

He could leave and eradicate the threat of harming everyone around him. But what would come first—the orb detonating or ceremorphosis? He couldn’t risk becoming a mind flayer with all that raw, destructive power nestled within him, waiting to be unleashed. God knows what kind of monster he would become, what horrors he might commit with such power at his disposal.

He could tell her? What if he confessed how much he wanted her, how every time he heard her laugh it was like a wave of pleasure sinking under his skin and rolling down his spine? She would be kind about it, he was certain. But would it be more painful to be open with his feelings and have them unreciprocated? To be both desperate and embarrassed? That could make things worse, he realised with a painful twinge. He could become the wizard who literally blew up from rejection. Not exactly how he imagined his legacy.

But what if she wanted him too? What if those moments when he felt her eyes on him were not from judgement, but from desire? He thought back to the magic lesson they had shared. It wasn’t what he had expected—just a few minutes where her scent and the sound of her rapid breathing danced in the air alongside the weave. Two opposing forces mingling and crackling around him, skimming across his skin in electrifying waves. Threads and caresses of purple and green, the scent of rosewater mingling with the spiced cinnamon that filled his lungs like warm cider on a cold midwinter night in Waterdeep. He had wanted to reach out, to slot his aching, starved fingers between hers. He wanted to feel warm again, to be warmed in the way only another person could offer.

Then, an image of a kiss slipped into his thoughts—simple and electric. She was thinking of kissing him, and he could almost feel the feather-light brush of her lips against his. The thought of kissing her back, of letting their fantasies intertwine so vividly that it was impossible to tell who was leading, filled him with a desperate longing. But as the desire for it to go further awoke within him, so did the pain. Doubts crept in, whispering that it was nothing more than a fleeting moment, two people getting carried away.

The magic extinguished, the weave unravelled, and the sweetness died.

“How easily things slip away from us,” he had lamented, before bidding her goodnight and leaving in pain and embarrassment.

Now, he sighed as he thought of all the ways he wanted to touch her. His hand lay flat against the skin of his abdomen, and he closed his eyes, trying to imagine that the weight and warmth of his hand were hers.

Every time she offered him a smile, he ached to kiss it, to taste the joy that bubbled up from within her. Yes, she was beautiful, with hips that swayed like music and eyes that contained entire universes, but it was her mind that truly captivated him. The quick, sharp bite of her wit, the effortless way she dispensed kindness… It wasn’t just that he wanted to touch her—Gods, how he wanted to touch her—but he longed to know her, completely.

The pain blazed and the orb glowed in warning, but… perhaps… if he were slow and cautious…

The ache of his erection was tormenting him. It had been so long since he had pleasured himself, since he had even allowed himself to consider it... His need had been buried under layers of control and discipline, suppressed by the fear of what might happen if he let go. But now, that control was slipping, overshadowed by his longing for her. He wondered if indulging, even for just a moment, might offer some relief—even if only briefly.

He settled himself, letting out a slow, measured breath as his fingers traced across the soft skin of his navel, following the line of dark hair down to where he was rock hard. At first, he held himself gently, the sensation unfamiliar and almost foreign after so long. But it wasn’t long before the softness gave way to urgency, his hand gripping more tightly as he began to move his hips into his own grasp. The thought of Tav pleasuring him like this was too delicious to be subtle, and the fantasy burned bright in his mind.

He imagined drawing sounds from her that no one else had ever heard, sounds she herself didn’t even know she was capable of making. The thought of it sent shivers down his spine. and he began to stroke himself faster as he envisioned her losing herself to the waves of pleasure he would bring. Her taut, practised muscles losing control as they wrapped around his head, her body writhing with each flick of his tongue.

In his fantasy, he saw himself having to be more and more forceful to keep her still, his hands gripping her hips as his tongue pressed and stroked, building her up only to make her fall apart. He wanted to unravel her, to take her to heights she had never imagined. He audibly moaned as he imagined the sounds she would make, the way her body would respond to his touch. The thought of her yielding to him, of her body quaking with ecstasy, was almost more than he could bear.

He stopped himself before he came, not wanting the fantasy to end. He was desperately close, and already leaking. He wanted to make the most of this time with Tav, even if it was only in his own head. The pain was still there, but he paid it very little attention.

It had been such a long time since he had luxuriated in the raw, primal pleasures of mortal sexuality with another person—the slick sheen of sweat on skin, the burn of stretched muscles, the sound of uncontrollable lust released in ragged, blissed-out breaths. Yes, the merging of souls and the celestial sharing of pleasure was an experience beyond compare, a union that transcended the physical, but it never quite sated the hunger that still burned within him, a hunger that was flesh-bound and raw. He was a chosen, a prodigy of magic, an illusionist of unparalleled skill. He could bend reality to his will and conjure wonders from thin air. But, he was also a man. A man who now lay in the dark solitude of his tent, his hand wrapped tightly around his hard, leaking cock, aching for the very human experience of sinking into Tav’s eager cunt.

His breath quickened as he stroked himself again, and In the quiet darkness of the tent, he surrendered to the fantasy, his mind painting vivid images of Tav’s body arching beneath him, her legs wrapped around his waist, her fingers digging into his back as he thrust into her with a fervour that bordered on desperation. He could almost taste the salt of her skin, almost feel the quiver of her thighs as she reached the peak of her pleasure.

He was a master of illusions, but this—this was no illusion. It was a deep, salacious desire that nothing could dispel. And as he lay there, his hand moving faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps, he knew that no amount of magic could satisfy the longing he felt for her. He needed her in a way that was as ancient and undeniable as the stars themselves.

As his pleasure built, his pain receded. It was becoming nothing more than a background pulse to the roar of his fantasy. Nothing else mattered at that moment. All he knew was Tav. He lost himself, letting himself be carried away to another place, where pleasure eclipsed pain, and desire became the only reality.

He was the orb, and her touch were the slivers of magic he needed to keep himself together.

He imagined her gasping out his name in pure, undiluted pleasure and it sent him crashing over the precipice. He choked out breaths as he came, imagining he was spilling inside her cunt or down her throat.

He lay there, spent and mellow in his post-orgasmic state, waiting for the inevitable return of the pain. He braced himself, expecting the familiar surge of agony to claw its way back, to push into his ribs and split him apart once more. But... it didn’t. The hurt was still there, a steady throb beneath his skin, but it was different now—muted, like a muffled voice through a wall rather than the blaring, all-consuming force it had been.

He exhaled, more content now that he had allowed himself some release. The tension that had coiled so tightly within him had eased, and even the orb seemed to sense his momentary peace, its energy dimming as if it, too, had curled up for the night.

"Oh Gods," he thought, the embarrassment flooding in like a tide. He turned over, pressing his face into his pillow, his cheeks burning with shame. Was this really what it would take to keep the pain at bay?

An orgasm?! Was that the solution he had been desperately seeking? The idea was almost too absurd to entertain, yet the evidence lay in the calm that now settled over him. He couldn’t allow this to be the answer.

An alternative had to be found, and quickly.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #gale dekarios #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #gale fanfiction #Gale NSFT

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gyusimp · 3 months

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I can't get over the idea of full on pussydrunk gyutaro like him being so whiney as he does it maybe that for a request:))

°•Pvssydrunk Gyutarō headcanons

⚠️WARNINGS: NSFW | MINORS DNI! | 0r4l s3x | Fingering

You had been busy lately, work and other things to do had consumed almost all of your time making your demon boyfriend get in a bad mood every time he came home and found you doing your chores of any kind.

The man grunted with reluctance every time you told him that you had to do something important and he ended up angrily returning to his sister and locking himself inside her for the rest of the night.

You apologized to Gyutaro many times but without caring that he always ended up angry. You promised him that you would make it up to him in a good way, however he wanted, and that led you two to tonight, right now. It had been a while, your thighs were burning and your waist was starting to tingle.

You had lost count of how long you had left your legs spread, letting Gyutaro bury his face in between them. It had been over an hour judging by the slight pains in your body. You stood on your arms on your futon and looked down to see Gyutaro who didn't seem to have any intention of stopping so you simply turned back to your spot and frowned at the sensation in your core.

"Ah-aah Gyutaro- are you going to finish yet?" You asked, your voice fragile.

You didn't want it to end because it was uncomfortable or you didn't like it, but a lot of time had passed and your body was beginning to ache and a heavy feeling invaded you. Gyutaro didn't say anything, he just looked up at you and continued doing his thing.

You couldn't take it anymore. You could feel your body damp with sweat, your legs trembling under your boyfriend's grip from being in the same position for too long, your entire cunt was wet and hot from Gyutaro's saliva, seeping into each of your folds every time. His tongue caressed your entire slit.

You could swear your clit was swollen from so much overstimulation and felt more sensitive than before making you squirm at the slightest movement of his lips.

Your moans filled the room as you moved your waist and tried to make the wet feeling of his tongue more pleasurable and maybe cum again. Your mind was empty until you heard more moans between your thighs, moans and whimpers from Gyutaro.

You leaned down to see him and sure enough, his voice trembled between your legs, saying incomprehensible praises to you and half-hearted curses into the air while he tasted you. His eyes were half open without taking an inch away from you, you could see the red painting his face and some tears threatening to salt the corners of his eyes while the sweat made the messy strands of his bangs stick to his forehead.

"G-Gyu-aah! Mmhh are you okay?"

An obscene snap sounded from between your legs as Gyutaro removed his lips from yours and looked at you. His gaze was lustful but somewhat lost, giving you the impression as if he were drunk, drunk on your taste.

"Oh babe, you're so fucking addictive...you're like a fucking drug to me..." His voice was raspy and shaky, his lascivious smile tilted sideways across his face and his sharp teeth were licked by his tongue to leave inside from his mouth every drop he had tasted of you. "You said you would make it up to me, now shut your mouth and spread your legs for me."

Saying this, Gyutaro lowered his hand towards you, introducing two of his fingers, making you arch your back along with a deep and loud moan that indicated your surprise.

You felt Gyutaro's fingers move inside you causing wet sounds as his big, thick thumb rested on your clit to press and move against your skin causing shivers to run through your body. You started moving towards him again, making his hand slide deeper and deeper into you listening to all kinds of dirty things he had to say to you until it was all too much and you cum on his hand for the fourth time in the night. Gyutaro's fingers immediately left you and he brought them to his mouth so as not to waste a single ounce of your release.

He opened your legs again and traced a line up and down with his tongue all over your cunt, completely licking your squirt in every corner. His lips sucked on your clit and his fingers finished overstimulating you until full of your flavor he dropped onto one of your thighs while he lazily kissed your skin and his fingers gently caressed your pussy.

#gyutaro x reader #gyutaro shabana #gyutaro #gyutaro smut #kny smut #demon slayer smut #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba

469 notes · View notes

gretavanmoon · 3 months

Text

S A L T Y

Jake x female reader

4.8k words

+ After indulging in a shared stamina-boosting treat in the dead of summer, you find yourself twisted up in a silly argument that's laced with jealousy... the salt is heavy in more ways than one with this one.

Happy Fourth of July! Keep this in your back pocket for your post-firework bedtime story. Gracias to @gretavangroupie for edits and forcing me to post this love yaaaaa

Warnings: 18+! Angst: Cursing, Substance Use in the form of Aphrodisia, Arguing, Mentions of Alcohol, Heavy Jealousy & Possessiveness, Overall Bossiness Smut: Kissing, Touching, Penetrative Sex, Unprotected Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex (M! and F! Receiving), Dom/Sub kinda

“Son of a bitch, if we keep it up like this I’m not gonna have anything left in me, baby,” Jake admits as he removes his right foot from the arm of the couch, the other standing weakly on the floor, barely holding his weight. Your body is bent in half, your arms holding you uncomfortably upright as he pulls out from behind you, hands still gripped and squeezing tightly around your waist.

You and Jake had made the early afternoon decision to each eat a special pleasure-boosting chocolate that you’d been told about by a friend a few months ago, and saying that the effects always took perfectly for the both of you would be an understatement. Just one serving would have the two of you ravenous for each other for hours on end, and seeing as how neither of you had anything to do for the rest of the day, it only seemed right to end the weekend on a high note. It was only after you’d both eaten the chocolate and after you figured out that your air conditioning had decided to go out that you told Jake about your plans for next weekend, thus sending him into a pissed-off mood that was borderline a thrown tantrum. But you accounted his mood to the extra blood flow the chemicals in the chocolate had given him going straight to his dick, leaving little for his brain to process thoughts.

“Hah, look at you calling me baby, after bitching at me all day,” you quip, turning to meet eyes with him as you stand up straight again, the feeling of your own wetness sliding between your thighs. Your muscles already feel weak as you turn to plop back down on the plush cushions of the couch, careful not to drip anything on your freshly washed covers.

He instantly falls to his knees, growling as he grabs the insides of both of your legs to pull you closer to the edge of the couch. His mouth is instantly connected to your core, his tongue already burying itself deep inside your deepest crevices. You’re both groaning from near exhaustion, willing your bodies to keep up with your desire.

“I can bitch at you and still call you baby, Y/N. Not my fault you said yes to a date with someone else without my permission,” he barks before diving back between your legs.

Your hands smooth back the strands of hair sticking to his forehead, pulling them away from his face as you bite both your lips in, finding it insanely difficult to stop yourself from wailing his name so loudly you disturb the neighbors. He’s being facetious and you know that, but his attitude makes it all the more challenging to not give in to him completely. You love it when he gets a little jealous.

Instead of yelling at him, you bite a quick “fuck me” through your tightly clenched teeth, hoping to god he doesn’t hear you. His brow furrows as he makes eye contact with you, a maddening expression painted on his sweat-coated face that you’re sure is only there simply for the sake of playing dumb. “Are you just raving, or is that a request?” he growls as he pulls away just long enough to breathe his words out.

“Neither, asshole,” you lightly tap your fingertips to the side of his temple, knocking him sideways as he presses your legs apart, giving him further access to work you. He likes it. He gets off on you being playfully scornful to him. He cracks a short-lived but devious smile before turning back into his whiney self.

You take a quick breath, ready to explain yourself again. “And it’s not a date, it’s drinks. With my co-workers. How in the– aahhh, fuckkkk– how in the fuck is that a date?” Your eyes begin to roll back a little as he points his tongue directly over your clit, arrogantly knowing exactly what makes you fall apart for him.

He pulls his head back with a hiss, making you disconnect your hands from his roots as he eyes you meticulously. He licks his lips, your slick still coating the 5 o’clock shadow that’s now adorning his face after going at it with you all day. His eyes never leave yours as he plunges his two middle fingers inside you, pushing his other hand against the inside of your left thigh. “How is it not a date, baby? Don’t be fucking coy. You dated the man.”

You groan in aggravation as he pisses you off even more, still pinning your leg to the side as his fingers work inside you, hitting your g-spot with so much fucking ease you want to slap him again. “I went on two dates with him! That hardly qualifies as dating, Jacob,” you retort as he flicks his fingers with more precision. Your head falls back again, the pleasure coming in rippling waves now as you feel your stomach tightening. “Plus, he’s my manager… invited everyone… how am I supposed to say no to that?”

The air shifts a little as he loudly clicks his tongue.

“Did you ever fuck him?” he asks quickly, sitting back on his heels as he completely halts all movement of his hand.

“What?”

He leans in, hovering over your belly as his face is dangerously close to yours, his fingers still buried deep but staying completely still. “Did… you…ever… fuck him? Simple question, love.”

You swallow, not expecting the conversation to even go here, let alone while you’re literally fucking him.

Your eyes dart side to side, the blurry memories of sleeping with the man who is now your boss those some ten-odd years ago flashing through your mind. That was a lifetime ago, you were barely in college a few weeks. And it was two dates and a hookup before the two of you decided to just stay friends, and that was that. You’d only seen him in passing a handful of times over the years, but to be quite honest, after sleeping with him, he barely ever even crossed your mind.

You swallow again as Jake’s eyebrows raise, waiting for you to answer. He shoves his fingers deeper inside you to remind you that he asked a question, making you clench around him. “Fuck! Yes, okay? Yes. We slept together one time, Jake. Once. And it was ten fucking years ago.”

He stays silent as he bites his lip in, a rush of what looks like disappointment crashing over his face for just a second. He slowly picks up the pace again, delving his fingers inside at a much slower pace, now.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he mumbles, still biting his lips. You can tell that your admission has defeated him just a little.

“Tell you what? That I hooked up with him once? Probably because it feels like it was a figment of my imagination, at this point. I was eighteen. Why does it matter?” you ask, wondering if he’s really upset, or if he’s just pouting at the fact that you left this little detail out about this certain person you work with.

“He’s your fucking manager, Y/N, I don’t know…” he says, shaking his head side to side. You can see the sweat starting to form on his chest, the drips starting to form into a stream that is dripping down to his stomach. You could feel the heat of the day starting to creep into the walls now that the A/C has been out for a few hours, and the sun practically baking everything it touches outside isn’t helping in the matter. But there’s nothing you can do about it right now, the both of you will just have to suffer until the chocolate wears off and you can act like humans instead of rabid animals.

You stay quiet as you feel the knot tightening in your stomach again, wanting him to continue so you can reach your high, but also feeling the heavy shift in the conversation. You glance at the sweat pouring from him, and some kind of carnal instinct to want to taste it takes over your entire being. You suddenly need your mouth on him. You need to lick up every droplet of sweat that’s rushing down his body, and swallow it down. Taking matters into your own hands, you grab his wrist and rip his hand from you, standing up as you pull him to his feet. The soreness sets in again, having been in nearly every position in the Kama Sutra already today.

You pull on his hands, making him follow you into the bedroom. “What are you doing, Y/N?” he asks, trailing behind.

“Come in here, come lay down,” you order, turning him to push him down into the already messy sheets. Luckily, there’s a fan in here, giving the two of you a little reprieve as the heat fills the house. You watch as his tanned body falls backwards into the stark white sheets, his hair falling behind him as he reclines. His skin is glowing, his eyes trained on you, watching your every move as you crawl up him, purposefully snaking your body so that he has a visual of every single curve of your sweat-covered self.

You lean down, outstretching your tongue and touching his navel, working your way up his stomach and to his chest, collecting the deliciously salty taste of him on your tongue. There’s something about it, the flavor and the scent and the way he feels beneath you… it’s not the most pleasant, but you’re positive nothing on this earth tastes or smells more like home to you. You’d always read about how animals are attracted to their mates’ scent, and you never understood how it could apply to humans, too, until you became serious with Jake. It’s something that’s just wired into your brain now, and the longer you’re together, the more you find yourself craving it. Craving him.

“I’m sweaty and gross, babe,” he complains as he leans up and twists his hair into a knot behind his head, remnant baby hairs still sticking to and framing his face.

“You think I care? You taste so good… like you just got out of the ocean…” you say honestly, making him laugh a little through his nose. You run your tongue all over him, his sides, his groin, his pecs and his neck… each place tasting better than the last, and each spot making him absolutely feral at the feeling of your mouth on him. His light moans of bliss fill the room as his hands search for any part of you he can grab on to, his eyes fluttering open and closed as you watch his face light up.

