#I still really wanna talk about all of the other ones too—and those are more developed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fairy-angel222 · 5 months

Text

𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍’𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐃? 𝐈’𝐌 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐒, 𝑫𝑶𝑪𝑻𝑶𝑹

prisoner! sukuna x psychologist! reader

✧ synopsis: you’ve been assigned to the supposed most ‘dangerous’ prisoner, sukuna. but what happens when you two start to fall for each other instead?

✧ cw: smut, quick paced, semi public sex, risky sex, choking, kissing, pussy eating, blow jobs, breeding, creampie, fingering, orgasm denial, dirty talk, age gap

✧ wc: 4.7k

✧ a/n: i am not a doctor and i am especially not specialized in psychology. i have made up all of this. also don’t sleep with murderers unless it’s sukuna

Your heels clicked loudly on the stained prison tiles. The echo of your soft footsteps trailing along the narrow walls of the enclosed hallway.

Sukuna.

That was the prisoner you were assigned to. A man who had killed more people than you’d met in your entire life as a doctor, a psychologist at that. So you’d met a lot of people.

Two guards trailed closely behind you, glaring warningly at the inmates who smirked as you walked past the line of cells. A collection of whistles and cheers sounding at the mere sight of a woman as attractive as yourself.

How long had it been since they’d seen one after all.

“Hey Doc… you sure you wanna take this case.. i mean, i don’t doubt ya or anything but this one.. he’s bad. Dangerous.”

“Now what kind of doctor would i be if i feared a little danger. He’s still a patient.” You smiled, ignoring the way your hairs stood as you were led deeper into the institution. The part where they held those deemed a danger to society.

Those who had a no chance of even seeing sunlight again.

You were nervous, your heart thumping loudly in your chest when you scanned your surroundings. There weren’t any cells. There were only.. rooms. Fully enclosed rooms with a singular window for passing food.

Every part of your being begged for you to turn around and run. To not even interact with whoever sat on the other side of that door. And you froze when bright red eyes pierced into yours. The rest of his face casted behind a dark shadow as his head tilted back. Giving you sight to the small smirk creeping onto his features.

“Doc, i really think that-” It was the other guard who spoke up. Both of them holding nothing on their features but fear. It was clear that they never even bothered with Sukuna. The rumors had been enough to make every guard turn a blind eye.

“Hey, it’s fine. Okay? This is what i do.” It really was. The guard gave you a curt nod and a sigh when you clasped both his hands in your smaller one. Offering him a reassuring nod.

“If anything happens, us and about five others are stationed close. Good luck Doc.”

You gave him a small thanks, your head held high as the door was pulled open roughly. Revealing a pink haired man who sat on his bed against the walls, his eyebrow raising when you dared to step inside. Nodding to the guard to close the door.

You might as well have been a dead woman.

“You’re scared.” His deep voice rung out, keeping his eyes on you as you pulled out a small chair that was tucked away near the sink.

“And how do you know, Sukuna?” Your tone was steady, letting out a breath when the shakiness you felt wasn’t reflected in your voice.

Sukuna hummed, his smirk widening when you spoke to him like a normal being. To stuttering, no harshness. Just your sweet voice saying his name. “I can smell it, Doc.” He loved the way you tried to hide your squirm under his gaze.

“So, Sukuna. Tell me something about yourself.” You steered away from his accusation, holding eye contact even when he leaned forward. Taking you in from head to toe. You were hot, he liked that. You seemed to like being confident too. And God did you smell fucking delicious.

He wanted to eat you alive.

Break you.

Use you.

He really did. But you were so fascinating, and he’d only just met you. Who knew how entertaining you could be.

“I’ve killed people.” He was blunt, eyes almost begging you to keep asking these ridiculous questions. It was making his cock twitch.

“Well Sukuna, that is common knowledge, don’t ya think? I wanna know something else.. tell me a secret hmm?” You leaned forward with a smile, elbows rested on your knees as you looked to him for a response.

He reciprocated your actions, leaning forward until you felt his hot breath fan over your face. “A secret huh? Alright Doc..” he watched as your breathing sped up, using every strength in your body to not pull back. You were brave, he liked that. “I surprisingly don’t wanna kill you right now.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“I said right now, didn’t say anything about later.” He pushed away from you, one of his knees up to his chest when he leaned back against the concrete wall behind him. “Let me ask you, Doctor. Are you stupid?”

Your head tilted at where this was going. You were supposed to be the one asking the questions. But a conversation was two sided, this would’ve made things easier. “I’d like to believe not. Why do you ask?”

“Because you really think that if i try to kill you, some measly guards would come to your rescue.” He scoffed.

“But you don’t want to kill me. That’s all that matters.”

Fair.

Sukuna watched as you took a quick peek down at his files. There was something that you missed, that much was evident. “Finally found it huh?”

“I haven’t found anything that i didn’t see before.” You objected, glancing to the door with your lip hanging loosely between your teeth.

“Don’t. Don’t do that.” He demanded lowly, watching with lidded eyes as you let your plump bottom lip, slick after running your tongue over it, fall back into place. Sukuna breathed deeply, finally looking away from you as he swallowed hard. Closing his eyes with his head rested behind him.

There was something about you that he wanted a taste of. It was driving him crazy..er, “I never did anything to these other doctors. They were just weak. Got scared way too fast.”

“And what did you do to scare them away?”

“Nothing.” He spat, “They came in here acting all high and mighty, talked to me like i was beneath them. So i simply didn’t bother to hide how much i wanted to strangle them. And somehow that makes me the bad guy right Doc?”

You shook your head, “No, you have a right to respect too. They should never have treated you as unequals.” Lying was all in the job description.

“Good try Doc. But you and i both know that’s a load of crap.” He finally peeled his eyes back open, and you couldn’t help your mind from wandering to how attractive he was in the dim light. He was extremely built, and had the facial structure that made you clench your thighs. “Now, we gonna finish our game of twenty one questions or not?”

He was actually being cooperative.

“Yes we are. How about i start?”

“I’ll start.” There was no room for objection in his tone. “What’s your name?”

You contemplated whether to tell him or not, eventually letting it out with ease. Though you missed the small smile tugging at his lips when he muttered a small “cute.”

“My turn, what was your childhood like?” You watched his face grow cold, a small glare being directed at anything in the room but you. “Next question.”

“Sukuna..”

“I said next question. How old are you?”

You sighed, “I’m twenty eight.” His eyes widened, that was extremely young for a doctor. “Is there one good memory you have from before you killed for the first time?”

“I had twin kittens. Do you have a boyfriend?”

You were taken aback by the question, mouth opening and closing a few times before you chuckled. “No. I do not have a boyfriend.”

“Good.”

You jumped when the door was yanked open, the guard eyeing Sukuna warily before nodded to you. “Your time’s up, Doc.”

“Oh, already? Could we get just a few more minutes?”

“You know how dangerous he is Doc.. we can’t risk it.”

“You heard the man. I’m dangerous, Doctor.”

You nibbled at your lips softly, and Sukuna fought a groan as you did exactly what he warned you not to. Standing up, you gave Sukuna a warm smile, the gesture making his stomach get all weird inside. “Goodbye until our next session Sukuna.”

He only hummed, the door being shut behind you as you were led away.

It was back to darkness.

There was more than enough light, sure. But it suddenly felt so empty without you there.

—

You couldn’t keep Sukuna off your mind when you arrived home. A part of you just really wanted to figure him out. The other actually liked his company.

You must’ve been so sick in the head. Splashing your face with cold water as you mentally scolded yourself. What was wrong with you? He was a criminal.

—

The next morning you walked the path that you had taken the previous day to get to Sukuna. This time without the guards following you.

There was only one who stood outside of the door to let you in with a small nod of acknowledgement.

Sukuna’s head perked up at the familiar clicking of those heels you wore. His signature smirk on his face as he stared you down. “Just couldn’t get enough huh Doc? Aren’t you forgetting that i’m dangerous?”

You took a seat, no file in had this time. “Good morning Sukuna, how are you?”

“If i said better now that you’re here, would that be cliché?”

You laughed, an actual laugh. A sweet one that made his heart flutter the tiniest bit while blood rushed to his groin.

“It’s very good to see you too. How about we get started yeah?” You paused as you collected your thoughts. “You seem to be heavily affected by people calling you.. dangerous. Why?”

“Everybody is dangerous. It just takes pushing at the right buttons to get it out of them. Half of the people here have done just as bad as i have yet i’m the only dangerous one. Makes so much sense right?.”

He shook his head. “Tell me Doctor, do you really think i just happened to get caught? That i couldn’t get out of this damn place if i wanted too? Hell, tell me you realize that i could drop a good twenty more bodies right here, right now.”

You shifted in your seat. “I think that you let yourself get caught because you’re tired. Because there’s a small sense of peace you get from being in here. And i think that you aren’t trying to leave because you don’t want to.”

“You almost had it Doc. See, i was well on my way out until you came. So i might stick around for just a little bit longer.”

Your heart fluttered, for you? Giving up on fighting the rational side of you as you continued to engage in conversation. Getting Sukuna to slowly open up to you more.

“Do you have any friends Sukuna?”

“I don’t consider people friends. They just exist alongside me.”

“If I asked you to be your friend, what would you say?” It was routine, but you really were curious.

“I’d say you came be whatever you want to be Doc.”

Another flutter.

“Have you ever been in love Sukuna?”

He was silent, jaw clenching as his gaze got harsh. “Next question.”

“What was she like?”

“I said next fucking question Doctor.”

“And i said, what was she like?” You leaned forward, pressing for him to answer the question.

“You’re stubborn aren’t you? I wonder what my hand would loom like around that pretty little neck.” He grinned, sharp teeth peeling from beneath his lips as he brought his face to yours. “She was a lot like you.”

“What happened to her?” You knew how touchy that question would’ve been.

“Nothing. The bitch left.”

Oh.

“I’m sorry.”

He stared at you in confusion, “I never said she died.”

“Yes. But that’s only physically. When she broke your heart she died to you. And that hurts just as bad.”

He was silent, studying your eyes. Trying to get a read on you. “What else do you want to know Doc?”

You were getting somewhere.

Sukuna found you smart. Thought that you knew a lot. Found it hot how good you were at cracking him. But it pissed him off that the one thing you didn’t seem to pick up was how much it hurt to watch you leave at the end of each session.

—

A week later had led to a Monday morning where you hadn’t gone to the prison. You had quite an agenda for the day that could cost you your job if you didn’t get it done.

That was something Sukuna was obviously clueless about. It was why he thought you’d just decided to up and go after he had just started liking to have you around. After he’d started opening up to you.

It was also why he was causing a fit. Yelling at guards to get you to him now. That he wanted to see you. Needed to see you. A line of men laying knocked out atop each other from being sent to ‘handle’ the crazed prisoner.

Would you really not come back? Would you really abandon him? It seemed like that was common with the people he cared even the slightest for.

Sukuna’s fist met the wall near his bed, knuckles bloodied as he cracked into the hard surface. Chest heaving up and down heavily when his hands reached to tug at strands of pink.

He blinked when he heard the clicking of heels on the tiles. Immediately scowling at the unfamiliarity of them. “Who the fuck is this?” He growled through the small window.

“This is Dr Smith, she’s-”

“I don’t fucking care who she is. Bring me my doctor. Now.”

—

Back at your flat, you dropped the piles of paper in front of you at the sound of your phone ringing.

It was a number you didn’t have saved.

“Hello, Doctor ___ speaking- yes? Oh my. I- i am so sorry. Yes, i will be there right away.”

What had you done?

You practically ran through the halls after parking outside the building. Finding many guards posted outside his door with guns in hand. Some of them spotting very black and blue eyes.

“You can all go now.” You panted, it was clear that you had been in a hurry. “Please.”

They all shared a look, finally walking away and allowing you to slowly open the door.

“Where were you?”

“I’m really sorry Sukuna. I was so busy today and-” you gasped when a hand reached out to wrap around your neck. Slamming you into the wall behind you with his face buried in your neck.

Sukuna inhaled your floral scent, groaning to himself as his grip on your delicate skin tightened. “So you just left me here today? Am i not as important as your other little patients? Is that it hmm?”

Deep down, you had hurt his feelings. And he couldn’t help the way he clung to you as your hand lifted to his cheek. Turning his face to look down at yours.

“N-no i promise you. You’re just as important as anyone else. I would have never missed our session if i didn’t have to.”

“Make it up to me.”

It was the perfect opportunity.

“W-what?”

“Strip for me Doctor.” He let go of your neck, letting you catch your breath while looking up at him timidly.

“Sukuna..”

“Why so shy now doctor? We both know you want to.”

You shook your head, shrinking under his gaze with a protesting whisper. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Sukuna. This is very unprofession— ahh.”

Sukuna brought his knee up between your thighs, pressing it into your clothed clit. His lips ghosted over your ear, hot breath fanning your skin as he breathed deeply. “You can always leave if you want to. I’m used to that after all.”

You shifted on your feet when your back arched. A small whine leaving your mouth when he pulled away from you and gestured to the door.

He smirked, “Blouse first.”

You bit your lip, unbuttoning your shirt until your bra was on display. The heavy swell of your breasts causing Sukuna’s mouth to water when he nodded to the bra.

With your eyes still on his you let your breasts spring out of their confinement. Two pert nipples pointing right at him as his dick rose. His hand palming himself under the pair of black pants with a shiver. “C’mere.”

You walked over to him on shaky legs. Sitting down on his lap with your head to the floor. “Uh uh,” His hand reached under the your chin to force your eyes back on his. “None of that Doc.”

You moaned when his tongue swirled around one of your nipples. Sucking your breast into his mouth while he palmed at the other. “These are even more perfect outside that tight fucking shit of yours.”

Sukuna watched as you shivered when he ran his finger down your belly. Cupping your clothed cunt with the jerk of his hips into your ass. “Fuck.. take that off.”

You hurriedly peeled off your pants, Sukuna’s pupils dilating at the sight of your lace panties. “Wore this just f’me hmm Doc? All this for Mr Dangerous.” He groaned out.

Sukuan didn’t give you a chance to respond before flipping you onto the hard mattress they called a bed. Lifting your heel clad feet onto his shoulders with his head hovering over your pussy. His tongue darting out to lick at the wet spot building from your arousal. “You’re real dirty f’ a doctor.” He teased, glancing behind him with a chuckle. “Imagine if you got caught.”

Your eyes shot up to the small window, taking note of the vacant corridor as per your request.

“God, you smell so fucking good. Wanna devour that pretty pussy.” He breathed, large hand ripping the flimsy fabric to expose your glistening folds. “Hmm, this wet all for me.”

You mewled when his long tongue licked a stripe up your slit. Swirling around your clit before sloppily dipping into your hole. His hums sending vibrations through your clit as he lapped at your dripping slick.

“Sukuna—” you mewled, back arching as you reached for his hair. Tugging softly with the curl of your toes when his tongue and fingers swapped places. The two joints fucking up roughly into your g spot as he sucked noisily at your clit. “F-fuckk, nngh— so good.” You cried out, tears welling in the corner of your eyes as your body filled with pleasure.

“Yeah? You like that Doc? Bet you wanna get that greedy cunt stuffed right after.” He grunted, your eyes rolling back in a string of muffled moans as your other hand shot up to your lips.

Your legs began to tremble, Sukuna’s smirk growing wider and wider until he stopped his movements. Watching as you blinked down at him with a sniffled whine.

“You left me. You know how much that fucking hurt? I thought i would never see you again.”

“I’m-”

“You’re sorry. Yeah, yeah.. i know.” He rolled his eyes, crawling over your body with a sigh. Using the pad of his thumb to wipe away a stray tear before pressing his lips to yours. Making you taste yourself on his tongue.

You fell deeper into the kiss, eyes closing in satisfaction as his lips moves hungrily on yours. Pulling away with a string of salvia connected you to him.

“Let’s reverse the roles yeah?” He whispered, standing up to sit in the chair that you usually sat in. “So, my adorable little patient.. put these tiny fingers to work on that clit of yours. I want you to make yourself cum.”

You whimpered, your fingers immediately meeting your sensitive clit with a shiver.

“You know what to do.” He encouraged. Your fingers beginning to rub small circles on the small bud before speeding up. Little gasps and moans falling past your lips as your stomach burned with heat.

Your eyes locking onto Sukuna’s red ones as his head tilted. Just like it had the first day you met him. “Ahh, K-kuna. Fuckk.” You cried, head falling back with your eyes still on his. The primal look in his eyes making your insides flutter as he did nothing but watch you. Not even freeing his painfully hard cock.

“Sukuna— c-can’t. Can’t hold it.” Your voice cracked, body shaking lightly as your orgasm washed over you.

“Yes you can.”

“Nngh, can’t Kuna. Need to let go.”

He stayed quiet for what felt like an eternity, your breathing getting heavy as you desperately waited on his permission.

He leaned his head back, eyes boring into your fingers working your wet cunt before nodding. “Go ahead.”

You came with a silent moan, body spasming uncontrollably as your pussy leaked onto his only pair of sheets.

“Dirty, dirty girl. Look at that mess.” You shied away feom his gaze. “And look at how hard you made me. Come fix it.”

You stood on wobbly feet, barely able to balance in your heels as you fell to your knees before him. Looking up at him through your lashes while pulling down his pants.

You blinked at the mere size of his bulge. He was huge. Tugging off his underwear to reveal his thick, veiny length. Pointing up to the sky with a fiery red tip. “Suck.”

You took him past your lips, barely able to take even half of him before he hit the back of your throat. Your fist stroking all the parts of him you couldn’t take.

Sukuna groaned, head flinging back with another strained one at how good your mouth felt. “S-shit doc. You really got a mouth on ya.” He gasped, eyes meeting yours as you attempted to take him down your throat. Your drool coating both your lips and his cock as you lewdly sucked him off.

He took your head into his hold, letting you do your own thing as he grunted with each jerk of his hips. Defined abs tensing when he grew closer to his release.

“Fuck Doc, gon’ shoot my cum down that tight throat of yours.” He breathed. Holding you down onto him as you gagged and sputtered lightly, Sukuna’s cock twitching before you felt the warm liquid run down your throat.

“Wish i could fuck that pussy so bad.” He let go of your head, wiping a drop of his cum from your chin before pushing his finger past your lips. Watching as you sighed in content while sucking every last drop. “It’s too bad that in about one minute those guards are gonna come get you Doc. Our session is over.”

You had no time to question how he knew. Scurrying to redress with widened eyes.

Sukuna may not have had a clock. Nor was he able to distinctly see the sun rise and set. But he’d learned to count the seconds when you were around. He knew how much time he had with you.

“And… now.”

At that very moment the door swung open. Sukuna having easily pulled back up his pants after giving you your seat back. Both of you looking as professional as you possibly could.

“See you tomorrow Doc.” He smiled innocently, watching as you scrambled out while avoiding his eyes.

You really fucked up now.

It was hard to keep him out of your mind before. But now, trying was futile. You’d gotten a taste and you needed more. Which was why your brain would not let you close your eyes without thinking of him fucking you.

—

The next morning you bit back a whimper as your clit was caught between your rubbing thighs. You had worn a tight pencil skirt with no panties. Just for Sukuna.

You were thankful that the guards had complied to your wishes of them leaving.

You wanted to stop yourself. To go back home and forget about the red eyed prisoner. He may not have been dangerous to you physically. But to your heart and mind.. he’d be the death of you.

When the door closed behind you, you found yourself bring pushed roughly into the same wall as last time. Sukuna letting out an animalistic groan as he captured your lips on his. Kissing you so much more feverishly than yesterday.

“You don’t know how much i need you. Didn’t even sleep last night.” He panted, turning you around so that your chest rested against the concrete surface. “Missed you so much Doc.” His voice softened, kissing down your neck while grinding up into you. His fingers finding their way under your skirt with a smirk against your skin. “And i thought you couldn’t get any dirtier.. no panties huh?”

You moaned when he prodded at your already dripping cunt. The thought of him being enough to have gotten you soaked. “Shit- tell me what you want Doc. Let me hear you say it.” He growled lowly, ready to snap the second the words left your mouth.

“Please— please fuck me.”

Sukuna hungrily shoved your skirt up. The fabric bunching at your hips as he freed his aching cock. Both of you letting out a noise of satisfaction when he sunk into you, his large hands holding tightly onto your hips to pull you into him. Your back arching as your hands shot out to the wall for support.

“O-ohh God.” You cried loudly, your lips parted in shaky moans as Sukuna’s cock rammed deep near the entrance of your cervix. His veins grazing at your g spot as the fat girth stretched you to your limit.

“Nah baby, ‘s only me.”

“Kunaa— so goood- ahhh.” Tears pooled in your eyes, Sukuna’s hand reaching into your hair to pull you back into his chest. Your nails clawing at the wall in front of you as he destroyed yours.

“Taking me so fucking well. Shit- pussy’s so damn snug.” He husked, hips snapping noisily into yours as he fucked into your walls mercilessly. Basking in the sounds of your choked screams and mewls. The way you sobbed underneath him when your knees buckled.

He was fucking you so hard and deep. Better than anything you’d felt before. His cock slamming into all the places that would drive you crazy.

“The day you fucking leave me i will break outta here Doc. And i will find you. You’re mine got it?” There was a certain seriousness in his voice that made goosebumps arise on your skin. Your salty tears mixing with your drool as they ran down your flushed face.

“And when i do get outta here you’re gonna have my baby Doc. ‘M gonna fuck you again and again till’ i eventually give you my fuck—ing kid.” His breathing became ragged, your body rocking forward with each of his movements.

He smirked. “I’ve fucked ya this dumb already?” His cock twitching inside you as your body moved with his cock like a fleshlight. Your vision blurred as your head grew light, dizzy. You couldn’t think, every roll of Sukuna’s hips clouding your mind as you let an incoherent babble drip off your tongue. Shakily chanting his name when he reached forward to pinch at your clit.

“Look at you. Look so pretty underneath me like this.” His free hand snaked up to your neck, groaning loudly at the feeling of your heart beat on his skin. Pulling you up so your back rested flat against his broad chest, wandering lips meeting your exposed collarbone. “Let go f’me.”

Your body quivered as you tightened around him. Letting out a whimper-like cry as you came messily on his cock. A breathy moan of his own sounding in your ear when his thrusts began to get sloppy.

“Kunaaa.. inside. Want you inside. ‘M on the pill.” You begged, legs giving way as he held you flush against him.

“Whatever you want, Doc.” Slowly coming to a halt as he buried himself inside your warmth, tongue darting out to lick at your tear stained cheeks. Feeling his cock swell as he pumped you full of his cum. Painted your gummy walls in nothing but white

“Looks like i’m sending you back with my cum dripping down your thighs.” He pulled out with a grin. His cum leaking out of your fluttering cunt in small spurts when he used his hands to knead at the flesh of your ass. “Hottest thing i’ve seen in a while.. after you of course.”

You hummed, eyes shutting as you fell into him. Feeling the thick substance slowly dripping down your legs while spreading over your sticky folds. Sukuna stumbled back onto his bed with you on top of him. Your face nestling into his chest with a soft smile. “Hey Doc.. i love ya but those guards are gon’ be back soon.”

‘So worth it.’ Was the one thought branding itself into your mind as your body registered the rough, lust filled fuck.

“Shit.”

—

You and Sukuna had gotten so much closer over yet another week. You had never believed in falling in love that quickly until now. You couldn’t help it. You felt so much better when he was around. Seeing him was the highlight of your day- especially now that you’d convinced for longer sessions.

He felt the same way. You were the second person he had fallen in love with and somehow even harder. You made his heart.. swell. And he was serious about busting out to start a life with you.

“So, your first love. We never finished talking about her.” You smirked, notepad back in hand as you did your job. Sukuna having been stealing small kisses from you between every question.

“How about we forget about my first love and focus on my current one. You.”

#jujutsu kaisen smut #divider by cafekitsune #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader smut #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader smut #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jujutsu sukuna #jjk x you #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut

14K notes · View notes

tojisun · 2 months

Text

the apple that rolled over to the tree

!! fluff; f!reader; parenthood!!; simon-centric hehe >:3 // divider by @/plutism!

there is a… kid attached to your hip when simon returns home from a mission, his exhausted body stumbling into the kitchen where he finds you and it.

