#but it was so long ago that when he does the knot he forgets how to undo it and reg is just sat there waiting to be let loose | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lilac-5ky · 11 months

Text

i wanna tie the knot (Satoru xFem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Forget me not

Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests | AO3

Plot: Your boyfriend takes you on a romantic getaway that will potentially change the rest of your lives.

Themes: MDNI, Established Relationship, Vacation, Teasing, Bickering, Tooth-rotting Fluff, Comedy, Onsen Smut, Sensory Deprivation (bondage and blindfolds), Breeding Kink, Oral (f. receiving), Multiple Orgasms, Yukatas, Snarky!Fem!Reader who is done with Gojo's Shenanigans but loves him regardless, Soft!Dom Gojo, Unsolicited Digimon References, and Bucketloads of Pet Names (baby, princess, bunny, honeypie, sugarplum, and every other food nickname you can think of)

Word Count: 13.3k (i was inspired, sue me. rest of it will be smaller. i think.)

check a/n at the bottom

“Last one up the hill is a loser!” Those were the parting words you left your boyfriend with before you shot in the direction of the fields, wind in your hair and pollen in the air, Satoru’s voice barely audible over the light chuckle you shed behind.

You sprint across a sea of flowers in every shape, hue, and kind—from exuberant red poppies to bashful pink asters—spanning as far as the eye can see. You want nothing more than to spare a moment and halt; breathe into the combined aroma of the autumn blossoms before winter hushes them for good, but you can’t. The faster you run, the smaller his head becomes, until it’s a mere blotch of white on the faraway horizon.

You rest assured in your victory, a breathless smile forming on your lips as you reach the top. You glance over your shoulder, confident that the man who minutes ago (literally) flew you to Ikoma on another of his spontaneous 2-day trips is still there, lamenting ever giving you a headstart. However, no matter how hard you squint, you cannot seem to find him.

“What are we looking at?” A low-pitched voice scares the wits out of you, hummed near the shell of your ear in a way that’s exclusive to the cheeky tone it carries.

“S-Satoru!” You yelp, almost throwing yourself down the stiff slope.

“Satoru?” The man in question repeats his own name, cocking his head to the side with genuine curiosity. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“What are you—”

“I only know of a winner,” he points at his chest, successfully diverting your attention from the hand that rises to flick your forehead with such force that you stagger backward.

Both your fall and his punchline are postponed, one awaiting the other while you’re left floating mid-air, the infinity between your head and his boot serving as a safety net.

“And a loser.” Satoru concludes, his grin as bright as day, when he retracts his foot and lets you plummet into the fluffy flowerbed.

In the time it takes for you to blow a tuft of hair from your eyes and prop yourself onto your elbows, Satoru’s already taken his phone out and snapped as many pictures as humanely possible. You aren’t fazed. You’re used to his constant leg-pulling, as well as his 8895-picture collection of funny faces you’ve made over the course of your 7-year relationship.

Definitely in the 9000s now.

“Most guys would help their girlfriend up instead of calling her a loser.” You frown.

“Most guys wouldn’t date a slowpoke.” He gleefully chimes, zooming in on your face. “Come on. Smiiile.”

You poke your tongue out, and he snaps what is hopefully the last embarrassing frame of the day. Your frown resumes, downturned mouth and eyes narrowed at the wonderful azure sky.

“Good enough. Here, here.” He offers you his hand. “Don’t go crying on me.”

You accept only to give him a taste of his own medicine as you lock fingers and drag him down. He shouldn’t fall, but he does so anyway, collapsing beside you in a bundle of ridiculously long limbs he either sorts behind his head or splays on the grass surrounding him.

“Can’t believe you actually got me.” Satoru says in a pouty voice that goes against the complacent smile sitting on his lips. Idiot. “Woah, the view is much prettier from down here!” He marvels at the drifting clouds, pointing at one that resembles a duck. “Is this what it feels like to be you?”

You could do without his unnecessary comments spoiling the mood, but you’re willing to overlook them for the sake of your trip. With how hectic these past three weeks were—orchestrated curse attacks ping-ponging both him and his students across Tokyo—you doubted you’d have a moment to yourselves for the remainder of the year.

But keeping him on his toes is too much fun to pass up.

“You’d be more likeable if you weren’t such a showoff, Satoru.” You scoff, no malice whatsoever.

“Oh, really? ‘Cause I thought you liked me sooo much when you were going all oh, Satoru! Love it so much, Satoru! You’re the best, Satoru! Deeper, Satoru! Y-yes, just like that, ‘Toru last night.”

“Shut up!”

You plug his mouth with both hands, though that doesn’t discourage him from blabbing his version of last night’s events, perfectly replicating the breathy tone of your voice and the soft little moans you let out in between his frantic thrusts.