You can tell he’s getting hard again as you let your lips lightly ghost over his shaft, the chocolate still putting in work in keeping him turned on. Finally, you find yourself starving for him again, too, letting your lips cup over the head of his dick as you give it one tight little squeeze.

“Please baby, fuck…” he grunts, his knees bending up and around your body. One thing about the way this chocolate works is that it amplifies everything, making every brush, every touch, every sensation amplified by a hundred. You have already had your mouth on him a couple of times today, but you can imagine how he feels simply from your experience with his mouth on you earlier, begging and wanting and needing the feeling so desperately. Absolutely bursting at the seams to experience the euphoria.

You move your body to straddle him, letting your already completely soaked core drift over his cock, ready and waiting to fill you again.

“Don’t think I forgot about the conversation we were having, Jake,” you tease as you position your knees firmly on either side of him. He fills his cheeks and blows out a long puff of air, his hand hitting his forehead to wipe away the sheen of sweat.

“I don’t remember us having a conversation, Y/N, but I remember me expressing to you that I’m not happy with this arrangement,” he says, smirking at you a little while he runs his tongue along his teeth. “You fucked him! And you work with him! And you never even told me!” he all but yells.

You let your opening line up with his tip, letting yourself fall on to it just an inch or so. Your body was begging you to sit all the way down, the fire burning within your veins way past its boiling point. But you held strong.

“You think I fucked him, Jake?” you ask, swirling your hips gently on him.

He tries his best to stifle his words, but he comes up short. “Oh my god, baby, you feel so– please…” he begs, his jaw falling slack just from the tiny touch. His eyes pop open and look at you, his expression absolutely pleading for more. “Yeah, you told me you did…”

You pause, letting the heavy air hang for just a second as you laugh a little under your breath. You shake your head side to side at his naivety, wondering just how he thought the situation went down all those years ago. “I didn’t fuck him,” you answer, letting yourself fall another inch as your fingertips pause on his stomach. “I was eighteen, I didn’t even know what fucking was…” you purr, swirling on him again.

His chest is heaving with want, his growls now turned into desperate whimpers as he’s doing anything but begging you to let him fill you. You know that if things were normal, and if the two of you weren’t caught up in this childish back-and-forth, he’d be on his hands and knees for you, falling to the floor at your every whim. His hips buck up into you, but you rise on your knees, not allowing him to have any control over the matter.

“But you… you and me… this…” you go on as you sit back down, giving yourself centimeters. “I didn’t know what I was even missing, until I found you…” you admit. “No one has ever made me feel like you do.”

He takes a deep breath, centering himself. “None? None of them?” His hand sneaks up and presses a thumb to your clit, adding just enough pressure to make your breath catch.

You shake your head side to side again, as you’re almost seated to the hilt, the feeling of him filling you again already making your body shudder. “No baby, none of them. So you can cut the pissy attitude, or I’m hopping off of you, and taking care of myself.” With that, you sit down completely on him, your bodies finally resting together as you feel the tip of him buried as far as he could get.

“Ffffuckk, Y/N, god damnit, yes,” Jake howls into the room as his thumb still works your clit, his other hand rushing up to grip onto your hip. But you steady your movements. Though your body is burning for you to move, you want to give him the same lack of satisfaction he gave you earlier. But just for a second.

“Answer me, am I going to have to take care of myself, Jake? Or are you going to quit being salty over something that doesn’t fucking matter and let me fuck you how I want?”

You know the situation matters to him. And you’ll validate that later. But not right now. Right now it’s fueling too much angst and you’re having too much fun.

His grip on your hip tightens so hard that it almost hurts, his fingernails digging into the thick muscle there. You’re fully aware that both of you can get turned on from dirty talk alone, and the chocolate is only exaggerating the feeling. Your brain is buzzing with electricity from it. You love when he gets a little rough. He can tell that your body responds to the little bit of pain, and like a switch flipped in his brain, he lets it turn on all his lights. Suddenly both his hands are on your hips, switching the places of both of you in one swift movement. Your body is pressed against the mattress, your shoulders being held down as he hovers overtop of you. “How about you let me fuck you how I want, hm? How’s that sound?” he challenges with an air of greed.

Like a petty little pet, you nod your head, completely losing the war of being the one calling the shots the second he squeezes your clit between his thumb and forefinger. The sensation almost kills you, cuts off your ability to breathe altogether as he begins pulsing his fingers quickly, causing the desire to pool up in your belly all over again. He’s never really concentrated his fingers this pointedly before; usually his hands are grabbing and squeezing wherever they can. But with the most sensitive part of your body being held so tightly and at the mercy of his fingers, you feel completely at his will. “How about I show you exactly why you choose to stick around, and you’ll keep choosing it, no matter how many dates you go on with your boss.”

“God, give it up, Jake,” you complain, rolling your eyes dramatically as his movements set your whole body on fire again.

You’ve barely gotten the words out before his other hand is braced across your neck, applying just the right amount of pressure to your pulse points. You want to swallow, but you can’t, all you can do is let out a pitiful whine that sounds more like a choked sob than a moan. His other two fingers are still gripped on your clit as he balances on his knees, his eyes laser sharp as the sweat continues to drip from his chest.

“Give it up? Give it up?! Baby, you’re being awfully bossy for someone who is in the wrong, here. And for someone who’s acting so bratty today,” he says, his voice sounding gentler than the words he’s spouting. “Tell me you won’t go to the bar with them. Tell me you’ll back out of the plans.”

Deep down, you know Jake doesn’t give a fuck who you hang out with. You’re both comfortable enough in your relationship that trust is paramount, and neither of you have ever tested it. He trusts you, and you him to come home to one another every night, never straying or giving the other a reason to be suspicious about anything at all.

He squeezes a little harder on your throat, sending a shockwave of pleasure straight to your core as his eyebrows shoot up.

“Come with me. Come out with us. You haven’t met them yet, anyway… come let them see that I’m yours, we don’t even have to tell them. We can show them…” you suggest, honestly liking this idea way more. His grip on your throat loosens as bit as he contemplates the idea.

“Show them, hm?” Finally he nods, giving in to your suggestion. “Okay, yeah, I’ll show up…”

You nod back at him as you give him the tiniest smirk, bringing your own hand up to cup over his, squeezing his fingers a little tighter on you. “What’s with you today, huh? Testing me every five minutes…” he asks. His teeth grit against one another as the wind from the fan hits the back of his head just right, blowing his damp hair over his face as he lets go of his grip between your legs, adjusting his body so that he’s positioned perfectly above you again. His hand moves from your throat straight down to your tit, gripping the whole thing roughly as he takes his dick in his hand, running it up through your wetness. The sensation is enough to floor you, every single atom in your body on fire and wanting to feel him completely.

Your hands find his waist, pulling him into you with everything you have, your legs already wrapping around him. “Stop making me fucking wait Jake,” you spout. “I’ll stop bitching, I promise, just please…”

“Oh now you wanna back down…? Not like I haven’t gotten you off three times already today…”

“You’re the one who’s been fucking bitching like a teenager all damn day! God…” you rouse, knowing that your voice is probably grating on his nerves right now. He presses himself harder against you, daring you to say another word.

“Watch your mouth,” he warns, still holding himself in his hand. You can feel his pulse throbbing in the head of his dick as it presses up against you, and you know if you say another cross word, you’re in for it.

“And what if I don’t?” you press, sounding as prissy as you possibly can.

He taunts you with the same ultimatum that you gave him earlier, “Then I’ll just have to go and take care of myself, I guess… and leave you here unsatisfied. Your mouth has been nothing but aggravating today, Y/N, I swear to god…”

You roll your eyes at him, knowing he most definitely hasn’t forgotten about your lips sucking at him for nearly an hour today, if you added it all up.

“Will you just fuck me, Jake? I’ll keep my mouth shut if you shut yours…” you spout as you feel your core drip down onto the sheets.

“Is that a fucking promise?” he asks, cocking both eyebrows.

“Swear.”

Like a wild animal that can no longer control it’s instinct, he presses all the way into you, stifling all the noises that you know he wants to make. His body lurches to hover over you as he picks up a slow pace, his hips cracking with extreme precision as his thighs smack against the backs of your legs. “God, you get on my fucking nerves,” he jests through his teeth.

“Mutual,” you say quickly, jutting your chin upward.

Your throat is burning with rage as you stop yourself from crying out, only tiny breaths of whimpers escaping as you hold your side of the quiet bargain. His eyes are dark and devious as his hips snap harder, hitting you more deeply than he has all day. Your vision blurs into a deep black with each thrust, the pleasure threatening to make you go nonverbal, anyway.

An especially harsh breath falls from you as he bends your leg up, hitting you even deeper and at a new angle. He brings his left hand up to his mouth, pressing his pointer finger gently over his lips with a hushed ‘Shhh’.

Your hand flies up and cups around your mouth as you follow his order, ceasing all sounds that could possibly escape you. His eyes stay trained on you as his hair falls across his face and yours, his scent wafting across your nose as you take in chopped breaths through it. You force your eyes closed as the pleasure builds in your stomach, the familiar feeling of the beginning of another delicious orgasm overtaking your psyche. It burns, the threat of overstimulation creeping up in your insides, but you ignore it simply for the fact that you are going to feel him so wholly again, letting him bring you to the brink of no return for the third, fourth, fifth… whatever time it will be today.

Suddenly you feel his lips on the shell of your ear, his teeth biting in as he whispers. “I’ll go on your little work outing with you, but if I’m gonna endure being around a man who’s already fucked you, you’ll do things to my liking, got it?” he asks, and you know better than to say no right now. Your stomach muscles are tightening, jerking your body as the bliss builds up, so you nod in agreement as your hand is still clamped over your mouth. “You’ll wear that low-cut top with the lace straps that I like so much… and that black leather skirt that cuts at your thigh… wear my favorite perfume, and that pretty little necklace I got you for your birthday. Sound good, babydoll?”

You nod again as his teeth pull on your earlobe, his voice low and gravelly, still. “Good. Then it’s settled. Then everyone will see how tantalizing you look outside of your work clothes, and they won’t be able to do a goddamned thing about it… they won’t be able to touch you… They’ll just have to admire you from afar while I tease you under the table…” his hand ghosts down and his thumb finds your clit again, making your eyes shoot closed and your head tilt back into the pillows. Fuck, if he doesn’t always manage to win these things. And you know he isn’t lying, either. You know your entire work outing will be full of his hands secretly snaking between your legs under any table you’re sitting at, his hand gripping your ass at every turn, his eyes staring daggers through you from across the room…begging you to sneak with him into the bathroom.

You know how the game is played, and somehow, he always fucking wins whether you want him to or not. What you don’t know though, is that he thinks the exact same thing of you. You winning him over with the way you feel wrapped around him, your body drenched and buzzing beneath him. He always wins, even when he doesn’t.

“You gonna cum, baby? Let me have it one more time?” he asks, his hand now pressing down on your stomach where he can feel himself entering you with each pointed thrust he’s still delivering.

“Mhmm…” you moan into his neck, his mouth still sucking hard on your ear and everything surrounding it.

“You’re mine… all mine… no one else’s… give me what I want, baby,” he gloats, and his possessive words send a slow shockwave through your body, the rippling effects of the most intense orgasm you’ve had today sending your mind into a noiseless world of white light. All you can feel is him, all you can think about is him… and when you finally catch your breath and let your hand fall to the back of his neck, your pitiful moan on the come-down reverberates off the walls, sending him to finish right behind you.

When his breath finally evens enough to come back to earth, his body collapses on top of you, completely spent as he pulls himself out of you. You lean down to kiss his neck, his skin still coated in that sweet-salty goodness that is enough to get you going again, but you relax, feeling the effects of the chocolate beginning to slowly wear off.

He flips his head around to face you as you both lie face-down on the bed, and a smile that you haven’t seen all day sweeps across his pink, pouted lips. “Do I still taste like the ocean?”

You let your fingertips tousle the hair around his face, drenched and sticky. “Better than the ocean. You taste like you.”

His cheeks blush as his demeanor completely shifts into softness. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah baby, I know,” you reply with sincerity.

“And you don’t have to wear all that stuff to the bar. You’ll look beautiful in whatever you choose. You could turn heads in a burlap sack.”

You giggle as you pull his hand up to your lips, kissing his palm. “But what if I want to wear all that? What if I want you to tease me all night, make my boss even more jealous than he probably already is?” you press.

“Then it’s a no brainer. Do it up, baby. I trust you,” he says with confidence.

“Maybe I will,” you reply, taking a deep breath. “Not pissy anymore now that I gave you what you wanted?”

He smiles coyly, snaking one arm underneath you to pull you on top of him again. “Nah. No more bitching from me. I think I was about to have a heat stroke.” His hands are ghosting all over your body again, but not in a wanting way. His fingertips drift over your curves as if he’s adoring the body that is sitting over him. Simply taking the time to appreciate you.

“Me too,” you giggle, and you know that the festivities for the day have most likely reached their bittersweet end. “I’ll go start us a cold shower while you call the landlord, sound like a plan?” you ask, holding your hand up as you await a high-five.

“Deal,” he says, clapping his hand to yours. “But you can’t try and seduce me in the shower, I don’t think I have anything left in me. You’ve drained me dry, girl.”

You laugh through your nose as you hop into the floor, rushing off to the bathroom. “We’ll see about that.”

xoxoxo Jules

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328 notes · View notes

spurbleu · 3 months

Text

mouth, reprieves ♛︎

[ken sato x afab reader]

S. Ken Sato is a bitter loser. And you are patient- if not a little giving.

warnings: mdni, blowjob

word count: 2k

࿓༚︎︎‧⁎︎✳︎⁎︎‧︎༚︎࿓︎

A pity bloated between your lungs.

The loss wasn’t significant, only by a point. But you supposed that’s what made it sting - the stain of ‘so close’ and ‘almost’ near wicked in the grooves of the bat hold, or the home plate- plastic patched in rifts of dust and dirt (hard to swallow, all of it). Its grief was visible- slumped shoulders and buckling knees stuck to the grime on their uniforms, the announcer’s voice coming in- static and lame.

“And that is a wrap for the Giants 3rd game of the season. First loss this year- what does it mean for the future?”

It rattled the stadium- the echoing disappointment. It folded in the gaps of the chairs, salting the air in a bitter, frustrated sigh. You were unsure if you wanted to join the chorus or curse it.

The memories seeped through- distinct. The pull of his lips when they met yours. The twitch of his knuckles when he held his liquor. His light heels after his last physical therapy session (when magnified- wings. Stamped on the bone of his ankle- fluttering- impatient). The thrum of his snore, thick with anticipation- and expectations (never met).

Kenji’s first game of the season- a loss.

You didn’t take the frigidity personally. You knew the clouds in his iris, the roll of thunder from the back of his throat and off his tongue, was just an indication he cared. The breakage of his indifference, esteem cracking through its steel walls. He had learned to remove blame from his teammates- but as a result the weight on the breadth of his own shoulders grew immense.

It simmered- his insecurities. Boiling beneath the thin patches of skin where he slid on his knees- tender and spiteful. Drives home were borderline silent, aside from the heavy breath against his philtrum and the shifting of his shirt as you rubbed the tense muscles connecting his shoulders. Sometimes, it felt like talking to a wall- resistant to reassurance- as if the letters in ‘you did just fine’ and ‘I’m proud of you’ were venomous (fearful of the gentleness in cyanide).

But it was how he was. Equally as accepting of praise as he was averse to it. A paradox at home base.

You stood on the balls of your feet, swallowing dry air in timid gulps, watching the entrance to the locker room doors. Other wives and girlfriends- some children- and family members stood there in tense guilt- hands itching to embrace the men in a hug that promise ‘next time’.

Eventually, the belly of the stadium spit the players out, slick in its drooly chagrin.

There was a drop to the regular sharpness of his cheeks, ending at the base of his lips- dry and cracked. His hair stuck to his forehead- wet with outlines from the notches of his helmet- which was tucked under his arm (it looked more like a burden than a prize- its frequent glimmer dimmed by dust). The valley under his eyes a depressing shade of plum- his eyes dimmer yet festering.

But it was his brows that exposed the loss of immunity. Pleats in the center of his face, furrowing so low, that if you weren’t close enough, they would have looked joint with the shadow they caused.

When he found you amongst the hushed comfort, the rigidity in his shoulders collapsed into a softer word, striding towards you like a kid who broke a window (baseball myth, but maybe you’ll let him live in it for now).

“H-“

He curled into in gap of your shoulder and your neck, arms lazily embracing the small of your back and pulling you into his chest. You felt the hairs of his brows sink deeper into your shoulder, his breath fanning on your collar bone.

Your hand came to fill its gaps with the tangle of his hair, palming his temples. This embrace was familiar- not because he lost often, but because you found it somewhere in every day. The mornings during breakfast, pillow talk under plains of insomnia, the after-sex glow. Touch tugged a heart string in you both, and although there was no proof, you swear you could feel his heart slow when it kissed yours.

(He made you a romantic, and even after years the shoe still feels too big)

You pull away, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. He didn’t kiss you back, but you didn’t mind. It was more of a reminder anyway- a way for you to say I’m here.

“Let’s go home.”

▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎

Looking from a doorway in the movies always appears more tranquil than it actually is.

There is nothing peaceful about watching your partner blister under their own defeat. The bounce of his knee, a desperate attempt to relax the tension that mends his muscles to the bone. You, left in your own uncertainty, bit the bumpy flesh behind your bottom lip, legs flinching with the impulse to do.

Comfort, rally, motivate. Your mind searched for a better plan of action in the rise and fall of his shoulders, as he scrutinized the recordings of the game in dim light under a magnifying glass (ants in summer heat).

The body talks. Yours was saying thousands of things at once- none resonating. Dry hands, calloused by hourglass sand and the gruff reality of your own exhaustion, would do nothing but stir him from his own brood then bring him deeper into it. Your mouth would say filtered words with little connotation, leaving you both in a spell that felt purposefully blundering.

Then a spark, somewhere lower than your hips. A blushing growth- spoke in deep tones of arousal and charity.

Alone, your hands and mouth proved useless.

But together…

You pushed yourself off the wide wall, shuffling over in your pajama set loud enough that he could hear you coming. He didn’t move, eyes still trained in silent remorse as he watched his tapes. Your heart dragged on the surface of your ribs- pity.

You came to stand in front of the television, reaching behind you and grabbing the remote before forcing his chin up with your other hand. His jaw rested on your curled fingers, vulnerable. His eyes looked burned at both ends, the wick of his iris without fire, or rebuttal.

You took a seat on his lap, wrapping your arms on his slumped shoulders. A beat, before he caved into you, pulling you into the crook of his hips. You molded into him, taking a moment to turn the television off, dowsing you both in a dark, somnolent ease.

You familiarized yourself with every version of this pose. In his lap, drowse eating at both of your guts, limbs pulling each other closer still. It wasn’t a planned routine- just comfortable. You’d heard the line ‘we were made for each other’ about a dozen times in different movies and books- and although you found it cliché- there was a truth to it.