“what—”

he can’t even fathom the emotion coursing through him at the moment, what with shock triumphing over everything. still, you’d probably need to give him credit for not losing his goddamn mind at seeing a whole child — he couldn’t have been more than two years old with how he’s only three apples tall — clinging to you like a baby koala.

“oh my god, you’re back!” you squeal, unfazed at how dumbfounded your fiance has become, before shuffling close to embrace him.

simon reciprocates the hug anyway.

you step back, your lips still wobbling in your tears as you stare up at him, all awed like you couldn’t believe that he was back and simon wishes he can press his promises to your lips because he will always find a way to come back, he swears on his life, but also—

the child.

“sweetheart?” he begins, soft as to not spook you or the kid. “who’s, uh, who’s that?”

the child shifts, turning his little face from where it was burrowed onto your neck at the sound of simon’s voice. he rests his head on your clavicle, smooshing his already chubby cheek, before the biggest brown eyes that simon’s ever seen stare up at him, all doe-eyed and jarringly innocent, and simon, he—

well, not even babysitting tommy’s kids prepared him for this.

“this is yasha,” you murmur, pulling simon’s attention back to you. “or yakov, or james if he would want an english name.”

the boy reacts to you calling his name, and simon watches as those curious eyes tip up at you in question. you swipe your finger over his nose, the little thing scrunching up at the ticklish feeling, and simon becomes breathless at seeing the unadulterated joy in your face.

it is all parts soft and tender, but also anxious and worried, and simon begins to puzzle out the pieces.

“he’s my foster child. or ours, i guess, now that you’re here.” your voice is so fragile as you reply to him, your hand now beginning to rub soothing nothings on the boy’s back. simon wonders if it’s more to calm yourself down than it is to comfort the boy.

your lips purse, hesitating, and simon waits because while he he’s pieced out what you want to ask, he knows that this is something you would want to truly talk to him about. it is something he knows you have mustered up the courage to bring up so he gives it to you, open and ready, and he hopes that his face and his gait show that whatever it is you would want to say, simon will always support you no matter what.

“si?” you begin, looking heart-wrenchingly small in your worry. “i think i wanna adopt him.”

simon hums, stepping close but also being careful not to crowd yasha, before he curls his arms around you two — his family — and nuzzles his face on your other shoulder. “i’d love that.”

he offers you a smile, and squeezes your arm in comfort, then he watches as the tears come, easily springing up from your eyes. yasha startles, whirling to look up at his mother in worry. simon’s throat constricts at the thought of you being a mother and him, a father; how, now, there is someone else for simon to come home to. someone to fight for.

jesus. he’d need to tell the lads and maybe get wasted as a celebration.

“owies?” yasha asks, chubby fist balling your shirt.

“they’re happy tears, sweetie pie,” you reply, crooning. “i’m just so, so happy.”

yasha hums, nodding, probably already distracted, and simon takes that time to straighten back up. he pushes your hair away from your face, before he pitches forward to press a kiss on your forehead.

yeah, he’s happy too.

yasha gets spoiled, not that simon’s complaining given that he’s been the one doing all the spoiling.

“really, si? a new toly?” you ask, arms crossed over your chest in your exasperation.

toly or anatoly, or tory because yasha still can’t speak properly, is the name that yasha gave to all of his new stuffed toys. it all started with a dog plush that simon bought from the supermarket on a whim and gave to the boy. it was laughably quick how yasha had abandoned his blocks to make grabby hands to the toy, before squealing out that name.

the next stuffed toy that yasha received, which was just the softest and roundest penguin plush toy that simon’s ever seen, was also named toly. so was that teddy bear you bought for him. or that reindeer he got for christmas. somehow, every single one had been named toly.

the only thing you and simon can find about toly was that anatoly means sunrise. simon was so sure it was the russian word for animal, because why else would yasha repeat it, but who would have thought that their little fish is so imaginative?

like, of course he’s going to name all of his toys toly because they are as warm as sunrises. see? smart kid.

but this one, this new toly, set off world records. it was a camel plush that simon saw at the airport when he was out, pretending to be a civilian.

(garrick had been assigned with him for that mission, and was quick to spot and mention simon’s on-duty purchase.

“it’s for my boy,” he grunted in reply, forgetting the fact that he’s yet to truly break the news to his squad. garrick had never looked as surprised, and next thing simon knew, the news made its way to their group chat.

price was amiable about the whole thing. mactavish? not so much.

he just about begged to see a picture of yasha — “and yer girl again, if you wouldn’t mind.” — or even visit him. then he invited garrick to come and price invited himself too, so now the guys are going to swing by some time soon.)

when simon gave it to yasha, their boy had stared at it for a solid minute — simon counted — before screaming and then running to snatch the toy from simon’s hold. he hugged the camel close to his person, his little head nuzzling against the plush face of the camel, all the while absolutely vibrating in unabashed excitement.

he picked up thundering footsteps and turned around just enough to see you literally slide into the room. yasha continued to hug the camel, ignorant of the distress he caused, while you looked on in your panic, buzzing with worry because you just heard your boy scream, damn it!

“he’s fine, bub,” simon said before you could ask, and he watched as you came down from your frenzy, your breathing slowing down at the rationalization that if simon was not panicked, then everything’s alright.

then, your eyes landed on the new stuff toy.

“really?” you asked.

in his defence, yasha adores camel-toly.

in your defence, yasha’s room is running out of space for his tolys.

…well, simon does have all that military money. gonna have to spend it on something else, right?

[charlie foxtrot]

sriley: link

john2: ????

sriley: new address.

garry: oh? congratulations.

sriley: thanks.

johnp: 👍

yasha was shy when saying hi to price, then outright cried when he saw mactavish, which made simon bark out loud in laughter. yasha only stopped sniffling when he saw kyle. in no time, yasha absolutely adored garrick to the point that he would not even let him go.

dinner was prepared and while you called them all to eat, simon ambled out of the kitchen, where he had been helping you, and walked towards kyle and yasha to pick up his son and seat him on his high chair. but yasha had only looked at him, his head tilted in question, before ignoring simon and clinging onto kyle.

hell, he had even let go of camel-toly so that he could use two chubby fists to hold onto kyle. surprised, simon didn’t even know how to react and watched as his sergeant offered him an apologetic smile before carrying his son to the dining room. kyle rounded the table and sat yasha on his high chair, only, yasha made a scene when kyle did so, and he released a lungful of screams and cries, breaking everyone’s eardrums and their hearts.

kyle stood there, worried and confused, and hovered because he did not know what to do. hell, none of them did, and then you walked out of the kitchen, rushing to yasha, and hummed songs to comfort your son.

you crooned when he made grabby hands to be picked up and you did so with no hesitation, your touch soothing the boy into quiet sniffles. but even then, yasha wouldn’t settle down as he wriggled in your arms, short limbs reaching for—

simon glowered.

yasha was reaching for kyle. you were quick to giggle, asking kyle if it was alright that yasha would eat with him, and simon had glared at his sergeant, daring him to deny their son of anything, before reluctantly nodding his approval at kyle’s happy trill of, “of course, ma’am!”

yasha had finally calmed down when you sat him on kyle’s lap, and his boy was even polite enough to actually eat his soft veggies every time kyle beckoned him to open his mouth for a new spoonful.

simon did not startle, but it was close, when your hand landed on his thigh.

“you okay, baby?” you asked, eyes furrowed in your worry.

“yeah,” he remembers replying with, his throat all choked-up because he knows yasha must be excited to have new people to play with, but still, there was something that stung when his boy chose garrick over him.

not that it was kyle’s fault because he is a dear for even doing all that he did for yasha, but simon had hoped that he would always be yasha’s favourite.

too lost in his thoughts, simon had almost missed yasha’s call.

“-ddy? daddy?” yasha asked, startling simon.

it was not the first time yasha called him that, but every time he did, it never fails to make simon melt.

“yeah? what’s up, buddy?”

simon pretended that no one was watching the interaction.

yasha giggled, hiding his food-smeared lips behind his little palms, before turning to use garrick’s front to hide from simon. you snorted, murmuring to kyle how you swear you would wash his shirt before they go, but it’s all buzz to simon because his son — his darling boy — wanted to play with him during dinner.

yasha peeked at him again, before giggling once more when he caught simon’s eyes. this continued on until dinner ended, with simon occasionally miming growling monsters to induce more hearty giggles from his son, and being rewarded with the happiest laughter ever.

simon turned to you, with his heart on his throat, and beamed.

“aww,” mactavish sang from somewhere beside him. “ain’t that adorable— argh!”

simon had swung his arm out and thumped his fist on johnny’s stomach. thank god, yasha had chosen that time to hide his face again on kyle’s stomach.

“unca’ john?” yasha asks in a stage-whisper because everyone within earshot just heard him even with his attempt to be quiet. it’s only their training that stopped simon from acting like he’s noticed.

“yeah, bubsy?” john replies, sounding so utterly soft that this version of him is so foreign to simon.

“this tory,” yasha says and simon discreetly peeks to see which toly is being introduced to uncle john — it’s the elephant one.

price gasps theatrically like he hadn’t seen yasha drool all over this elephant toy before, and puffs out, “how cute!”

“mhmm,” yasha says, nodding, then smacks the face of the toy on john’s face. the trunk smooshes against john’s nose, and thank god that elephant-tory is soft because that aim would have been lethal if it wasn’t.

“jesus—” price gasps out.

“language!” simon hisses, and ducks his head back down just before yasha could catch him peeking.

yasha is now four and he still gets teary eyed when he sees johnny. simon placates his friend and says it’ll pass soon. maybe.

basically, i wanted to write a fic wherein simon’s reaction to being presented with a child is “what— oh okay, sure why not” and (literally in 20 minutes) “i will kill everything for this child” and so here we are

a simon spinoff - it takes a rampage (to be a dad)

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley fluff #simon riley #simon riley x reader #suns

4K notes · View notes

valiant-portabella-pirkko · 10 months

Text

can I just say that seeing the sword necro preview made me even happier that I invested in Aurene's Fang because Grand High Sovereign Ruju is absolutely going to be using dual-swords for his weaponswap when it comes out. a pair of life-draining Zhaitan's Fangs will be perfect for this rancid little robo-rat man...

#my posts #soto spoilers #kinD OF??#idk if the weapons count but i'll still tag #anyway i needed to comment on this because. yesss #he's already a power reaper and he really needed a swap #and thematically? :) oh these suit him Very well.#his necromancy is some pretty dark and twisted stuff.#like. for real. sacrificing his life for power is exactly his thing because. he's the Void Champion (Mists Edition)#he's so badly corrupted and his body is literally falling apart #at this point his armor is less of an armor and more of an exoskeleton... you don't wanna see what's underneath.#hence why he looks so robotic: he's basically a cyborg.#i've been working on the Zhaitan's Fang skin tbh and now all i need are Jade Runestones. oh this is gonna be Good #but the extra fun part of this too is he'll be fully equipped Immediately since i've got extra swords sitting around now #since i replaced some ascended ones with Aurene's Fang and now i've got a spare ascended power sword in my bank HDHDHD #and i'll probably have enough Runestones by then too tbh #anyway point is i'm hyped to try these things out they look Good (and honestly I'm curious about most of the other weapons too)#pistol guardian might be fun for Flourish Saoirse too so i'm very curious to try those out but We'll See #and thief axe might be fun too for Kriios (a character i never talk about because they still need an actual outfit lol)

1 note · View note

sehnsuchts-trunken · 2 months

Text

(Don't You) Steal My Thunder

my tyler owens playlist 🤝 inspiring fic titles

Tyler Owens x fem!reader 7k words

summary: Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's set on getting you on his good side. And the more you get to know him, the less you can resist.

a/n: i had to research sm car stuff for this it's not funny. i now know exactly how to describe a truck bed though, so. that's fun.

again, my inbox is wide open <33 i don't guarantee anything, but you can always come talk to me or request smth

masterlist | twisters masterlist

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met.

He prints his face on t-shirts, writes his autograph on mugs, comes up with ridiculous sayings ("Not My First Tornadeo" and "If you feel it, chase it" are really just the tip of the ice berg) and most importantly, he costs you the best shots of tornadoes every goddamn time.

Tyler Owens is a problem.

And Tyler Owens seems to have actively decided to make himself a problem too.

Which would be fine, if he flipped you the bird or told you to fuck off or threw his paper towels at you. Unluckily, those are rather examples of what you have done to him. Because it's not fine, not at all - no, Tyler Owens has decided that it's not enough to be in your way all the time, he has to seek you out and rub your nose in it.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He's cocky and he's arrogant and he's entirely too full of himself. He brags too much and calls you "weather girl" too often. He gets under your skin more than you would ever admit.

And, as if all of that isn't enough - Tyler Owens is the very epitome of handsomeness.

It's like god didn't just have a good day when he created Tyler Owens, no, god must have still been in the post-haze of the best head he'd gotten in his whole immortal life when he'd created Tyler Owens.

Because Tyler Owens has the body of a greek god and the face of a Hollywood actor. He's not a pornstar, he's who pornstars worship. He's the Prince Charming little girls dream of and the Christian Grey grown women lust for.

Tyler Owens looks like everything you've ever wanted.

But he's just such a fucking asshole.

You wish you could say you didn't care. You'd love to be the kind of woman who didn't even acknowledge him. But you're not. You're not. You watch his videos when you can't sleep, you chuckle when you happen to overhear his jokes, you ogle his back when he's turned away from you. Sometimes, you get so lost in staring at him that you realise too late when he turns back around, and then you have to act unbothered when he grins his fucking grin at you. That's mostly when you flip him off, desperately fighting to ignore the heat in your cheeks.

Not like it stops him. You honestly feel like it only spurs him on.

Something has to seriously be wrong with him. It's not his face. But something is seriously wrong with him, you're sure of that.

Something has to be wrong with him. No sane person would ever go tornado wrangling. No hate to the rest of his crew - they're nice, you've managed to hold a few pretty normal conversations with them here and there - but none of them are sane either.

Storm chasing is different. You keep your distance. All you need are a few well-placed photographs - and those you can get from a rather safe number of miles away. The weather channel doesn't care about close-ups (not really, anyway). They want something to show the people on their comfortable couches, up in New Hampshire or Maine, so that all of them can say to each other "What poor folks, wouldn't wanna live there" and nod in pity as they switch the channel to watch another blockbuster.

You're just doing your job.

The only problem is that it's hard to do your job properly when there's always that fucking red truck in the way, driving down empty roads right into the heart of the tornado. And because no one on the news wants people to see that and go "Well, can't be too bad if there's still cars on the streets!", in the last few months - ever since you'd volunteered to move back to Oklahoma 'So that we've got someone right in Tornado Alley and don't have to fly people out there every time' - the weather channel has only shown the first few minutes of tornadoes forming. The rest of your pictures and videos lie abandoned in the trash file on your laptop. Except for a few - a very, very few, very, very good pictures of Tyler Owens and his Tornado Wranglers. But those won't ever see the light of day either.

You'd be damned if you let anyone know that while Tyler Owens is busy disturbing your actual work, you're busy taking pictures of him shooting fireworks into tornadoes. Pictures that would make for some damn good headers (if you hadn't buried them far, far down your gallery).

This time is no different. You get a few amazing shots of the tornado forming – surely an EF2, maybe even an EF3 - before you settle in the driver's seat again, your window rolled down and your camera hung around your neck as you push down on the gas. Then, a few miles further, you get even better shots of the full tornado, of the first few minutes of destruction, right there, in the middle of an empty field.

And as always, of course, just as the tornado takes on full form, you spot that familiar red truck through the lens of your camera. It speeds down the pavement right in front of where you’ve swerved onto the side of the road and you snap a few pictures, just because you’ve got the trigger right underneath your finger. Honestly, something about that dirty red paint against the grey skies just looks too good not to capture. But then the truck comes closer and closer and starts to slow down and you let your camera sink.

Tyler has his window rolled down already when he stops the car. There’s that annoyingly handsome grin on his lips, the one that makes you want to slap him across the face.

“You’re too far away, weather girl”, he calls out above the rumble of distant wind and thunder. “The good pictures are down that way.”

“The good pictures are right here.” You lift your camera at him. “Maybe you just need to update your equipment.”

Tyler’s grin widens, but before he can throw another of those obnoxious retorts your way, Lilly’s voice rings out through the car.

“Hey, T, looks like it’s changing course. You should hurry.”

His eyes are still glued to yours, still glued so firmly to yours that it makes your skin crawl. You can’t look away, couldn’t possibly look away. Tyler Owens might just be a cocky asshole, but you’re only human. And the weight of his gaze on yours is enough to keep you stuck in place, clutching at your camera.

“We’re on our way, Lilly”, he drawls without looking away from you. “See you around, weather girl.”

The rest of the pictures you take land in your trash file with all the other pictures of the last few weeks. You’re laying in bed, your laptop propped up against a pillow, the empty plate from dinner on the mattress next to you as you sort through today’s work. That’s the good thing about the time difference – you’ve got until seven to send the channel the day's results.

By nine, you’ve showered, put on a dress you feel confident in and settled on one of the chairs at the local bar. You’ve been telling yourself you need to get out a little bit more – you’ve been living here three months now and you haven’t really made any friends so far. To be fair, your job has kept you out and about most of the time. You’ve spent more hours at gas stations to fill up your tank than you have in your own home. But now you’ve decided to put an end to that. You're a young woman in a new town, you can meet more people than just the cashier at the local supermarket.

So for the past twenty minutes, you’ve been nursing a mojito at the counter and talking to the bartender. She’s nice, she’s your age, she’s extroverted enough to keep sidling up to you after every time she has to excuse herself to do her job. That, and she tells you she’s grown up here, so she knows most of the people around. She’s just serving another customer – a long-haired, brown-eyed, hat-wearing country guy who’s already shared a smile or two with you – when someone rests their arm on the countertop next to you.

“Didn’t expect to see you here”, he drawls, all low, deep Southern accent and you recognise his voice before you’ve even tilted your head up and looked at him. His grin drips down onto his words and wraps itself around your mind.

Tyler Owens isn’t just annoying – he’s unbelievable. He's unbelievable and he’s here.

“So you’re stalking me now”, you say, as drily as you can possibly manage. You've been doing that a lot around him. Dead-panning everything. Schooling your expression into fake neutrality.

"I'm here all the time, weather girl", he grins. "If anything, you're stalking me."

You snort, but it's rather unfunny when you think of all the videos you've watched, hours after they'd been livestreamed, cuddled up in your bed until midnight just to stare at his face. He's not that far from the truth.

"In your dreams, Owens", you say anyway, dragging your eyes back towards your almost empty cocktail glass. You wrap your lips around your straw and drain your drink entirely. What you say and what you do, none of that matters in the end. All of this is just show. Every conversation you've had with Tyler Owens in the last three months has been nothing but a performance. Other than your name, you don't think a single sentence out of your mouth has been honest. Not when it comes to him.

"Let me buy you a beer" is the only answer you get.

His grin widens when you look back up again - so cocky, so unbelievably cocky.

"I don't drink."

You push your glass an inch further down the bar top. Tyler raises his eyebrows. Fuck, someone really needs to kick him in the face. You can't keep having all these little heart attacks whenever he's close enough that you could touch him if you wanted.

Not that you want to.

"You're drinking right now", he says. You rest your palms against the bar top and blink at him.

"I don't drink with you."

He lets out a chuckle, one of those deep ones that settle right in your chest and make it hard to swallow.

"Just this once?", he asks and in all honesty, for just a second there, you actually consider giving in. He's too handsome for his own good. You really need to get it together. He's an ass (what an ass, goddamn). And he's insane. He's an insane ass. Sometimes you have to remind yourself of that - those times like now, when his piercing eyes and his kissable lips and his rugged stubble and his broad, broad shoulders and his drawled voice overshadow everything else.

"Don't you have some livestreaming to do?", you ask, hoping it still comes across just as sarcastic when you're the slightest bit distracted by how gloriously tight the sleeves of his flannel are. "Go chasing tornadoes, not me."

His grin widens inexplicably further. You're sure that if you were in a comic, there'd be a lightbulb flashing above his head right about now.

"Well", he drawls, "if you feel it..."

"Don't you do that shit to me, Owens."

He's raising his eyebrows again, raising his eyebrows as you clasp your hand around your empty glass so hard your knuckles turn white. But you're serious. Just as you'd lost yourself in the view of him, that angelic, sinful view of him, he'd gone and reminded you why you were so adamant to keep your distance. If you feel it, chase it. Ridiculous. Obnoxious. He's an arrogant, know-it-all, suicidal job-wrecker. He's the guy with cameras pointed at him everywhere he goes. He signs mugs and selfies and hats and shirts and bras. He's the reason you haven't gotten a single un-edited shot of a fully formed tornado in the last three months.

"You're not a fan of my catchphrase, weather girl?"

He can't even pretend to look wounded (even though he tries) with how big the grin on his lips still is. You stare right at him, dead-eyed and unflinching.

"I'm not a fan of you."

Lies slip off your tongue so easily by now that you wonder when you'd become morally compromised enough to not even care anymore. It must've happened somewhere along the way, sometime between the first conversation you'd had with him and the one you're having with him right now.

"You wound me", he grins, his palm pressed to his chest.

For the first time tonight, you allow yourself to grin back at him.

"I try."

With that, you slip off your chair and wave the bartender goodbye. You're already two steps away when Tyler calls after you.

"I'd still buy you a beer."

"I'm still not drinking with you", you call back. You don't turn around again. You just make your way back to your car and mark the evening as a half-successful night of socialising on your to-do list.

...

You see him again first thing the next day. Of course. Because there's no tornadoes without the Tornado Wranglers on their tail. By now, you're used to it. You wave at Dani as they come back out of the store at the gas station you're waiting at. They've got both arms full of coffees and for a second, you consider offering your help, but then you hear Tyler shout something out of his car and you suddenly don't feel any desire whatsoever to get up. You've sat yourself down in your truck bed, your camera slung around your neck and the radar on your lap. If all goes right, you're hoping for a tornado to form a little to the east from here. And as much as you dislike Tyler Owens, the fact that he's here soothes your nerves. Where he goes, there's sure to be tornadoes close by.

The few times you hadn't seen him had never ended well for you. You'd missed an EF3 your second week here just because you'd followed the wrong hunch. Meanwhile Tyler, of course, had been in the middle of it.

This might just be the one singular situation that you welcome seeing his red truck around. As long as you can manage to overtake him on the road after.

It's not that you need to be faster. You don't need to reach the tornado first. You don't even take the same way as him most of the time. He wants in there, you just want a sensible picture. Still, you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment every time you hit the brakes and jump out of your car, miles away from the actual cell as Tyler speeds down towards it. You've been telling yourself that it's because he ruins your pictures. It kind of is.

"Hey, weather girl!"

You let out a resigned breath as you tilt your head up and squint against the sun. He's still in his truck, his window rolled down, his elbow propped up against the car door.

"What do you want, Owens?"

Your fingers itch to reach for your camera. It's a visual, him in that fucking car, leaning out of his window with the sun peaking out behind him. But you can't, you can't take a picture of him this openly. Even if you were to argue that it's just the light you'd wanted to capture.

"To give you some advice", he calls out, his lips pulling into a grin. You raise your eyebrows at him. "East isn't gonna work out. Wind's changing. Go south."

He throws you a mock salute and hits the gas before you can say anything else.

Not that you'd been about to.

Instead you just curse to yourself, jump off the truck bed and throw your treacherous technology into the passenger seat with a little too much vigor. Fuck this. You sit at the steering wheel and stare out at the sky for exactly two seconds before you make your decision. Then you start your car and drive south.

You may not be a fan of Tyler Owens, but you've long since admitted to yourself that this man has got a gift. He has an unbeatable instinct when it comes to storms. And sure, you have your fair share of knowledge, but in the end, you're a photographer, not a meteorologist. You won't miss a day's work just because you're too proud to listen to Tyler.