Your palms relocate to cover your ears, the bright color of your cheeks soon becoming a focal point for his mockery. Satoru plucks a crimson cosmos flower and holds it to your face, twirling it around until you rip it from his grasp. Regret washes over you as soon as you unfold your fingers and see the now-crumpled petals, a little piece of the universe laying lifeless in your palm.

“I’m surprised you can still see my face behind that thing.” You point at the dark fabric that conceals his eyes. “How many fingers am I holding up?” You wave your hand in his face, constantly alternating between the number of fingers you flex.

Satoru catches your wrist and decisively intertwines your fingers. “I see enough to know you look the cutest when you’re annoyed.”

“I’m not annoyed.” You declare.

“Are you sure?” His voice is deliberately sultry as he inches closer.

Flakes of color adorn his icy strands like confetti, a stark contrast to the murky blue of his two-piece uniform. You can feel his eyes—those lovely crystal orbs of his—burning holes through the blindfold to meet yours, and in this instant, when his minty breath ghosts over your lips and promises a kiss, you’re absolutely enamored by him.

That is, until he begins poking into your cheeks like a woodpecker, and your desire to strangle the life out of him overtakes the urge to give in.

“Okay! You did it! I’m—”

Before you can finish your sentence, his lips crash into yours, a stolen peck that lasts no longer than the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings, a soft fumble that leaves you craving for more. “Definitely annoyed.” Satoru flashes a boyish smile as he ruffles your hair and pulls you to your feet with him, his hand carrying you through a path of marigolds.

“Can you… just… slow… down?” You pant out, struggling to follow after his long strides.

But he doesn’t falter.

“Better get moving before you evolve into a Slowbro.” He sing-songs.

“Knock it off! I’m at least Jigglypuff tier.”

“Hmm,” he considers out loud. “I wouldn’t go as far as to call you useless, but—”

“Satoru!” You protest. “And I thought you liked Digimon.”

“Doesn’t hurt to know about the cheaper rip-off.”

“Pretty sure that’d be Digimon.”

“And I’m pretty sure even a regular Greymon beats your mascot into a pulp.” He beams.

Sigh.

You roll your eyes, letting him argue with himself about Digimon’s supremacy, until you reach a pool of flowers—myriad befallen fragments of the sky reflecting the vibrant blue of his eyes. You break free from his grasp and kneel among the blossoms, your fingertips skimming across the pointed petals with great care.

“Oh my God, Satoru! You know what this is?”

“Flowers…?” He changes his answer to pretty flowers upon your glaring.

“It’s forget-me-nots!”

The name doesn’t seem to ring a bell. He looks at you with the stupefied expression of a cattle who only knows how to moo and eat grass, invisible question marks spawning around his head.

“Their blooming period ends in May,” you explain. “Can’t believe we’d find some in October, and these—” You chop one of the stems and extend it to him. “These are so beautiful.”

Satoru glances between the flowers and your impressionable eyes, in which tiny stars seem to twinkle, his tone serious as he points out, “You must really love me.”

Your mouth hangs while you mull over your own words. Nope. Nothing you said remotely hints at the conclusion he alone reached.

“About time you showed me some respect.” Satoru huffs. “Don’t know about the royalty part, but—ah, it really can’t be helped. I’ll accept them if you insist.”

“Hold on a second.” His fingers close around a fistful of nothing as you retract your hand. “What respect, what royalty are you talking about?”

“Hm? You really don’t know?” You shake your head, and he brings out his phone, trading it for the flowers. “Says it all riiiight here.” He taps at the wall of text that lights up his screen.

Forget-me-not, also known as Myosotis flower, represents true love and respect and is an indisputable symbol of royalty. To King Henry IV—

“Tsk, these don’t even smell.” Satoru exclaims once he presses them to his nose.

“Not all flowers smell.” You turn off the screen and hand his phone back to him. “Your ability to google stuff and sell it as common trivia never ceases to amaze me.”

He lowers the stem to his lap and looks at you. Or so you think. You really can’t tell when he’s wearing that thing. “And? What do you make of it?”

“You just want to hear me say it, don’t you?” Your hands slide across his shoulders, fingers knitting behind his neck. “I love you, you silly, goofy, pervert specimen of a man.” You smile softly. “And I do respect you—sometimes—but best case scenario, you become prime minister. Better get that royalty idea out of your brain.”

“Not even if a mysterious big-scale accident takes all royalty on this planet out?” Satoru quips.

“Oh, just shut up and kiss me already.”

The sharp edges of his grin dissolve as he tilts his head enough for your lips to meet, tentative flicks of his tongue granting him access to your mouth. You feel the hard press of his chest once his arm wraps around your waist, nullifying the barriers that stand between you and the resounding beating of his heart.

There’s no innate technique in the way he touches; no immense amount of cursed energy in the way he kisses. None of the things that make him Gojo Satoru, the sorcerer who is hailed by all—and even himself—as the strongest are there. Only the raw vulnerability of a boy who’s used to carrying the order of the world on his shoulders and on a whim lets it crush him, because when he holds you, none of it seems to matter; because when he’s with you, he’s free to be Gojo Satoru and no more than that.