Good love can be cliché. Done over and over because it feels right. Kenji- his arms and his heart- feel right to you and they always have.

(Again, he makes you a romantic).

“You were amazing today, baby.” You said into his ear. He huffed- but you took his grip on your thighs as encouragement.

You kissed his cheek, then his jaw, and with each purse of your lips you tried to make a point. “You are the best baseball player in the league,” you continued down to his neck, hands coming to rest on his collar bone, “one game doesn’t change that…”

You felt his throat rumble, and it took you a few kisses to realize he had spoken.

“Keep…going.”

Fuck.

It was embarrassing to be aroused when you’re supposed to be comforting someone, but God. The timbres of his voice, their effortless depth and coon, pleading you of all people to do more was enough to make you start riding his thigh.

You reminded yourself that tonight was about his pleasure, and your own would have to be on the back burner.

You slipped your hands under his shirt, cool flesh meeting his hot abdominal, twitching under your nails. You traced the shadows of his muscle, enjoying the mumble that shook his adams apple as you kissed under his jaw.

“You’re talented and everyone knows it,” down the dip between his collarbones, “you’ve carried the team and brought them together…” your hands made your way to his chest, where you could feel his heart beating under the grooves of your palm. Good. You tapped his shoulder from underneath his shirt, and he understood, immediately shedding the shirt and throwing it carelessly into the dark.

You continued down his stomach, sending occasionally glances up. His face was veiled in something rounder now- the earlier layers of woe and its harsh lines drawn by the furrow of his brow replaced by something a little more sanguine. It peaked from behind the whites of his eyes and glowed under the plush of his cheeks in a blooming pink.

You dragged your lips further down, navigating the narrow of his waist, “You’ve got a handsome face to match your wit,” you kissed the band of his sweats, before you curled the digits of your fingers over, peeling it back to reveal the near painful tent spring from the cotton of his boxers, “and…fuck your big…”

You swallowed, massaging the cusp of his cock, feeling as he curved his hips into your palm, a soft moan breaching the clench of his teeth. You looked up at him- beautiful in the light of his own rousing. His throat bobbled; words caught in his tonsils.

You didn’t need him to speak- you knew what they were.

You brought back to his boxers, cock slapping the underside of his stomach. He sucked a breath through his teeth above you- desperation in the discoloration of his bottom lip- bruised. The shroom cap was weeping your name in a pearl of pre-cum, which you massaged with your thumb. You slowly pumped his length in your hands, hand moving in slow, tight swells at the base of it.

You knew it well- you had felt it a dozen times over. The vein that crawled from its root on the right side- thick- spelling your name in morse. The deepened pink as it ran up to his tip, the glans warm in hot colors of desire. The velvet that patched its stiff underside was particularly memorized- molded in the walls of your cunt.

But there would always be that stutter in your breath- your body talking in haphazard beats- a need he fills to the brim. It wasn’t shock, it wasn’t admiration, but you settle for somewhere in between.

“You’re so strong- from your injury, to protecting the city,” if felt somewhat strange- authentic compliments paired with the pumping of his cock, the tip of his jaw and buck of his hips begged your fruition in low moans, “there is no other man like Kenji Sato…”

A gruff groan from the pit of his lungs made your own sex thrum with a familiar density, and you let a soft moan escape your own lips as you slipped them down his cock.

Hypoxia bloomed in the back of your throat- bright purple capturing oxygen. You let your maw clench and reel at the pressure- familiar but desperate for accommodation. Your breath came out in a single syllable against the base of him, nostrils flaring.

He moaned above you, the tremble of his ecstasy rolling down his shoulders and to the bridge of his cock, rattling your tonsils with an unflattering gag. His hands came to hold your hair, grip massaging the back of your scalp with a needy grip.

“Hah…shit…you’re too good to me…”

You bobbed your head in protest, tongue flattening to cup his front. Your fingers worked what your mouth couldn’t, fondling the sensitive bonds of his groin- slick in saliva. He let out a gruff growl, holding your head with a fatal grip- pushing you down to swallow more of him.

You held his thighs for balance you kneeled between them- tears pricking your eyes. You swear you feel him at the ends of your tongue as he rolled his hips into your mouth- hollowed cheeks to take the grit of him- avoiding grazing teeth.

You glanced up at him- met with the bend of his jaw- mouth open as he moaned your name like a mantra. It was so melodic- and for something so lewd it was sweet. Honied in the places that we were taught filthy- buried beneath the stickiness of arousal and sex was something warmer.

You sped up your pace- promising a song from him as you pushed your tongue to the roof of your mouth, tightening the plunge of your throat.

“Ohshit- fucking hell you feel so good baby…so good to me,” His ruts were becoming sloppy, breaking under the weight of his own overstimulation, “I’m gonna cum down that perfect mouth of yours…”

You loved him like this. Goo in your hands, the sharper edges of his jaw and his tongue softened when laid next to you. Saying your name like he’d forget it- hoping it brands into his flesh, maybe his bones. It brought your own weeping hole thrilling pleasure- the puff of your heart rapid.

Lost in rapture- the smaller moments and the forgotten words- somewhere in the craters of your bodies. You’d accepted it- becoming idyllic- eased into a life where love could mean so many things at once and all be right.

As in- the kiss goodnight is just as important as the blowjob after a loss.

You were made ugly- snot drippling down your lips in blunt weeps, tears wetting your lashes in asphyxiation. You were positive the round of your cheeks was rosed- glossed by the precum and spit that wetted your lips as you slipped up and down, tandem rhythm with his hips.

You could feel strands of your hair being ripped from the sensitivity of your scalp- his hands gripping hard enough it felt as though he’s trying to hold your skull. His moans were restless now, a wet and sickening chorus to the hymn of your nose hitting his stomach.

“Shit-shitshitshit oh fuck I’m cu-cummm uhmm…”

It painted the cave of your throat, the cap of your tongue, the roof of your mouth- ruthless. Filled your throat in hues of stress, lost to the compassion of your molars and the crest of your mouth. You could feel the excess ropes peel back the corners of your lips as it bubbled to meet his pelvis, which was still fucking your mouth in a noisy, orgasmic frenzy.

It slid from your fissure with a quiet pop, and you took his wrists, pulling them limply from your head as you stood, sitting back on his lap, softening cock resting behind your ass. You kissed his throat, feeling the shuddering breaths that fogged the air around you, catching his expression- knotted brows and tight nose- compressed in a vague expression of lust- and thanks.

You ran your fingers through his hair- kissing up to his ear, “I meant everything I said, earlier, y'know.”

You felt him nod shakily. “I know…sometimes I just like to hear you say it.”

You snorted- there he was. “Cocky bastard.”

He chucked, pulling you into his chest, smile soft against the indent of your shoulder. “Well, you had it down your throat.”

You pulled back, giving him his first real kiss of the night. Admittedly, it was to shut him up, but when he pulled you closer still, lips molding to yours in the way they always do, you both knew it was because you wanted to.

You pulled away, eyes opening to his face- lips pursed and eyes closed (adorably stupid, stupidly adorable- somewhere between the two) you laughed, pressing a kiss between his brows.

“Okay Mr. Romance let’s get you to bed.”

You began to slide off his waist before he pulled you back down, eyes open and revealing something much more earnest. The harsher edges of his face seemed to smooth over (rock eroded, calmed), and he leaned his head to your chin.

“Thank you.”

You sighed into his hair- deep down you wanted to say he didn’t need to thank you. But he had enough about him tonight.

“You’re welcome- my throat is going to be sore because of you.”

His head came up to meet yours, and you knew he was back when you saw his classic smirk pull at the corners of his lips. “Should I loosen it up again?”

You rolled your eyes, sliding off his waist before grabbing his hand and pulling him up. You wrapped your arms up to base of his shoulder blades and he returned the embrace, body molding to the shape of your front.

The sensitive part of you wanted to stay like this forever- pushing into him- held- safe. If you closed your eyes, you could, and somewhere in your forever you heard,

“I love you.”

#ultraman rising #oneshot #fanfic #kenji sato #ken sato #kenji sato x reader #kenji sato x you #ken sato x reader #ken sato x you #fanfiction #f!reader

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surelysilly · 2 months

Text

SuperPhantom Week 2024, go!

What: A week to celebrate the bestest crossover — Danny Phantom / Supernatural (TV 2005)! Fanfic, fanart, playlists/music, other multimedia or crafts, whatever you want, are all welcome! There are themed prompts for each day, so try to include it and more or as little as you want!

When: September 7th, 2024 - September 13th, 2024

Day 1: Sept. 7th - Divine / Impiety Day 2: Sept. 8th - Strange Day 3: Sept. 9th - Family / Outsider Day 4: Sept. 10th - Song (Fic) Day 5: Sept. 11th - Right / Left Day 6: Sept. 12th - Tools of the Trade Day 7: Sept. 13th - Free

*I will catch up on what I've missed in the following week to the best of my ability, but can't guarantee any swiftness. Submissions may show up the day after their prompt as I queue them up.

Sentence prompt for the week:

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

How: Post your works on Tumblr with the tags #superphantomweek2024 and #superphantom. I’ll reblog them here! Submissions to the week can also be added to this Ao3 Collection!

Just want everyone to have fun with this old little crossover here, so be free and be merry!!! <3

Below are extra details and information for each day.

Honorable mentions for extra brownie points:

Focus on side characters from either show! Last (few) season(s) nonsense Where do ghosts fit in the war between heaven and hell?

Day 1: Sept. 7th - Divine / Impiety

Do you think God lives in Heaven because He, too, lives in fear of what He's created Here on Earth? - Spy Kids 2

Divine: Angelic Presence, Angels, Grace, Holy, God(s), Wings, Pie, Fudge, Resurrection, Prophets

Impiety: Deals, Crossroads, Demon, Betrayal, Curse, Desecration, King of Hell, Abomination, Half-human (Nephilim, Cambion), Halfas (Half Angel & Half Ghost)

Day 2: Sept. 8th - Strange

There's something wrong with those boys... Something off about that house...

Too Many Eyes, Charade, Fleeting Glimpses, Veil, Death Defying, Midwestern Gothic, Limbo/Purgatory, Horror, Biblically Accurate, Ghosts, Weird Age Club

Day 3: Sept. 9th - Family / Outsider

This is about the blood of the covenant and the water of the womb, or neither or.

Family: Children, Childhood, Siblings, Old Friend, Blood, Fluff, Teamwork, Bonds

Outsider: Accidental Meeting, Secret, Outside POV, Found Footage, Ghost Facers, Wrongfully Accused, Strange Bedfellows, Incorrect Assumptions

Day 4: Sept. 10th - Song (Fic)

We've got a long road ahead of us... can't just sit in silence! Or can we...?

Mixtape, CD burn, Radio, Voice, Enochian, Ghost Speak, Silence, Lullaby

Day 5: Sept. 11th - Right / Left

The usual canon divergence, even canon compliance... or something even further removed!

Right: Time Travel, Pre-canon, The End AU, It's a Terrible Life AU

Left: Roleswap, Fantasy AU, Sci-fi, Multi-Crossover

Day 6: Sept. 12th - Tools of the Trade

These vary by profession. What are yours?

Overshadowing, Shot gun, Blade, Salt Circle, Trap, Ghost Portal, Ectoplasm, Impala, Feton AV, Cold Iron, Disguise, Fire, Possession, Wail, Monster of the Week, Summoning

Day 7: Sept. 13th - (Team) Free (Will)

New beginnings. Final endings. Let's do it all over again, it's only just getting started. Or is it?

Friday the 13th, Unlucky, Carry On My Wayward Son, Thrill, whatever you want!

*Take what you like, leave what you don't; these are all just extra suggestions for each day to help get the brain wrinkling up! Send any questions my way~

#superphantom #supernatural #danny phantom #dp x spn #spn #dp au #dp xover #is day 4 just my hairbrained attempt to get music recs out of people? why yes yes it is uwu #thank you to everyone who filled out the prompt form!!! <3 #i will love any submissions that include side characters so so so muuuuchhh #*blinks cutely*#superphantomweek2024 #danny phantom au #supernatural au #if there's a typo or error anywhere u didnt see that

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mokulule · 2 years

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A Pinch of Salt snippet 1

Chronologically first story in the Salt in the Bones AU @clockwayswrites and I are working on together (go check out the snippet Clock posted) - so much brainstorming, it's so much fun. This story is how Danny and Constantine meets.

“What the hell man, do I look like some kind of restless spirit to you?”

When Danny decided to investigate some ghostly rumors at the abandoned construction site of a nearly completed mall about an hour from Amity, he did not expect to turn a corner and get a face full of salt tossed at him. His assailant, a tired looking, blond, middle aged man in a sandy trenchcoat that had seen better days, just continued staring with narrowed eyes and the hand that had done the throwing still slightly raised.

“Okay, so I haven’t slept in three days, but dude, really?” He brushed his sleeve across his mouth to remove the salt but only succeeded in getting more in his mouth, he stuck out his tongue in disgust.

Still no give from the sad trenchcoat man.

“What are you?” the man finally spoke.

Danny stared open-mouthed, rude much! So that’s what trenchcoat wanted to go with! Fine! Two can play that game.

“Covered in freaking salt that’s what!” Danny shook his head so it rained salt speckles around him.

“It’s everywhere,” he groused spitting at the floor trying to get the taste out. “Seriously, save that for the shades and the fries.”

Having expelled most of the salt, he noted something else. He moved his tongue around for a moment pondering, then froze.

“Is that… Rosemary?!”

He had a sudden sinking feeling in his gut, took a moment to sense past the surface of noir-reject and was assaulted by sheer wrong-torn-wrong. He took a step back in horror.

“What are YOU? Why are you seasoning me? Do you eat people?!” Danny had thought he’d be dealing with a poltergeist, not whatever weirdness this man was.

For the first time he got a reaction.

“I don’t bloody eat people!” Constantine blurted in consternation, taking a step toward the creature posing (annoyingly realistically) as a teenager, who promptly took another step back.“Could have fooled me,” the creature countered, “what with that thing you have going.” He gestured vaguely up and down at Constantine’s entire person in disgust.

It really shouldn’t matter what some not-poltergeist thought of him, but something about him just rubbed Constantine wrong and he bristled.

The next moment the creature spluttered and coughed from the holy water he’d just thrown at him, but huh, no burning.

“Not a demon either,” John remarked, allowing himself a smirk as the creature looked at him open mouthed, eye twitching.

“Where the hell are you keeping this shit, did you just pull it out of your a- wait, demon?” He blinked and stopped his tirade.

“Demon?” he repeated, “demon’s exist?”

And suddenly it was Constantine reevaluating, because that sounded genuine, and the kid, because oh God it was just a bloody kid, might reek of death magics, but now that he was paying attention the malice wasn’t coming from him. It was coming-

A wail, angry, hateful, sorrowful tore apart the silence. It was cold to the very marrow of his bones freezing him in place.Down the hallway energy crackled in a growing storm of malice throwing around dust and debris from the construction. Cardboard, and forgotten tools was sucked into it and it was slowly moving towards them. Shit.

“That’s not a poltergeist either,” the kid remarked quietly at his side. And for a moment he’d forgotten he had a bloody civilian on hand. He cursed, grabbed the kid and booked it in the opposite direction from the sodding spectral storm.

#A pinch of salt #Salt in the bones #Danny and Constantine #dysfunctional found family FTW

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katyspersonal · 4 days

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Someone really said we shouldn't take Messmer's last words ( when he cursed Marika) seriously because he was demonically possessed by the abyssal serpent ijbol

I do not think that it was the case either! My impression from his phase transition was more of him finally giving into his serpentine nature, and thus, finally allowing himself to feel his true feelings!

"Hatred that would be confined" here can mean both him hating himself (since fire is a hazard to the Erdtree, evidenced by Fire of Ruin and Destined Death, so why not his?) OR hating her for having forsaken him! Except... they are not mutually exclusive. He could have hated himself for existing as something that could inevitably bring ruin to everything she created and hated her for abandoning him!

Like other characters in the DLC, he is aware that we've been called by Grace of Gold, her creation, to become her new Lord! Nonetheless, he decides to still disrespect what counts as her wishes, which already gives something away, at least for me. It could be that him taking Crusade beyond just vengeance, to fascism level, WAS what split them apart, and he is still convinced he knew what was better for purity and life of her Order better than her (LOOOOVE this version because it makes him even scarier). It could be jealousy, because some nobody Tarnished would get the chance to fix things for her when he tried to do the same and yet she was not "grateful". It could be that this "purpose" he took up for her feels like the only thing still connecting them, since she is not coming back. It could be many things that I can keep listing!

Yet, at the same time, he asks her forgiveness before removing the seal! So, killing someone he (correctly) believes she is awaiting is a lesser crime than removing the seal she gave to him to keep Base Serpent away? I think it is very telling that the root of how much he hates his flame is her hatred of it.

( x ) Perhaps, by being deadset on killing everyone spurn of her grace, he sort of overcompensates for how much he hates himself for being graceless (in a way, 'shorn of light' is very blatant)... He can't fix his nature, nor can she, but he could remove her OTHER pains and grudges. He is compensating!.. like, for how much he wishes to never having been born, or something...

Damn this got weirdly sad And a simpler interpretation is that it was just a cry of pain, because he was dying and she was not there for him. Or maybe it was the horror of feeling like he was to fall into Abyss, since he removed the seal? Not that I ever died in my life yet, but I'd imagine that thoughts and emotions upon violent death would not be very rational!

I really want some help with Japanese description of this item, because this "but never again" feels like some sort of grudge. Like that she realised it was useless; not so much because what afflicted him was untreatable, but because she deemed him not worthy of any more chances! You see what I mean! Again, English choices of words should be taken with a grain of salt.

youtube

Messmer also was not "possessed" by Base Serpent, he became Base Serpent! Saying you will be taken in jaws by a serpent shorn of light, he means himself! He has a habit of addressing himself in third face already, saying that you will meet death in the embrace of "Messmer's" flame, not "his" flame! There is definitely some parallel with Malenia unleashing Scarlet Rot again just to not lose to us, but whereas Scarlet Rot is confirmed to eat away at people's personality and memories (Millicent's questline), nothing said it was the case for the Base Serpent!

(Images by Zlofsky as usual) All statues of Marika in the Lands Between are missing heads... except for one, depicting her as a mother holding a child, hidden in his chamber by a veil. I need to check it later, but in at least three cases it makes no sense to be this way: one in the Church of the Crusade where Queelign hangs out, another surrounded by his soldiers, and another in Shadow's Keep itself! UNLESS, he is the one responsible for crashing the images of her head...?

It feels like he has been very conflicted long before this dreadful moment of unleashing his serpentinge nature! He did not want to think of her because it hurt, but also still wished to be held by her again. Considering the statues, it feels like he hated her as a Goddess, but loved her as a mother. So, he hates her divine existence, her as an owner of the Erdtree, a "destined victim" of all fires, but also knows it can't be separated from her and follows her design. Perhaps, follows TOO much.