You're a little further behind, but you can spot his truck and guess that he's driving straight on into the cell today, so you take a right and decide to try your luck with the side of the tornado. Not being right in its path doesn't sound too bad anyway.

You actually manage to snap a few well-placed pictures. You don't know what Tyler's doing, but it seems like he's not shooting random shit up the cell today. You'll watch the stream later - you're just the slightest bit curious now what's happening with them. Maybe they're doing some old-school chasing? Or maybe they're doing a challenge. Maybe Tyler is driving blindfolded. At this point, who knows.

It's good for you though. It's a considerable tornado today, an EF2 at least, and you only spot Tyler's red truck again when the cell moves further down the fields, away from him. It doesn't look like it's gonna disappear anytime soon. Maybe today's your lucky day.

Half an hour later, you're sure you've got at least a dozen pictures of the fully formed tornado, long touched down and without the red truck in the way.

You're just packing up your things, already sifting through the photos on your camera, squinting against the sunlight, trying to both tug the zipper of your bag closed and hit the right buttons at the same time when Tyler pulls up next to you.

"You look busy, weather girl", he says, already grinning that damn grin again.

"I am", you say - truthfully, for once. You let go of your bag and lower your camera. You're hesitant, but... "Thanks for the tip."

"Anytime", he grins. "Just do me one favour."

You already know this can't be good. Not with that cheeky look on his face. But he'd just saved you from chasing hot air (quite literally), so he deserves a little treat. And you don't want unsettled scores with Tyler Owens.

"I want to know what favour that's supposed to be before I agree", you say anyway, because with him, you can never be too careful. And in the end, you're only willing to do so much. (Though for him, you'd already do a lot more than you'd admit. A lot more than you hope he's aware of.)

"Let me buy you a beer", he says, and for once, he sounds serious.

The memory of yesterday night flashes before your eyes, of those same words at the bar. With him so close, way too close - with that grin and that stubble and that voice and those shoulders. You cross your arms and stare at him.

"If you're livestreaming this, I'm gonna sue your ass so hard."

He just lets out a chuckle and raises his hands in surrender.

"Cameras are off, I swear."

You stare at him for another silent ten or so seconds. At him in that fucking truck that looks just a little too good in your pictures. At him and his fucking face. That fucking face that you certainly wouldn't mind sitting on, if just to shut him up.

God, he's asking you to drink something with him. He's asking to buy you something to drink with him. You're stupid.

You're so, so stupid.

"Alright, cowboy", you say, uncrossing your arms and reaching for the handle of your car door. "I'll humour you."

...

You're in the bar again by nine that night, the same way you had been the day before. You're wearing a different dress and there's a different bartender, but you've ordered the same mojito and chosen the same place to sit.

Only this time, you're actively watching the door. And when Tyler strolls in, you've got to shift around in your seat and cross your legs. You don't even pretend you're not staring. You just ogle him openly. Not for the first time ever - you'd checked him out very obviously when he'd strutted towards you to introduce himself three months ago - but definitely for the first time in a while. And god yeah, he's a hunk of a man, alright. If you had your camera here right now...

But you don't. So instead, you drop your eyes to his feet (brown leather boots), drag them up his legs (blue jeans), over his chest (red checkered flannel), over his face (god, what you wouldn't give-) and finally rest them on the cowboy hat on top of his head.

When he's close enough to hear you, already grinning, of course, probably at how you're actually sitting there in the same spot as yesterday and hadn't just lied to his face about coming here, you raise your eyebrows at him.

"A cowboy hat?", you ask, your voice as unbothered as you can possibly manage (even though you're very, very, very much bothered right now). His grin only widens.

"Ladies love country boys", he drawls with a shrug.

"Now that's straight out of a song", you say. "You're getting lazy, Owens."

"A song?", he asks. "No, that's an Owens Original."

You pull your eyebrows even further up.

"Ladies love country boys? Trace Adkins?"

"Nope. Not familiar."

But his grin tells you that he's lying. He's a liar. He knows very well where he got that line from. And he knows just how easily he got under your skin with his simple trick. As if his face isn't enough already.

You just shake your head and turn away from him.

"Put your money where your mouth is, Owens. Buy me a beer."

...

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's also a great conversationalist.

The hours fly by as you're talking. One beer turns into two, then into an uncountable number of soft drinks. You both agree that you need to drive home, neither of you is willing to risk a run-in with the police. You need your drivers license for your jobs.

Tyler talks to you about the pictures you've taken today, then about the pictures from last week. He laughs when you blame him for ruining half of them and almost spits out his coke when you slap his arm for laughing at you. He tells you about his crew, about the people they've helped with the money from their dumb t-shirt sales. You think you hate him less by the minute. You're not sure if you're okay with that. But he gets you talking about your childhood and your parents, about school and college and about how you've wound back up here in Oklahoma. That effectively distracts you.

That, and how his cocky grin morphs into a genuine smile the more you open up.

Not that you didn't love the cocky grin. You did, just a bit. As obnoxious as it was. But the way he smiles at you all sweet has you melting right in your spot.

It's not the first time you realise that beneath all that rough exterior, there beats a heart of gold. You've known what those t-shirt sales are for, that he offers food and water after a tornado hits a town, that he carries the injured out of the ruins of their houses and helps find lost dogs. The more you've been around him in the past weeks, the more you've seen of his soft side. Of the way he cares and supports. But in the end, it always is easier to go back to the status quo - to fall back onto mindless snark and fleeting first impressions.

You'd clung so desperately to the image of him as this arrogant, smug, holier-than-thou influencer god for the sole purpose of keeping your own sanity. Because you'd known that without despising him, you would fall head over heels for Tyler Owens, and you just couldn't have that.

But now, with his arm brushing against yours and his hat discarded on the bar top and his smile, that beautiful, beautiful smile on his lips...

"Five bucks", he drawls, already reaching for his wallet.

"What?"

"Five bucks says there won't be a tornado tomorrow."

You raise your eyebrows at him, your glass hovering in mid-air between the two of you. You'd meant to take a sip, but now you're setting it right back down on the bar top.

"You're shitting me."

Tyler just shakes his head. He's grinning again, but it's much softer this time around.

"The winds are looking great. The forecast says it's gonna be the best conditions for tornadoes we've seen in the last six weeks. I've heard Dexter talk about how we're probably gonna see an EF4 tomorrow", you tell him, even though you're sure he's well aware of all of it. This is Tyler Owens, for god's sake. He knows about the winds and the forecasts. He knows that his crew is making preparations already.

His grin only grows. And it's smug now. It's cocky now. It's everything you thought you'd left behind during this conversation. He looks like the Tornado Wrangler again, like the guy who fucks up your pictures and makes your job harder than it already is.

It takes you a second too long to realise why.

"Dexter said that on our live", he grins, as if he can't quite believe what he's hearing. You physically recoil from him. "Do you watch our streams, weather girl?"

"No", you breathe, rigid and frozen, shocked to your very core. No, no, no, no, this cannot be happening. This cannot be happening. You'd... You hadn't made that mistake. He hadn't got you to make that mistake.

"Dexter talked about tomorrow on our live", Tyler says again, straightening his back and grinning down at you like he's just uncovered the lost grave of Cleopatra. "Only on the live. You watched our stream."

"No", you mutter, your eyes wide and your mouth dry, so dry. You need to drink. You need to drink so badly. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. You watched our stream, honey."

The petname runs down your spine and clogs your senses. Honey. Oh, he's an ass, he's an asshole! But you're on the spot, you're on the spot and he's calling you honey, honey, honey. You can't do anything but watch as he leans closer to you, grinning down at you like it's his one true purpose on this earth, like he wants to eat you alive.

"I'd say you watch our streams pretty regularly, weather girl."

You swallow hard and clasp your hand around your glass.

"Yeah?", you breathe, hoping against all hope that your voice sounds somewhat innocent. You're sure it doesn't. You know it doesn't. You probably sound as guilty as you are, but... Hope dies last. Hope always dies last. "Why would you say that?"

"Just a hunch." He shows off those pearly fucking whites for you. "Call it an instinct. I'm usually right."

He is.

He's right now. He's right usually.

Him and his fucking instinct. His goddamn gut feeling about tornadoes, always right all the fucking time. He's like an Oklahoma Jesus. The first coming of Tornado Christ.

Fuck him.

"I'll take your bet." You drain your glass at once. "Give me your five bucks, Owens."

You don't think it'll work. You don't think he'll let you distract him. You don't think it'll be this easy to stop his vile teasing. He's not the type of guy to let something go. He's not the type of guy to let anything go ever. But he looks at you and he grins at you and he trails his eyes over your face and then he opens up his wallet and pulls out five dollars without another word.

He puts the bill flat on the bar top.

But when you go to reach for it, he pushes his fingers down.

"The price just went up", he says.

You raise your eyebrows and let your hand sink again. Tyler is absolutely unpredictable. You should've known.

"The price just went up?", you repeat. He nods. "What more do you want to bet?"

He's closer now, closer all of a sudden. He's too close, close enough to make your breath hitch. He's looking down at you with that cocky, cheeky grin, with his weirdly green eyes, with his three day stubble and his generally much too symmetrical face. You can't do anything but look back up at him.

"A kiss", he says. Simple as that.

A kiss.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He is. Truly. He's annoying and way too full of himself and much too presumptuous. Tyler Owens is the only man who would ever do something like this. The only man who'd bet a kiss on whether or not there will be tornadoes tomorrow.

Especially with that forecast.

The one that says a tornado is basically inevitable.

"Alright", you say. He may be Tyler Owens, the guy with an infallible instinct - but he is also Tyler Owens, the guy who's been doing his hardest to get under your skin. This time might not be any different. For all you know, he's bluffing to rile you up. "I'm in."

...

At eleven the next day, you're standing next to Dexter in resigned silence.

"I really thought today was gonna pan out", you mutter.

"It should have", Dexter frowns, tapping against the screen in his hands. "It should have worked out. The conditions should have been perfect. Everything's been building the last few days."

"But it collapsed this morning."

You turn your head and watch as Tyler comes to a stand next to you, arms crossed, eyes locked on the clear sky up above. He tilts his head to you and grins. Fuck, he's wearing his goddamn hat again. It's like he doesn't even try to be normal.

"Hey, weather girl", he greets. "Ready to cash out your bet?"

You shake your head at him. No, you're not giving up this easily. You never give up this easily.

"The day's not over yet, Owens. You haven't won 'til midnight."

...

You spend most of the next hours sitting in your truck bed, reading a book you'd thrown into your backseat weeks ago and had so far neglected. Lilly hands you lunch around two, Dani offers you a coffee around five and Boone pipes up here and there to joke about the wasted day. Around six, Dexter comes by to let you know they're calling it.

You still have another hour to go. By seven, it'll be too late to send your pictures anyway. But you want the hour. You need the hour.

You still haven't decided what to do about Tyler. About Tyler and his fucking bet.

He's been loitering the whole day, walking by, joking around with his crew, livestreaming a spontaneous q&a just because.

And the more minutes tick by, the harder it is to keep ignoring that you've most definitely lost the bet. Even though you do your best. You read, you check your phone. You stare at your radar. You stare at the weather forecast. You talk to Dexter and Dani and Lilly and Boone. You take a few pictures of the sky. Then you take a few pictures of Tyler, standing some feet away from his truck and looking out at the clouds.

It's only when two of three Tornado Wranglers cars are disappearing down the road, when Tyler Owens suddenly stands in front of your truck bed, that you put down your book and face reality.

"No tornadoes in sight", he says, instead of 'Hello' or 'How are you' like any other person would.

"There's still six hours left", you reason. Even if only one of those is relevant for your job today.

"You really want to wait out six hours to prove I'm right?"

"You're not right", you argue. It's fruitless, it's stupid, it's unreasonable. But... "Not yet, anyway."

Tyler raises his eyebrows at you, lets out an amused chuckle and leans against the side of your truck bed.

"Alright, so we wait."

You eye him from the side. He's fucking leaning against your truck, staring out at the sky, talking about six hours. Goddamn. He can't be serious, can he? His crew is already gone. They've disappeared into the descending sun and he's talking about waiting another six hours. Leaned against your car.

"Fuck's sake, Owens", you sigh, scooching over to the right. "At least sit down then."

You don't talk much at first. You just open your book back up again and try your hardest to ignore that he's even here at all, barely two feet away from you on the other side of your truck bed. If you stretched your leg, you'd hit him right in the hip.

It makes reading close to impossible.

Even though he's not doing anything at all. He's just sitting there, one arm propped up on the side board, that goddamn cowboy hat on his head and his feet hanging off the opened tailgate. It's almost worse that he's not doing anything.

That he's just sitting there and watching the sky change.

You give up on reading entirely when you realise that you've finished exactly five pages in half an hour. Instead, you put your book back in the car, pull out your bluetooth speaker and two water bottles and offer Tyler one of them.

You don't even ask him what music he wants to listen to. You just put on your country playlist and roll with it. By the twitch of his lips, you know he certainly doesn't mind.

Another half hour later, it's starting to get chilly and you're beginning to grow bored of the music. Tyler sitting next to you makes you fidgety, somehow, and you can't really enjoy the songs you usually love so much. So you switch to a podcast. You don't ask Tyler if he minds. He's free to go anytime.

Around eight, the sun starts to set, and the chill turns into an unpleasant cool. You hadn't really expected to be sitting out here so long. You're not prepared for the temperature to drop. You're wearing shorts, for god's sake, shorts and a top. It's summer in Oklahoma - you don't know how Tyler even manages to survive in his long jeans. You certainly wouldn't.

But now you're a little jealous, to be honest. He doesn't look cold in the slightest while you're fighting off shivers. You can feel your hands trembling already.

You really should've brought a jacket. But who brings jackets in 30 degree summer weather?

So instead, you just resign yourself to your fate and rub your hands along your arms. Anything to get some warmth into your body.

For the first time since you've sat back down, Tyler turns his head and looks at you.

"You're cold", he says, eyes raking over your arms and the goosebumps you'd gotten.

"Great observational skills, Sherlock Holmes", you deadpan, even though he doesn't really deserve that. He had so far left you pretty much alone. "A+ on that assignment."

Well, it's hard to break bad habits.

Tyler just chuckles, shakes his head and pushes off of the truck bed. You watch, eyes narrowed, as he walks back to his own car, opens up the trunk and- pulls out a blanket?

Your hands have sunken down to your lap all by themselves by the time he's standing in front of you again, holding out the blanket.

"For you, Watson", he grins as you slowly, carefully take the blanket from him. You mutter something along the lines of a soft 'Thank you' before you wrap the blanket around your arms.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's also the very definition of "Tough on the outside, soft on the inside". Sometimes, you think the word 'angelic' works for more than just his divine looks.

Your eyes are glued to him as he sits back down next to you and looks out at the darkening sky with that signature grin on his lips, like he knows that you're watching him and enjoys it more than he should. That doesn't deter you though. For the very first time. You don't even stop staring when he turns his head back to you. You don't even stop staring then.

You just look at him until his grin crumbles. Until he's smiling that smile from yesterday night, the one that has your heart squeezing together and then exploding in your chest. You think you could stare at that smile for the rest of eternity and never feel sated.

"What?", he asks, his voice so soft it makes you swallow. Your lips part, but there's no words on your tongue, none in your throat. They're stuck in your chest somewhere, wrapped around your heart so tightly that you can't let them go even now. So you just press your lips together, wrap your blanket tighter around yourself and say:

"So I'm Watson, yeah?"

Your podcast is long forgotten by the time the sky turns dark. So dark that you make Tyler climb into your car and turn on the lights. You're comfortable in your blanket, you don't feel the need to move.

It's around ten when the blanket isn't enough anymore.

You tuck your hands underneath your top, but that only helps for so long. A few minutes later, you're trembling again, trembling even though you're pulling the blanket as tightly around you as you possibly can. Tyler raises his eyebrows when a particularly heavy shiver runs down your spine, one of those that come and go within three seconds.

"Come here", he says, shuffling in his spot and motioning for you to move over to him. You don't really think about it. It's more of a reflex as you fumble the blanket off of your body, scooch over to him, settle yourself against his side and sneak your feet under his thigh. He tugs the blanket back up to your chin, tucks it in behind your back and wraps his arms around you.

Tyler Owens wraps his arms around you.

And he's so fucking warm you literally almost moan. God, you hadn't actually realised just how cold you'd been.

"Damn, you're freezing", he notes as well, just as you nestle further into him and hum in agreement. He's like a living heater right now. You'd like to just crawl inside of him and suck up all his warmth. "You should've told me sooner."

"I didn't tell you at all", you mutter, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. He smells good. He smells so good. Earthy, musky somehow. You're tempted to turn your head and bury your nose in his shoulder.

Instead, you just satisfy yourself with what you can get. Fuck, he smells so good. He smells just like you'd thought he would, like country and rodeo and thunderstorms. He smells like falling into bed at the end of a successful chase. He smells like more. You want more.

You want more of Tyler Owens.

"Are you sniffing me?", he asks suddenly, but he sounds so amused you can't even bring yourself to feel embarrassed. You just open your eyes and grin at him, tilting your head so you can look up at him.

"What if I am?", you ask, if only to hear that breathless chuckle fall from his lips. Oh, those lips. You're in trouble. "Are you gonna call the cops on me?"

"I could never."

"Yeah, you better not, cowboy", you mutter, eyes dropping to his lips when he grins. He's so close. He's way too close. "There's like thirty things I could call the cops about on your channel."

His grin grows until he's showing off his teeth, glinting against the low light of the leds in your car. He's closer now.

"So you do watch our streams, weather girl."

His voice is so low and he's so close, so close. Your lips part all on their own. You haven't looked back up at his eyes in too long. Far too long. But he's so close, and he's so warm, and he smells so good.

"Alright", you whisper. His mouth is barely an inch from yours. You can feel every breath he takes. "I watch your streams."

And then your lips are on his.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He's cocky and he's smug. He makes your job harder than it has to be. He does everything and anything to get under your skin. But Tyler Ownes is the best goddamn kisser this side of the globe.

He trails his hands, his big, big hands, down your sides, pushes the blanket out of the way and grabs at your waist with just enough firmness. He pulls you onto his lap and rests his thumbs over the hem of your top. He breathes into your mouth and takes it slow. He doesn't care that you almost knock his hat out of the way when you try to wrap your arms around his neck. He just holds you tightly to him and lets you tug on his lip.

You honestly don't know how much time has passed when he pulls back, grinning an entirely new grin at you, hazy and euphoric.

"It's not midnight yet", he mutters, the slightest bit out of breath.

"I don't care", you mumble, drawing him right back in for another kiss. You think you might be addicted. You simply can't get enough of him. You can't get enough of Tyler Owens.

But then a thought strikes you, and you pull away with a grin that makes him raise his eyebrows.

You chuckle against his lips.

"If you feel it, chase it, right?"

#twisters #twisters 2024 #tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens twisters #x reader

2K notes · View notes

envy-of-the-apple · 1 month

Text

The Monster You Know

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Synopsis: For your own safety, the strongest sorcerer of today kidnaps you.

Word Count: 6.9k

(Warnings: implied masturbation, implied nsfw, implied noncon recording, death of a minor character.....im pretty sure i missed a warning so lemme know any pls)

Instead of waking up in a bed, you find yourself on the floor.

It's not a comfortable spot to sleep in. The carpet is clean, but it's odd because you don't have this type of carpet in your room. Actually, this isn't your room at all.

But the panic doesn't really set in until you realize your arms are bound.

You don't notice him until he speaks. You're too busy yanking on the metal, pulling your hand as hard as you could. The cuffs don't even budge.

"If you keep yanking your arms like that, you might break 'em."

He's tall, rivaling the door he just walked through. He looks a couple of years older than you, but his white hair can't be natural, not at his age. His blue eyes are lax. The worst part is how relaxed he looks. He has an eased posture and a pretty smile. He's amused, watching you like you’re a pesky mouse trapped in a bucket.

You don’t know him. You’re stuck in an unfamiliar room, chained to the floor, and you don’t know this man.

Escape isn’t possible. So you resort to the next best thing: you plead.

“Who are you?” Your voice is light and wavers on every syllable. “Where-Where am I? Did you bring me here? Please don’t-“

”You always this talkative in the morning?” He dodges your question with a lax grin. “Anyway, uh, sorry about this-“ he gestures to your tied-up form “-I would've used a talisman, but those won’t work on you for obvious reasons. The handcuffs aren’t too tight, are they?”

He steps closer, and you scream. It’s shrill, filled with a type of fear that makes your blood freeze because you don’t know this man, you don’t know where you are, and he’s getting closer.

“Okay okay, I get it!” He manages to say over your pleas for help, but he steps back, and it’s enough to quiet your fear. “Obviously, you need some more time alone, so I’m gonna give you a couple more hours. Feel free to take a mint!” He cheerily points to the nightstand.

He leaves as quickly as he enters. The door shuts but doesn’t lock. You’d be relieved if you weren’t still incapacitated.

You look around the room. Nothing of value, nothing that you could reach and grab. Apart from a chair, the only other pieces of furniture were a heavy-looking bed and a bolted-down nightstand. Your kidnapper was certainly meticulous.

The restraints have just enough slack for you to lean over. You peer at the nightstand. A plastic bowl, too flimsy to be made into a weapon. It contains wrapped-white candies. You gingerly pick one up.

They’re sugar-free.

He returns to the mints scattered all over the floor.

“Okay.” He notes, gracefully stepping over the mess. “Clearly, you aren’t a fan of peppermint. 'you a wintergreen kinda’ person?”

You don’t look at him. You’ve been in the same position you had been in for hours, sitting curled on the floor. By then, your desperation was starting to show through.

“Please just let me go.” You mutter, your voice so low, it’s a miracle he can hear you. “I don’t have any money. I have nothing to offer.”

”Well, that’s good because I don’t want your money.” He says. “I know this looks pretty bad, but this is for your sake more than mine.”

You look at him just as he squats down to your height. You shift away. he smiles.

”Do you know what sorcerer's are?”

You blink.

“It’s fine if you don’t; we all start somewhere, right? A sorcerer is someone who can manipulate cursed energy. I’m a sorcerer! I don’t wanna brag too much, but I’m pretty good at it.”

He laughs like he’s telling a joke, and you suddenly realize that you were kidnapped by someone who believes he’s a wizard.

“Guess you’re still lost, huh? How about I just show you instead?” He points to an ironed-out shirt hanging on a rack. You follow his finger.

He didn't move. There was no machinery. The shirt just crinkled by itself before it dropped to the floor.

You gape. The man grins.

"Pretty amazing, right? That's cursed energy, or, my power if you wanna be less technical."

"Cursed energy." You whisper, a repetition of his words rather than any actual understanding. He beams regardless.

"Yeah! Well, it's a little more complicated than that, but let's just start with the basics for now. Baby steps."

Your dread doesn't fade. Earlier, you feared what a man could do to you, tied and defenseless. Now, you wondered what this man wouldn't do to you.

"Okay, then....why?" You warily ask him. "Why tell me any of this? What's the point?"

"An excellent question!" He commends you, as though he were your teacher and not your jailor. "See, cursed energy is a bit complicated, but it's extremely effective. In almost every case, it's the solution. Except for you."

You shrink back.

"What-what does that mean?"

His grin turns feline. He's enjoying this; seeing you shake, waver beneath his eyes.

"Exactly what I said: you aren't affected by cursed energy. A sorcerer could use their technique on you, and there won't even be a scratch on your body. You're basically the Eraserhead of the Jujutsu World."

You stare at him. He hums, drumming his fingers on his thigh.

"I'm not great at explanations. How about we just have a hands-on experience?"

He extends his hands. A purple orb crackles to life, slowly gaining mass.

"Not too big," he says, though it's clear he isn't speaking to you, "don't wanna wreck the room."

He adjusts his angle so it's facing you. Your eyes widen, and the desperation to wrangle yourself out of the handcuffs grows stronger.