Basically it IS a reasonable assumption that upon his death, he's been feeling as though he did everything he could for her, but that was not enough for her to see beyond her fear! Worse yet: she did try to love him, but "never again"! Hatred of abandoned child is a very intense thing, but it is also not a true hatred. It is more akin to cry for being accepted, but distorted into insults, curses, pushing away and such!

^^^ If this doesn't look like Humanity running wild manifestation of someone's own repressed self-hatred, loneliness and suffering getting unleashed I don't know what does fdhfdhs I don't know, man... I just think there is more evidence for the fact that he's been suffering because of her.

#elden ring #messmer the impaler #ask replies #also stop talking to me about messmer please I actually teared up while typing this fdhfhdshsdffd

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fanaticsnail · 8 months

Text

A Small Kindness

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 8,088

Notes: The clown needed a little bit of love, I think. This is a gift written for the lovely @sordidmusings. Let's love on the failing-forward man. Image Source link.

Synopsis: A blue-haired man with a round red nose is down on his luck. He's lost everything, not a single berry to his name after being defeated again by the straw-hat crew. A small kindness from a stranger propels him to get back on his feet. How could he repay you? Surely you needed something in return.

Themes: homeless Buggy, pathetic-leaning Buggy, MDNI, smut, p in v, afab!reader, angst-smut-fluff sandwich, one-bed-trope.

In the corner booth, resting with his chin on the heels of his palms, and staring at the cool droplets of the condensation running down the water decanter of the tavern he sat. All majesty, all tom-foolery, all wealth, fame and power flung from him the moment he was defeated, yet again, by that stupid kid, with a stupid grin, crowned with that stupid hat he got from that stupid rat.

A stray hair fell into his face, prompting his pouty lips to huff out a puff of hot air at the strands to push them away from vision. He’d lost it all. His crew dispersed among the seas, his big top sunk and in dire need of repair with no means to finance such a feat.

But you didn’t know any of those things.

All you saw was a blue-haired man with a shiny, round, red nose sitting alone and down on his luck in that booth; yet to order a single thing from the menu. You noticed the way he attempted to hide his hunger, clutching at his stomach and cursing under his breath for it to stifle its incessant groaning.

Brows arching in a triangle at the peak of your forehead, a thin, lopsided smile danced on your lips as you took out a large, ceramic dish from under the benchtop and drew it to the stove. You ladeled into the dish a large portion of the lentil, split pea and hickory ham soup you had been lovingly caring for throughout the day into the bowl and sliced up two pieces of sourdough to place atop flames to char its surface. Sorting out a small ramekin of soft, salted butter, you placed it on your tray alongside the bowl of soup, completing your assortment of food to lay before the somber stranger.

“Excuse me, sir?” you smiled down at him. He lazily lolled his head up at you and stared blankly through half-hooded eyes. His eyelashes danced as they battered up at you, his frown still ever present at the peak of his brow.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m movin’ on, Doll. Don’t you worry yourself, I’ll be out of your hair in a-,” he began, dismissively waving his hand only to be cut off by you placing down your tray atop the table and beginning to silently arrange the elements in front of him. His eyes widened at the harvest, his lips automatically opening and beginning to salivate at the aroma wafting to his large nose from the soup.

“This is for you, sweetheart,” you beamed at him, a genuine and polite smile cooing down at the man in the booth, “I hope you enjoy your meal.” Turning away from the blue-haired man, you began collecting emptied pint glasses and tankards from the adjoining tables throughout the room. You gazed at the man over your shoulder, watching as he apprehensively removed his pale gloves from his hands and placed them beside him.

Taking the silver, round, spoon into his hands, he took a small portion of the soup into it and darted his tongue out to take a small lick of the stock. His eyes widened before rolling back into his head, his lips smacked together as he savored the first gulp of soup. You thought you heard an utterance of an “Oh, fuck,” under his breath before he began horking down the assortment of treats you had presented to him.

Allowing a small giggle to escape your lips, you fished around in the front of your apron in search of a few of your personal wage to pay for the man’s meal to place in the till. Down to the last note of your berry, you had yet to break-even on this shift. Feeding this man had put you behind on your pay, but it was worth it to see the small twinkle in his eye at each spoonful he threw back into his open mouth.

After bidding the last patron farewell and beginning to close down the till, the man wandered over to the counter and placed down his empty bowl; completely licked clean, and with no crumb nor smudge of food left atop the plate and ramekin. Your brow arched up at the discovery of how little remained behind before you drew your eyes up to meet with his.

And what magnificent eyes he had. Although they seemed rather frantic, sheepish and darting; his eyes held a deep sorrow behind them. The tone of his eyes danced in the flicker of the flames initing the tavern walls, in some lights: a calming blue, and in others: a spark of green.

“Was that okay?” you asked him, your knowing smirk rising to a grin to bare your teeth at him. He held his teal eyes to the floor, meeting his gaze with anything other than your own in the process. His teeth bore themselves into a thin line, grimacing a small smile through a sheepish expression.

“It was-,” he began, sighing in the middle of his thoughts as he found the correct word, “-Nice.” You flung a hearty laugh into the air, shaking your head at his curt response as you took the dishes and placed them in the pass behind you to clean once he had exited the premises.

“I’m glad you thought it was nice,” you teetered off your laugh into a small giggle. His face held no humor, no longer depicting the twinkle in his eyes as he pouted and held his eyes away from yours. He grumbled under his breath before elevating his tone, curling his lip before snarling at you.

“So what’ll you have me do, huh, Doll?” he spat, his eyes now agitated as he rotated his neck to rid it of a small click, “I gotta repay you somehow, don’t I? Ain’t nothin’ in this life come free, and that meal was worth a bit, wasn’t it?” He began dancing his eyes around the room, frantically moving to meet his gaze with anything other than your own. His anger began to grow more heated with each thought processing through his mind at a hastened pace.

“It’s on me. Really, I assure you-,” you began, shaking your head and reaching forward to press the heel of your palm against his re-gloved hand. You thinned your lips, holding firm to your resolve and dancing your eyes between his; which continued still to not meet your gaze. It was when you began to retract your hand from atop his that he returned your grip and firmly squeezed your hand into his.

“I ain’t got a thing on me, Sweets. I have nothing I could offer you. I have nothing. I am nothing-,” He spoke at you, using you to verbally process everything plaguing his mind. Expecting hatred reflected back at him, as all those who listen to his woes often depict in their eyes, your empathetic gaze held no such complex. “-I-... I have-...I-...It’s all gone. Everything is gone. I’m nothing. Not a damn thing.”

The man in front of you had tears beginning to threaten its hasty downfall from the corners of his eyes. He winced back the sting, sniffing and grunting through his nose noisily and disguised it with a cough. He attempted to laugh through the pain of processing his emotions, inhaling a shaken breath and hoarsely beginning the teeter of his laughter. He cackled his laugh, messily allowing a small amount of gloss to fall over his waterline and litter his lengthy teal eyelashes with the dewdrops of emotion.

Bowing his head, his shoulders began to quake as the mental process had finally solidified its place within the forefront of his mind. There was nothing he could do about the situation, not a prayer he could pray, nor a song he could sing to break him through this. He was completely alone. Not a single berry, not a place to sleep-.

“-It’s okay,” you quietly reassured him, stooping your head down to seek out his eyes. His gaze snapped to you, shocked at being brought back out of his circulating thoughts of doom and gloom to meet with your eyes. Kindness, sweetness, empathy and humility were the only aspects he met with your gaze as he reveled in the feeling of human contact. Your thumb circled itself over the tips of his knuckles, feeling each bone beneath stiffen slightly before relaxing into your touch.

“I mean it, Doll. I’ve got nothing,” he whispered, his tone continuing to hold a raw raspiness beneath the hiss. A small shake in his head and a quiver of his lip had your heart swelling in pity before it began to hammer within your chest. Upon listening to his small tirade, your adrenaline propelled your small question.

“Have you got a place to stay for the night? Somewhere safe you can wake up in the morning?” Your quiet question had Buggy’s heart filling itself with dread at each beat of the rhythm within.

“I-I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he confessed in a low tone, his eyes falling to rest on your hands intertwined on the benchtop, “This is the first time I’m spending a night in civilization for a while. I think I was going to go and sleep on the beach near the docks-.”

“-A terrible idea,” you cut him off, pulling your hands out from his and removing your apron from your neck, “There have been numerous reports of violence by the docks in the quiet hours. If you start with not much, you’re left with even less. Sometimes, you’re left with not a breath in your lungs to breathe with.” You hang your apron behind the emptied till, the berry stashed within the safe under circular and rotational cogs and locks, and brushed over your thighs to rid itself from any cotton strands fallen from the material.

Buggy’s brows furrowed, searching within his mind for a safe alternative. He’d walked for half a day to reach this town; now too late to walk back to the grove he was sleeping within. Raking his gloved fingers beneath his bandana and removing it from his lengthy, cerulean hair; dampened with the grime, grease and sweat from weeks of ill-maintenance.

Turning back around, you began a slow and pointed trail of reading the body language of the man in front of you. He was lost, in every sense of the word. You could see the thoughts ticking behind his teal eyes, written all over his face. You sighed, bringing your right hand up to the scruff of your neck and giving it a small squeeze.

“Look,,” you addressed him, prompting his eyes to snap up to meet your own. You offered him a small, apprehensive half-smile with your brows lifted in a small peak in the middle of your forehead, “I don’t normally do this, so please don’t think so low of me.” Buggy watched as you began walking around the bar and ushered him towards the door with a coax of our hand.

“Let’s go home, okay?” you offered, opening the door and nodding your forehead towards the threshold for him to cross it with you, “I don’t have much, but-...” as he exited the door, you closed it behind him and fished your keys out of your pocket. The jingle of a few keys echoed in the quiet of the night, the dimmed lampposts had locating the correct key taking a small while.

“-I can offer you a bath, I think my ex has some spare clothes that could fit you if you’d like me to wash and dry what you’ve got on you?” You turned back around, noticing the bright-nosed man staring at you. His eyes were unblinking and wide, his mouth hanging slightly ajar as he processed what you were saying. You sighed through your nose, a downturned smile offered at his shocked expression.

“W-...” he began, struggling to find the words he wanted to ask you. He shook his head, stuttering on, “-Why are you doing this for me? What have I done to give you any reason to offer me kindness? Me? I’m an idiot, a fool, a no-good outcast, a good-for-nothing-.”

“-Because I know what it’s like to be all of those things and then some,” you shook your head, reaching your right hand out for him to place his left within, “And I know how hard it is to climb that mountain alone. And you, my friend, are not alone. Not tonight, anyway.” He looked down at your extended hand, reaching slowly down to take within his left and allowing you to lead him up the windy, dirt path towards where he imagined home to be.

And home was more than what he had expected. The small, open-plan room had the kitchen, dining room and lounge space all interconnected to suit the needs of one or two people. The couch took up the majority of the space with a small side table with a draw beneath it, and a coffee table with an assortment of notes and books laying askew with pens, pencils and paintbrushes and a small pallet of rapidly drying paint.

“I would’ve tidied if I’d known I was having company, I’m sorry,” you confessed, closing the door behind you and locking the door with your key, and a balled latch and chain. Your kitchen had a few tarnished bowls from a hastily consumed breakfast, the drying rack had a few clean dishes fully air-dried and stacked neatly.

“It’s nice,” Buggy confessed, nodding as he took in each area. He noticed a few den-den-mushi pictures printed and hanging by nails and tape throughout the walls; the corners littered with sketches of the subject matter contained within.

“Are you an artist?” He asked, leaning down to take in more of the sketches within the margins of the images. You giggled, taking out your hair and giving it a small shake to rid the pressure gathered behind the entanglement.

“I was once,” you confessed, “Traveled the seas with my partner. Always looking for inspiration wherever the seas took us.” You headed to the sink, pouring a small amount of water within the sink and beginning to rid the morning dishes of their grime and stack at the sink.

“And how did that go? Did you find inspiration?” Buggy asked, looking over to watch you roll your shoulders in agitation.

“No, but he did,” you grumbled, old wounds beginning to resurface, “Several times, in fact. A rotation of inspiration hopping like rodents in and out of the house while I was working hard to support us both at the tavern. A variety of men and women-; fishmen at some stages. He would always deny doing it, until I saw the amassment of paintings he produced by rolling his and their bare skin in paint on stretched canvas over the floor, making art as he lay with them naked and thrusting against the-...” you huffed out an exasperated breath shaking your head and turning back to face the stranger you had invited into your home.

“-I’m sorry. That was likely a little much to place onto you so late,” you softened your eyes, noticing a small pink hue rising against his cheeks and ears, “You're likely exhausted. The bathroom is that way,” you gestured to the small room, “latrine, bath and shower all in there. The other is the bedroom. I’ll get some fresh sheets for you to lay on while I’m washing your clothes, if you like?”

Buggy was processing too much information all at once. His kind hostess, an artist in disguise, was offering him more kindness than his heart could take. Not only were you beautiful to look at, but your artistry now showcased your soul beneath the surface. He hesitantly took a few steps towards the bathroom, looking over to watch you beginning to pack up the coffee table of your tools and rough sketches.

“I’m sorry you didn’t manage to find inspiration of your own while he did all that, Doll,” Buggy murmured as he passed you. You stiffened in your movements, barely visible to the eye, before you continued collecting your arrangement.

“If that comment was regarding artistry: inspiration can be found everywhere you look. If it was regarding looking outside the relationship to give in to lustful advances,” you huffed a humorless laugh through your nose, “One of my many flaws is I’m loyal to a fault. I don’t cheat. Not in art, not in cards, and especially not in relationships - no matter how angry he made me, nor me having the right for vengeance. Better off leaving than making the pain worse, right?”

Buggy hummed in response, opening the latch to the bathroom door and pushing the door open. As he stepped through the threshold of the bathroom, he turned to face you, raking his eyes over your body as you reached up to place your artistic tools atop a high shelf. Your lower stomach exposed itself as your shirt stretched upwards, the small glimpse of your flesh had his heart beating and mind foggy.

“Towels are in the cupboard beneath the sink, if you’re looking,” you called over to him, stooping below to collect a small brush that managed to escape your clutches. Buggy now had a clear view of the roundness of your subtle flesh, his foggy mind turning into the smog of lust. He shook his head in an attempt to rid it of the unruly thoughts.

“Thank you, Doll,” he called, beginning to shut the door only to find himself halting at the last moment to meet his eyes with your smile.

“You’re welcome, Sweetheart,” you shot him a small wink as he closed the door, leaving you to continue fussing over the mess you were attempting to tidy.

You heard the water start to run, the shower’s steam wafting below the crack in the door alongside the scents of shampoo and conditioner mixing with the floral assortment of body washes and scrubs. Smiling to yourself at the knowledge that he was using every kindness you’d offered to him, you began collecting some clothes for him to change into for the night and swapping out your bedsheets for fresh linen and toppers.

If you were offering this man the luxury of sleeping in your bed, he should be privy to the scents of fresh-laid sheets of satins and silks. You heard the shower halt its rapid pour, the tap squeaking as your guest turned the handle.

“Uhh…” He called, his voice halting as he gruffly cleared his throat to ensure he wasn’t imposing on anything important, “Did you say somethin’ about clothes?” You laughed, nodding as you collected a white cotton shirt and soft, gray trousers and walked over to the crack in the bathroom door.

“I’ve got some things, if you want to trade?” You reached your hand behind the door, thrusting the clothes behind them without glancing through the crack to offer your guest some privacy. He huffed out a laugh, taking the objects before giving you the pile of his soiled clothes for you to take.

“As long as I get ‘em back, you can take ‘em,” he laughed. You allowed a small giggle to exit your lips as you drew the items into your arms and began readying them for a wash cycle within your hand-cranked barrel.

Filling the brim with water and some shavings of velvet soap, you lathered each item within the barrel and began rotating it within by winding the handle beside it. Yawning, you looked at the clock hanging above your small, two-burner stove and noticed how late it had gotten. You were well pleased that the big boss had decided to gift you with two days off in a row tomorrow, hopefully just enough time to sort out the remainder of household chores and aid your guest in any way you could.

Draining the liquid from the barrel, you hung each item of clothing on a line out on the back porch. The overlook of the ocean was one of the reasons you had opted to choose this as home for yourself. The soft scent of the sea always carried towards the windows, the warmth of the sun dampened by the coolness cast from the waters on the shore. After hanging the last item, you turned to witness the guest you had invited into your house; standing tall and firm in his rigidity, hands clapping his thighs awkwardly as he danced his eyes around the room.

“Something the matter, sweetheart?” you asked him, reentering the room and closing the back door behind you. He offered you a half-smile which almost looked like a wince as he articulated his thoughts cohesively.

“Where am I sleeping?” he cringed, his brow knitting together as his teeth bore themselves in a straight line. You giggled, gesturing to the bedroom with your right hand.

“Right there,” you shook your head at him, walking over to the sink and taking out a glass to fill with water. You turned the tap, filling the container to the brim with the cool liquid and turning to face him again. Maintaining eye contact, you began gulping down the water, draining it of its contents and wiping your lips with the back of your forearm.

“And w-where-...” he began, trailing his words off as he looked around the room for a suitable explanation. You chuckled, walking over to the bathroom and readying yourself for a shower by removing your socks and placing them in the hamper to the side of the room.

“I’ll take the couch,” you giggled, stepping within the bathroom and peeking at him from behind the door. He looked beautiful; a work of art come to life. His beautiful blue hair, his rubied rotund nose, the way the white shirt and gray pants clung to his body; he was absolutely stunning. “I’ll be out in a moment, okay? Make yourself comfortable and I’ll check in on you before I go to sleep.” He nodded, his eyes a mix between sheepishness and a deep sorrow. You flashed him a reassuring smile before clicking the door behind you.

Stripping yourself of your clothes, you relished in the warmth of the scorching water drumming against your flesh and removing the grime from the laborious shift you had undertaken moments prior. You lathered soaps, scents, oils and nectars to dance and soothe your aching skin. Reveling in the final moments of the water cascading against your body, you quickly turned the tap off and began the grueling task of drying yourself enough to be able to get into your sleepwear.

After prying the small shorts and oversized shirt combination, you stepped out of the bathroom while drying your hair with your soft, microfibre towel. You noticed the bedroom door was slightly ajar, but your guest had taken residency against your couch as he sat, staring at the sea through the window.

“I thought you’d have gone to bed by now,” you sighed your smile at him, shaking your head and approaching the blue-haired man. He turned his head over to you, eyes taking in your dressed-down form and offering you a small smile in return.

“I couldn’t, Doll,” he shrugged, looking longingly towards the bedroom before coming back to meet your eyes once more, “That’s too good for the likes of me. Even this couch is too good for me to sleep on. I’m better off lying on the floor-.”

“-Go and take the bed,” you ordered him, pointing to the bedroom with your index finger extended towards it, “I didn’t go through all that trouble of washing and changing over fresh bed sheets, at near midnight, for you to not sleep in it.”