"Wait, stop!" You pleads fall on deaf ears. "Okay okay. I believe you. I believe you-" He flicks his fingers. You close your eyes just before impact.

You expected something. Electricity, a shock. Pain. Your body being eviscerated in milliseconds.

Nothing. Not even a gust of wind.

When your eyes open, he's grinning at you.

"See?" He says, "Not even a scratch."

He's right. Your clothes aren't even rustled, but the evidence is there. The carpet below you is shaved and cleaned off. And the wall closest to you has cracks on it.

You look back up at him.

"I said I believed you."

He shrugs. "Doesn't hurt to make sure we're on the same page." His smile is starting to look less scary and more annoying.

Your mind still struggles to keep up with all the information you've been given. The typhoon of anxiety is coursing through you.

"So, then....why this?" You mention to the handcuffs.

"Just a little confirmation you won't go crazy and destroy the place." He supplies happily. "If jujutsu doesn't work on you, then bindings and talismans definitely won't do a thing. Looking back, abduction probably wasn't the greatest idea in the world. I would've figured something else out, but time wasn't on our side in this case. Especially if we wanted you alive."

You pale at that. He notices.

"What, you thought I'd be the only person who noticed you? You're an anomaly. In our world, that's dangerous. Also, the bounty on your head is a pretty nice incentive for people to get the job done."

"A bounty?"

He grins, and the number he gives makes your mouth hang open.

"Yup, pretty crazy, right? Anyway, until everything settles down, you and I are roomies!" He claps. "Isn't that exciting!?"

You glance at him. Then, in the room. Then, at your cuffs. Everything was going so fast. The only constant was him.

"So, I'm not really a prisoner?" You ask. "I could just...leave, right?"

"Sure you could. If you hear all that and still wanna go, I won't stop you. Promise." He nods. "But you'd be dead as soon as you step out of the apartment."

It's not a threat. It's a promise. And not from him. That makes it worse.

This is insane. All of this is insane; who'd believe any of it? But his powers....that can't be faked. As well as everything that he told you. Why would he lie? What reason could he have to deceive you?

"Okay," you say hesitantly, "just one more thing."

The man leans in.

"What's your name?"

He smiles.

Becoming Gojo's roommate was an easy transition.

You’ve always been someone who goes with the flow. Becoming someone's consenting captive isn't a struggle once you get used to it. A few days in and you and your 'captor' have fallen into an easy rhythm. It's easy to grow trusting of him, especially when there are others who can vouch for him.

"You should be arrested." Ieiri mumbles, checking your wrists.

"What? I can't believe you're upset with me." Gojo responds though he doesn't sound very panicked. "I was desperate!"

Ieiri shakes her head, continuing wrapping your wrists. Amid your panic during the first few hours in Gojo's apartment, you managed to sprain your wrists, trying to yank yourself out of the handcuffs. You wince when she presses on your bruised skin.

"Sorry," she says, voice flat. You smile anyway.

Ieiri was also a sorcerer, but she had a different technique. Instead of Gojo's destruction, hers revolved around healing. You've never really seen it in action ("My technique won't work on you; even then, it's a sprained wrist. You'll live."), but it sounded pretty powerful.

"I'm not upset." Ieiri continues. "But I'm surprised you're going along with all this." That sentence is directed at you.

You shrug while trying to keep still for her. "He was pretty convincing."

Ieiri raises a brow, before ultimately deciding she doesn't care.

"Again, I'm very sorry about all this." Ijichi pipes up. Ever since he entered Gojo's flat, he's been doing nothing but begging for your forgiveness for Gojo's abrupt actions. Apologetic, but not very shocked. You're assuming this isn't the first time Gojo has done something like this.

Gojo's allies were very different from each other, you ultimately decided.

“We thought we’d have more time to approach you,” he continues with a nervous smile, “we never expected the clans to move so quickly.”

“Clans?” You ask, “What clans?”

Ijichi gives Gojo a look. Gojo looks away, whistling. Eventually, Ijichi’s shoulders drop.

“Some minor clans with dwindling jujitsu sorcerers.” He gives. “And then the bounty happened and well…” he trails off.

You nod. “So, when will everything go back to normal?”

Gojo grins. Ieiri sighs. It’s Ijichi who gives the most concrete response.

You look at the three of them. “Or will things ever go back to normal?”

”It’s hard to say,” Ijichi says, “news travels fast in the jujutsu world, but it’s not improbable. Miyashiro will let us know eventually.”

"Miyashiro?”

To answer your question, Ijichi pulls out his phone. You stare at a picture of yourself. But you know you’ve never been in that restaurant before.

“It’s his technique.” Ijichi tells you. “Flesh manipulation. For the time being, Miyashiro will pose as you and can hopefully air out any potential bounty hunters. He’s the perfect man for the job.”

You nod, a bit skeptical. “Isn’t this a bit dangerous? Aren’t people trying to kill me?”

Ijichi tucks away his phone. “Miyashiro is one our best. He'll be fine.” He assures.

Satisfied with your answers, you nod. Ieiri pulls away after she finishes wrapping your hand. Gojo claps his hands together.

“See, roomie? You’re in great hands!” He chirps. You nod, if only to seem compliant.

Apart from Gojo himself, Ieiri and Ijichi are the only ones who know about your predicament, his most trusted people. The rest of the world is unaware that there's someone posing as you, nor that you've gone into hiding. Not your friends. Not even your family. ("It's for the best," Ijichi explained when you voiced your worries, "but we promise, once the bounty is down, we'll return you back to your life. It'll be like nothing ever happened.").

Settling in barely takes a week. Gojo's nice enough to lend you his room, more than happy to set up in the living room. Despite how you two 'met', he's quickly proven to be a nice guy.

Nice. Just nice.

To be honest, you don't know all that much about Gojo. He's letting you stay in his home, but you don't see him all that much. Gojo is gone pretty much all day. Sometimes, he's gone for days on end. The apartment feels more like yours than his.

"I'm the strongest." He told you when you asked. You don't know what he means by that, so you didn't pry.

Despite the awkwardness, you don't mind the distant relationship. The man probably has his day packed with hunting down demons and this school he talked about.

The change doesn't happen until two weeks after you move in.

You weren't allowed to have a phone, nor any internet access, so you mostly spent your time doing hobbies. You've always wanted to learn to crochet, and now you finally had time to actually learn. Drawing also took some hours out of your day. And eventually, you moved onto cooking.

Ijichi was more than happy to grab you the grocery items when you asked. When you insisted on paying him back, he declined profusely. He was actually the one who organized getting your things and really moving you in. You have another thing you owe these people.

Cooking was a steep learning curve. Before, you'd only made simple sandwiches and curries, so the food starting out wasn't the best. But you enjoyed the journey more, rather than the end result. Pretty soon, you became pretty good at it.

Gojo wasn't home often these days, so you jump when the front door clicks open. He takes off that blindfold he's always wearing, blinking a couple times before his blue gaze settles on you in the kitchen.

"What's all this?" He cocks his head. He isn't smiling.

Oh no. You remembered getting permission to use his kitchen, but maybe he hadn't expected you to go this far? The kitchen is a mess. There's flour everywhere. You still hadn't washed the cutting board, nor the knives.

"I'm sorry," you say, "I-I can clean up and-"

He waves his hand. "It's fine. I'm not mad, I just..." He drifts off.

You suddenly have a feeling that you might've misread this entire situation.

"Would you like some?" You ask. "I think I made too much."

"I could eat," he says.

You smile.

A few moments later, the two of you are settled on the table. Gojo's never been so quiet before. In the short time you've known him, he's always been boisterous and playful. Now, he's silent. Staring at the food.

You hold your breath when he takes his first bite.

"It's good." He says, his mouth full. It's cute. "Really, really good. Damn."

You laugh out of nerves.

"You think so? I'm glad! It was my first time trying out this recipe and I wasn't sure if it'd turn out well and..." you're rambling, you know that. You can't help yourself.

"No, it's good. Real good," he says. It's silent again, but not as uncomfortable this time. The only thing you hear is the clanking of silverware and the hum of the lights. Outside the window, the city lights twinkle.

You're on your last bite when he speaks again.

"'been a while since I've had a homecooked meal." He starts with a slight laugh. "Kinda' forgot what it's like."

You think of the fridge. How it was only ever stacked with protein shakes and instant meals. Gojo was a sorcerer. The strongest. You think you get what that means now.

"I wouldn't mind doing this more often," you say.

He looks at you with the prettiest blue you've ever seen. The color of a bright cloudless sky.

"I think I'd like that."

Who ever said the phrase 'the quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach' was onto something. Your friendship with Gojo bloomed after that night. On the seldom nights he came home, dinner was made and sitting on the table. It took a few days for the two of you to warm up enough to talk to each other. Once Gojo got going, it was a lot harder to shut him up. He talked about his school, his work as a teacher for other jujutsu sorcerers. You liked the way he talked about his students. Nothing but pride and affection .

On the nights he didn't come home, you'd save the leftovers in the fridge. They were usually gone by the morning.

He was around a lot more after that night. Not that you minded, it was his house. You just didn't get a few things about him. For example, that blindfold of his. Why wear it when it was clear he couldn't see with it on?

You decide to bring it up the third time he nearly runs you over.

"It's part of my technique." He explains. "The six eyes. They're basically cursed energy x-rays. The blindfold just limits their strength."

You were lounged on the sofa watching TV while he was plopped right next to you. He's switched his blindfold for his glasses.

"Oh," you say when it clicks, "and since I block people's abilities you..."

"Yup! Can't see you at all!" Gojo happily fills in. "It doesn't help that you're so quiet. Maybe I should put a bell on you."

You laugh, but it doesn't sound like he was joking.

"What's it like?" You ask, turning to him, "Seeing the way, you see? What-what do you see?"

"Everything." Gojo shrugs.

You frown. "That's not very descriptive."

He laughs. "Here, wanna try?" He takes off his glasses, handing them over. "These things are real popular with the ladies."

He's avoiding the question, but you don't bother chasing him for it. Instead, you grab the lenses, pulling them over your eyes. You expect to see the secrets of the universe. Instead, you see nothing but darkness. Though, that might be the point.

"Everything, hm?" You ask, when you take them off. "That sounds exhausting."

He takes them back with a grin. "It is! My eyes hurt so so much! You should pity me and make matcha tiramisu."

You laugh, drawing back. "That's what this is about? To guilt trip me into making dessert for you?"

"Did it work?"

You think for a moment.

"Get me the ingredients, and I'll see."

He cheers but doesn't fully answer your question until the episode ends when you've bid him goodnight and are about to return to the bedroom.

"You're blurry from far away."

When you look at him, his glasses are gone, tucked under his collar. It's night, but the sky still stares down at you. His usual smile is gone, stretched into a line you can't place.

"I can see down to molecules, atoms. Not you."

You look at him, his eyes. The beautiful curse they are.

You force yourself to take the first step. Then another. Then another. When you're right in front of him, when he's towering over you, you open to your mouth.

"What do you see, Gojo?"

"Everything." He honestly replies.

Everything. Not just cursed energy. Down to cells, molecules, atoms. You can't fathom how much that is, the essence of everything. What's that like? Being able to see the universe so much that it hurts? So much so that it makes him want to wear a blindfold and never see anything again.

But you're blurry. Gojo can't see you the way he sees others.

You reach your hands up slowly like you're approaching a wild animal. In some ways, maybe that's what Gojo is: unpredictable, able to wield the power of space—power that's useless against you.

You cover his eyes. He doesn't stop you.

"What do you see, Satoru?"

He doesn't speak, and you're afraid he's forgotten how.

"Nothing." Quiet, barely more than a whisper.

He slouches ever so slightly, leaning into your hands like some weight's been lifted. It makes you smile.

When you try to pull your hands away, his wrap around your wrist, keeping you there. So you stay—for as long as he wants.

It starts something of a tradition between the two of you. Not every night, not even most nights, but every so often, Satoru would grow quiet, shift in a particular way. You hoped it was therapeutic for him, a break rather than a glimpse of what could have been. You hoped you were helping.

And, if you were torturing him, hopefully, you won't be for long.

"How much longer do you think I have to do this?" You ask.

He hums, clearly not paying attention. You two were in the kitchen, making some sweet he saw trending on the internet. Well, you were doing all the work. Satoru kept trying to steal the batter.

"You know. Sleeping under your roof, eating all your food, stealing you bed." You urge, while whisking.

"You're acting like I've been keeping you in the attic, roomie." Satoru pouts. "C'mon, I haven't been that bad, have I?"

"I'm asking for your sake rather than mine," you tell him. "I'm sure you'll be thrilled to have your house back, and your bed. When will everything settle down?"

His blindfold is on, as it usually is. To help him out, you've taken to wearing squeaky slippers around the house. He'd offered to buy you one of those cat collars with bells. You declined.

He's looking in your direction. You know he can't see you, but you can still feel his eyes on you. It's a strange feeling.

"There's talks of taking down the bounty," Satoru finally says, losing his playful tone, "just rumors, nothing concrete. Worst comes to worst, we'll have to relocate you somewhere overseas."

Yeah, you were worried about that. Leaving everything behind, your home, your friends, your family, because your life was in danger. You hoped it wouldn't have to come to that.

"We have a couple of options, though," Satoru says, "negotiations, for one."

You perk up at that. "Negotiations?" You ask.

He nods. "Right now, you're under my protection. Unofficially. I could pull some strings, get those old geezers at the academy to take you in as some special assistant."

You tilt your head. "Like at the school that you teach, right?"

He nods. "We have a case like yours attending the school, too. I think you and him would get along."

"Your ability could be pretty useful to us. You might even get out in the field every so often." Satoru continues. "A special technique like that would be wasted down here."

Special. He's said that before. You can't remember when, but you know he's right. You're an anomaly, but you can use your abilities for good. But could you really do that? Risk your life every day? Lose pieces of yourself like that?

"I don't really feel special," you say, "I don't want to be special either." You glance at him. "Is that a bad thing?"

Even blindfolded, somehow, his eyes find yours.

"No," he says, no judgment in his voice, "it just makes you human."

Relief. You can feel it sinking through your veins. Part of you feels guilty. Satoru is right; you could do a lot. But you...you don't want to end up like him.

That makes you feel even worse, but then you catch something in his tone.

"You sound like you're not very human," you say back. You're teasing, but it falls flat.

He hums. It's not quite the response you were looking for. It takes a second for him to start up again.

"When I was younger, people used to call me creepy."

You stare at him.

"What?."

He grins, but it's not his usual one.

"It's true." He shrugs. "Mostly, it was 'cause of my eyes. They called them unnerving. Monstrous. My folks were always a creative bunch." He says it so casually, but you can hear the bite on his voice. It's phrased as a joke, but it isn't.

You put down your whisk, giving him your full attention.

"That's not true," you respond, "you know that, right? You aren't a monster. Monsters aren't as kind as you are."

"Oh?" He tilts his head. "Maybe I'm using my kindness as a lure to trap you. Guess you just fell for it, roomie. 'thought you were smarter than that." You roll your eyes.

"Okay, fine, I yield. You're a monster. But out of all the monsters in the world, I'd pick you."

For a moment, there's silence in the kitchen. Then-

"So cheesy!" Satoru laughs. He reaches over, roughly pinching your cheek. "Who knew you could say such cute things, roomie."

You slap his hands away, now extremely annoyed.

"Nevermind. I take it back," you retort. "I'd run away as far as I could from you."

"Good, you should," he replies. "I won't stop you."

You scoff.

"Maybe that's why everyone thought you were creepy." You go back to your whisking. "It's not your eyes, you just say a lot of ominous shit."

Despite how peaceful it is, making desert, cooking, and acting domestic, it can't last forever. The world was still hunting for you, and it had no problems reminding you of that.

One night, you wake up to the sounds of hushed talking.

It's coming from the living room. Multiple voices. Quiet but urgent. You're used to the noise. Satoru has this habit of blasting terrible soap operas at 2 am. You don't think that man sleeps. Over time, you've gotten used to at least one disturbance.

But this feels different. It's enough to rub the sleep out of your eyes, making you pad over to the hall.

They hear you before they see you. Satoru's apartment has creaky floorboards. Ijichi tugs on the collar of his shirt nervously. Ieiri just looks away. Satoru is leaning back against the couch, legs crossed. He's frowning. That's how you know something isn't right.

"Is everything okay?" You ask anyway.

Ijichi gives a tight grin.

"Everything's fine." He's quick to console. "We-we were just-"

"Stop." Satoru immediately cuts in. He's wearing his blindfold. You can't tell what he's thinking.

"We're not hiding it. Everyone involved should know."

Ijichi deflates. You think Ieiri sneers.

Satoru beckons you closer with long fingers. You step forward. They're sitting around a computer. You peek at the screen.

Instantly, you wish you hadn't.

There were pictures of you. Dead. Your body parts were strewn across the floor. Your hands were broken in every other way. Your legs were in pieces. Your head snapped clean off, blood oozing from your appendages like you were just a packet of liquid. One of your eyes was missing from its socket. The other was crushed. But it wasn't you, it was-

"Miyashiro. At least, what's left of him." Satoru gives.

The doppelganger, the guy who was covering for you. He was supposed to be one of their best; what happened to him?

What was going to happen to you?

They're talking again. At least, you think they are. Their words are muffled, filtered through water. You can't make out what anyone is saying. Your heart's beating too fast. It's pounding through your ears. You can only stare at the picture, what was left of him. Someone's touching you. A hand on your back.

"Roomie, hey," Satoru's voice comes.

The pounding stops. You look up at him.

Angelic. It's the only word you could think of. His snow-white hair was pretty, falling elegantly down his face. He'd taken his blindfold off. Blue eyes, sparkling, cleansing. Purifying, like the Ganges river.

How could anyone think a beautiful sight like this was monstrous?

He calls your name, your real name, and you break.

You cling to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. And you're sobbing, tears of everything flowing down your face.

Hands, hesitant, unsure, rest on your back. And then Satoru's holding you as tightly as he can.

He's warm. It's all you can think as you shake in his hold.

He's warm.

"I won't have to worry about that if I just gave in, hm?" You ask.

It was a couple of days later from your episode. Satoru had convinced you to give one of his soap operas a shot. On-screen, a woman slapped her cheating husband.

Satoru was lounging beside you, feet propped up on the coffee table. You want to tell him off, but it's his house.

"If you went to the school, you mean?" He asks. "Probably. You'd be a lot freer. Won't have to sit in a cramped apartment all day. 'sides, jujutsu tech is always on the lookout for fresh talent. The higher-ups would be ecstatic to have someone like you under their thumb."

"But I'd have to become a sorcerer." You say the unspoken.

Gojo nods. "Yeah, you would."

And you don't want that. To face curses, to face death every day. You know you can't handle that. You aren't strong, like Satoru.

"I'm sorry," you say.

He laughs. "For what?"

You shrug as the on-screen couple makes up again. "For being...a coward, I guess."

He thinks for a moment.

"It's not about bravery," he says in the end, "being a sorcerer is just...that. A sorcerer. It's a job. A title. Only a special few can do it. The crazy ones."

His tone gets a bit playful.

"No offense, roomie, but I don't think you got enough crazy in you."

"That's a compliment, actually." You correct. He ignores you.

"'sides, I like you staying here." Satoru declares, stretching his arms out on the couch. "Who'd feed me? It'd be horrible to go back to ramen again."

You roll your eyes. "Right. Who else will wake at 2 am because of your whining to make wagashi?"

"See! You get it!" Satoru grins. You can't force the smile off your face.

The husband's mistress has entered the set. The wife is confident that her husband will choose her. She's left heartbroken all over again. You don't get how she couldn't see it. The red flags were all there, and still, she was left blindsided. Never saw it coming. She trusts too easily, you decided.

"Also, I like having you here," Satoru says.

You glance at him. He's watching the screen.

"It's...nice." He admits after a bit. "To have company like this. It reminds me of back when I was younger. When the two of us lived in the dorms."

When he was a student? Who was he talking about? You don't pry. It's clear he isn't talking to you.

"I'm glad you're here," Satoru says.

Lightly, you bump shoulders with him. Infinity doesn't stop you.

"You're a sweet monster." You tell him.

He gives a secret grin.

Every once in a while, Gojo peeks into the bedroom while you're sleeping.

He's subtle about it, doesn't make too much noise. You're a light sleeper, so it takes little to nothing to wake you up.

He doesn't do anything. He stands there, shuffles here and there, hovering by the foot of the bed. You just pretend to be asleep in those cases, evening out your breaths, closing your eyes. It's always the same. He loiters around for a minute, and then he's shutting the door behind him.

It's strange, but you try not to think too much of it. He was probably looking for something. It's his room after all.

It's just...strange.

You find it when you're looking through his book shelf.

He doesn't have anything interesting to read. It's mainly just historical novels. You're perusing through one before a photograph falls out of the pages.

It's tiny, barely larger than your palm. It only takes a second to realize what you're looking at.

"Found your baby pictures." You gleefully tell Satoru when he comes back.

"What?" He tilts his head; you wave the photo in front of him. When he tries to take it, you pull back.

"Tiny Satoru!" You squeal. "Who knew you were once so small? I always thought you were born six feet over."

It's a simple photograph, a little aged, but still clear. Satoru looks about eight, standing between a man and a woman. His face is eerily blank. He stares with no emotion, not even a smile. He isn't wearing sunglasses or a blindfold. Doll-like blue eyes. You don't feel like you're looking at a child. He's too-

"Are those your parents?" You ask, letting him take the photograph from you.

"No," he says, "my caretakers."

Caretakers. Not nannies, or anything else. It felt so clinical. You lean against his shoulder, still staring at the photograph.

"You look cute." You finally say. When you peak over, a hint of a smile is twitching on his face. "But I totally agree with everyone. You look creepy. Like one of those children from the exorcist. Climbing over the walls."

"I never grew out of that phase." Satoru ponders. You laugh.

"What was it like?" You ask. "You said you're from a clan, right?"

"Exhausting." Satoru groans. "Never a break from training. I should go back and sue my folks for child abuse. I could get millions."

"I could help you with that." You pipe in. "I've never gone to law school, but I feel like I'd make a great lawyer."

"I'll keep that in mind." He promises teasingly before his smile fades.

"But that's the norm for most kids in jujutsu." He sighs. "Gotta' be perfect. Gotta' be the best, right from the beginning. There's a student I know who had a rough start, but she's the best in her class. Her clan didn't care about her potential. Those kids are all scary talented, they just need a bit of nurturing, that's all."

You stare at him. He catches you.

"What?" He asks, before his eyes widen. "Do I have a pimple?"

You shake your head. "For some reason, I feel like that's impossible for you." You tease.

"I'm just admiring you, I think. For being such a kind person."

"I thought we agreed I was a monster." Satoru points out.

This again. You roll your eyes.

"Fine, a good monster." You correct. "A monster, I know."

"The monster you know." He repeats

You want to ask him why he's so insistent on that. For some reason, you hold your voice.

Satoru's apartment had two bathrooms. Lately, the one in the bedroom has had some issues.

It's been awkward lately trying to share the only working bathroom. Satoru and you shower at around the same time, so you've opted to hold back your morning routine a little later. You still manage to catch each other. The amount of times you've accidentally caught him walking around with nothing but a towel around his waist would be too mortifying to admit.

But, so far, it's working. And you can't complain since you at least have one working bathroom. It's the little things.

Tonight, you wake up to your bladder urging you to move. And yet, your body still wants to sleep. You check the time. It's nearly 2 in the morning.

It takes a while to pull yourself up, unraveling yourself from the covers before you're trudging out the bedroom. Satoru's apartment is so dark. It's a completely different look compared to daytime. You feel your way with the walls, letting your eyes adjust to the dark. When you peek over at the living room, Satoru isn't there. He must not be coming home tonight.

The bathroom is shut, but there's a sliver of light bleeding under the door. Fuck, you did not shut the lights off last time. You need to be less careless.

At first, you think Satoru's hurt.

He looks hurt. He's hunched over, shaking shoulders, harsh breathing. You can only see his back, but he looks like he's in agony. You're about to step forward, ask what happened, and then you catch a glimpse of what he's clutching.