“I’m not gonna sleep in the bed,” he stood to his feet, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing you dangerously, “Contrary to what you might think of me, I do have some manners. It’s not right for me to take your bed and you take the couch, no matter how much I’d fucking love to sleep in those sheets-.”

“-So hop to it then,” you huffed, tapping your left foot with your eyes holding firm against his, “I got out my nicest sheets, and I sprayed the pillowcases with lavender and eucalyptus oils to aid with your sleep.” He stepped towards you, walking around the couch and getting closer to you.

“Stop being nice to me, Doll. You’ve already offered me too much, and I’m not worth all that,” Buggy continued, prompting you to step closer to him and square up with him. You looked up into his face, cocking your head to the side and pursing your lips.

“If you feel that strongly about it,” you floated your eyes down to his lips and drew them back up to meet his eyes as hastily as you could, “Share it with me.”

Buggy’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening at the thought. He began to stutter and stagger with his words, jumbling his disagreements with an assortment of “couch” and “floor” suggested once more.

“No, no, sweetheart,” you shook your head, “No. You said you didn’t want me to sleep on the couch, and I refuse to waste all of that hard effort on just me alone. Knowing that the couch would be less desirable than the silks, satins and cotton blend I paid a lot of money for to get a better night's sleep.” He growled, his lip curling at the corner and his eyes narrowing.

“I snore,” He spat his taunt at you.

“I hog blankets,” you retorted, stepping closer.

“I grind my teeth,” he cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes and arching his brow upwards.

“I sleep talk,” you shrugged, giggling as you watched his pointed look turn more playful.

“I’m a hugger,” he sneered, his mouth pursing in the center. He stepped his body closer to yours, but still remaining a whisper away from your body.

“I make a wonderful snuggling companion,” you leared back at him. Reaching out, you took his hands within your own and gave them a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

“I haven’t slept beside someone in so long, I don’t think I remember how,” he confessed below his breath, hanging his head low enough he almost brushed his forehead against your own.

You smiled, standing up on the tips of your toes to close the gap between you; closing your eyes on impact while genuinely smiling, “I need to relearn that skill, myself.”

Buggy’s spine tingled at the contact you gave him, shuddering from his skull to his coccyx and turning his body jelly beneath your words. He smiled back, his own eyes closing as he did so. You relinquished the contact between you, rocking back onto your heels and looking up at him with fondness.

“So, how do you wanna-...” he trailed off, watching as you shook his head and lead him by the hand into the bedroom. You placed your towel against the bedside table and pulled the sheets back, scuttling your body beneath it while watching him remain awkward and rigid watching you.

“Get in the bed,” you ordered him with a smile, patting the vacant space on the large bed beside you.

Buggy couldn’t stop his mind from racing far further and drawing unwritten conclusions where there ought to be none. You were so beautiful, inviting a perfect stranger into bed with you to just sleep and enjoy each other’s company, nothing more. But what if something more did occur? What if he accidentally got so excited his body didn’t only flood his heart, but the other head that did half his thinking located beneath the waistband of the borrowed trousers-.

“-Sweetheart?” You broke him away from his thoughts, his eyes not once leaving yours while they glazed over, but finally drew themselves back into reality.

“I didn’t get your name at the tavern,” he nodded, walking over to the bed and drawing the sheets back. His nose was immediately hit with the warm and welcoming scents of soothing lavender and eucalyptus as they wafted through the smooth sheets.

“I’ve gone by a few over my travels, and you can take your pick of them,” you smiled, relaying the amassment of names you had gathered for yourself over time. He chuckled at a few of the alliterations and augmentations as you drew the list to a close. “Although, admittedly,” you bashfully began confessing, “I do like the way you call me ‘Doll’. It seems natural, or something.” You began lying beneath the sheets, lying on your side to watch him settle himself below them, “And what do I call you?”

“I’m in a similar way, Doll,” He smiled, reaching up and moving one of your rapidly drying strands from your face and tucking it behind your ear, “I’m the flashy-fool, the genius-jester, the clown-captain, the chop-chop devil-fruit eater, the infamous Buggy D Clown, but,” he floated his eyes over your hairline and drawing them over your exposed ear and traced down your jaw to settle on your lips, “I like the way you call me ‘Sweetheart’. Makes me want to believe it to be true.”

“Well then, Sweetheart,” you commented, prompting his eyes to once more meet with your own, “I hope you’re able to get to sleep, some. You deserve to be well rested after everything you’ve gone through.”

“As do you, Doll,” he smiled at you, his eyelids heavy and overburdened with the sultry song of sleep lulling him into its peaceful bliss. As Buggy closed his eyes, he felt the small brush of your fingertips as they met with his in the center of the bed while listening to your breathing become heavier and elongated between each inhale and exhale.

It was nice, lying beside someone and enjoying their presence while you slumbered. Movements were, you thought, very minimal throughout the night. The way his body was draped over yours, his arm over your waist as your back was pressed firmly against his chest, told a different story. His lips were pressed firmly against your neck, the small swell of breath hovering over your skin in a repetitive and slow manner had you almost lulled back to slumber.

Buggy’s bottom leg was straight, his top thrust between your own, prompting your knee to bend to make room for his thigh. You noticed your bottom hand had drawn up to collect the hand lying around your waist and lace your fingertips between them while the other was braced against his forearm. The softness of the experience had your heart swell, the morning bliss of a night of slumber free from expectation from one another had a smile find residency against your lips.

“G’mornin’ Doll,” a lazy voice drawled from behind you, his lips pressing a small kiss against your exposed skin before his mind caught up with his foggy thoughts to tell him not to. You giggled at his kiss, allowing your heart to flutter and soar at the feeling of his lips brushing against you.

“Good morning, Sweetheart,” you whispered back at him, refusing to roll over to break away from the comfortable embrace. You felt his lengthy eyelashes dance against your neck as he fluttered them to break from his slumber and relocate his mind as to where he was.

“O-Oh, I’m sorry, Doll!” He flinched away, breaking from your embrace and scuttling away from you. You turned over to face him, a broad smile on your face as you shook your head at him. “I warned ‘ya I was a hugger. I didn’t mean to kiss you, honest! Shit, I’m sorry. You must think the worst of me: inviting a stranger into your house after feedin’ ‘em, bathing and sharing a bed. I’m so, so sorry. It just felt natural-.”

You took the opportunity to collect his cheek beneath your palm and draw his face close to yours, pressing a small kiss against his lips; prompting a muffled groan to depart from his lips and into your own. You smiled, attempting to withdraw from your claim on his lips, only to find him angling his body above your own. He rested his weight on his forearm and deepened the kiss you invited him to share with you.

Pressing down further, he ushered you onto your back to continue to place open mouthed and dangerously seductive kisses against your lips. His chapped lips danced expertly against your own, the laziness of the morning all but halting as the fire of desire began to build between you. He collected the scruff of the back of your neck beneath his fingertips, lacing them in your hair and tugging lightly on it, eliciting a gasp of shock from you.

Groaning against your lips, you couldn’t stop your fingers from reaching themselves below his shirt and raking your hands against the cerulean hair beneath the cotton. He jittered away, a portion of his abdomen ticklish beneath your dancing fingers. You drew them over his back, scrawling them upwards to cradle his caging body further into you as your lips continued their heated connection.

Before you truly knew what had become of you, you found yourself collecting the cotton material of the shirt within your fingertips and prying it off his torso and casting it to the side. You took the time to enjoy the artistry in the marble figure adorned with a soft margin of blue hair dancing atop his dewy flesh. His heart soared at the feeling of adoration beneath your gaze, but quickly his pride was eclipsed with lust once more as he witnessed the small peaks of your nipples hardening against your own shirt.

Hastily, he lunged at you, removing your own shirt as hastily as you did his; although he opted to continue by prying off your shorts alongside them. Now in your nudity, he drank in every inch of you; from your toes, up to your calves, to your plush thighs that had his jaw clenching in anticipation, to the top of your groin presented to him. You held your thighs shut, not quite exposing how truly aroused you were by his actions. He drew his eyes up to your breasts and sighed, much akin to when he took the first bite of the meal you offered him the night before.

A simple “oh fuck,” was all it took for you to remove the band of his pants from their place on his waist, the tip of his cock meeting his lower stomach with a small slap. Your face depicted your wanton desperation, your pupils blown to eclipse the color of your irises, as your hand drew itself to circle the base of his incredibly sensitive cock. The tip shuddered as he sighed out a shaken breath, the dewy drops of precum already coating the slit with its lubricants, swaying your body to respond by coating your entrance with a fresh wave of your own slickened arousal.

You sat in silence, enjoying the exposure of your bodies in the light of the rays of the dawn. Buggy’s hands shook a little, static of anticipation depicted in the way his fingertips opened and closed with anticipation. You were both unsure how to progress from this point; Buggy with not having access to this type of affection in a readily way, and you also not having a romantic partner since your ex left.

“Can I-?” He began, halting his words as you spoke at the same time.

“-Do you?” You asked him just as curiously as he did, halting as you heard his voice halt.

Both of you laughed at your awkwardness, you scrunching up your nose as you sat upright. Hooking your arms beneath his shoulders and pulling him against yourself, falling backwards to meet your head with the plush pillows once more. He chucked as you drew him in once more for another kiss, his chuckle halting and evolving into a low, shocked groan as you opened your legs to him and hooked your left knee over his right hip. You ushered him closer, his body halting its decent and him sucking in a breath at your actions.

You broke your kiss, sensing his apprehension and gazed up into his wide, teal eyes. You darted your eyes between his and floating down to his kiss-bruised lips before back up to meet his shocked expression once more.

“We can stop if you want?” You both asked at the same time, eyes cracking in and upturned smile as you checked in with each other. Buggy placed a chaste kiss against your nose, trailing a sporadic fluttering arrangement of kisses over to your cheek and down your jaw as you both laughed.

“Just thought I’d give you one final out, before I s-sink-...” he began, the tip of his cock twitching itself against your clit and brushing down your glistening entrance, prodding at the opening, “-In.” He groaned as he felt your body stretch around his tip, a small gasped whine pulling itself from your lips as the initial sting eased into the pleasant feeling of stretching wide to fully accommodate more of him.

Your eyes clamped tightly shut, wincing a little as he eased more of his impressive girth into you, his own eyes rolling back as he slowly sank into you. Crying out a little at the stretch, Buggy’s breath hitched, prompting him to lean up on his hands to hover over you once more.

“Are you okay, Doll. I’m not hurtin’ you or anything, am I? I wouldn’t bare the thought of givin’ you any pain,” he cupped your cheek, coaxing your eyes to reopen under his palm and meeting his concerned eyes.

“I-It’s just been a little while, Sweetheart. Just need t-,” you arched your hips upwards, your needy walls sucking more of his length into yourself. A low, rumbled groan pulled itself from your guest as the small patch of hair above his shaft met with your clit; fully sinking down into you, “-to adjust a little b-before you move, okay?”

Buggy drew in a shaken breath through his parted lips, his eyes shutting tightly closed as he relished in the feeling of your warm core sucking him in so beautifully. The contraction of your walls as you adjusted to his length had him fall from his forearms, head finding residency against your neck and placing a flurry of open-mouthed kisses against your neck and shoulder. You whimpered at the sensation of being full as he lovingly grazed his tongue over your pulse and down to your clavicle bone.

“You can move, if you want,” you whimpered, grinding your hips upwards to coax him on to move.

“If I want?” he murmured into your shoulder, brow arching up as he circled his hips against your core, prompting a small cry to fall from your lips in bliss, “No, Doll. I want you to want it. I need you to tell me you want me to move. You need to tell me what feels good for you so I can treat you right, okay?” You whimpered again, crying out his name as he ground himself against you in a circular motion.

“Tell me what you want,” Buggy groaned his hoarse voice into your ear, his teeth nipping at your lobe and jaw, “Tell me.” His light whine had you throw your head back as you hooked your right leg over his left hip and grasped his ass-cheeks in fistfulls to hold him against you. You relished once more in the small twitch of his cock within your walls, quivering and awaiting instruction with anticipation.

“I want you to move,” You whispered in a breathy whimper, “I want you to fuck me.” You sought out his gaze with a small nudge of your forehead meeting with his, ushering him away from contact with your neck. He moved his head, gazing down into your eyes as he tested withdrawing his cock partially before resheathing itself within your warm walls. You mewled in bliss, his shuddered low groan mixing harmoniously with your tone.

“Oh, f-fuck-...” He uttered, again testing a small thrust within you before immediately beginning a low and rolling rhythm of pistoning within your core. The flutter of your walls circling his cock had his eyes rolling back as more groans were pulled unrestrained and crying into the room. Your tone was not much different, crying out your bliss as you watched his face begin contorting in pleasure.

“O-Oh f-fu-... ngmm-f-... you’re s-so good at this,” you complimented him, his eyes snapping to meet with yours once more as you continued to praise him, “And you’re s-so pretty.”

“P-Pretty?” he laughed, picking up his pace with the rough clap of his hips meeting yours, “You think I’m pretty-... mm-ng-... like th-this?” He picked up his pace, his balls slapping against you with each powerful thrust of his hips. He relished in fully sheathing within you, grinding his hips against you to stimulate your clit as he pulled more pretty sounds from your lips.

“I th-think you’re beautiful,” you confessed, your voice higher than you thought it ought to be as you cried out in bliss. Your stomach began to twist and contract, the feeling of an overwhelming blissful ignition of pleasure beginning to tighten. He groaned into you, his shuddered tone lulling into a soft growl at your compliments. His balls began to tighten against his flesh, feeling the stampeding approach of his own bliss beginning to hasten. His knob twitched within you, prompting a gasp to fal from your lips as you threw your head back.

“Y-You’re-...ah-h, fuck-... gorgeous, Doll,” He complimented you, your eyes meeting as you felt the familiar tingle in your toes as they curled behind him. You smiled as you hooked your ankles within one another and slowly drew your hands up to pull his neck into you for another meeting of your lips with his. He groaned and whimpered into your mouth, his staggering movements alerting you of how close he was to his release.

“W-Where c-can-... fuck me-e-... I-...” He continued plunging himself into your walls, his jaw staggering as his glazed eyes began to prick at the corners as he concentrated on not finishing within you, no matter how much he desired to. Holding onto the approach of your own pleasure, you refused to have him pull out of you and release his seed over your stomach or into his fist. Feeling selfish, you held a seriousness in your eyes as you uttered your commands.

“I want you to fill me. I want you to empty yourself into me and keep fucking me through it until all I can think about is how good you feel,” you demanded, rocking your hips up to meet his stuttered movement. His eyes were wide, wild and frantic as he heard your confession continue, “Don’t you dare think of pulling out. I-I’m too close for y-you to stop. Please. Please, Buggy. I n-need you.”

“O-Oh, fuck. I-I’m cumming. Doll, I-I’m-... nmngh, fuck-... I’m f-filling you up. You f-feel it? I’m d-doing what you told me,” Buggy cried your name as he rocked his hips against yours as he emptied himself into you.

Unsure if it was either his whimpered cries of bliss, the particularly hard slap of his staggered hips meeting your own, the ropes of his thickened load splashing within your walls with his cock twitching within you, or his admission of following your orders flawlessly; you clenched around his shaft in bliss as your walls contracted with a rhythmic thump as you allowed him to usher you through the waves of your high.

“Such a good boy,” you praised him, prompting him to wince out another broken whimper at your utterance. You cried out in your own bliss as the woven coil shattered and warmth spread throughout your abdomen to coat your body with the sparked radiance of your bliss. A sharpness of a bolt of lightning from a particularly harsh snap of his hips had your eyes rolling back and mouth hanging ajar as the plush trail of blue hair met with your clit and provided stimulus to have you scream his name.

“Oh, fuck, Buggy! I-I’m-... I’m-,” you laced your arms around his shoulders and pulled him against you, his whimpers due to the staggered overstimulation of his rapidly reducing cock thrusting messily within you. He continued to shepherd you through your high as you arched your back into him, grinding your hips and thrashing below him as your ankles unhooked from behind his back.

After your bodies rode through their mutual bliss, you gazed lovingly into the perfect stranger now coated with the beaded dewiness of the afterglow of a passionate entanglement. He managed to halt his panting breath to smile at you, collecting your cheek beneath his palm and drawing your forehead against his own with his eyes lulling closed.

“Was that okay?” He asked you, his cock remaining sheathed within you and twitching within your final thumps of your orgasm. You laughed at him, scrunching up your nose with a simple: “It was nice.” He laughed at your echo of his own words back at him, the corners of his eyes cracking at the corners

“Thank you for taking me in and showing me there’s still kindness in this world, especially for the likes of me, Doll,” he brushed his large nose against yours, prompting a small giggle to fall from your lips as your breath caught up with you.

“You’re welcome, Sweetheart,” you whispered up into his face, brushing your lips gently with his, “And you’re welcome to stay for as long as you like.” You made to move away from him, only for him to wrap his arms around your shoulders and pull you in close as he could, burying his forehead into your neck.

“I’d like that,” he hushed his tone to mimic your own as he placed one more lengthy kiss against your flesh and held you firmly.

As the day floated into night once more, you ensured your guest was fell fed and watered throughout the hours he shared with you. His clothes hanging on the line still remained slightly damp, although you were certain he spilled a small amount of water on them to elongate a reason his stay with you further.

Lounging casually with him on the plush sofa, you rested your head against his shoulder and began coloring a small sketch you managed to produce of him. There was something in the color of his eyes, something about the way his lengthy blue eyelashes framed his beautiful orbs within his sockets had you hypnotized as you shaded the circular lines you produced of him.

He gazed half-lidded over your shoulder, watching as you captured his likeness within the parchment paper with pencils, brushes and charcoals littering the page. He hummed softly, pressing his cheek atop your hair as you held firm your focus against the sheet.

Relishing in the bliss of sweet domesticity he never expected to come from a small kindness offered towards him, he allowed a small amount of sorrow to release from his heart as he heard the call of adventure on the seas whispering his name.

“When I go,” he whispered into your hair, prompting you to halt your sketching with your ears pricking up, “Will you come with me, Doll? Sail with me and seek out inspiration?” You mulled it over in your mind, weighing up the consequences with the bliss you knew sailing brought you.

“You’re all the inspiration I need, Sweetheart,” you confessed, leaning up to glance lovingly into his face, “And I’d be glad to sail with you. It’s been a while since I’ve traveled, you might have to help me get my sea-legs back.” You giggled, pressing a small kiss on his jaw with him sighing out a small laugh at you.

“I’d be happy to carry you everywhere until you do, Doll,” he uttered while closing his eyes, “repay you somehow for the kindness you’ve given me. Plus,” he arched his back down, brushing his lips against your neck with his mouth partially agape and leaving a small trail of his breath pricking your skin up beneath it, “I do love your legs, and I’d love to feel them wrapped around me again in any capacity.”