Pretty, blue, laced panties.

Your panties.

And you're close enough to hear his voice whispering your name. Over and over again.

"Fuck, fuck, baby, need you, just lemme-just lemme, all mine, all mine-"

He doubles over, tightening his grip on the edge of the sink. Your panties are damp.

You flinch, and in your moment of panic, you step back. Creaky floorboards.

Satoru looks up in the mirror. You don't move.

He takes his time. Placing his phone down. Adjusting his pants, washing his hands. You can only stand there, frozen. Staring. Staring until he's in front of you, looking right back.

You might have forgiven him if he had fumbled, laughed it off, became bashful. A human reaction. His face is eerily blank. He stares with no emotion, not even a smile. His eyes mirror that photograph. Doll-like, absolutely empty.

Monstrous.

Your eyes water. He turns blurry for a second.

Satoru steps aside. You wordlessly enter the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You don't bother locking.

You don't know how long you stay there, quiet, shaking, your mind trying to piece together what you just saw. You stay there for hours. You stay there for seconds. Time stretches on like infinity itself, yet even then, it's too short.

You're alone with him. It's a thought you never even had until now. You're alone with him.

Satoru is outside. You don't look at him, staring at the floor, looking at the carpet, counting each strand. You keep your head down when you return to the bedroom.

He follows. You say nothing. You don't look. You don't look, even when the covers shift and he gets into bed behind you. You don't look, even when there's a hand on your shoulder. You don't look, even when there's a chest pressed against your back.

You shiver, you shake. You don't look. He says nothing, even when you break down completely.

You wake up alone the next morning.

You don't waste a second. You're stumbling through the room, picking up your clothes, packing everything that you need. You're so panicked that you manage to knock over an alarm clock.

It's habit to reach down and pick it up. Learned politeness to scrutinize it to make sure it isn't broken.

A black dot stares back at you.

A camera.

Horrible memories of last night come back. He was watching something on his phone.

You feel nauseous, about to give all over the floor. You need to go. You needed to get out of there.

The apartment is silent, like it always is when Satoru isn't here. You just hadn't noticed how cold it was, lifeless. It makes the pit on your stomach gap. You expect the windows to be bolted shut. They aren't. Sunlight streams through the glass. The front door is unbarred too.

It's easy to leave.

You stop anyway. One question.

Where would you go?

You can't go back home. Miyashiro's body still haunts you. His soul in your body, torn apart with such hatred and vitriol. Those people were still looking for you. The only reason you were still alive was because Miyashiro took your death bed.

You'd die if you went back home.

You can't go to jujutsu tech. You'd be expected to lay down your life, serve a maskless force that pretended to do good. You'd certainly die. Ripped apart by curses.

You'd be slaughtered if you went to the school.

Every route is treacherous, nearly impossible, full of dangers and unknowns.

At least, you know what Satoru wants.

He's made it clear since the beginning. You were just willfully ignorant. Oblivious on purpose. More than happy to ignore the red flags because you knew he was a kind person to his students, ignoring the dichotomy of his actions.

Two things can be right at once.

Satoru won't stop you if you run. He told you that himself. You could leave if you wanted, and he won't follow. But every other path is filled with an intangible value, and Satoru is the monster you know.

Your hand falls away from the doorknob.

You get started on dinner.

You're still there when Satoru comes back. You say nothing. Neither does he. Dinner is a quiet affair. He doesn't talk about his day, he doesn't talk about his students. When you wash the plates, he's quietly standing behind you. When you get out of the shower, he's waiting outside the bathroom.

You can't bring yourself to look at him until you get into bed. Your eyes trail up, past his legs, his shoulders, his neck. Looking into Satoru's crystal blue eyes.

Blank. Numb. Empty.

You think of the cameras. You think of your stolen underwear.

You think of how much his eyes must hurt right then.

You raise one hand out, grasping the sleeve of his shirt. It's barely a tug, but the monster follows like he's weightless, crawling into bed. He's too big to hold properly, but he sinks into your body anyway. His forehead rests against your chest. His eyes close. You don't feel that ice anymore.

“What do you see, Satoru?”

“Nothing.” A pause. A stilted breath.

“Nothing but you.”

He was right in the end. Satoru is a monster. There's no other word that can describe him. Inhuman, far above humanity itself. But he's the monster you'd pick, every single time.

#yandere #yandere jjk #dark jjk #dark gojo satoru #yandere gojo satoru #yandere x reader #dark gojo satoru x reader #yandere gojo satoru x reader #yandere jjk x reader #dark jjk x reader #minor character death

2K notes · View notes

tootiecakes234 · 8 months

Text

“Hey Katsuki”, you scream from the your bedroom.

“What” he yells back at you from somewhere else in the house.

“Where ya at?”

“In the game room.”

So you get up and head that way. When you enter he’s sat in his gaming chair with his headset on.

“Hey bub…. Hey guys” you say loud enough to be heard through his headset.

“Yea yea. They all said hey.” You knew Kirishima and Kaminari were on the other end. Maybe even Mina too cuz she wasn’t texting you back.

“Kit-Kat, I’m getting hungry. Do you know what sounds really good for dinner?”

“What?” he questions without taking his eyes off the screen.

You walk behind him and slide your arms around his neck and nuzzle into the back of his head. You’re trying to butter him up because you know he’s not gonna wanna make what you’re craving.

“You remember those dumplings you made from scratch a while ago?” You ask with your voice dripping in as much sweetness you can muster.

“No.”

“No you don’t remember or no you’re-“

And he interrupt you before you can even finish. “No im not cooking that. There are frozen dumplings in the fridge.”

“But Sukiiiiii, those aren’t as good as the ones you make. The flavors aren’t the same and yours are so crispy and doughy. Pleaaasseee.”

“Hey you assholes shut the hell up. No ones talking to you.” He responds to his friends in the headset. “You want her to have ‘em, bring your ass over and make ‘em”

“I’m not doing this. You idiots hold on.” And he pauses the game and turns around to face you and removes his head set.

“Look we can order takeout if you want, but I’m not about to make freakin dumplings from scratch cuz you have a craving. I’d have to go to the store and get ingredients and taking the time to make the wrappings. ‘S too much.” He tries to explain to you in a rational way .

“I knooowww…. I’d go to the store with you though and I’ll help you make them…. Pretty please” you whine and stick you lowere lip out just a little with your eyes as pleading as you can make them.

Katsuki rolls his eyes and throws his head back.

“You don’t get whatever you want just because you pout at me. Spoiled ass. Not today. Maybe sometime later this week.”

You didn’t actually think he’d tell you no. He usually never does. Maybe you are spoiled. Still makes you sad though.

So you put on your big girl pants, tuck your lip back in and give him a soft “ok” before you lean down and press a soft kiss to his lips so he knows you’re not upset with him.

He is allowed to say no.

“Is Mina on the game with you guys?” You ask him when you pull back.

“Yeah she is.”

“When you get back on can you tell her to stop being a bitch and answer my phone call. I have tea to spill.”

“I’ll tell her.”

And with that you head toward the door and leave.

Once you’re back in your room it takes Mina about 3 minutes to call you and you start catching her up on everything.

You guys stay on the phone for about 30 minutes before she has to go.

After that, you bury yourself in the blankets and start reading the manga you had lying on your nightstand.

Before you can really get into it, Katsuki is walking into your room and going into the closet.

“Get your ass outta bed and get dressed before I change my goddamn mind.”

“What?” You ask because now you’re confused.

“You said you were gonna go to the store with me to buy all this shit so get your ass up and let’s go.”

“Kats you don’t have to, it’s fine.”

“Look ya spoiled brat, if I gotta tell you to get up one more time we are gonna be in here fightin.”

And the smile that breaks out on your face. You hurry and get outta bed and rush him. “Awwwww my sweet boy”

“I swear to god, I’m this close to letting your ass starve.”

And you wrap your arms around him and start kissing everywhere on his face. When you pulled away he has a deep frown on his face but you can see the sparkle in his eyes that he gets when you’re super happy.

You pull away and scurry off to get dressed.

He really needs to start saying no to you and meaning it before you really lose the understanding of the word.

Katsuki Masterlist

Tags: @dreamcastgirl99

*if you want to be added to the tag list, let me know💕

5K notes · View notes

bpmiranda · 27 days

Text

Not Sweet II |l. howlett| nsfw

A/N: Second part to Not Sweet, smut, protective!logan, 18+ f!reader, his claws, violence, harassment, daddy kink, reader finds out logan is a mutant

Not only did Y/N feel a little guilty for sleeping with Logan while still having some sort of involvement with Adam, but she was unbelievably sore and dazed the morning after. It took her a moment as she padded out quietly into her kitchenette to realize Logan was still here, making breakfast. Those gorgeous green eyes met hers and she felt weak in the knees as he smiled at her. “Mornin’,” He greeted her, cutting the stove top off before plating some eggs and bacon. “Can’t believe you eat this shit,” He said as he set a plate with turkey bacon on the table for her. “Had to bring my own over here.”

Y/N couldn’t help the smile on her lips and she realized her throat was a little sore as she had croakily said, “I didn’t plan to have you for breakfast.”

“Didn’t plan last night either,” Logan smirked, walking over to her and gathering her in his arms as he inhaled deeply and took in the sight of her. “Yet here we are.” Y/N turned away from him, covering her mouth with the back of her hand and crossing an arm around her middle. “What is it, sugar?”

“I have morning breath.” She said quietly, face unbelievably hot as she stood in his embrace, his shirtless torso warming her all the more. Logan chuckled, dipped his head down, and kissed the length of her neck slowly. Her skin felt as if it were on fire from how riled up this man got her with just a few kisses. Slowly, he backed her into a wall, pinning her there by her hip while his other arm rested by her head to prevent her from escaping his lips. Y/N whined softly as he tongued her pulse, sucking gently, pressing the erection in his pants to her abdomen and she wanted so badly to do this, but she had to stop him.

“Want me to stop?” He asked as he felt her tense up, pulling away to look down at her with concern.

“Not because I don’t like it,” She said with a sweet smile, one hand resting on his toned abdomen and the other staying over her mouth self-consciously. “I just have work.”

“Can I come by later?” He asked, his hands smoothing down her waist and her hips, holding her tightly as he had his forehead rested against hers, and Y/N nodded, biting her lip. His thumb came up to pull it out from between her teeth so he could kiss her. Her brows furrowed as she focused on trying not open her mouth, but he fought his tongue past her lips and he moaned as he found her warm, wet tongue. “We should talk about us later too.” He murmured after the kiss had gone on so long they simply had to catch their breaths and she nodded in agreement.

“Okay.”

“Oh,” He said as he picked up his breakfast from the counter. “Adam stopped by earlier. Told him you weren’t available.” Her stomach felt heavy as she remembered they had agreed to go on a breakfast date and she felt mortified at the thought of having to see him at work soon. “Thought you’d like to know.” Logan took his plate and shot her a wink before he went back across the hall and she let out a deep breath, only then realizing she had been holding it in.

It was hard to concentrate at work when Logan was consuming every thought, and because Adam worked in the same department, and the last thing she wanted to see was him. It was a position she had never found herself in before, then again, she wasn’t really the type to sleep around with more than one guy at a time. Logan wasn’t just some guy to her, however. Things felt different with him, natural. It was easy to follow his lead rather than go with the flow which is what she had been doing with Adam. A knock at the door drew her attention and she turned to see Adam looking at her with a nervous smile. “Hey, you got a minute?” He asked and she nodded, unable to say anything. “Wanna go to the break room?”

Lord, if you get me out of this, I’ll donate my next paycheck to a church, she thought to herself as she watched Adam pace slowly around the break room. “Adam -” She spoke only to be interrupted.

“Did he force you?” He asked suddenly and her eyes went wide. “I mean, that guy’s almost a decade older than you. What was he doing in your apartment?”

Y/N couldn’t believe he would accuse Logan of something so evil and she felt angry. “No, he did not force me.” She said firmly, her throat tasted like bile just from having to say the words.

“Then how did it happen?” Adam demanded.

“Adam, we’ve only been on four dates. We’re not exclusive, you know that.” Y/N pointed out.

Adam shook his head. “That’s not what I asked.” With an eye roll and a sigh, Y/N explained how Logan ended up in her apartment and what led to them hooking up. “Sounds like he got you drunk. You don’t even drink whiskey, Y/N. Are you hearing yourself?”

Her mouth dropped and she shook her head. “Adam, he did not get me drunk. We were just drinking, he asked if I had whiskey, and I did. How dare you accuse him of these things?” She demanded, angrily getting up and then suddenly feeling his strong grip on her arm. “Let me go. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

“You’re gonna start dating that guy?” Adam demanded with a pained look. “What did I do wrong? Just answer me that, please.”

“You didn’t do anything,” She said as she struggled to rip her arm out of his hold which was beginning to hurt now. “I just feel differently about him. Adam, please, you’re hurting my arm.” She said with tears welling in her eyes as he only continued pulling and squeezing her bicep. “Adam!” Her arm was released and she let out a small cry before running out of the room into the nearest women’s bathroom where she sobbed in a stall. Her arm ached from the pressure and her stomach churned from how cruel he was to her. There was absolutely no way she could finish this day out.

It didn’t take long after Logan came home to know that Y/N was back from work when he could pick up on her fresh scent. When she opened the door to her apartment and forced a smile as he greeted her, he knew something had happened. “What did he do to you?” Logan demanded, looking over every inch of her face as he rubbed her arms softly. Y/N shook her head, but winced when he touched the sore spot on her arm. His eyebrows furrowed as he carefully pushed her sleeve up and his jaw tightened, nostrils flared as he saw the reddish, purple bruise around her bicep. “He did that?” He asked angrily.

“Stay with me?” She asked him in a sweet voice that softened his heart. The last thing she wanted right now was to talk about what happened, she just wanted to be with him.

Logan stayed with her, icing her arm while they sat at the kitchen table where he had eventually convinced her to tell him what had happened, but it only made him angrier. “If I ever see him, I’m gonna turn him into a grease spot.” Logan muttered, checking her arm and shaking his head in disbelief that someone would lay a hand on her. “Does it hurt anymore?” Y/N shook her head, smiling at him in the way she usually did when she was flustered by him, and he sighed. “You should’ve called me.” He said, gently taking her cheek in his palm and guiding her into a kiss which she was happy to return.

“You’re so sweet.” She sighed against his lips while he shook his head and moved down to her neck.

“No, baby, I’m not.” Logan murmured against her skin. “I’m sweet to you.” He told her, caressing a strand of her hair out of her face and looking through her eyes.

A small chuckle left her lips before she said, “That’s okay with me.”

There was a sudden knocking on the door and Y/N jumped at the sound, eyes wide as she feared it was the last person she wanted to see right now. Logan growled lowly, already smelling him as he got up and pointed at her. “Stay in that chair.” He told her and she nodded, watching with apprehension as he moved to the door and swung it open. As they suspected, Adam stood in the hallway with a nervous look as Logan stepped into his face and snarled, “The first words out of your mouth better be a goddamn apology.” He said, pushing Adam’s chest forcefully and making the young boy grunt from the force.

“I-I’m-” He said, eyes wide as Logan then grabbed him by the back of the neck and dragged him past the doorway into the apartment so he could point at Y/N who was sitting wide eyed and still as a statue.

“To her.” Logan said through gritted teeth, bending down to be at eye level with Adam who was trying to stand up straight, but Logan’s strength wouldn’t allow it. Adam groaned as the grip tightened on his skull and he shook his head.

“She should apologize to me first.” He argued and in the same breath Logan had him pinned to the wall with a knife at the throat. Y/N’s eyes went wide as she realized he had not been holding a knife to begin with and she took in a sharp breath as she noticed the blade was protruding out of his knuckles.

Logan was a mutant.

“Apologize, or you lose your tongue and we won’t have to listen to your bullshit anymore.” Logan threatened and Adam became a stammering mess of ‘Y/N, I’m so sorry’ which was far longer than Logan felt he deserved to continue to address her. “You ever put your hands on her again, I’ll slice those fingers off and shove your bloody stump of an arm down your throat, you got it?” Adam nodded, sweating profusely and shaking like a leaf. Logan dragged him back into the hallway, tossed him towards the stairs, and slammed the door shut. He was breathing heavily having restrained himself from actually hurting the guy in a way that would satisfy him and he turned to Y/N who was sitting right where he left her. His claw retracted and his hand flexed at his side as he stood still, wondering if she would let him approach her. “Think we should have that talk now.” He breathed out and she nodded in quiet agreement.

Their lips were locked in a ferocious kiss and it was different in a way they couldn’t explain, but they just knew they couldn’t possibly pull away. Logan had her trapped underneath him on the couch, fingers squeezing at her sides and hips. Her hands were pressed firmly against his chest, feeling on the toned muscles along his body, and only then realizing why he felt so heavy, as if made of metal. Her head was spinning with questions as his mouth left her raw mouth to bite and suck on her neck, groaning lowly as he could smell her arousal. As his hand came down between her legs to inspect her, Y/N gasped his name quietly and he stopped, her heart was beating fast now, and he knew she was scared.

“Ask me.” Logan told her and she shook her head which made him chuckle before he slightly raised his hand. A swift glare brought her attention to three blades that had shot out from between his knuckles, and she swallowed hard at the sight. Slowly, he retracted two of them and used one to carefully slice her top open and she trembled at the feeling of the cool, sharp metal dragging lightly against her skin. He watched her follow his blade, he watched her eyes go wide, her body shake from anticipation, but she didn’t move or even make a noise. He leaned down and kissed her now exposed chest, sheathing his claw before running his palms along her belly and waist. Her hands tangled in his hair and she gasped as he bit the top of her breast, the bulge in his pants grew hard against her hip and she rolled it against him. A low groan rumbled in his throat and he was quick to undo his belt, the jangle of it causing a tingle of excitement to run through her breasts. “Tell me to stop and I will,” Logan said seriously as he tugged her bottoms off. “Tell me to leave and I’ll never bother you again.” He promised her.

“That’s not what I want.” She said in a quiet voice, still mildly caught off guard by the revelation, but it didn’t change the fact that she felt safer with Logan than she did with anyone else. It didn’t matter that he had extra abilities. Logan kissed her abdomen and moved down between her legs, she sighed and let her eyes close as he took his time licking long, single stripes up her slit. “Are you going to be sweet tonight?” She asked with a slight tremble in her voice.

A smirk curled his lip and he looked at her blissed out face with an amused look before saying, “I’ll try my best, sweetheart.”

Logan pulled his hard cock out from his jeans and didn’t waste another second before stuffing her, groaning as a soft cry of his name left her lips and he slowly pounded into her. Her hands grabbed firmly onto his biceps and she arched her back as he rhythmically hit the spot he had claimed as his own. Her eyes watered as he was slow and hard, punctuating every thrust of his with a low grunt. “Logan,” She stifled a cry, pushing on his chest to slow him down. “Be gentle.”

“This is gentle, baby,” Logan cooed, kissing her collarbone and sighing as she grew wetter around him. “My girl’s just so sensitive.” He murmured, dragging his cock out of her as slow as he could just to thrust in hard and deep. The force made her breasts bounce and she had tears spilling down her cheeks. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

Y/N nodded, biting her lip as she looked at him through tear-filled eyes, seeing nothing but his blurry silhouette above her. “Please get me there, daddy.” Logan growled at her words, slipped an arm underneath her waist, and brought her up to sit in his lap as he sat on the couch. He moved her hips back and forth, attacking her neck with love bites as she whined and threw her arms around his head, holding tightly onto him as he fucked her right to the edge of ecstasy. “Ah, ah! Yes!” She whimpered, trembling violently on his lap.

“Fuck, you get so tight when you cum.” He groaned, holding her speared to his cock as she orgasmed, the feeling of his swollen head pushing against her cervix making her release all the more intense.

Her head was fuzzy with endorphins, but she could distinctly feel as he throbbed warningly inside her. “Wanna feel it,” She murmured weakly and Logan groaned as he began to bounce her on his pulsing shaft, latched onto one of her breasts, and bit hard on her nipple as he filled her to the brim with hot spurts of cum. “Oh, yes!” She gasped, a hand of hers pressing into the back of his head, tugging on his hair as he shook underneath her.

They slowed down, the vice grip he had on her waist loosened, and she fell limp into his body. “Y/N, baby?” He said her name in a soft voice, almost scared, and she lifted her head off his shoulder to look at him. “I know you’ll have questions, and I may not have all the answers, but I can promise as long as you want me around I’ll do anything, and everything, to keep you safe.”

Her lips curved into a smile and she lightly held his face in her hands as she kissed him. “Will you be sweet?” She asked with a teasing tone and he chuckled.

“I’m not sweet,” He said, softly caressing her back and kissing her nose. “But I’ll always be sweet to you.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Lord, I hope this lives up to the first part🙏

Masterlist

2K notes · View notes

6ix9inewiturmom · 6 months

Text

Rated R Video

Summary: You and Matt are dating and was invited to do the newest Rated R car video where Nick, Matt, Chris, and Yourself talk about the things you all have been avoiding being in the public eyes..

Warnings: Cursing, use of Y/N, suggestive (i think)? talking ab sexual topics! (lmk if i missed anything)

A/N: the first part of this story will be fluff/suggestive? also this is my first attempt at writing anything so be kind pls :)

:¨ ·.· ¨:

`· . ꔫ

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Me and matt have been dating for about 2 years as of last month, so within those two years of dating we’ve had sex.. a LOT… in the van, the house, the shower.. you get the idea.. but when matt asked me to join the new ‘Sturniolos @ Nite” video where they explored sexual topics they have been avoiding since being in the public eyes of COURSE i indeed had to say yes.

the boys and i were setting up for the video, matt in the driver seat, nick in his assigned seat behind matt chris wanted my seat in the car (the passenger seat) i objected HIGHLY “Christopher do you really wanna sit next to matt while he’s talking about OUR sex life?” i snapped at chris “Well Y/N this” he said while pointing at the passenger side “happens to be the seat i sit in while we film EVERY car video so” chris stood outside the car door standing while pointing at the leather seat we’re arguing over. while our bickering continues matt rolls his eyes and before he has a moment to speak nick yells across the car “Chris sit your ass down and pipe down, you’ll be fine for one video specially when the topic is sex so let’s just sit down and shut up” chris looks at me with an annoyed expression on his face and i look at him and jus smile as i sit next to my boyfriend matt and smile matt returns the smile before clicking the red button on the camera and adjusts the camera so we’re all in it.

nick immediately, getting too excited to sit still starts the intro of the video.

“AS you can see, we have a VERY special guest today for the first time in years-“ i stop him “Nick it’s been a month since i was in a video” i chuckle. nick smiles “ANYWAYS before i was rudely interrupted.. we have matt’s future wife, the mother of my future niece’s or nephews.. Y/N!!” i smile awkwardly at the camera and sent a slight wave. “NOW LETS GET HORNY” nick says just a little too excited to explore a new side of the triplets no one has seen before. matt chuckles softly as he speak with a little giggle in his voice “im not sure if thats how we should start this whole video” i smile at his words awkwardly as if im not about to expose to 6 million people what me and matt do behind every closed door, nick and chris have gotten used to hearing me and matt because of the amount of times we’ve tried doing anything remotely sexual at the house.

“so for the first question,” nick starts “what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever had sex at” chris chimes in “bathroom of Target” mine and nicks eyes widen and look at each other, i slowly turn my head back to face chris “t-target?” i stutter in disbelief. he smiles and nods, i press my lips together and look at matt waiting for him to answer.. the silence fills up the car before i get bold “I have to say in the back of the movie theater” matt’s face turns red and he looks down smiling before nick yells “UMMM Y/N?! MATTHEW??” i smile and turn my face to nick “you told us honesty for this video so im being honest nicolas” we all bust into laughter before matt speaks up and says “my answer to the question is the same as uh Y/N” nick scoffs playfully before asking the next one “this one is a bit more Juicy” as he shimmy’s his shoulders “what’s your deepest darkest sexual fantasy” he continues. my eyes immediately widen, in the bunch of times matt and i have had sex it’s not bad but sometimes i want him to absolutely destroy me, like multiple orgasms at a time, make me cry, degrade me, you know all that pizazz, he’s scared of hurting me or my feelings which makes sense but i wanted more i just didn’t know how to come out and ask for stuff like this but i don’t want 6 MILLION people to- i was cut off by nick who’s screaming my name to get me to pay attention “Y/N” nick screams “Are you listening??” i stutter before answering “y-yes i was just trying to think of a good answer” i look over at matt who’s also caught up in thought “but i think chris should answer first” matt breaks the awkward tension by looking at chris as chris shrugs his shoulders and nods in agreement “hmmm,” he starts “id have to say i’d love to eat a girl out for HOURS” he smirks “not saying i’ve never done that but like most can’t handle much after one” he smiles devilishly and nick matt and i all look at eachother and snicker as chris still began going into detail about eating a girl out before matt cuffs him off “OKAY CHRIS, i will go next just to save everyone else” matt laughs before continuing “umm id have to say my deepest darkest sexual fantasy is uh prolly uhm” he stops nervously so i chime in “matt it’s okay come on you got this” he looks at me and smiles before finishing his sentence “tying someone up and like uh eating em out till they can’t move anymore” he places his hand behind his head and rubs the back of his neck but subconsciously my thighs squeeze together at the thought of it before i quickly snap out of it “well since it’s my turn my fantasy is just really rough sex.. yk like.. yeah i ain’t even gonna go into detail about that you can use ur imagination” i look at the camera and wink when i say the last part of my sentence before nick chimes in “well from the constant banging of the fucking wall from the headboard every night you’d think she be getting that gypsy rose ‘that d is fire’ every fucking night” the entire car busts out into laughter from nicks commentary on mine and matt’s sex life. “okay nick next question” chris states “uhm most of the rest of the questions are weird” nick says while trying not to gag from the question, but i can’t help but look at matt looking deep in thought but i can’t stop wondering if maybe i said something wrong.. was it my tone? i quickly snap out of it when nick starts talking to chris about the nights of restless nights of the consistent banging and moaning coming through the walls from matt absolutely blowing my back out, now matt was sweet and gentle and we had multiple talks about what we were into, what we liked, what we didn’t but i wanted MORE… i needed MORE… i bit my lip subconsciously at the nasty things matt and i could be doing in my head.

“OOO A GOOD QUESTION..” nick starts “something that gets you horny INSTANTLY” i smile and giggle before chris interrupts me and says “ASS AND THE THOUGHT OF SMACKING A NICE FAT ASS” i slap my hand on my face over my mouth over his comment, nick beat me to the thought of slapping Chris’s arm before it got any worse. “christopher sturniolo lets stop talking before your mouth gets worse and u expose yourself more then you have target boy” nick spits out “okay anyways, neck kisses are a biggie for me” i say turning the attention towards me instead of chris’s foul mouth. “AH FINALLY ONE I CAN AGREE WITH Y/N” nick cheers “okay okay, sometimes when Y/N walks around in plaid shorts and a tank top no bra.. idk that’s just me personally” matt says nervously but i can’t help but smile at his answer

“well thank you guys so much for watching this uncomfortable Rated R video.. we probably will not be doing this again because i cannot sit though listening through this again..” nick says with giggles in between sentences. matt grabs the camera and points it in my direction closely and i giggle and smile in the camera before he points it closer in his brothers direction and nick says once more “i will never be doing this again” as chris laughs loudly, matt does his little gremlin voice as i call it and clicks the red button to stop recording.

“well that was interesting” i laughed while stepping out the car to get back inside

“interesting isn’t what i would call it” nick giggles out

matt and i make our way to our shared bedroom but he closes the door suddenly and locks it which makes me jump and turn around

“strip” matt says sternly

“w-what” i stutter but clench my thighs together at his stern tone

“don’t make me say it again Y/N strip”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A/N: AHH PLS LEMME KNOW HOW THIS IS?!?! also pls tell me how to make a masterslist.. cause idk how do that!!

#the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #Spotify

1K notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 7 months

Text

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | angus tully x reader

sequel to 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲, won't really make much sense without reading that!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | holiday break can only last so long, but angus wants this to be more than a fling-- and you, as much as you want to deny it, already know it's more than a fling. the question remains if either one of you will admit it.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.3k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ only!!), age gap (not huge but angus is 18 and the reader is just out of college), semi-public sex, breeding kink, very inappropriate activities in a church, secret relationship, a wee bit of angst and fluff at the end!

part 3 coming soon!

“Fuck, I don’t wanna go back,” he groaned, dropping his head defeatedly into the crook of your neck. “I never wanna go back to that horrible fucking school.”

“I guess you’ll just see me at Easter break then, huh?” you purred, grazing your teeth over his ear.

“You know, if sex with you keeps lining up with the Catholic calendar, it’s gonna give me a complex or something,” he noticed.

“Oh, I can do better than that,” you beamed. “Next time you see me at Mass, I won’t be wearing any panties. And you’ll be the only other one who knows.”

He perked up again, balancing himself over you with bent arms against the mattress. “I swear, you’re a dream come true. A really fucked up dream I had after seeing a porno mag or something.”

You laughed, but it was cut off with him pulling you into another kiss— sweet and slow, with both of you smiling against each other. With your limbs tangled together under the sheets, you melted together into your bed; and no, none of it really seemed real yet. Every time this happened, you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that you were hooking up with Angus Tully. Frankly, you were sort of trying not to think about it, at least not too much. If you really tried, you could look at his face and see the little kid you babysat all those years ago, and it just made you feel sort of awful about it… yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

Your smile fell into a gasp when he started to kiss your neck, his hands guiding your back as it arched slightly. When he pressed his body against yours, you felt him getting hard against your leg, and you groaned softly.

“Fuck, Angus, again?” you whined. “We already went twice—”

“I’m leaving in two days,” he explained, “I need you as many times as I can get away with it.”

You wanted to protest, say something about how sore you were or about how he needed to leave and go back home before someone noticed he was gone— but his slender fingers were already diving between your legs and making you just moan instead.

“See? You’re wet already,” he noticed with a playful mockery to his tone. “I’ve gotta take care of you, baby…”

Oh, you couldn’t stand it when he talked like that— when he made you feel so vulnerable to him, so paradoxically submissive. When this started a couple weeks back, it was the other way around: you were the cool, older woman with all the power. You told him what you wanted and he was more than happy to oblige, never questioning you— he was obedient, basically. But once you’d had a few more encounters, he realized that you wanted him just as badly… that he could make you desperate, if he wanted. Once he’d had the smallest taste of control, he was suddenly a changed man; now, he loved to tease and taunt you, see how far he could push you, even once he made you beg— and you expected you’d never get to live that down.

He watched your face with a mischievous smile as he slowly slid two fingers into you, watching the way you winced and then relaxed. “I’ll be careful,” he promised, “I know you’re all sensitive still… thought you might wake up the whole house with that last one.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks flushed, remembering how he’d had to cover your mouth with his hand when he made you come. These were issues you hadn’t considered much before, since you spent most of the year living in a dorm where you didn’t really care if anyone heard what you were up to. Staying in your parents’ house again— and secretly fucking their friends’ son in your childhood bedroom— posed new challenges to say the least.

You gasped when his fingers curled inside you, rubbing that spot that made everything clench for a moment. “Mm,” he observed encouragingly, “like that?”

“Yes,” you hissed under your breath. Just when you began to let your eyes fall shut, they shot open when he added a third finger inside you. “Fuck!”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” he scolded, “you can fit three fingers just fine— my cock’s bigger than all that anyways.”

He twisted the fingers inside you as your hips rocked, shivers running over your skin. “Yeah, but still— fuck, it’s a lot…”

“You take it just fine,” he assured. “You take whatever I give you, huh?”

“Sh-shut up,” you whimpered, and he laughed softly.

“You’re so good for me,” he continued anyways, making you bite your lip in hopes he wouldn’t notice his effect on you. Whenever he said stuff like that, you just wanted to ask him who the fuck he thought he was— it made you want to shove him off of you and pin him down, remind him of his place. But you never did, because letting him take control always felt so damn good…

His head dipped down a bit under the covers— and his lips latched onto one of your nipples, making you gasp and grab his hair with one of your hands. “Oh god— yes,” you praised, shuddering a bit as he suckled hard on the bud.

He moaned around it, his free hand holding the other breast and keeping you down even when your back longed to arch deeper. “You get so wet when I do this,” he noticed as he pulled away briefly, moving to suck the other for a moment as his fingers gently pumped into you. When he pushed them in all the way to the knuckle, at the same time that his tongue swirled around your nipple just right, your patience finally gave in.

“Just fuck me,” you begged, tugging harder on his curls as you felt him smile against your skin. “God, I just— fuck—”

He pulled away from your breast with a pop and a grin. “Just ask nicely, baby, and I’m all yours.”

“I know you want to, just fuck me,” you growled, but he shook his head and you clenched your jaw.

“You can say it,” he encouraged, “just use the magic word.”

You rolled your eyes, hating the juvenile way of describing it, but his fingers were still moving inside you and you just needed it too bad— “Please,” you breathed. “Please fuck me.”

“There you go,” he praised, slowly pulling his drenched fingers out of you and moving his hips to line up with yours instead. He was so hard; you were almost impressed with his resolve, though at the moment you were mostly just annoyed with it. “Look up at me,” he demanded, making you meet his gaze before he pushed himself inside you.

It was almost too intense, looking right into his eyes as he thrust into you carefully— you bit your lip, watching the heavy sigh of relief leave him as he filled you.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his eyes scanning all over your face and watching your expression change as he pressed his cock as deep as possible. “You’re fucking perfect.”

You didn’t really believe that, but you at least would concede that this moment was perfect.

You held tighter onto him, legs wrapping around his hips, as he leaned in closer and moaned against your neck. “How am I supposed to leave when you feel this fucking good?” he groaned lowly, and you felt yourself already beginning to pulse inside as you moved closer to the edge. “I feel good too, right?”

Poor thing— if only he knew that it was his own fault you withheld praise, just because he sounded too precious when he asked you for reassurance like that. He was really fucking talkative, way more than you expected; sometimes you thought if you didn’t say anything, he’d just go off on these wild tangents about how bad he needs you. “You feel good,” you replied, trying to keep it a little vague so he’d ask for more.

“How good?” he asked with a grin, and you smiled, too, because he was wonderfully predictable sometimes.

“So good,” you cooed, “so fucking good that I’m gonna come way too fast.”

“Hey, that’s my thing,” he joked. His stamina had definitely increased a lot in just a few encounters, but he still had a habit of coming quickly if you got him a bit too riled up. Not that you really minded… it was still cute, after all, and he usually made it up to you one way or another.

He picked up his pace, letting out a low moan against your ear. “Tell me you want me to come inside you,” he ordered, panting with each quick thrust.

“Fuck, Angus, I want you come,” you replied, whispering against his ear. “I want you to fill me—”

“Fuck…”

“And put all your come so deep in me—”

“Fuck, baby,” he whined again. “I’m so fucking close.”

You whined, running your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, feeling your chest get tighter as you moved closer to the edge.

“Tell me you want me to breed you,” he added; okay, so much for predictable…

“Wh-what?” you choked, feeling suddenly hot all over. “Angus, I—”

“I know, you won’t,” he soothed, “it’s just, you know, pretend… just say you want it, please.”

You swallowed but nodded, holding on tighter to the back of his neck. “I… I want you to get me pregnant.”

“God, yes,” he whined through his teeth, fucking you faster.

“I-I want you to fill me up so I can have a baby,” you continued in a whisper, and he moaned again as his grip on your hips tightened. You could hardly believe what you were saying, nor that he had asked you to say it, and yet it made the most wonderfully bizarre feeling stir inside you— strangest of all, it was turning you on. “F-fuck, Angus, I’m gonna come.”

“You’re gonna come with me?” he pressed, sighing when you nodded. “Fuck, let’s do it— we’ll come together. That’ll definitely get you pregnant.”

“Jesus, Angus,” you hissed, “what are you talking about?”

“It doesn’t get you hot, thinking about it?” he challenged. “Thinking about us making a baby right now? Imagining how good it would feel to let me breed you and make you a mommy?”

“Sh-shut the fuck up,” you grunted, but you were already trying to hold it back.

“God, you want it so bad,” he noticed— how was he only this perceptive in these sorts of situations? “You want me to come in you and knock you up, I can tell. You’re gonna come just thinking about it.”

Even though it wasn’t really just thinking about it— it was him fucking you deep and fast and hard after a whole night of making love— you were forced to bite your lip and nod.

“C’mon, baby, I wanna feel it again,” he purred. “Feels so fucking perfect when you come around me— you’re mine, aren’t you?”

Your heart jumped and your eyes shut tight. “God,” you groaned in frustration, but he just smiled and held you tighter.

“It’s okay,” he cooed, “nobody has to know, it’s just me— you’re mine, right? Say it. Say you’re mine.”

You whined when it hit you— and nothing had ever hit you quite like that. Tensing up inside, pulsing uncontrollably, you felt the weight on your chest lift and you dug your nails into his shoulders as he fucked you through it. “Fuck! I-I’m yours!” you blurted out, unable to stop it when you were drowning in your ecstasy like that.

He swore against your ear, and gave you hardly one more thrust before falling over the edge himself, groaning weakly as his body sank down onto yours.

You hoped against all odds that he wouldn’t force you to address any of what you’d just said; he looked so exhausted that you almost wanted to let him fall asleep here if it meant avoiding that conversation. But it was just like him to only give you about ten seconds of silence before running his mouth again.

He started by just sitting up enough to kiss you on the cheek, then the lips, then the side of your forehead when you turned away. “That was so hot,” he announced, still catching his breath, as he grinned down at you.

“That was… different,” you admitted as you hoped your embarrassment wouldn’t show on your face. “You weren’t serious, right? I mean, you know I’m on the pill—”

“Yeah, of course,” he assured, “it’s just, I don’t know, a fantasy.”

You raised an eyebrow as you looked at him. “Respectfully, I thought it was more of a nightmare— you know, it’s kinda worst-case-scenario here.”

“No, no, I know— that’s why it’s fun,” he explained. “‘Cause it’s, like, bad. Well, not bad, but… scary. In a good way! Like a rollercoaster or something.”

“Yeah, sure,” you scoffed, “just like a rollercoaster. That’s why the maternity ward at the hospital looks so much like Six Flags.”

“You know what I mean,” he laughed. “It’s just… if it actually happened it would be a huge fucking deal… but just imagining it, just for fun I mean, it makes my heart race. See?”

He picked up one of your hands and put it on his neck, pressing your fingers into his pulse so you could feel its rapidness. “Fair enough,” you shrugged, “you sure scared the crap out of me for a second.”

“You liked it,” he cooed, kissing the tip of your nose. “You like being mine, too.”

Even if you could’ve hid the reaction on your face somehow, the way your weak muscles still found the energy to clench around his softening cock gave you away; he purred as he smiled, kissing you more tenderly on the lips this time.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered to you.

“I probably look like a mess,” you laughed quietly, “I don’t even want to know what my hair looks like after a night like this.”

“Yeah, that’s how I like you, though— you look pretty all fucked up,” he explained.

You glanced over as he moved to bury his face in your neck again, only to see the slightest blue glow in the window: the early light just before dawn. “Angus, it’s almost morning,” you noticed. “You need to go.”

“Not yet,” he begged, hugging you tighter. “I bet I can make you come again—”

“No,” you snapped, “if your parents find out you snuck out— and if anyone knows you came here—”

“Baby, c’mon,” he pouted, “I’ll be quick, nobody’s gonna know—”

“I swear to god, Angus—”

“Fine, fine,” he sighed, “then just kiss me before I go.”

He held your cheek and turned your face to his, and you kissed him; you hated these kisses, the ones that felt like goodbye. They were amazing, of course, but they always broke your heart.

“I’ll see you later?” he assumed.

“You’ll see me on Sunday,” you replied.

“Nooo, I can’t wait that long,” he whined.

“Yes you can,” you breathed. “Now get up, please, before I have to literally kick you out.”

“Fine,” he relented, climbing off of you and searching the floor for his boxers and t-shirt.

“I still can’t believe you ran here without even putting a coat on,” you remembered, “it’s below freezing out.”

“Whatever, it’s not even a block to my house,” he rolled his eyes.

“Mr. Lindy across the street takes out the trash insanely early in the morning— what if he sees you running back to your house in the snow without any fucking clothes on?!”

“He was young once, right? He’ll understand,” Angus laughed.

“I’m hoping he doesn’t understand,” you groaned, “‘cause if he figures it out and tells my parents—”

“I know,” he breathed, slipping on his shoes and leaning over the bed to kiss you quickly. “It’ll be fine, okay?”

“Okay,” you smiled back.

There was a brief pause before Angus dropped his arms down against his sides, hitting his legs; “Well, I… guess I’ll see you at Mass,” he announced.

“That’s gotta be the weirdest thing to say after hooking up with somebody,” you decided.

“I couldn’t think of anything else!” he defended. “I’m about to jump out your window, it’s already a pretty weird transition.”

“Okay, first of all, please don’t jump,” you replied, “but fair enough. I’ll see you at Mass.”

He hesitated, suddenly giving you one more kiss— one that lingered a little more— before opening your window and beginning to climb out.

Mass was certainly a lot more interesting when you kept feeling Angus’ eyes on you. His family had been just barely on time for the service, so you hadn’t been able to talk to him before it started; you could tell he was dying to know if you’d gone through with it.

You tugged on the bottom of your dress as you adjusted yourself in the pew; it was definitely a weird feeling, and you couldn’t stop worrying that someone, somehow, would see up your skirt and get an eyeful. The anxiety of it was oddly arousing, though— it made you understand a bit better what Angus had said about the whole scary in a good way thing.

When you occasionally spared a glance at him, you noticed that Angus still looked a little underslept; you’d both been up all night just a couple days ago, but the difference was that your parents didn’t really mind if you spent most of the next day in your room, so you’d had a chance to catch up— Angus’ parents were more determined to make use of his time off from school, and had him doing all kinds of chores and activities on Saturday that prevented him from getting more than a quick nap here and there.

And they’d tugged him out of bed bright and early for church today, so he was probably still feeling the effects of an all-nighter. That said, he certainly didn’t seem lacking in energy at the moment— he kept wringing his hands, constantly glancing at you, so noticeably that his mom lightly smacked him on the shoulder when she noticed it.

But you were looking across the aisle at him, too. If for no other reason than how cute he looked in his shirt and tie.

After the service, as everyone mingled around coffee and donuts, Angus made a beeline towards you— you’d kind of hoped he would be a little more subtle.

“Hey,” he greeted, and you just nodded at him with a smirk. “It’s been too long.”

He glanced at all the people passing by, stepping closer to you to let someone walk past but never moving back; he waited until no one was too close before he spoke again in a lower voice.

“Are you really not wearing any…?” he asked, an extra sparkle in his eye and a mischievous smile on his face. His smile dropped a bit when you nodded, though, and his eyes raked over you in the most intoxicating, lascivious way. You were sure you’d never had someone look at you like that, like they’d give anything to devour you right then— and with no panties to hold it, you felt your arousal slicken where your thighs rubbed together.

He cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one was looking over at him as he adjusted his corduroys awkwardly; you licked your lips, a little too flattered by the effect you had on him.

“That’s, um, that’s…” he mumbled, tripping over his words. “That’s really… yeah.”

“Really what?” you challenged as you bit your lip briefly, moving closer to him and all but batting your eyes up at him.

“It’s really fucking sexy,” he whispered.

“Yeah?” you cooed. “I think it’s sexy that you think it’s sexy.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about—” he began.

“I know,” you sighed, “me too.”

“I wasn’t even tired that day— I was wired, actually,” he laughed quietly. “I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Your heart’s pace picked up a bit, and you glanced away briefly. “I, um… I thought about you, too.

“There’s gotta be somewhere we can go,” he whispered. “It’s a big place— everyone’s here, if we just… found an empty room—”

“Jesus, Angus— in a church?!” you hissed.

“Come on,” he begged, “I don’t know when we’ll get a chance again— and I’m leaving tomorrow— and I want you so bad—”

“Shh,” you warned him, making sure no one was nearby again. “We’ll figure something out— just not here. It’s too risky.”

“But I need you now,” he insisted, voice lower and darker as he stepped just a bit closer to you. “It won’t take us long— I mean, it definitely won’t take me long, after spending the last two days thinking about you.”

You crossed your arms, looking down at the floor, and you felt him lean in over you. “Please, baby?” he whispered under his breath.

Releting, you took a glance at the crowd and made sure nobody was looking in your direction. “You go find an empty room in the east wing. I’ll talk to a few people— so it doesn’t look like we’re going together— and I’ll come find you in a few minutes, okay?”

“Great,” he beamed. “Uh, which way is east again?”

You pointed him in the right direction and watched him bound away, sighing to yourself as you re-entered the crowd. You got a lot of questions about your plan now that you finished your degree— and you found yourself repeating the same stock answer about how your graduate program didn’t start until the fall so you had the spring and summer to stay home. Even though you knew you needed to kill some time to look less suspicious, you found yourself glancing constantly towards the east wing, getting more and more impatient for your chance to slip away as unnoticed as possible.

As the crowd was clearing out and nearly everyone’s attention was turned onto somebody’s new baby, you took the opportunity to disappear into the dark hallway. As you peered around the doors, you saw Angus peeking out at you through one of the little windows; the door opened, and you slipped into an abandoned Sunday school classroom, barely having time to gingerly shut the door behind you before you felt his lips on your neck and his hand sliding up your thigh.

“That took forever,” he complained, and before you could remind him it had hardly been five minutes, his fingers were exploring between your legs. “Fuck, what’re you so wet for?” he teased, and you groaned as you pulled him closer by his pants and hopped up to sit on the low bookshelf nearby.

“Just hurry up,” you hissed, “we need to get this over with before somebody finds us here.”

He opened his fly quickly, but struggled slightly to free himself from the confines of his trousers; you hummed a bit when he got it out, pressing it against you right away as you moved your hips up.

Thrusting into you all at once, you both sighed slowly; you took hold of his shoulders, he grabbed onto your hips, and instantly he began to fuck into you impatiently.

“God, you’re so tight,” he hissed against your ear. “Touch yourself— I want you to come, too.”

You reached between your bodies to put a few fingers on your clit, rubbing fast in hopes that you could catch up with him.

“Do you always do what you’re told?” he mocked playfully.

“I think the fact that we’re doing this right after church proves that I don’t,” you replied.

“Guess you only do what I tell you to,” he shrugged, which really made you want to talk back, but you couldn’t because you were trying not to moan too loudly.

He moved faster inside you, and something about the angle of sitting up on the shelf was making him hit just the right spot— or maybe you were sensitive from the exhilarating fear of getting caught.

“What if I got you pregnant here?” he purred, making you arch your back slightly. “Wouldn’t that be funny?”

“You’ve got a weird sense of humor, Tully,” you breathed, struggling not to let your voice come out all whiny and weak.

“Knocked up at St. Mary’s… it’s what God would want, right?”

“Do you never shut up?” you hissed.

“No,” he smirked, “you’re cute when you’re ticked off at me.”

His eyes met yours, and you felt a strange emotion stir in your chest: you bit your lip, willing yourself to tear away from his gaze, but you found it impossible somehow.

One of his hands moved from your hip up to your chest, palming at you through your dress. You tensed up inside, making him wince a bit, and you couldn’t believe how close you were already.

“Oh god, baby, m’gonna come,” you whimpered, moving your hand even faster over your clit; he groaned in approval, leaning in to kiss all along your neck.