Tag List: @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @vespidphoenix @feral-artistry

#one piece #opla #x reader #opla fic #one piece live action #buggy #captain buggy #buggy x reader #buggy smut #buggy x reader smut #buggy d clown #op buggy

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headcaasefiction · 8 months

Text

Title: Suck

Mihawk/Shanks/AFAB!Reader

Minors Do Not Interact

Rating: Explicit 18+

Summary: You and Shanks bend to Mihawk’s will and service him together. Inspired by the song Suck by Nine Inch Nails.

Warnings: M/M/F Threesome, Blowjobs, Vaginal Fingering, Cum Swallowing, Collar and Leash, BDSM, Dom/sub, Daddy Kink, Sir Kink, Dom!Mihawk, Sub!Shanks, Sub!Reader.

Suck:

A thousand lips

A thousand tongues

A thousand throats

A thousand lungs

A thousand ways to make it true

I want to do terrible things to you

"Fuck..." Shanks sighs out, eyelids fluttering closed. His one arm is wrapped tightly around the waist of the golden-eyed warlord to his right, fingertips digging into his taunt hip, "I don't know how much longer I can last..."

Shanks' head is tipped back, bare chest and neck exposed. The lips and sharp teeth of Mihawk graze along his tan and sea-salt coated skin before he sucks a dark spot of purple into the flesh just under his pulse point.

"Just a little longer..." Mihawk murmurs to the red-head, nipping at his ear, "We can take turns cumming down her throat... you just have to be patient."

Seated at their feet in front of the plush couch they share, you are on your hands and knees, naked except for the black leather collar around your neck that connects to a chain leash Mihawk holds firm in his right hand. Slowly you are taking Shanks' cock in your mouth, all the way down to the base so it hits the back of your throat, before sucking hard and keeping equal pressure as you rise back up to his thick tip, repeating the process over and over again at an agonizing pace.

Shanks groans in frustration, hand bruising further into Mihawk's hip as his head lulls to the side, his dark eyes meeting Mihawk's bright ones with a desperate look. He bites his lip and gently bucks his hips so his cock goes further down your throat, causing a small gasp to escape from you.

Mihawk tsks, his free hand grasping his lover's red locks, as he crashes their lips together in a messy and forceful kiss, all mean teeth and devious tongue, making Shanks pant into his mouth while rolling his hips. Mihawk then tugs on your leash, letting you know to remove yourself from pleasuring the captain's cock. Obediently you suck the head of Shanks' dick hard before letting go with a loud pop, causing the Emperor to whimper at the loss of sensation.

"Such a brat," he says after separating from Shanks, fingers held tight to the other man's scalp, forcing him to look into his eyes, "You're even worse than she is."

Shanks grins at the warlord's words, pleased with himself, "Am I now? Good thing I don't follow your orders too often then, aye hawk-eye?"

"Hmm, I suppose so," Mihawk drawls, punishing Shanks with a sudden and harsh bite to his bottom lip, a bit of blood immediately welling up at the wound.

Shanks cries out, cursing, flexing his arm as Mihawk leans back, pressing hard to the couch to trap his companion. In the same motion Mihawk tugs on your leash again, leading you over to his lap instead, where his painfully hard cock is trapped in the confines of his pants. Quickly you undo his belt buckle, and eagerly take him into your mouth instead, starting a much faster rhythm than you gave to Shanks.

"Good girl," Mihawk hums against Shanks lips, as he swipes his tongue over the captain to taste his blood, "At least someone around here knows their place."

In retaliation Shanks attempts to bite Mihawk back, a bad move considering his current situation, painfully hard and trapped against the cushions. Mihawk moves away gracefully, pulling Shanks' head back by his hair rather hard. The yonko's chest heaving as his breath comes out rapid and uneven, a glare in his dark eyes.

Their positions make Mihawk give an uncharacteristic grin, pleased and power drunk as you service him, and as he attempts to tame the powerful but bratty captain next to him.

"You know, Red," He smirks, bringing Shanks' face close to his once more, "If you want to be punished, you just have to tell me so."

There's something about Mihawk, something about the way he emits power and dominance, the way he purrs in the ears of his lovers that makes them melt, totally slack-jawed, compliant, and eager to please, like under some kind of spell as soon as his breath ghosts over their ears.

At his words Shanks goes limp, eyes glassy with need as pink tinges his cheeks to compliment the rouge of his hair, hips slightly squirming from lack of contact. He licks his lips, mouth opening and closing with hesitancy as he attempts to either come up with a sassy remark or to beg for whatever it is that he desires.

Mihawk watches him closely, eyes heavy with lust as you continue to suck on his cock, taking him all the way in and down your throat. You moan around his dick, their actions turning you on to the ends of the earth. It was a rarity when these two would get so intimate like this with each other, sometimes you would forget your Daddy liked to switch and submit too. With a gentle tug to your collar and the feeling of the leash loosening in Mihawk's grip, you know to remove yourself from his cock. You obey, sucking him hard once more and licking the shiny tip as you settle back onto your knees to catch your breath.

"What is it, love? Cat got your tongue?" Your golden eyed lover whispers to Shanks, placing another kiss on his jaw-line before pressing their foreheads together, "If not punishment then what do you want so badly to make you behave like this?"

Shanks swallows hard, his hooded eyes and pupils blown-wide with want as he gazes back at Mihawk, and with a hint of embarassment he replies, "Your attention...just want you to put me in my place too, on occasion..."

In response Mihawk presses his lips to Shanks' once more, not as rough as before, more passionate, more loving, tongue soothing over the Captain's bruised lip before licking into his mouth and inhaling to take the red-head's breath away.

You watch mesmerized as they kiss each other, Shanks a whimpering mess as your Sir all but devours him. Mihawk releases Shanks' hair with his left hand, and without hesitation reaches down to grasp the captain's aching cock, making Shanks keen into the swordman's mouth.

"All you had to do was ask, you brat," Mihawk mumbles with the ghost of a smile on his lips, swallowing the whine Shanks breathes out as he begins to stroke his leaking cock.

You rub your thighs together, slick with arousal as your drenched pussy flutters around nothing. You long to caress your aching clit, but you know you'll be punished severely for touching yourself without their permission. Obediently you keep your hands flat on the tops of your thighs, and press your legs firmly against the other so you can gently squirm for a smidge of contact.

Shanks' arm is then freed from the confines of Mihawk's back and the couch, and is desperately tugging at the warlord's cock. The both of them whimpering and groaning into each other's mouths as they jerk one another off in unison, making you ache to fuck yourself with your fingers in time with their strokes. You're drunk on the sight of them, your desire growing with each passing moment as you tremble with arousal.

You're not sure how much time has passed when the two men finally pull apart, panting as they rest their foreheads together once more and settle back onto the couch, oxygen starved and kiss-swollen. Both of their eyes flicker down to your kneeling form, regarding the desperate look on your face and rosy flushed skin.

Mihawk smirks, his grip on your leash re-tightening, his other hand returning to Shanks' hair "Enjoying the show, darling?"

"Yes Sir..." You nod earnestly, your fingertips digging into the tops of your thighs with anticipation, your cunt pulsing with need as you watch him tug Shanks' head back to look into his eyes again.

"Hmm, perhaps I'll let her watch me open you up sometime soon," Mihawk purrs to the red-haired captain, "Til' you're both begging for my cock."

You and Shanks moan together, a noise of bliss swallowed up as Mihawk presses gentle kisses to Shanks' plush lips. You bite into your bottom lip to gather the remainder of your self-control, you weren't sure how much more teasing you could take before you broke their rules and began touching yourself.

"But for now, I believe someone is feeling a bit left out, don't you agree, love?" Mihawk points his question at Shanks, gesturing towards you with a soft tug on your leash, "I think you should get on your knees so our princess isn't so lonely."

Eyes still heavily clouded with lust, Shanks glances at you with a longing look. His usual playfully dominant, and mischievous demeanor has been coaxed into submission. He shoots you a warm smile, and with one more kiss to the warlord's lips he says, "Yes, Sir."

Shanks peels himself from the swordsman's side, and drops to his knees beside you, his hand immediately grabbing you by the waist to collide with your mouth in a feverish kiss. You whimper as he opens you up, rolling his tongue against the sensitive flesh of your inner lips, sparks igniting under your skin as his hand frantically caresses your thighs, your breasts, your ass, any part of your skin he could reach.

"Daddy!" You gasp as his fingers finally dip inbetween your legs, 2 digits more than easily sliding through your folds into your soaked pussy.

"I don't want my princess to be lonely," he coos, peppering your face with soft kisses, his fingers fucking into you, "I'm sorry if we got carried away, I'll make it up to you..."

Your breath hitches in your throat as Mihawk tugs on your leash, pulling you to his lap so you are inches away from his cock, causing the captain's fingers to withdraw from you. Shanks crawls closer beside you, joining you as he rests his head on the warlord's lap, grinning his familiar lop-sided smile.

"Make sure she cums while you both take my cock," Mihawk orders Shanks, tone firm as they gaze at one another.

Shanks nods with understanding, "Yes, Sir."

"Now suck."

Without another word you do as you're told, taking him into your mouth whole and sucking with a light pressure until you reach the tip, where you swirl your tongue before popping it out of your mouth and licking a stripe from the base back up to the head.

Pleasure erupts in your core as you feel the euphoric sensation of Shanks' fingers entering you once more, spreading around your wetness to glide up and over your clit before diving back into your cunt. You moan, gripping the edge of the couch between Dracule's legs while you grasp the base of his cock to keep yourself steady.

In a swift motion Shanks leans over and repeats what you have just done, laving his wet, hot tongue from the base of Mihawk's dick all the way to the head and back down again, glancing at you half-lidded from the corner of his eyes.

You whine at his actions, your pussy clenching tight around his fingers as he simultaneously pumps them into you and takes all of your dark-haired lover's cock into his mouth. Shanks bobs his head up and down with a fast and sloppy pace for a moment, earning a low groan from Mihawk before releasing with a hard suck.

Shanks flashes his bright grin for a moment, switching to swirl his soaked fingertips over your stiff clit while coyly licking a bead of pre-cum from the tip of Mihawk's cock. You whimper with arousal at the action, biting your lip.

"C'mere and give me a kiss, sweetheart," he murmurs, lips still brushing against the dark red head of the warlord's member, as he continues his expert caress on your slick bud.

Your eyes roll back slightly, warmth shooting up your spine in ecstasy as you understand what he wants you to do. Eagerly, you lean your face close to his, pressing an open mouth kiss to Shanks that includes the tip of Dracule's cock.

"Fuck..." Mihawk hisses out softly, grip tightening on the leash as he threads his other hand in Shanks' hair, "Just like that..."

You and Shanks take turns licking, sucking, and kissing up and down Mihawk's length. You both comfort each other with soft spit-wet kisses, and gentle hints of tongue after he's individually shoved you both down to gag on his cock as he fucks your faces.

Shanks' fingers flutter soft and fast over your clit the entire time, making you cum with a cry as Dracule is more than halfway down your throat, forcing you to swallow around him, a growl tearing it's way from deep in his chest. Your orgasm ignites your nerves, fire in your belly as you twitch with satisfaction, your slick dripping down your thighs and coating Shanks' wrist.

You come up gasping, forehead pressed to Shanks' as you both breathe together, still panting over the swordman's throbbing dick. Mihawk watches enraptured at his two lovers, needy and wanton and sharing his cock, more than pleased with their unending devotion.

After what feels like an eternity of dizzying pleasure, of pleasing and being pleased, Mihawk tugs on your leash once more. He forces you to straighten yourself up and lean back on your knees, which makes Shanks' fingers finally leave you. Shanks mirrors your movements, sitting up straight with a toss of his hair and a smirk plastered on his face. By the looks of him you could hardly tell this cocky man just got throat-fucked on his hands and knees by his supposed rival.

"You've been a good boy, Red," Mihawk praises, leaning over to place a quick kiss to Shanks' lips, "I think you've waited long enough to cum down our precious treasure's throat. Wouldn't you agree?"

Shanks bites down a groan, his arm encircling your waist once more as he pulls you into a warm kiss, "Yes, Sir...would that be alright with you, princess?"

You nod frantically, pressing a few more eager kisses to his face and neck, "Yes, Daddy, please~"

Shanks wastes no time sliding back onto the couch next to Mihawk and spreading his legs, his neglected cock obscenely hard, the tip an almost purple color. You don't have to wait for Mihawk to tug you over on your leash, you crawl between your Daddy's legs and immediately swallow him whole.

"Fuck!" Shanks cries out, hips bucking frantically into your mouth as you suck him down, Mihawk whispering sweet nothings and marking up the side of his throat once more.

It doesn't take long for Shanks to reach his end, cumming with a sharp cry and his fingers threaded tight against your scalp, hips stuttering as you swallow every single drop of his cum.

You don't have time to breathe much or get your bearings as Mihawk yanks on your leash, extracting you from the captain's spent member and pulling you back down onto his, setting himself a bruising pace as he takes his turn cumming down your throat as well, filling your raw mouth up with a second helping.

"That's it darling, suck it," the warlord growls, "Every. Last. Drop."

You obey, eyes squeezed tight, throat as open and lax as you could make it as you whimper around his girth, always so eager and ready to please. Tears pricked at your eyes before sliding down your cheeks, your abused windpipe aching for air, saliva running down your chin.

With one last, shallow thrust Mihawk slumps back against the couch, panting in unison with Shanks as they ride the after shocks of their orgasm together.

Dracule rakes a hand through his dark curly locks, collecting his composure as he gazes down at your blissed-out form, admiring how you're still so beautiful with your messy hair, tear stained cheeks and spit-soaked mouth.

"Come here, my darling," Mihawk murmurs sweetly, as he gently takes the collar off from around your throat and gathers you into his arms, "You did so good for us, such a good girl."

His praise makes your heart fill as your mind tries to catch up with your body, the post-orgasm pleasure fading away as your throat and limbs begin to ache. He picks you up and places you on the nearby bed the three of you share, beckoning Shanks to join you as he tucks the both of you into the warm plush covers.

"I'll draw you both a bath, my dear ones," Mihawk soothes, pressing a quick kiss to each of your lips while pulling on a pair of his pants, "I'll be right back."

Mihawk leaves the two of you alone to retreat to the captain's private washroom, a heavy feeling of sleep beginning to engulf the two of you. You cuddle up close to Shanks' side, resting your head on his chest next to the scarred shoulder of his missing arm.

"I've never seen you like that before..." You smile, a bit giddy, "Is that what you two were doing before I came along?"

Shanks laughs quietly, running his hand over his face, "A little, sometimes. I like to give over the reigns every so often. I don't always want to be in control."

You giggle, draping yourself over him even more, placing a kiss under his jaw, "He mentioned something about opening you up...I would rather like to see that."

"I'm sure you would, you little siren," he chuckles, laying his head back against the soft pillows and closing his eyes, "I'm sure he'd be more than happy to show you."

Sorry this took me so long to write. The holidays and work were rough and gave me mad writer’s block. Cheers!

#mihawk x shanks x reader #mihawk x reader #shanks x reader #mishanks #mishanks x reader #one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece live action #fanfiction #reader insert #x reader #akagami no shanks #dracule mihawk #fanfic

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writingoddess1125 · 11 months

Text

My Shooting Star

A Request I received on Ko-Fi, Hope you enjoy Darling!

Shanks x FemReader x Mihawk

⚠️ Warnings: ⚠️ Sadness, depression, mention of injury.

Request more stories on Ko-Fi

You stepped back, a bit frightened by his sudden forwardness and general excitement he possessed. He raised a brow in confusion at this as he took a step back.

You're my Shooting Star...

Shooting Star...

Pain... it was so painful..

Black waves, Crushing Boulders, Dark skys and purple sand. That is the first things you saw when you opened your eyes.

Your body ached and your lungs burned from salt water that you forces from your lungs. Pulling yourself up slowly from the icy water you saw that you were in a foreboding place like it had been cursed to be dreary and bleak, wincing as a sharp pain shot through the back of your head as you tried to focus your gaze around you but the darkness wasnt helping.

Rolling up you see a shadow, like a castle just up the beach.. your aching head screaming that it was shelter and possibly help. Crawling through the sand you make it to the steps of the castle, climbing the dark cobblestone and opening the massive doors.

Collapsing in the hallway you felt your body burning in pain, like you had scrapped your knee but over most of your body.

You didn't even hear the sound of footsteps approaching you. That was till a sword was brought to your neck, The steel warmer then the chill from your bones as you looked up. There standing was a man, in a open white shirt, gold cross hanging from his neck and a stoic face that was chiseled just like the black facial hair and combed back darkness on his head.

"How dare you break into my home.. State your business" He hissed, not lowering his blade as you stared up at him from the ground.

"I-I need help.." You managed out, before coughing up more water from your lungs onto his floor. Him cringing at the sight.

He stared at you before lowering his blade and returning it to his back. His eyes looking over you before sighing and holding a hand to you- which you accepted and finally stood up on uneasy legs.

Supporting most of your weight with ease, He lead you to what looked to be a study and set you a bit ungratefully into a large chair. Sitting across from you with a heavy scowl on his face-

"I am Dracule Mihawk- How did you find my home?" He questioned, his eyes narrowed dangerously at you as you sat in the chair shivering from the wet clothes.

"I-I don't know? I just washed on shore" You admit, the man's yellowed eyes locking onto you as his brow raised.

"You are dressed in pirate gear- What crew did you sail with?" He questioned but you gave another 'I don't know' answer.

"What is your name?" He asked, Staring at you as he poured you a cup of tea. Your head hurt... and you winced when you tried to think... but nothing came up.

"I-I don't remember?.. Honestly I don't remember anything.. I judt remeber waking up on that sand out there" You admit, rubbing the back of your head once more and wincing. Mihawk standing up and leaning over to take a look at the back of your head, seeing a horrendous wound there which he attributed to your memory loss.

"It looks like you have a head wound...Ill return soon"

Standing up suddently he went off to grab the first aid kit quickly he began to clean the back of your head.

He asked you basic questions, ones you didn't know the answer to in any way which he seemed to forgive.

"May I see whatever else is hurting?" He questioned, You nodding and pulling away the wet cut up fabric of your coat and shirt underneath. The fresh air adding a cold sting to your body as you saw the harsh twisting wounds thay decorated your body, like your body had been sent through a grater or rubbed raw with a pumice stone. Mihawk winced at the sight, sighing as he saw many tattoos that had been on your body was clearly removed by your treatment of the sea.

"Looks like the sea was not kind to you.." He whispered softly as he set to work cleaning you up. Talking to you about nothing as he tried to distract you as he worked, picking bits of coral and stones from your flesh. Once it was all over and you were wrapped in bandages Mihawk gave you a shot of a strong alcohol to help the pain. He found some leftovers which he quickly fed you as well and gave you some more booze to help dull the pain through your body. Offering some clothes to change into as well as he helped you to your feet again.

"You can stay here to rest.." He said softly, guiding you himself to a nice bedroom were you could rest- That night dreams of a red ship filled your mind, sailing with blurred faces of people you had once knew and the warmth of someone kissing your face.. it was bittersweet and you didn't know why.

It had been a few weeks you'd spent with Mihawk and Perona. They were so nice to you, and in truth you had started to really like Mihawk. He was quiet sure but he was so kind as well, He helped your wounds and would keep a careful eye on you. You saw it and maybe because you didn't know his true identity you saw a sparkle of enjoyment everytime you came to speak to him-

In that time Mihawk and you had found a name for you, (Y/N)- You two having spent some time in the library together as Perona came in and out screaming if it was cute or not. Finally finding one that suit you and you liked hearing yourself being called by.

However it seemed the quiet bliss you were experiencing was soon to be disrupted once more, as a storm rolled in much like the one that had brought you and a massive knock on the door brought Mihawks attention from the chess match he shared with you.

Telling you to wait you watched him leave the library you two were playing in- It was almost 30 minutes of silence. Eventually standing up to go see what was happening, You didn't hear any fighting or anything but could see that the fireplace in the Study had been lit and light was pouring out. Silently walking over you took a peak inside, Hearing a small conversation spoken between two men.

There a red haired man sat, talking to Mihawk in a stressed way as he ran a single hand over his tired face. He reminded you of a weathered dog, Kindness still in those eyes but a loyalty and fierceness that said he had seen a lot. Mihawk caught you staring and nodded at you.

"Ah, (Y/N)- this is Shanks" Mihawk said calmly as he gestured for you to enter further, The red haired man standing to greet you.

He turned to stare at you with wide eyes, a wide smile breaking over his face as he rushed to you suddently. His hand reaching out to cup your cheek in affection.

"Starlight! You're alive I'm so glad my Love I was worried sick for you!"

"Starlight? It's me Shanks- You know me" He emphasized.

"I-Im sorry but... I don't remeber you" you say softly, his eyebrows raising in surprise at this

He tried... for weeks he stayed on that island, bringing foods he claimed you like, songs you used to love, and books that used to inspire you. Non of which held the value or interest you apparently once had for them-

His face washing in worry as the realization whatever marks had been on your body had long since been washed away by the new scars that decorated your body. He swallowed thickly as he took a shaky breath, Mihawk grabbing Shanks shoulder gently.

"Shanks... Let us talk about this privately. I do not think it is fair to frighten them like this" Mihawk said softly, the Red head opening his mouth ready to protest but looked at you once more. Recognizing the shine of fear in your eyes.. so he nodded softly at this. Mihawk waving you to leave and go to bee, which you did and glanced back to see the red hair man looking to Mihawk as fresh tears ran down his cheeks... your heart aching at the sight even if you didn't understand.

The next morning when you went for breakfast you saw everyone was already there, Perona seeing you up and quickly dismissing herself back to her room. Which ment this wasn't good.. Taking a seat Shanks started talking immediately, you not even able to take a sip of your tea.

"Starlight- er sorry (Y/N) I wanted to apologize for how I approached you last night.. But I wanted to explain... See you were a member of my Crew and.. my partner" He started, you feeling a wave of embarrassment and unease hitting you at his words. Mihawk taking a sip of his tea as he clearly wanted this to be as civil as possible.

"However not long ago we were in a terrible battle, a storm hitting the ship before you were swept overboard. Me and the crew trying to find you but was unsuccessful and even I was separated from my ship in the disaster.." He mumbled, clearly unset from the situation for himself as well.

"Mihawk has taken his position as your Ward of sorts.. and well" Shanks hesitated clearly unsure how to proceed so the Warlord stepped in.

"He wants to stay here, see if he can jostle your memories in a few weeks and if by the time he needs to leave if you'd join him" Mihawk said calmly, fear hitting your heart at the request... you looked at both men, Mihawk of course keeping his eyes lowered to not sway your opinion while Shanks stared at you with pleading eyes.

"Okay.. I'll give it a chance" You say softly and give a hesitant nod. The red head smiling brightly at this.

"I'm glad (Y/N)- I promise it will be fine" He said in a reassuring way, however you felt unease in your soul as you took a bite of your now cooled breakfast.

Mihawk keeping a close eye on Shanks to make sure he didn't throw you in a panic or go too far in wishing for you to remember him.

You bit your bottom lip, your stomach churning at the choices laid before you. A man who swore you loved him, vs the man you found yourself falling in love with.. a past that you had lost or a future you could see.

You however just felt guilty- It was like being told you were someone's fantasy but not living up to their ideas.. you didn't know who this 'Starlight' was, What she liked or what she did. You wanted to help Shanks and make him feel better but when something just didn't click for you, the disappointment in his eyes were unmistakable.. many nights you would go to Mihawks room and cry, letting him hold you as you admitted your guilt of hurting the stranger and seeing his broken heart.

Clearly after your tearful cries for far too many nights, Mihawk had called off the trial between you and Shanks. Deciding it was best to make a decision now.

Gathering in the Study you sat awkwardly in a chair as Shanks and Mihawk went back and forth, bickering about if they should let you continue humoring Shanks and leaving with him or stay with Mihawk and live your life as (Y/N).

"Shanks this is ignornat- You can't force her to remember and you are putting to much pressure on her" Mihawk stressed, Shanks glaring at his peer.

"She needs to remember- You are giving in too quickly and when she wakes up she's going to regret ever-"

"Enough!" You finally spoke drawing both their attentions.

"I think this is my choice" You spoke firmly, both men growing quiet as Mihawk nodded in respect of your wish and Shanks doing the same.

"I'll always cherish the memories with you" Shanks said softly, even though there was a smile on his lips you could see the heartbreak in his eyes. Like he was mouring and saying goodbye to a passed love one.

You look to Shanks, he had been kind to you despite everything... but something said it wasn't right- Not him but you... you weren't who he wanted, He wanted Starlight not (Y/N)- you lowered your gaze and sighed softly.

"I-I'm sorry Shanks.." You whisper softly, and it was almost like you could hear his heart shatter at your words. Glancing up to see his eyes blank and glossed over, shock clearly in his system as he slowly lowered himself down into the chair. His movements almost robotic in nature as he grabbed the bottle of wine Mihawk had set out and pulled it close to his chest like a child would pull a teddy bear.

"Come (Y/N).. let us retire..." Mihawk said gently as he wrapped a gentle arm around you and guided you out of the room. Shanks still seated there, still like a statue and the second the door closed behind you and Mihawk you could have swore you heard a broken sob.

Shanks stayed locked away for 3 days and nights. He didn't step out once from your knowledge and you saw plates being left at his guest room door but never touched. Once again guilt eating your soul.. however on the 4th day he emerged, speaking to Mihawk before returning to his room.

"Mihawk?... what's going on?" You question, Seeing the man grab his hat and coat.

"Shanks has agreed to leave the island. He requested a temporary ship to set sail.. he leaves this evening" He said calmly- Your heart clenching at hearing this, but you nodded non the less... you spent the day in your room, in a whirlpool of unease and pain, Yet confuses by your feelings that was set before you. Snapping out of your feelings only when Mihawk knocked on your door to tell you it was time.

Standing at the pier you wait next to Mihawk, Shanks had yet to appear.. after 30 minutes the man stepped out, his eyes had bags under them and his stubble was unruly having clearly been depressed to do much. Shanks walked to the two of you and smiled softly at you as he patted your shoulder tenderly.

He stepped back from you, Smiling still as he looked to Mihawk who was still behind you with a hand on your shoulder.

"Take care of her Hawkeye, See she's a a special one. Like a real life Shooting Star"

'Shooting Star-... My Shooting Star'

A sharp pain hit your heart, like hearing that Nickname suckerpunched your stomach... you swore you heard it before. However shook it off quickly as you watched the Red-Head turn away from you the final time and walk to the ship.

Uncertainty filling your chest as you watch Shanks turn and leave. A ache in your chest like your heart had been broken at the sight and tears filled your vision- Like a loss you could never hope to understand.

Or remember.

#x reader #one peice x reader #one piece #one peice live action #mihawk x reader #hawkeye mihawk #one piece mihawk #dracule mihawk #mihawk x shanks #mihawk one piece #op mihawk #one piece shanks #shanks one piece #red haired shanks #shanks #shanks x reader #shanks x you #shanks x mihawk #shanks x y/n

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willowser · 2 years

Text

angsty to begin with bc i love to talk about fighting with bakugou LOL but it gets lighter, i promise 💕✨️

you can track katsuki's heated discovery through his footsteps.

the front door closes harshly enough that the house trembles, echoing down your spine at his arrival; it feels sudden, now, though—looking at the clock—you've been waiting for hours. his day has no doubt been just as tumultuous as yours, but his resounding frustration—both new and old—bleeds through the walls all too well.

it means something that he doesn't take off his boots; what's always been regarded as a criminal offense now bares his impatience, reveals how full his mind is of the things he needs to say. underneath the comforter, your toes curl, heart thudding heavy as his heels as he lumbers for the bedroom.

—only to come up empty.

an indistinguishable curse shoots from his mouth, across the house. first murmured and then chanted over and over again as he tears down the hall and back into the living room. you've left your shoes out for this reason, as well as a plate in the sink and a candle burning on the end table beside the couch.

you're still here; you want him to know that.

it's silent long enough for you to realize you're holding your breath, straining to hear his every move. your cheeks are salted with tears—both new and old—and you wipe at them cautiously, as if such a movement could give you away; it's not that you want to stay hidden, but you're nervous for what will unfold, when he finds you.

not because you're afraid of him, never of him, but—you just don't want to fight anymore.

the door to the guest room is thrown open suddenly, with an urgency that makes your heart pound and your eyes snap shut.

katsuki smells like work, strongly; sweet and musky like sweat; a once-roaring campfire; evidence of the city—smog and fried food and some amalgamation of strangers—soaked into the fabric of his hero clothes. you sniff once, wet and distracted, and it gives you away instantly.

the sound makes him sigh, though from relief or annoyance, you can't tell. maybe both. a weight he's placed on your chest dares to lighten as he shuffles closer, no doubt dragging mud across the carpet, and the warmth of his body so close is all too alluring; you peek up at him once he sits at your side, but he's just leaning his elbows onto his knees, staring at the wall.

"guess you're sleepin' in here, then."

this bed lacks the indentation you've worn into katsuki's mattress, but the comfort of it wouldn't help you to sleep anyway. not after today. after all that's been said.

your voice is very small when you speak, tip-toeing. "yeah, i think i will."

he shakes his head like you're being ridiculous, and you try not to let the action prod your still tender wounds. a harsh hand runs over his face and through his hair, tugging off the mask that had been buried there. it dangles loosely between his fingers as he fiddles with it, keeping his eyes from you as long as he can.

"y'want me to stay in here too?"

you don't. it's the whole reason you moved your pillow into the guestroom to begin with and you think he should know that, but he's still—trying. a fresh frog develops in your throat at the sentiment; it's always the softer side or katsuki that packs the heavier punch.

a weighted silence settles in the space between you, the words sour in your mouth. for a brief and tense moment, you wonder if you can get away with not saying it, without having to reject him—but then he peeks at you over his shoulder, all smoldering embers. waiting.

"that's okay," you offer a weak smile in an attempt to soften the blow. "you can have the room tonight."

katsuki rears, resisting with a huff. "well, i don't have to. and you—we can—y'don't have to sleep alone."

still trying; you can hear it in his voice, well-hidden beneath his exasperation, a slight tremble born from the fear that you'll leave him in an empty bed. so far removed from the tone used with you this morning.

you can still see his face when you close your eyes: how red it gets, the vein in his neck that swells with blood when he's yelling, lips curled like he's so angry he could spit. the argument hadn't started on any serious note, but you had something to say and so did he, and it went on and on until you were fighting less about the subject matter and more about each other. rights and wrongs that had been left unattended for too long, that had begun to fester.

it's not like you were particularly soft-spoken either, but—like most things, with katsuki—you didn't stand a chance against him.

"i know, but," you bite your lip and lose your words, settling for a shrug that only serves to annoy him further.

"fine," he grumbles, shooting up from the mattress to storm out of the room. "whatever. goodnight."

the door follows closely behind him, banging against the frame with less force than it could have, though the silence he leaves behind feels just as painful. you roll onto your back to wipe at the fresh wave of tears that pool in your eyes, groaning quietly into the emptiness.

fighting with katsuki isn't the hardest part. making up is.

it took long enough for him to place his heart comfortably in your hands, to reach the point where he felt safe enough to share his feelings with you, but his trepidations lie in wait; any sort of rejection when he's already so vulnerable is liable to have him locking his every last door.

and you know he doesn't mean it; it's instinctual, a defense mechanism he's kept in place all his life. retreating away to hide, when he's sorry and asking for absolution, is the safest route for him.

when you're finally done pawing at your eyes, the shower sounds from down the hall and you imagine him in there, head bowed under the violently hot water, trying to wash his frustrations away. his skin is always so pink and tender when he gets out, and you feel a pang of loneliness at what you'll miss in a bed without him. for tonight, all you have to hold is the idea of him, and you listen closely to the stream as if it will offer something more.

it runs for long enough that you begin to forge an excuse to go in and check on him, but just as you start to justify it, the water shuts off. you feel thwarted—though it was a silly plan—and the hope of getting to see him for one final time tonight crashes, has tears welling up again.

but before they can spill over, a soft knock sounds at the door.

you turn away despite wanting for him, and answer. "yeah?"

the door creaks, room warming with him in it. katsuki doesn't say anything until you finally roll over to look at him, his hair damp and flat, forehead resting against the wood as he watches you from the corner of his eye. head bowed, like a scolded child.

"'ve got...shit to do with my old man tomorrow." he murmurs. "but i should be back by lunch."

even if you are at odds, another bout of loneliness grows at the thought of waiting, sitting in the house without him. "okay, thank you for letting me know."

just barely are you able to make out the shift of his eyes down to the carpet, the growing frown on his face before he groans quietly to himself. when he stands properly, you admire the soft curve of his muscles, his shoulders, as he crosses his arms over his bare chest.

"goodnight," he tells you again, nicer this time. you whisper it in return and there's some finality, for the night; his jaw cocks and his head shakes again, like he can't stand this shit. you know he can't. katsuki squeezes his eyes shut tight and when he fixes them on you, they are full and sad, but he doesn't look away. not this time. "y'know...that i love you, right?"

your restraint buckles, nearly slipping through your hands, and you sit up to catch it. more than anything, you want to open your arms and allow him into this bed with you, the way you always do, but your sore heart stops the words from forming.

instead you tell him, quietly, seriously, "and i love you too, katsuki."

his frown only deepens and he turns with a heavy sigh, dragging the door gently behind him.

katsuki's all might mug is waiting on the edge of the counter the next morning, still steaming.

for you, because he doesn't drink coffee, and when you step up to it, you can tell by the color that he's added too much cream. the gesture makes you smile regardless, softening aches and pains from the night before.

he doesn't say anything when you sit at the bar counter, doesn't look up either, just continues putting away whatever he's used to make his protein shake. you can see the tension still lining his every move, the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows hard and ducks his head and acts like you don't exist here at the end of the kitchen, waiting.

twice he walks by without saying anything, busying himself with a backpack sitting by the couch. he spends a few minutes staring into the hall closet before grabbing a jacket you haven't seen him wear in months, and then he sets it with his other things and strides back to the kitchen and—has to face you.

the shadows under his eyes are dark and heavy, like he didn't get much more sleep than you did.

"shouldn't take me all morning," he speaks softly, like he would to a newborn. so, so far from how he spoke to you yesterday. "if y'need somethin' while i'm out, just—" call him, he means, though he trails off with a shrug.

"okay," you nod and sip your coffee, accepting his olive branch. "i will, thank you."

katsuki chews on his lip before finally returning to the living room to gather his things, and he waits until your back is to him before speaking again. "unless you don't want me to go." he huffs, like he's already frustrated. "i can stay and we can...figure all this shit out."

"no," you shake your head and swivel around to frown at him. "no, you should go spend time with your dad. we can talk later."

"'s not a big deal if i cancel, i can call him right now if you want me to stay."

"no, katsuki, i wouldn't want you to do that." your brow furrows and the knot that gets stuck in his throat is almost visible, as his gaze shifts to the wall beside you, avoidant. "i think it'd be good if we—"

"fuck, if you want me to get out, just say so."

"no, that's not—" the irritation you felt yesterday wakes once more and your stomach twists at the fear that this will devolve into another screaming match. your already thin patience snaps, echoes like the ceramic of your mug against the counter when you set it down. "i'm not saying that. at all. i just don't think you should cancel on your dad if you've already made plans. you said yourself it's not gonna take all morning, so we'll talk after."

"well," he scoffs, indignant, throwing his arms up in the air like he's exasperated—but you don't miss the slight wobble of his chin, how long it takes him to sound out his own words. "you even gonna be here when i get back?"

"well, yeah, honey, where else would i—"

"'m not gonna come home 'n—" he waves a hand, clearing his throat as he forces himself to stare at the ceiling. "'n all your shit's gonna be gone?"

you deflate instantly, watching the sharp work of his jaw until he's having to blink rapidly, over and over again as his eyes gleam. the bar stool scrapes across the floor with an ugly sound as you slip out of it, and katsuki only throws you one brief, bloodshot glance before you bury your face into his chest.

still on guard, his arms don't move, don't come to wrap around you—but you can feel the small huff that leaves his chest. the tip of his nose as it dips into your hair.

with your cheek to his chest like this, all you can hear is the rapid-fire beat of his heavy heart. "i would never just leave you like that." all you get is a half-shrug in response, voice to fragile to sound. "i'm—we had a fight, but i still love you, katsuki."

he shrugs again and shakes his head, staring glassy-eyed at his cabinets when you look up at him. "well...'m sorry."

"i know," you murmur, nuzzling your cheek into him again. in your hands, his heart is heavy, and your own mirrors its ache; has he always been like this, expecting the worst? or is this a wound suffered from another? you squeeze him a little tighter, until his breath hitches. "and i forgive you, but my feelings are still a hurt and i just need...some time, you know?"

now his walls crumble, as he finally wraps an arm around your neck so that he can press his face into your hair. "...how much time?"

you want to laugh at his impatience, the little brat that's still at his core, but you can't fault him. not when you're just as eager to leave this fight behind. to wrap him up in all the warmth you can offer. "i don't know, half a morning, maybe."

and he doesn’t say anything for a long time, as he waits for his voice to stand on its own again. even then, it's quiet, small. "...okay."

"i'm going to love you forever and ever and ever." you promise, offering him your loveliest smile when he swallows hard. "even when you don't want me to." the longer his eyes linger on your cheeks, the pinker his own get, and you can't help yourself; you stand on your tip-toes, happily, now, and wrap your arms around his neck. "can i have a kiss, please?"

katsuki scoffs, though it's lighter now, before pressing his lips to yours, softer than you expected. even though it's chaste and simple, he stays there with his eyes shut tight, like he doesn't want to ever leave. you have to pull back, because your lips start to curl and you want to laugh at him, so pliable and sweet, but he chases you, plants two more before frowning at your giggling.