“Come for me,” he pleaded, “I’m so fucking close— please come, fuck—”

“R-right there,” you gasped, gripping his shoulder tighter— actually, that wasn’t the only place you were gripping him tighter. He was struggling to maintain the pace of his thrusts, in fact, with how hard your walls were bearing down on him. “Yes, yes, yes—”

“Not too loud,” he warned you, and you bit hard on your own lip to suppress your moan: it stayed in your throat instead, and you heard him gasp as he heard and felt you reaching your peak. He had to take his hand off your chest and put it on the bookshelf under you to help keep you upright, and he looked down between your bodies to watch himself give you a few final thrusts.

He stopped suddenly, whimpering slightly as he buried himself in you as deep as he could go; you sighed and laid back on the bookshelf again, having to tilt your head to avoid a figurine of some prophet or saint that you had absolutely no interest in identifying at the moment.

Angus took a moment to catch his breath, before looking back over his shoulder and through the door’s window to make sure no one was in the hallway. He pulled his cock out of you carefully and did his best to fit it back into his pants. As you felt a warm oozing feeling between your legs, your face began to heat up.

“Maybe I didn’t think this through,” you realized.

“What?” he mumbled.

“I’m gonna have to go out there with nothing on under my dress, with your come leaking out of me.”

He bit his lip.

“It’s not sexy, Angus! It’s very inconvenient!” you frowned.

“It’s both,” he insisted. “It’s very much both.”

Though you did get another chance to see Angus before he left, it wasn’t that sort of rendezvous, unfortunately. Although, just sitting and talking with him was wonderful, too— in an entirely different way. See, that was the thing that scared you most, even more than how badly you’d come to crave his touch: how happy you felt just being with him.

He was funny, and weird, and seemed to think your stories from college were fascinating; he was well-read, especially for a high school student, and you two could chat about your favorite books— a hobby most of your classmates in college found too nerdy to sympathize with.

It probably looked totally wholesome from the outside: two childhood friends catching up while they were back home for a while. And you, you probably looked normal and cool on the outside— you were trying to, at least. But inside, you were terrified. You wanted it to be like what Angus said— scary, in a good way, like a rollercoaster— but you were starting to just feel sick. You know, like an actual rollercoaster would…

“Everyone there is so… dumb,” Angus decided as he leaned back, looking up at the ceiling.

“That can’t be true, it’s a good school,” you tried to encourage him.

“I mean, maybe they could be smart, but they act like morons,” he clarified. “They hate me, too, and I don’t even really know why.”

“Probably because they can sense that you think they’re all morons,” you suggested; and he looked over at you, as if he’d genuinely never thought of that before.

But instead of addressing that, he sat up again and changed the subject. “My parents probably want me to go back and, like, put my trunk in the car and stuff…”

“Right,” you nodded, “you should go.”

“Yeah— b-but, listen, um, before I do…” he trailed off, leaning a little closer to you on the couch. “I wanted to, you know, talk. About something.”

“We’ve been talking for half an hour,” you noticed.

“Right, uh— I meant something specific,” he explained, his cheeks seeming to get a little bit more pink. “I… I won’t be back until spring break, you know…”

“Uh huh,” you nodded, raising an eyebrow as you wondered what he was getting at.

“And, you know, we’ve been having such a great time,” he went on, and your heart twisted. You’d heard this spiel before: the things are so good now, why do we need to put a label on it? why can’t we just have fun talk. The you’re great, but not good enough for more than this talk. You decided to jump in and spare him before he said anything too… honest.

“I get it,” you promised, and he looked at you nervously. “We’re gonna be too far apart for too long— and you shouldn’t, you know, feel like you’re tied down to anything. It’s okay— I didn’t think I was, like, your girlfriend or anything.”

“R-right,” he coughed, looking away and putting his hand on the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’s— that’s what I was gonna say. I knew you’d understand.”

You smiled, wishing you weren’t always so goddamn understanding. “But it was fun— a good way to kill time over the break, for sure.”

“Yeah,” he agreed alongside a thin laugh. “I… I think I’ll always owe you, for being my first time and all.”

“Well, you’ve certainly spent your first two weeks of not being a virgin pretty well,” you snorted. “I had a good time. We’ll call it even.”

“And… when I come back?” he pressed. “Maybe we can, I dunno… maybe we can do it again.”

You grinned and tilted your head. “Yeah, I like that idea.”

“But can I still call you?” he asked nervously.

“Of course!” you beamed. “You’ll have to tell me if you get any good books assigned this semester.”

“Yeah, I doubt it,” he scoffed, but his smile lifted just a bit.

“I can come see you off, if you want,” you offered, “but it might make your mom suspect something…”

“You’re probably right,” he admitted, “I wish you weren’t, but you are— but I’ll call first thing when I get there!”

You smiled, and he gave you a hug before he left; and he promised to call again, though you’d believed him the first time. And the next time you stayed up all night with Angus, it was on the phone— he snuck out of bed with a bag of quarters, and told you the phone was free so you wouldn’t feel bad, and talked to you about everything he could possibly think of.

Except, you didn’t quite make it all night: you fell asleep at some point, while he was talking about his English paper… not that he could blame you.

And for some reason, one that even he himself couldn’t quite explain, he kept feeding the phone quarters and listening to you sleep; he didn’t hang up until it was nearly morning and he had to sneak back into his room.

[series masterlist here]

#angus tully x reader #angus tully smut

2K notes · View notes

grippingbeskar · 2 years

Text

small favours

— joel miller x fem!reader

— warnings: explicit content minors dni, smutttt, dirty talk, very minimal plot sorry not sorry, swearing, needles, mention of injuries/cuts

— a/n: happy tlou release week!! this is set in jackson between the first and second game, i wrote the first part before i saw the show but just imagine with me okay. and it’s literally just bc i saw joel in that denim shirt and went yeah… i wanna fuck him in that. lmao. also dedicated to @everybirdfellsilent because we have been waiting for this show for so long and it’s finally here and oaoxosoxosox. wow.

You hadn’t asked for much.

It was a simple fix, you were sure of it. Yes, you don’t know anything about how to fix hinges, nor do you have any clue about how you broke it in the first place. Either way, it’s just a few screws and a metal piece, so was it really that hard to find five minutes to fix it?

Leading another one of the horses into the stable, you pointedly step over the gate that now lays on the floor, too heavy for you to move it. The horse tramples it, of course, which is why you had asked for someone to come and fix it before the horses were brought back in from patrol. Clearly, no one gave a shit about your question, but you know they’d all be the first to complain if it was their horse that got out through a broken gate.

It was late now, anyways. Too late for you to get anyone out, and even with the safety of Jackson’s walls keeping you blocked off from the outside world, being out at night still freaked you. When you finally got the horse in your hand settled and fed, you promptly sat yourself on the floor of the stable. Without the front gate, it wasn’t safe to leave the horses alone. With your luck, they’d get spooked and run all the way through town, and the last thing you needed was more reason for the people in here to look at you.

It wasn’t that you weren’t liked— you just kept to yourself. This life was hard enough as it is, and you didn’t see the point in making friends when in five years this place would probably be full of strangers. People die every day out here, you knew that too well. You wanted to save yourself the heartache wherever you could.

All that anti social behaviour certainly didn’t win you any favours though— hence the still broken door. You loved it— you were good with horses, having lived in a farm before the outbreak, so you decided to volunteer to help in the stables, but it was hard work sometimes. It kept you busy enough, though, and horses never wanted to make conversation, so… win-win.

There was only one problem with working in here. Truthfully, it wasn’t so much as a problem and more of a chronic condition. At least, that’s the way it felt every time Joel Miller made some kind of appearance. Most people just left the horses tied up out front for you to take care of, but Joel seemed to enjoy the peace the stable provided— that and you never talked much, which seemed to work for him. On the days he’d come back from patrol, the two of you would share a few hushed conversations as you worked and he hid from the rest of Jackson, and then you’d fall into a comfortable silence, sometimes for hours at a time.

Weeks had passed like this, and every single day you got a little bit more interested in who the man really was, other than his clear infatuation with his horse. Right when he came in would be the time you talked the most, after about forty minutes it would get too busy and you’d work until the sun set. But those forty minutes started to stretch a little longer, and he seemed to gain interest in you, too. Maybe you were grasping at straws, but hearing Joel’s low voice rumble a few more words every time he spoke to you was doing wonders for your self esteem, and even you couldn’t deny the way your face warmed when he smiled at you.

“Hey, you still— damn. What happened here?” Joel calls from the gaping hole that is the stable door, and only because it’s his voice calling you do you look up.

“It’s been broken all day. I asked someone to fix it, but…” You shrug, sighing and leaning your head back on the small gate that was the only thing holding the horse behind you from leaping out down the main street. “I guess they had other shit to do. I can’t move it on my own.”

Joel considers you for a second, how your frame is backed against the gate, conveniently placed at the closest point to the open door. Then, he looks back to the door on the ground, and back up to you. He smirks.

“So you were plannin’ on sitting in here all night?” The weight of the day makes your shoulders slump forward, and for the first time you really consider your plan. “You gonna body check a horse when he makes a run for it?”

“Okay, it was a dumb plan. But, it’s that or let them all out and get stuck cleaning up the bar floor or something.” He smiles again, the setting sun behind him washing over his shoulders in a pretty orange colour. A tilt of his head in your direction has you standing up, taking the lead of his horse that he offers to you.

“You take him, I’ll go get my tools. Fix it up before sun down.” Before you can protest or tell him he doesn’t have to, he’s walking off to the right up the hill where his house sits.

You’d always been a bit jealous of the spot his house is. It’s far away enough from everyone that you get some real privacy, but close to the stables if you need a quick exit. He had a porch, too. One you spent a little too much of your time staring at during your work hours, when he spent his off days strumming a guitar right in your line of sight. He was just… peaceful to observe. He brought a calm to you that no one else seemed to be able to do, almost enough that you could forget about the world outside and just exist in that little bubble for a while.

You lead Joel’s horse inside, hearing it trample the door again, and hang up his saddle next to the stable. Joels horse is much like him— quiet unless provoked. You found it out the hard way when you first led it in with a routinely aggressive horse, thinking it’s demeanour would calm him down. The next morning you woke up to two very angry horses and a half bent gate of steel.

“Saved you your favourite spot.” You say to his horse, Old Beardy. You never asked how Joel picked the name, but for some reason it worked so well— at least, he was definitely older than most. “See? He’s right up there.”

The stable at the back was angled just right so that the small window at the height of a horses head pointed directly towards Joel’s porch. Not close enough to see anything other than the outside, but enough that you know it’s there. You don’t come in here often, Joel always taking his own horse in, but when you do you can’t help but notice the instant calming effect it has on Beardy— you might have more in common with this horse than half the people in Jackson.

When you find your way back to the front, Joel’s footsteps are trudging back down the hill. You’ll be fairly useless as anything other than company while he fixes the door, but you can’t seem to stop your heart from racing a million miles a minute as he gets closer and closer. Yes, he makes you forget about everything on the outside, but that’s mainly due to how insane he drives you. All those conversations in the stables and too long looks in town are just all too consuming, and now, when you see him come into sight, you have to put some physical difference between him and you.

“You don’t have to, Joel. Really, I’m sure someone’ll—“

“No, they won’t. Knowin’ the people around here, you’ll be sleepin’ on the floor till next year.” He bends down, and you drop yourself back to the floor and stare in some kind of mesmerised silence as he runs his hands over the broken hinges of the door.

In a few passing thoughts you’d never admit to yourself, you have an obsession with his hands. He was just so…capable. He could do so many things so easily— and some kind of backward wire in your brain fizzled with electricity at the sight of him in his element. He starts fiddling with tools, first starting to remove the broken hinge, muscles flexing as he tears off the old bolts.

“What happened?” He says, the words muffled by the screwdriver in his mouth.

“I have no clue. When I woke up this morning it was blown in. I spent a good hour trying to move it but it’s so—“ With one arm, he pulls it up to stand vertical, a fist wrapping around the edge of the gate. It doesn’t even look like he tried. “—heavy.”

“Come ‘ere and hold it straight.” He says, keeping one arm out in front of him, the other still holding the door up. “I won’t let it fall. Come on.”

“Like this?” You say, staring down at him as you finally reach the door and take a little bit of the weight. He flicks his eyes up, nodding and shifting on his knees to get a better angle on the door.

“Perfect.” He says softly, looking up at you for another split second before clearing his throat and screwing on a new hinge.

“You really didn’t have to do this, but thank-you.” Joel shakes his head, his fingers fiddling with a latch.

“Least I can do. Everyone should be up here helpin’ you anyways.” He stands up, and with only a barrier the width of a gated door, you can feel his body heat keeping you warm when he towers over you. “Keep holding it still.”

“Yeah.” You manage, eyes fluttering closed. “People help, though.”

“Oh, I bet.” He says, sarcasm dripping off his words as he laughs dryly.

“They do! Sometimes… I mean, it’s not their fault. I’m kind of a hermit up here. I don’t really make an effort, so I can’t blame them.” He stops working, his knuckles white over the railing of the gate, and looks to you.

“You’ve trained all these new horses to track better than those guys ever could. They’d die out there without ‘em. Carl doesn’t know his left from right— he got lost eight times last patrol. It’s cause of your horses he got back safe.” Joel’s face is more serious, his eyes sharp but still with a hint of softness that he often looks at you with. “Doesn’t matter if you ain’t makin’ friends. This ain’t middle school, and people should be helpin’ you no matter what. Least of all fixing a door.”

“That’s why I keep you around, Joel.” You smile lightly, his voice getting lower the angrier he gets.

“Good. You tell me next time, and I’ll come round and help. Avoid the whole town all together.” You hum, letting go of the gate as he hauls it up in the air and shuffled backward, setting it against the hinges. “How do you know so much about horses?”

“I lived on a farm, way back when. Besides, they’re easy to navigate once you get to know them.” Joel puts the screwdriver back in his mouth, and you can’t help but stare at him. The small scars on his face, peppered around his cheeks. Some are older, worn and faded, while the one across his nose is new. It’s not even scarred yet, still fresh

“You okay?” He says softly, tilting his head.

“Your face.” His eyebrows furrow, and you shake your head. “Sorry. You… did something happen on patrol? You have a cut—“

“Just a few clickers. Real old, hauled up in a caravan out west. Nothing we couldn’t handle.” The door drops into place, and he swings it out towards him. It sounds less squeaky than it usually did. “Good as new.”

“You should clean it.” You say, worry edging in your voice. “If it was clickers.”

“I’m fine.” He shrugs it off.

“Come on. It’s the least I can do. I have a first aid kit in the back, and then we can call it even.” He relents, locking the door behind him and stepping further into the stables. “Sit. I’ll get the kit.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You can hear a small smirk on his voice, and you roll your eyes, turning around to find the kit. “Why you got a first aid kit in here anyways?”

“You’re using it now, aren’t you?” You turn around, raising your eyebrows. “You’d be surprised how many people come here before going to medical. I started to stock up a little, do what I can. It’s not much, but I can clean it off and do some botched stitches until they see a real doctor.”

“And none of those guys came up to fix the god damn door?” He was getting angry again, and you tried to ignore the shiver that went up your spine when he spoke like that.

He was sitting on a small stool, putting him about waist height. When you stepped closer, shuffling your feet on the floor, he tilted his head up. His open legs invited you closer, nearly drawing you in with a magnetic field he was completely unaware of.

Armed with a cotton ball and disinfectant, your fingers were light enough to breeze along his jaw to hold him in place. He stares up at you, watching your eyes as they flit between the cut on his nose and his wandering gaze. His face is warm when you work up the courage to place your palm on his cheek, thumb gently smoothing over the salt and pepper flecks of his beard. He doesn’t flinch away when you press the cotton ball to his face, swiping across the bridge of his nose.

“Does it hurt?” You whisper, feeling the need to keep your voice low.

“No.” He does the same, the heat of his body making you shuffle slightly closer. His hands are in fists on his knees, like he’s straining to keep himself still. “Told you it was fine.”

“And I told you I wanted to help.” When you’re satisfied with the results, you take a fresh cotton pad and dry it up. “You might need stitches. It’s deep.”

“Go on.” He says, and you lean back, eyes wide.

“You want me to stitch your face together?”

“Good practise, and I trust you.” The simple words have your heart slamming against your rib cage, but instead of showing it you kneel in between his legs and search the contents of the kit for a needle.

“If I mess up your face, you knew what you signed up for.” When you find what you’re looking for, you straighten, Joel’s face is right in front of you. It takes you a second to realise just how close he is, and the position isn’t lost on him either. It’s probably the most emotive you’ve seen him, his jaw going tight from how hard he’s biting down.

“It’s already messed up. You’re fine.” He manages, his voice strained.

“Hold still.” Whispering the words, you lean closer and bring the needle to his skin. His eyes close, and it’s when you press the point into his nose that his hands shoot out in front of him, holding your hips gently.

“Sorry. Shit—“

“It’s fine. Are you okay?” He grunts in a way you think is affirming, so you keep threading the needle. You only need one stitch for a spot this small. “Your face isn’t messed up.”

“Huh?”

“It’s not. Messed up.” You feel his thumbs stroke along the bone of your hip just once before he stills again. You tie off the stitch, and his eyes open. “There. You’re pretty again.”

Your breathing was rapid even though you didn’t have a true reason for it, but neither of you moved. His hands— strong and so fucking capable, holding you still on your knees in front of him. His eyes were pools, inviting you in with a gleam of something shiny, and where you were nearly gasping he was calm and collected. In his element, like he was right where he should be.

The whole stable was a dull orange now, the colours dusting through the strands of Joel’s hair. It’s never really sitting right, wind whipping it out of control on patrol, but you have the urge to run your hands through it anyway. You let yourself explore one small piece of him, like he has to you, and your fingertips run back over the shell of his ear, tangling in his hair. He sucks in a short breath, leaning into the hold of your hand.

“Joel.” You say, voice so soft he would of never heard you if you weren’t so close, but you call for him and he leans closer. Your foreheads nearly touch, and his hands tighten their hold on you.

“Thank you, darlin’.” You sigh deeply, unable to keep yourself upright at the nickname. It rings through you, his accent strong and adding an entire other layer to why he’s so easy to fall into. You don’t even really notice how dark it’s gotten— you usually have sprinted home by now. But Joel’s here, and with him this close, you can’t think of anything else. He leans closer, and your eyes flutter closed.

“Can I kiss you?” He says, the brush of his lips against yours sending a tidal wave of need from your head to your feet.

“Only if you hurry up.” You answer helplessly, voice cracking, and he smiles against you and finally brings his mouth to yours.

It’s anything but calm. That peaceful energy of the stables is completely shattered and sorted into something electrical and sizzling. He yanks you forward, bodies pressing together as you use the leverage of your hand fisted in his hair to kiss him harder and deeper. It doesn’t take long before his tongue is swiping along your bottom lip, seeking permission.

You let him in— you’d let him do whatever he asked for if he kept pouring himself into you like this. He tasted good, which should be impossible but when you’ve been starved of something for this long it doesn’t matter what he does it’s just that he’s giving it to you. He moves his hands to the small of your back, pressing your hips right in the middle of his open legs, his other hand on the back of your head.

You feel him groan when you press together, the sound waking up parts of you that had been dormant for far too long. It was like he had access to each nerve in your body, and every little sound or touch had them blaring red and sparking.

“Fuck, darlin’. Come closer.” He groans into your mouth before kissing you again. You smile for a moment, not entirely sure how you could get any closer, and then it’s wiped off when he hauls you upward, hooking your legs around his waist on the stool. “Yeah. Right here.”

Your arms cling around his neck, his own searching up and down your body. Your shirt rides up with the movements and you moan every time he grazed along your skin. There’s something equally hard and soft about his hands— rough from years of work but soft with the way they hold you up, how they’re careful not to dip too low or high. You arch your back, giving him wordless permission, and he groans into your mouth again.

At some point you have to breath— both of you gasping for air in the quiet of the darkened stables. He brings his hands to your face, holding you against his forehead so he can look into your eyes. He was smiling too— like actually smiling, not that half smirk you’ve seen so often.

“What are we doin’?” He laughs, kissing you again.

“I don’t know, but can we keep going somewhere that doesn’t smell like horse shit?” You whisper and he laughs again. It��s sounds so good— like the sound of the beginning of your favourite song. It makes your heart sing, melting you into the tune. “Please, Joel. I really want…”

“Tell me, baby.” He moves, angles your head with swift moves of his fingers so he can kiss you lower. Under your jaw, and then he drags his mouth down, along your neck, teeth nipping softly… “Fuck knows I wanna hear you say it.”

“You. I really want you.” He hums against your skin, one arm hooking under your ass as he stands easily. You squeal, muffling the sound in the mop of hair on his head. As you walk outside, there’s only a few people still mulling around, and they turn their heads towards you when they hear your soft laughter mixed with Joel’s— two sounds that seem to alarm them more than clickers.

For the first time since you’d been here, you really don’t care if people are looking at you, or what they’re saying. When Joel locks the gate behind you and slides you down his chest to let your feet touch the floor, you are reminded once again of his ability to remove every single thought from your mind except him. Just him, and his hands on your hips, spinning you around and leading you up the hill towards his house. How every so often he’ll bend down, pressing his lips lightly to the back of your neck, and how you can feel his smile on your skin.

He guides you easily, your body on auto pilot to his small gestures, and when you finally rush up the few steps of his porch— one you’ve spent way too much time staring at from afar, you’re both attached to each others face like horny teenagers. He fumbles with the doors lock, jamming keys with aggressive force while his other hand stays soft and sweet on your waist, holding you against him. When the door gives out behind you he never lets you stumble, taking you in his stride with practised precision. You’ve seen the inside of his house, but never the layout, so as he guides you blindly through the hallway, your shut eyes and occupied mouth never see it coming when you fall backwards onto a bed.

“Let me take this off.” He mumbles against your lips, tugging at your shirt and jacket. In a tangle of limbs you both shove at the material, finally hooking it over your head. He presses you flat against the mattress again, hanging over you and running his hands up and down your sides in long, soothing strokes. “God damn gorgeous.”

“Your turn.” The blaze in his eyes dulls slightly at your comment, and he just bends to kiss you again. He links your hands in his own, pulling you away from where they were tugging at his shirt. “Joel.”

“Nothin’ there you wanna see, baby. Just let me look at you.” As sweet as his voice sounds, and as much as you want him to continue, you pull away from his greedy mouth.

“Please take your fucking shirt off.” You say harshly, biting at his bottom lip hard enough for his eyes to open again. He looks over you, taking in the sight of you under him with your arms pinned above your head, back arched towards him. He’s clearly contemplating how difficult it would be to ignore you, smirking a little when he looks up at your hands again.

“Or what? You gonna make me stop?” He kisses under your jaw, his free hand skating along your side, only stopping when his fingers reach the hem of your jeans. When he hears you gasp as his hand disappears under the fabric, he laughs. “Nah, you won’t make me stop. Want it just as bad as I do, don’t you?”

“But I want—“

“Shh, shh. I’ll give you what you want.” His mouth his dizzying— words and movements hot against your skin as his hand bypasses your underwear and drags slow circles against your clit, immediately drawing his name from your lips again. “There you go, darlin’. Feels good?”

“God— yeah, faster. Please.” Your chest was rising and falling so fast, trying to pull the air he was punching out of your lungs with every quick movement of his fingers. He hums at the praise, and you feel him shift above you, sitting up so he could slip one finger inside of you. “Fuck, Joel!”

“I know, baby.” He tilts his head up to kiss you again, tongue matching the fast and unpredictable pace of his hand. You can feel it building— pleasure rippling up your spine and fizzing low in your stomach, and your hands tug under Joel’s unrelenting grip.

He seems to forget he was meant to be holding you, his groans and concentration all focused on the way he was fucking you with his hand, so he lets you go, his hand going to hold your face. It makes you smile under him, but it quickly gets lost when you moan his name again, rolling your hips against him.

Now your hands are free, you have a moment of clarity when your eyes flutter open and see him staring at you; eyes flitting between your face and your chest. You want to have that— to see skin you’ve only thought about in the late hours of the night when you were alone, never admitting it to yourself when you woke the next day. You grab onto the hem of his shirt, ripping the denim up as far as you can, getting your hands on the bare skin of his back.