"y'r a dumbass," he murmurs, and when you gasp, he throws his arm around your neck and yanks you into his chest again. the heat on his face is palpable, as he tries to tuck his vulnerability in your hair. "'m always..." katsuki tries, cutting himself off with a sharp sigh. "g'nna want this, so don't be thinkin' otherwise. ever."

you hum into him, pliable, too. melted down to his same temperature; warm, tender. you pull away to place a kiss on his cheek, more on his lips until they quirk up the slightest bit. satisfied. "i won't if you won't."

#i posted this by accident and then had to private it LOL #so it got stuck in the far depths of my blog whoops #✿ willow writes #✿ thoughts: bakugou #✿ theme: domestic bakugou

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spnbabe67 · 3 months

Text

Owner of an Empty Heart

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem Original Character

Summary: Tori and Dean are now in the same space after 3 months of no contact. Personalities clash and words are exchanged. Will Tori and Dean make it through?

Warnings: Smut, P in V, fingering, oral, body worship, praise, alcohol, drinking, slight tipsiness due to alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3751

Written for @spnkinkevents : 2024 Kink Bingo using the square 'Cowgirl'

Authors Note: Hey all, this is part 3 and the finale to my angsty mini-series. This miniseries has been my way of exploring how my OFC and Dean might interact in the overarching series I'm starting to write. So, if you are at all interested in Dean and Tori and hearing more about them, let me know!

Also, I don't condone cheating in the slightest irl. I am a big proponent of characters doing or saying things outside of your own personal values (within reason) for the sake of keeping their personalities and identities as true as possible

Tori wasn't sure her day could get any worse. She'd woken up to a dead cellphone, courtesy of the previous night's thunderstorm knocking out the power and frying the outlets in her room. A steady downpour meant once she returned from running errands around town she was soaked to her core and shivering hard enough to make her muscles ache. Thankfully, the downright shitty motel, infested with roaches and mold she used to stay low for the past week had scalding hot water and passable water pressure. Tori had savored the warmth, standing under the stream until she could see steam rising from her skin and the water itself started to turn chilly.

The bathroom was thick with steam clinging to the walls peeling with paint, and accumulating in a layer over the mirror. The towel was scratchy and itchy, removing what seemed like a layer of skin along with the water as she dried off, pulling on underwear and a pair of sweats that hung low on her hips, the elastic long since gone limp but the insides were soft like a cloud. She tugged a tank over her head, the cloth clinging to her dewy olive skin.

Leaving the sandpaper disguised as a towel, Tori padded out to the main room, damp hair loose and turning wavy in the air. The unsecured door allowed for the cool wind from the summer rain outside to sneak under the door, making the room deliciously chilly against her feverish body. With a bottle of Jack Daniels she managed to flirt her way into getting a discount on, Tori settled back on the questionably clean bed, flicking through channels alternating between various news sources and static until she landed on the Game Show Network. It's gonna be a long night.

Tori was three seconds from sleep to the sound of Pat Sajak's voice, the nearly finished bottle of Tennessee whiskey in a loose grip against her chest when a series of knocks sounded on the door. Her eyes cracked open to the dark, the only light was sourced from the late night gameshow on the grainy tv. The canned laugh track played softly as Tori, with a knife in hand, stumbled her way through the barely illuminated room in a hazy, dizzying blur.

Tori hissed a string of curses that came tumbling from her lips, pain blooming from her hip bone as she hit the corner of the table hard as she fell forward. Well, that's gonna leave a mark. The ache flared with each halting step toward the door. Had she been any more sober, Tori would have been more ashamed of how long it took her to remove the security chain, fingers seemingly unable to grasp the small, cold brass chain and ease it from the narrow channel; the deadbolt was less of an ordeal, giving way easier with a soft click.

Holding the knife behind her back, grip tight on the smooth hand-carved handle, Tori eased the door open, careful not to disturb the salt line she'd laid in a semicircle in front of the entryway. Out of all the shitty things that had happened to her in sequence in the past 12 hours, nothing could have topped seeing Dean Winchester standing on the other side of the door, soaked in rain.

"Tori?" Dean's voice was muffled, like she was underwater.

Tori blinked, stumbling back a step only to catch herself on the door jamb. I didn't think I drank enough to start hallucinating. After two blinks and Dean still stood there, looking more concerned by the second, Tori shook her head. "What are you doing here, Dean? How, how'd you find me?"

Dean’s brows furrowed, green eyes scanning her, catching on how Tori leaned against the door for support, cheeks flushed pink. "Are you drunk, Tor?" His words brimming with concern.

"I'm moderately functional." Tori quipped back, heart seizing at the familiar nickname. She looked past him into the pouring rain, how the droplets rolled off his leather jacket.

She’d be lying if the sight of her former lover looking like the product of a hate-fuck between a drowned rat and a kicked dog didn’t invoke some joy in her drunken state. She huffed an exasperated breath, grabbing Dean by the arm and yanking him into the room. "Get the fuck in here before you get sick, dumbass."

Dean huffed a laugh, taking a step into the room looking around at the squalor in which she had been residing. He glanced back at her, rubbing the back of his neck. “So,” he trailed off, unable to look Tori in the eye. “How you been?”

Tori took a sharp breath in, swinging the door shut hard enough to make the window rattle, all sense of humor put out like dumping a lit candle in water. She slammed her knife down on the table. “Cut the shit. You didn’t answer my question: Why are you here? How are you here? The only person who knows…” Tori sighed, dragging a hand down her face. “Sam.”

“Don't be mad at him.” Dean placated, shaking the excess water from his jacket.

“He’s really not who you should be worried about right now.” Tori shifted her weight onto one leg and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Look, Tor, can we talk please?”

Tori flung her arms out at her sides exasperated. “About what, Dean? About how you cheated on me? About how you called me, what was it again” She cocked her head to the side, putting her hand on her chin in mock contemplation, “Oh right, a whore who sucks the life out of people? You wanna talk about that? Then talk!”

Dean sighed, slumping down into the chair behind him, burying his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of it. I know better than to try and give you excuses. I just…I’m sorry. If I could take it all back I would.”

Tori wrapped her arms around herself, drying hair falling soft down her back and over her shoulders. Both of them fell silent, existing in an uncomfortable atmosphere, a tissue paper-thin bubble poised to burst should either of them move too quickly.

“Why?” Tori broke first. Voice softer than Dean had ever heard; vulnerability expressed by a woman who he had never seen even an ounce of self doubt from.

“Why what?” Dean braced his elbows on his knees, looking up at her, how the soft flow of ebony hair only enhanced the stunning features of her face. He could count on one hand how many times he had seen those dark locks freed from the confinement of the french braids she so often kept them in.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” Tori placed a hand over her chest, skin clammy. “I knew you were hurting. We all were. Why didn’t you come to me? Why couldn’t you trust me enough to talk to me. Why wasn’t I good enough for you?”

Despite her best efforts, her voice broke. Tori sucked in a shuddering breath, blinking back the emotions building behind her eyes. Dean felt his chest tighten at the way Tori’s voice broke, her bottom lip quivering with her declaration of her perceived inadequacy.

“What do you want if not me?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Dean breathed out, slowly standing from the chair.

Tori shook her head, face crinkling with sorrow. Dean crossed the space between them with a few strides of his mile long, bowed legs. Her eyes fluttered shut as his hands cupped her face, calloused from years of holding knives and guns. She had to stop herself from leaning into his touch, the juxtaposition of the way he’d gripped her chin in a harsh vice-like grip that night not lost on her in that moment.

“Sweetheart, look at me.”

Tori slowly opened her eyes, meeting Dean's soft expression and she couldn’t decide to be mad or upset, so she chose to just stay silent, not completely sure that if she wouldn’t cry if she opened her mouth to say anything anyway. As she blinked, a tear slipped down her cheek, only to be wiped away by his thumb.

“Sweetheart, you are more than enough. You always have been. I never, never meant to make you feel that way. Tor, you are the best damn thing that happened to me. And you deserve so much better.”

“Dean,” Tori placed her hands on his wrists, her thumbs brushing against the back of his hands.

“You're too good for me, Tor. Always have been. The last thing I wanted was for you to get caught on my rough edges. And when times get tough, all I know how to do is push people away. Push the people I love away.”

Tori pulled away from Dean, taking a steadying breath. “That's not your decision to make. I'm a big girl Dean. I'll choose who I get caught on, and when I've had enough.” She grabbed his hand, pressing her lips to his palm “Promise me you won't push me away again. Promise me that, and I'm all yours.”

Dean loosed a breath, letting his hand rest against Tori's cheek. The other reached out hesitantly, finding it's place gently on her waist, her body warm beneath his touch. “I promise.” Dean leaned down, pressing his forehead to Tori’s. “I'm so sorry Tori. I promise this will never happen again.”

Tori leaned into Dean's hand against her cheek, her other hand coming up to rest on the back of his neck, fingers toying with the soft downy hairs there. “Say it.” She whispered into the space between them. “Say you love me.”

“I love you. I love you so much. More than anything, I love you, Tori.”

Tori let out a shuddering sob, choking on tears. “Then kiss me.”

Dean was sure his heart was in a million, no, a billion pieces at Tori’s choked sob. His hand on her waist migrated up to cup the other side of her face as he brushed his lips to hers. Hers moved his response to his own, the kiss tender with unspoken apologies and forgiveness.

Dean could taste the sharpness of the whiskey she was drinking, only fueling the rush of serotonin in his body. Like a junkie getting his fix he drank up her taste, the way she smelled, the way her body felt beneath his hands.

Dampness soaked his thumbs and Dean pulled back enough only to kiss away the tears that adorned Tori’s flushed cheeks, clinging to her thick eyelashes like dew on the morning grass. He made sure to remove all traces of tears from her face before reclaiming her mouth.

Tori's hands fell to Dean's chest, the damp cotton of his shirt sliding against her palms as she smoothed them upwards, pushing his rain-soaked jacket off his shoulders. He got the hint, hands leaving her face to slide the leather off himself, letting it fall to the ground in a heap. Dean's fingers found their way onto Tori's hips, sliding under her tank top to meet the soft flesh of her sides.

She giggled softly at the sensation, smiling against his lips. Dean echoed her grin, nipping softly at her bottom lip. Slowly, Dean walked Tori backward until her calves hit the edge of the bed. Tori sat on the edge of the bed, a hand on the back of Dean's neck pulling him down with her. Their kisses gradually became increasingly heated as Tori scooted back up the bed, Dean kicking off his boots. Dean gently caressed Tori's body as he crawled up her body, taking the time to trace along her thighs, up her flank; a maestro handling his instrument, knowing where to touch and how to pull the sweetest sounds from her.

Dean slotted himself between her legs, bracing himself on his elbows above Tori. She hummed contentedly as his lips left hers, blazing a trail of fire to her jaw and neck. He teased his hand under her tank again, the material bunching around his wrist as his thumb grazed the underside of her breast. Tori's breath became uneven at his touch, back arching off the bed slightly.

"So pretty," Dean mumbled against her neck. "So responsive f'me, sweetheart."

His name tumbled from Tori's lips as Dean tugged her tank the rest of the way up and off with her help. Her nipples hardened against the chill room, causing a welcome zing of pleasure as they brushed the soft fabric of Dean's shirt.

Tori huffed in displeasure as Dean sat up from her body, kneeling between her legs. With a smooth swift motion, Dean slid Tori's sweatpants down her thighs and gently removed them. One big hand delicately cradled her ankle, pressing a kiss to the bone there before kissing up her leg; one to her calf, then to the inside of her knee, then to the plush of her thighs. His teeth grazed the skin increasing incrementally the closer he got to the apex of her thighs so by the time his breath was hot against her now-soaked core Tori was sure she could come undone with a single touch. She tipped her head back as Dean pulled away once more, starting again on the other leg with his mouth to the inside of the knee.

"Please." She breathed out, hands gripping the sheets around her.

All the response she got from him was an amused chuckle and a teasing nip to the softness of her inner thigh.

"Let me take care of you." Dean glanced up at her as his wandering fingers hooked on the waistband of her panties, pulling them down to follow the same path as her pants.

Tori became painfully aware of how exposed she was, sending a shiver through her naked body. She wrapped her arms around herself, covering her chest, hands over her face.

Dean made a shushing noise, hovering over her again, his body hot against hers.

"Don't hide." He coaxed, gingerly removing Tori's hands from her face, pinning them to the bed above her with one of his own. "You're perfect."

Tori scoffed softly. "Hardly."

"No?" Dean cocked his head.

"Nuh-uh."

"Well then I'll just have to convince you then."

Dean dipped his head, capturing Tori's lips once more. His mouth left a hot trail as he moved South, nibbling marks on her collarbone. He kissed his way into the valley between her breasts, his free hand coming up to roll one hardened bud between his fingers.

Tori gasped softly, arching up against his touch. It was too much and not enough all at once. She tried to pull free from Dean's grasp but he held her wrists in a vice-like grip. Soft noises escaped her lips as Dean continued his descent downwards, kissing the softness of her belly, tongue flicking across the scars and stretchmarks that littered her olive skin. Finally, he relented his grip on her wrists, using his thumb to trace her hipbone, fingers lovingly caressing the dip of where her waist met her hip.

"So beautiful. Fucking divine." Dean spoke into the plush of her lower stomach. "I can't get enough of you."

Tori's breath caught in her throat at the first hot breaths against her core, followed by a choked moan as his downright sinful mouth attached to her clit. Immediately her fingers buried themselves into his downy soft hair, ankles crossed on his back. Tori bucked her hips against his mouth, but Dean had one arm across her hips, hand splayed across her belly, holding her in place. He ate her out like a man starving, licking a sucking at her clit, tongue dipping into her heat as if on cue.

Soft gasps and moans spurred Dean on, using his free hand to rub small circles on her clit, alternating to sweeping motions that had Tori slamming her legs shut around his head. Dean just smiled into her pussy, deciding that if this was the way he was meant to go, then he would be the furthest thing from upset. Tori's thighs squeezed harder around his head as Dean inserted one finger into her, curling his fingers in a 'come hither' motion just right against the sweet spot deep within her, making Tori see stars. He knew all the right ways to stroke and touch her in order to keep that wave of pleasure continue to slowly reach it's peak.

"Dean," Tori sighed his name, feeling her lower belly tighten.

"I know. I know sweetheart. Let go for me."

With a cry, her climax hit her like a freight train. Her vision went dark for a second as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over her, making her legs shake. Once her world stopped spinning and the roaring in her head died down, Tori released her death grip on Dean's hair, allowing her lover to kiss his way back up her body. She could taste her own release on his tongue as he kissed her deeply, lovingly.

"You're," Tori spoke between kisses. "Wearing too many clothes."

She tugged at the hem of his shirt, kneeling with Dean as he chucked the item over his head and into the room. Tori's nimble fingers made their way down his torso, tracing lines downward to his belt. Her lips attached themselves to his neck, sucking dark marks into his tanned skin as she unbuckled his belt. She could feel his hands rubbing soothing, sweeping motions up and down her sides as she tugged his jeans down his muscular bowed legs.

With some maneuvering, Dean found himself, sitting with his head at the top of the bed, Tori removing his jeans, followed by his boxers that already had a wet stain from his erection. Tori swung her leg over his lap, lowering herself to rest on his thighs, placing a kiss to the tattoo over his heart. She sucked in a breath as she ground her hips down over his dick, sliding herself over him. A sense of pride bloomed in her chest as she pulled a rumbling groan from Dean. His hands landed on her hips, pulling her forward and back, guiding her motions.

Tori rose on her knees, reaching behind her to grasp his length, Dean hissing in pleasure as she did so. She pumped her hand up and down him a few times as she kissed Dean hard. Tori pulled away just enough to catch Dean's forest green eyes as she slowly lowered herself onto him, guiding him in with her hand. Dean groaned lowly, both of them unable to move or breathe until he was fully seated inside of her. Pleasure melted with pain as Tori adjusted to the feeling of him inside her, breathing in as Dean exhaled.

"Fuck." Tori moaned into the crook where his neck met his shoulder.

"Feel so good, Tor." Dean rasped, fingers digging into the softness of her ass, kissing her shoulder. "Takin' me so good. So good, sweetheart."

Once Tori adjusted to the feeling of him inside her she began to move, alternating between raising herself up and down on her knees and grinding her hips against his. They fit like a puzzle finding it's final piece, Dean's pubic bone providing delicious friction against her swollen clit. Tori gripped Dean's shoulders as she pistoned herself up and down, rising until only the tip of him remained inside before sliding back down. His grip on her hips and thighs helped steady her as she rode him, slowly picking up speed. Dean leaned back against the headboard, watching Tori above him, her head thrown back in pleasure.

"So pretty for me, Tor. So perfect like that." Dean praised as he traced her hipbones, guiding her movements. "That's it, you got it, sweetheart."

Tori continued moving up and down, one hand drifting down to guide his between her legs. He got the hint, starting to tease her clit as she bucked her hips up again. Tori moaned softly, her breaths in tandem with his as she felt the familiar sensation of pleasure building low in her belly.

"I'm close." She gasped to him

"I know, I know. Me too,"

Dean sat up again, guiding Tori's halting motions as they both teetered on the edge of their releases. With a low moan, Tori's walls clenched down on Dean as her climax hit, triggering his own as he felt his release fill her. Tori continued to move, drawing out both of their orgasms through stuttering motions, her legs feeling like jelly.

They both panted into each other's mouths as Tori rested her forehead against Dean's in post-coital bliss.

"Fuck, sweetheart," Dean murmured, nuzzling his face into her neck.

He gently, laid them both down, pulling out of her with a soft groan. Tori watched from the bed as Dean disappeared into the bathroom. She heard the water running briefly before her lover returned with one of the washcloths in hand. She whimpered slightly as Dean used the rough, warm towel to wipe away the mess between her legs, brushing against her overstimulated clit. He tossed the rag back into the bathroom before stretching out beside her.

"Feel okay?" He whispered to her.

All Tori could manage was a blissed-out nod, scooting herself closer to Dean. He grabbed the covers, pulled them over them both, and wrapped his arm around Tori's waist, tugging her to him. She rested her head on his chest, a leg draped over his waist. He pressed a kiss to Tori's hairline as he traced shapes and loving words onto her back, lulling his girl to sleep. Tori brushed a kiss to his chest before settling against him, letting her eyes fall shut.

In the early morning hours, Tori found herself awake next to Dean in the lumpy motel bed. The sun was just waking, casting them both in golden hour light, teasing along the highlights of her lovers sandy blonde hair, emphasizing the five o’clock shadow and every silver line of scar on his bare torso.

She reached out gently, brushing aside the short hairs falling gracefully across his forehead, fingertips lingering on the small scar there. His arm was heavy across her waist, keeping her in the bed next to him. Green eyes blinked open as she adjusted.

“Where you goin’?” Dean muttered, voice rough with sleep.

“Nowhere.” Tori smiled at Dean, scooting forward to press a sweet kiss to his lips. “I'm not going anywhere.”

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