He doesn’t help you— too obsessed with the way you are writhing and moaning so loud the poeple down the street will know what your doing. Neither of you care about anything else than this, right here, and the fiery hot spark that’s lighting you up inside.

“Shirt, Joel.” You tug at the collar, then card your fingers through his hair and pull. He grumbles something, and then you whimper when his hand leaves you and he sits up on his knees. He was out of breath, towering over you and keeping you caged underneath him as he tore the shirt over his head and threw it behind him. When he leans back down, he doesn’t give you the time to admire him that you’d like, but you take what he gives you. He shoves your own jeans down, shaking them off you in one tug, and your eyes hardly have time to open before you feel the backs of your calves press against the flexing muscles of his bare shoulders.

“Perfect.” He says, speech almost slurred, and the look he gives you reminds you of the one he gave you in the barn. Before you can think enough on it, both of his hands hold your hips down and he gives you one last look before he buried his face in your pussy.

It doesn’t take much to have you screaming his name again, that sweet hot pleasure that was building so quickly comes rushing back with the wet heat of his mouth. He eats you out like he’s fucking hungry for it— pulling borderline shouts from deep in your chest, like something is bashing against your ribcage, only awoken by his complete and utter devotion. His tongue swirls and fingers curl, and you lose sense of direction, clawing at his hair and feeling his groan when you pull him into you.

There’s no where to go, stuck under his weight as he dives into your taste, at his mercy entirely. It was so different to see him undone— a sight you wouldn’t be able to forget next time he came into the stables all soft eyes and short words. No, here he was holding your eye contact, groaning your name as if you were the one doing this to him. He gave you no choice but to hurtle towards the edge of consciousness, knowing you wouldn’t be able to hold out under him much longer.

“Joel. Joel— fuck.” His lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently while his fingers curl inside you in a spot that has you seeing stars. “Oh, god—“

He doesn’t say anything when you cum, just groans into your pussy as he guides you through it. He sets pace and intensity, both of which are hard and almost unbearable, and he only drags himself away when you beg him to. Your legs shake, his hands smoothing over your thighs as his mouth presses wet kisses up your skin, over your stomach and chest, finally reaching your mouth with an overwhelming force.

You hum, tasting the combination of you and him together on his tongue, taking everything he needs to give you. He shuffles up, and you feel his cock pressing hard against your thigh, still straining in his jeans. You let him kiss you lazily, let him explore you this way while your hands busy themselves between your bodies, unzipping his jeans. When your palm brushes over his length still covered by his boxers, he hisses and his eyebrows furrow, like the pleasure is almost painful. You do it again and he shudders, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re so soft.” He murmurs past your ear when you slip your hand under the waistband. When your fingers wrap around him, you stay true to his word and stay light with your touch, not wanting him to finish just yet. You want to make it good for him— draw it out. Pay him back for everything he gave to you; not just tonight, but every night. “So fucking soft. Sweet.”

“You like that?” You ask innocently, stroking him again. Your thumb brushes over his tip and he shudders again, nearly shivering. “I can be gentle. Want you inside me, though.”

“Whatever you want. Fuck— anything you want to do to me. Please, baby. Not gonna last long if you keep doing that.” A single please was enough to grant him a thousand wishes, but you’ll settle for giving him just one.

He helps rid himself of the rest of his clothes, no insecurity in sight with the lower half of his body. There was no need to be… he was big. It made sense— he was a big guy, but it wasn’t just that. He was just… perfect.

“Eyes on me.” He says, pulling your gaze away from where your bodies are about to meet. “I want to see your face when I…”

He trails off when his tip lines up with your entrance. You bite your lip in anticipation, feeling the soaked pleasure coating him as he finally slides himself further and further. You both sigh, like a weight is being lifted from both of you. As if this was the way you were both meant to be.

He bottoms out, head buried in the crook of your neck as he chokes out your name. You feel full— the weight and stretch holding you to the bed, your arms strung lazily around his neck. Your fingers wander down his spine, keeping that soft lilt to your touch that he seems to thrive under. For all his hardness and strength, it’s the lightest touches that seem to crumble him the most.

“Fuck, baby. Feel so good around me.” Joel never speaks for the fun of it, but he says these things like he needs to. Strained and focused, like it’s a compulsion to tell you how good it feels. “Needed to fuck you for so long. You gonna let me make you feel good, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Joel. Please, I need— need you to move.” You whine like a spoilt child, and you are now that you’ve had a taste. He laughs once, a breathless sound, and then pulls out nearly all the way, only to slide back in with that same trained pace.

“Good girl.” He groans, and then picks up the pace.

It’s devastating. It’s the only way to describe it. He fucks you hard and slow, slowly etching himself into parts of your being you aren’t entirely sure he didn’t just create himself. Like he’s forged apart of you just for him, something low and hot, and he hits it with every, perfectly timed thrust. The bed rocks under him, but he doesn’t seem to care. Its creaks and groans are drowned out by his words and both of your moans.

You are incoherent— overcome by pleasure that shocks even the nerves in your fingers and toes, but it seems to have the opposite effect on Joel. He doesn’t fucking shut up— and it’s about the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced.

“So fucking tight around me.”

“God, you feel good.”

“You are so beautiful.”

“Gonna fuck you for days.” Is the last one you hear before his groans turn to borderline whimpers, his pace stuttering as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten and snap all at once. “Oh, fuck that’s it. Cum again for me. Jesus Christ—“

“Joel.” You can only whisper now— voice so strained that nothing could come out but his name. Your eyes roll back and you feel him fuck into you one or two more times, and then he pulls out and replaces himself with his hand. You ride out your pleasure on his skilled fingers, another wave of heat numbing you when you feel him spill onto your stomach, your back arching off the bed.

The room is suddenly dead quiet, nothing but panting breaths filling the silent house. He is still hanging over you, you can feel both of his forearms next to your head as he leans down to kiss you again. The warmth of his body is lifted just enough for him to use something soft to clean you off, and then he collapses beside you, tugging you onto his chest.

He runs his hand through your hair, stopping at your jaw to tilt you up. He kisses you again, the lack of oxygen making you giddy and dizzy, and you break the kiss only because your smiling so wide.

“What’s so funny?” He says, trying to be serious, but even in the dark you can see his matching grin.

“Just happy. Can I be happy?” It’s meant to be light hearted, but you feel him stop for a second, and then he tugs you a little closer.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can be.” He tucks you under his chin, sighing deeply as the rest of your body turns into him and tangles itself with him. “I am.”

You open your eyes a final time, seeing the pitch black dark outside. If it was light, you’d be able to see the stable from here, but it’s black out there. Usually it would make you uneasy, but tucked up under Joel’s safe arms, there’s nothing in the world that could make you feel more at peace.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel killer x y/n #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x reader

12K notes · View notes

dollfacefantasy · 8 months

Note

hi! i love your writing so much! i was wondering if you could write something with leon and a clingy reader? she just likes being held by him, and one day a make out session gets out of hand while he’s holding her so he just fucks her while standing up, not letting her get down. i don’t know if this makes sense but the thought won’t leave my head. hope you’re having a good day/night! <3

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: you're such a needy little thing. leon can't get enough of you, and when he finds out you like being held, he has to take advantage of that.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral sex (m receiving), standing sex, daddy kink

word count: 3.9k

a/n: thank you so much for the request! i FELT this one cause i also have a thing about being held hehe. i hope it's what you were looking for :) reblogs and comments are really appreciated <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld @explorevenus @luniaxi

It only took Leon a couple weeks of dating to figure out that his girlfriend was exceptionally needy. He could tell you tried to suppress it to the best of your ability, control your yearning for physical contact, but it was still there. Honestly, it was obvious from the way you looked at him alone. Glossy, pleading eyes just calling out to him for some love.

At first, he was wary of this trait. He wasn’t good with affection normally. Didn’t like talking about his feelings. That stuff was just too much. He’s a busy guy already. He didn’t need extra worries in the form of a sweet thing like you rubbing your cheek against his neck, snaking your arms beneath his shirt, softly pleading “Leon, I wanna cuddle.”

But his problem was that he always gave into that stuff. Words like those hitting his ears, your pouty lips begging for his kisses, and grabby hands roaming around his body always got you what you wanted. He’d plant a smooch on your temple or forehead, grunt a quiet “c’mere then baby,” and pull you on top of him.

Time passed, and you grew on him like ivy climbing a stone wall. Your clingy nature took root somewhere inside him and drove him wild. It was addictive, feeling so needed. For the first time in his life, he felt like someone’s absolute first choice. It was nice living out his days with the subconscious idea that he was your favorite person. He could get a bit cocky about it sometimes but more than anything it made him all sappy. He couldn’t help it. He tried keeping up the cool, slick persona around you for a little while because impressing you was so important to him. But the way you looked at him made him feel like Superman. Your precious face tilted upwards to gaze at him like he was the only man you’d ever laid eyes on. It just made him wanna scoop you up and take off, soar far up into the clouds where it would just be the two of you.

So he ended up feeding into this kind of behavior one thousand percent, enabling you with no reservations. If you were sitting together, you were on his lap. Standing near each other? His arm was around you, keeping you tucked to his chest. The two of you would be lying in bed and simple cuddling just didn’t cut it anymore. No, instead, he’d be rubbing your back, nuzzling and kissing your neck, massaging your scalp. And the pet names were constant. Your actual name was only reserved for serious or special occasions. In ordinary conversations, it was always “my baby” with the intermittent “precious girl” or “princess” mixed in.

Because, from his perspective, why wouldn’t he? You both deserved this. You craved the physical affection you’d never gotten enough of while he yearned for a sweet little thing to dote on and love between the brutal DSO missions that plagued most of his time. He didn’t give a fuck if someone wanted to say it was codependent or that he was whipped. You were his baby, and if sweet tender affection was what revved your engine, what kind of man would he be to deprive you of it?

Maybe he was whipped. He wouldn’t shy away from that label. He loved you undoubtedly. His heart ached to see you smiling and laughing. Each individual cell in his body cried out to be pressed against you. But in the same breath, he’d be a liar if he said that sex played no part in his urges to coddle you.

He’d never seen a girl get as cock drunk as you. He’d warm you up with his cooing and caresses, and then all he had to do was slide a few inches in you, and you were gone. Nothing had ever gotten him so hard. It’s like your brain shut off as soon as your sweet little pussy was filled up. Really, you went the whole nine yards; whining, babbling, drooling. Your gorgeous lashes would flutter as your eyes went hazy, and you always wanted to hold his hand. Well, more specifically, you wanted him to offer his hand to you. He’d simply murmur “Aw, is it too much, princess? Here, hold daddy’s hand. That’s my girl,” and you were already cumming.

Cause that was the other part of this whole thing. Shortly after he caught on to your intense need for physical affection, he discovered your penchant for the infamous d word. The first time you’d said it, he had you pinned down to the mattress, face shoved against your pillow, hips slightly elevated while he stuffed you full of cock. You just cried it out in the same way you’d yell for God or whine “fuck.” And he rolled with it. One little word wasn’t gonna get in the way of what he’d found with you.

Beyond calling him daddy, Leon tried to take note of all the things that got you going. Sure, you were fond of physical expressions of love, and you probably wouldn’t turn down an offer from him ever. But that didn’t mean you didn’t have favorites when it came to this stuff. Leon took pride in remembering what you liked. Over the months of your relationship, he made a point to remember the specific motion you liked him to do when he rubbed your back. He burned into his mind that you liked to kiss in a way that would definitely make those over-the-top smooching noises found in network dramas. What could he say? He just wanted to do everything right for you.

Possibly his favorite thing that he discovered about you though was your love for being held. Love probably wasn’t even a strong enough word. Your affinity? Proclivity? Plain white hot need? Who fucking knows. All he knew was that you had a major thing for being wrapped up in his arms with your head on his shoulder.

The first hint he’d got at this part of you came by pure accident. He’d just arrived home from a mission, a long and taxing one at that. He’d missed you like crazy, felt as needy as you did on a daily basis, and you were practically vibrating with a longing for his touch. So when you came bounding down the hallway to meet him at the front door, he’d grabbed you by the waist, picked you up and spun you around like in an old cartoon when the prince and princess finally get their happily ever after.

Coming out of the short twirl, he’d brought you to his chest and held your body a little ways above the ground. He cradled your head to your shoulder and kept his grip tight to support you. And it wasn’t like you melted or had little hearts gleaming in your eyes, but something in your demeanor shifted.

“There’s my baby,” he muttered while smacking kisses on the side of your head.

You replied with how much you missed him, more than anything in the whole world. He laughed his deep, rumbling laugh and brought you over to the couch. You were all over him even more than normal which was really saying something. You couldn’t stop pecking his face or pushing up against him. Next thing he knew, you were tugging at his belt and taking his dick down your throat.

“Fuck, precious. don’t gotta choke yourself. It’s not goin’ anywhere,'' he hummed while tilting his head back against the couch. You weren’t normally so forward. You were always needy, but typically, you waited for him to initiate. It was much more your style to drop hints that you were in the mood and wait for him to pick up on your signals, but this time you just went for it.

He stroked the back of your head while you bobbed your head, taking him deeper each time. Groans fell from his lips, and his hips jolted in small twitches. Your saliva seeped out over your soft lips and dribbled down to his balls. You had never lacked enthusiasm before, but now you were taking him like his cock was the best treat you’d ever had.

He could barely stand the sight of you in that moment. Cute eyes drooping while your cheeks hollowed. Once he heard the muted sound of you gagging, he was done for. Shot his load deep in your throat in what would have been an embarrassingly short amount of time if you were anyone else. But you swallowed it all without any complaints and then crawled into his lap to cuddle some more. As you curled up to his chest, he knew something he did struck a chord with you to get you so eager.

So naturally, he tried picking you up again a couple days later. He had to know if that was a fluke or if it really was a thing. This time it was much more intentional, but he still played it off as a teasing gesture. He scooped you up from behind while you were fidgeting with something in the kitchen, expecting a whiny chorus of “Leon!” and “Stop, put me down!” But you didn’t say either. You let out a soft squeak and a quiet “What are you doing?”

“Just giving you a hug, baby,” he teased and situated you in his embrace so your front was pressed to his.

Almost immediately, as if your skull was magnetized, your head fell to his shoulder. Your limbs tightened around him a little and you took a deep breath like you wanted to commit his scent to memory. You didn’t even complain about him pulling you away from whatever task had been occupying your attention.

“This isn’t a hug,” you’d said softly.

“Says who? Seems like a hug to me, got my arms around you,” he responded with a small kiss to your temple.

His hand rose to your head and cradled it against his shoulder as your legs locked around his waist. He stood there with you for a moment just taking in the embrace. It was as if he could feel you melt against his body.

“A hug is when we’re both standing,” you say quietly while slotting your face in the warm crook of his neck.

“Yeah? You look that up in the dictionary or something?” he mutters in return.

When he had a firm hold on you, he walked you through the living room, taking the long way up to the bedroom to give his little experiment some time to play out. You rested quietly in his grasp as he navigated past furniture. He ran his free hand up and down your back as he moved, his other one planted firmly on your thigh to support you.

After the two of you reached the bedroom, he set you down on the bed and climbed in after you. His fingers coasted across your cheek as he looked down into your eyes, studying you in a way. He was still curious about what was going through your head. Again, him holding you like that had led to some of the best sex the two of you’d had, but there was something deeper there too. This wasn’t just a cheat code to get you to drop your panties. There was an emotional part of this too. He could tell.

“So you like when I pick you up, hm?” he’d asked.

You looked up at him from your spot against his chest, glowing a bit as you came down from the high. “I guess,” you answered with a tiny shrug.

He’d chuckled at your attempt to be casual and just dropped the subject matter. Your reasons were probably sensitive to you. Located in a deep, private cavern of your heart that was too guarded for you to let even him in yet. And that was ok with him. For now, he’d just chalk it up to some desire on an instinctual level. It was just something that made you tick, and it became something he did for you from time to time when you needed that extra level of care.

This evening, the two of you had been watching some movie. To be honest, Leon didn’t even remember what it was called at this point because he didn’t really wanna watch it in the first place. He was much more interested in you. You had just started it up as he arrived home from running some errands though, so he didn’t want to be rude and ask you to shut it off just because he was horny. Instead, he flopped down next to you on the couch.

A small laugh bubbles from your lips as he pulls you to him and kisses down the side of your face, murmuring for you to explain what’s going on in the thing you were watching. You ramble on about the story, telling him that it’s the end of the world and these guys are trapped in this house, and that one is friends with that one but hates the other one, and blah blah blah. He loved you to death, but he just couldn’t care less about that right now. He hums along with a stream alternating between “mhm” and “oh yeah.”

Your laughter increases as his kisses become more distracting. He nips at the skin of your throat and litters your soft skin with love bites. His tongue laves at your neck as his nose coasts over your flesh. After a while, your own interest in the movie begins to dwindle. You turn your head and plant some smooches on his face, enticing him to tilt his head upwards. The two of you meet in the middle, connecting your lips.

Mouths move in sync, tongues brush each other, and soon enough, your seat’s been abandoned in favor of your true favorite spot. You’re parked on his lap, the lush flesh of your ass flush against his semi-hard bulge. His hand slithers up your back underneath your shirt to rub up and down your spine while pulling you closer. Your breathing gets heavier, and you’re practically panting when you two finally pull away for a break. Your lips are wet with spit and a little puffy from making out. He drags his thumb over your bottom one as he smirks at your glazed eyes.

“Think you’d be ok with finishing this later?” he asks.

To his pleasure, you’re quick to accept the offer with a nod. “Seen it before anyways,” you admit and lean back in for more kisses.

He chuckles into your mouth and boosts you up without even turning the tv off. He’s stumbling to the bedroom, and you’re latched onto him like a little spidermonkey or something. He knew well by now that being carried took your brain to that sweet spot of utter submission, but today you were on something else entirely. You were getting whiny between kisses. He was having to support you extra because your hands were trying to slide in between the two of you and get at his pants. He assumed it was cause he got you riled up before picking you up, but he didn’t lament about it too much. He wasn’t thinking with his head right now.

All your squirming around nearly made him trip and topple the both of you to the ground. He grunts and shifts you around, trying to get you to settle down at least till you reach the bedroom. You wouldn’t let up though, continuing on with your impatient hip rocking and greedy fingers. He’s sure he’s about to fall over and one of you is moments away from serious injury, so he totters a few steps over and secures you against the wall.

“Jesus, you’d think I’d just got back from a war or something,” he breathes.

You laugh, but keep up your neediness. “Just want you so bad. Missed my daddy all day,” you murmur.

“Yeah? I know it’s hard being away from me. Your little head’s just not cut out for all that thinking is it?” he coos condescendingly, “This is how you're meant to be, just attached to daddy, letting him take care of everything while you tag along.”

“Mhm,” you nod and kiss him again. He can feel you smiling against his lips.

“Yeah, so how bout you do me a favor then and stop wriggling around so much. You wanna get dropped on your head so thinking isn’t even an option anymore?” he teases.

“No. I just…” you whimper defensively. A smile spreads across your face as you hide your face at the base of his neck. “I just want you… really bad.”

That was a tone Leon knew well by now. That was the tone of the guessing game. It was the voice you used when you wanted something but were too shy to just ask for it. So Leon had to decipher your signals and figure out what that thing was. Luckily, this time around it was pretty simple.

“Really bad? Like pinned down in the middle of the hallway while I’m stuffing you full of cum bad?” he asks.

“Sorta…” you say.

With an amused shake of his head, he thinks a little more. The stuffed full of cum thing was a given. So what was off? He was thinking through this as if searching for a missing puzzle piece. He runs through different scenarios before it clicks. He laughs a little. It was kind of obvious once he had it.

“Oh, of course not. There’s no way you’d choose to be out of my arms. What was I thinking?” he says, exaggerating his cadence, “So you want it standing?”

You nod, and with the right answer, that little smile feels so much sweeter. He leans harder into you, keeping you by pressing you between him and the wall. Giving you a few messy kisses, he finally undoes his pants and pushes them down to his mid-thigh. He was fully hard now. You could feel it as he rolled his hips against your center.

“Lucky you’re wearing a skirt, nice and easy for me,” he hums.

He bunches up the fabric around your waist before dragging his fingers over your panties, feeling how they were damp. He smirks against your lips while applying more pressure, seeking out your swollen clit.

“Already so wet, baby,” he chides, “Is this how you get while I’m not with you? Can’t think of anything but daddy cause your pretty pussy’s just crying for some more attention.”

“Yeah, need you to make the ache go away,” you say in a breathy whimper.

“I know you do,” he coos.

It’s a bit difficult in this position, but Leon manages to remove the last barriers of cloth separating the two of you. He lines up his dick with your entrance and slides home. Now it’s his head that falls on your shoulder as he groans. His stance didn’t really allow him to ease in. He was balls deep in the first stroke. You let out a long satisfied moan.

Taking a moment to readjust, he gets his elbows hooked under the bends of your knees. You’re basically bent in half, his cock to your cervix. This angle felt even deeper too. Your walls pulse around him as you work to accommodate the length.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Every part of you clings to me,” he grunts before taking a step away from the wall.

Losing the stability behind your back had you rocking and shifting more, causing his tip to nudge against all those sweet spots. Your thighs quiver as Leon gets into a rhythm and figures out how to bounce you on his cock like his. The sound of your skin meeting floats down the hallway. You whine and whimper, your eyes roll back as your head tilts the same direction.

He could tell you were loving it. Your favorite place to be combined with your favorite feeling in the entire world. There was nothing his sweet girl loved more than being stuffed full of cock and held by him.

“Feeling good, princess? Is daddy fucking you just how you wanted?” he asks.

“Mhm, mhm, mhm,” you whimper and nod dumbly.

“Good,” he says. He focuses on working himself in and out of you. His mind is locked on the sensation of your slick coating his shaft and collecting at the base, dripping down to his balls. But more words fill his mind and rush to his mouth to be let out. “This is why you’re so needy, right baby? You just need some cock in you or you get so frustrated. Can’t even think straight without your fill, can you?”

You shake your head wildly. Your legs tense over his arms. His hands dig into your back to keep you supported. You see his biceps flexing beneath his sleeves as he uses his strength to hold you up. He rocks you on his cock, back and forth, sliding himself in and out. You’re gasping and trembling more noticeably now. He knows you’re approaching the peak.

“Doing so good for me, precious,” he murmurs, “Keep squeezing me like that so I can fill you up just how you need.”

Your noises become more desperate. It feels as though you get even tighter. Leon slams into you deeper than you could remember. But then again, in this state, your memory wasn’t worth much. Pumping in and out, he sees your eyes squeeze show, your mouth widening into that cute familiar shape it always made when you came.

“Go ahead, baby. Make a mess for daddy,” he groans.

You do as he says, following your orders. You seize up and moan, long and loud. He tightens his grip and takes a step closer to the wall to ensure your high isn’t cut by falling. His hips don’t stop though. He feels that tensing in his belly. Gritting his teeth, he pounds you over and over until he has to stumble back to the wall.

You hit the surface with a thud, but he’s a little too busy to notice. He growls and whimpers into your neck, hips working at a more strained pace as he tries to grab that brief euphoria. A few thrusts later and release is washing over him. He fucks you full, going deep and staying true to his word about filling you up. He pumps every last drop in.

You slowly slide down in his arms till he lets go of your legs and your feet can touch the ground again. Looking up at him as he comes down, you watch his features melt into the relaxation of post-release. You lean up and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. His eyes open and look down at you. A lazy smile spreads on his face and moves in to return the gesture.

“So how’d I do?” he asks with that smug look you loved so much.

“Perfect like always,” you answer, genuine in contrast to his teasing. You step forward on wobbly legs, grabbing his hand to finish your trip to the bedroom together. He leans down and smacks a kiss on your neck.

“Clearly not perfect enough if you’re walking on your own now,” he purrs in your ear.

You smile and look down. “There’s still time to fix that,” you offer.

“Of course there is,” he agrees with a light swat to your ass. He pecks your lips once more before following you through the entryway to your shared room.

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut #smut

1K notes · View notes