You watch through heavy eyelashes as he breaks a small stalk and brings it to your hair, securely tucking the flowers behind your ear. Warmth spreads from his slender fingers to your already feverish complexion. His palm cups your cheek, thumb swiping along your jawline with a soft expression perched on his lips, and you find yourself falling in love with him all over again.

“You deserve some love too, my…” Satoru ponders for a second, eventually snapping his fingers, “little MegaDarknessBagramon.”

A chuckle gets caught in your nostrils. “Your what now?”

“MegaDarknessBagramon.” He repeats without stuttering. “Way better than your fairy balloon cat.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why do I get the feeling you made this one up?”

“Did not! MegaDarknessBagramon is—hmph.”

You cut him off with a fond kiss on his agape lips. That’s the only way to truly shut him up. At least in public.

“We should get going. I wanna go sightseeing before nightfall.”

You wander through the city for hours upon hours, losing yourselves among the countless maple-strewn paths and quaint religious sites of the countryside. Ikoma is a quiet place. No matter how many pebbles you lift or castle ruins you peek under, you won’t find a speck of evil lurking beneath. It’s as if the land is at peace with itself, and the people who tend to it do so without any curse tainting their souls. For once, Satoru’s presence feels redundant.

His hand stays on you the entire time you stroll through the temples and marketplaces, be it as fingers that childishly swing your palm up and down—left and right—or as an arm draped over both your shoulders, stirring you in a different direction whenever his phone rings. And it does ring. A lot. So much that you actively consider flinging it at the bottom of the Sunoura River.

The conversations are rather one-sided. Satoru mhms and uh-uhs his way out of everything the voices on the other line suggest, his expression contorting all the while he mocks Nanami’s grave tone, Yaga’s dismay, and Ijichi’s apprehension. He tries his best to keep you involved—putting Megumi on speaker while the boy informs him of how Nobara gave Yuji a concussion when she mistook him for a pickpocket—and presses playful kisses on your cheek when you unwittingly pout at his neglect.

This is the one drawback of dating such a sought-after man. You have to share him with the rest of the world, and even though you know exactly how many livelihoods depend on him, you selfishly want your boyfriend to yourself.

After his sixth answered call, something inside you snaps. You shake his hand off—he barely pays mind—and fish your phone out of your jacket, dialing the first number in your contact list. My Noodle Man. With a heart emoticon, he, himself, input. Still better than the long array of toothachingly sweet nicknames he’s come up with for you over the years.

Drawing the device away from his ear, Satoru glances at the incoming caller ID and shoots you what ought to be a perplexed look.

“Pick it up!” You mouth the words without voicing them.

The world comes to a standstill while you (presumably) stare into each other’s eyes. Star-shaped leaves rain down from the trees, a minor contribution to the red and gold garb that dresses the once pebbled pathway. It’s all too scenic—if one ignores the busy tone from his phone’s speaker, which echoes wide across the hollow forest, gracelessly interrupting Utahime’s incoherent squeaks.

Are you even listening? Gojo?

“Mhm!” He breaks into an awkward chuckle. “Sounds good to me.”

What? What are you on about, you white-haired swine?

“Hey, how ‘bout you hold onto that, and we talk about it when I return?”

You seriously doubt he knows what that and it are.

Satoru doesn’t leave Utahime the chance to reply, rushing through his words at the speed of light. “Okay, great! Gotta go now. Laterrr, bye, ciao, adieu!”

Don’t you dare hang—

“Too late for that.” He comments, an afterthought that doesn’t reach its target audience before fading into his next received call.

“Baby! How are you?” The grin on his lips is so blinding, you swear it accompanies a halo.

You draw a deep breath, fingernails digging sharply at the tender flesh on the inside of your palm. “Satoru.”

“What is it, baby?” He dares ask as if you haven’t been shooting daggers at him the entire time, arms folded over your chest and eyebrow trembling above your narrowed eye.

“Satoru, the fact that I can only speak to you through the phone is insane!” Your voice climbs up a whole octave over the final word, annoyance interlaced within your tone.

“Huh?” He smiles sheepishly, head drooping to his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is, I’m standing right in front of you, begging you for an ounce of attention, and you haven’t put the phone down for ten goddamn seconds since we left the shrine, which, by the way, happened two hours ago!”

His smile dwindles, and you worry you might’ve been too harsh. It’s not like he has a choice. Regular people get to dictate their own fate, filling up their plates with however many or few obligations and freedoms they can stomach. Not Satoru. His share of responsibility was assigned to him at birth, and as aloof as he can be, he’s not the type to let all hell break loose just yet.

“Hey, um—look. If you were busy, we could’ve just taken a rain check and stayed in town. You know I wouldn’t mind holing up at my place, ordering some Chinese, and frying our retinas with another movie marathon. No need to string each other along for—what are you doing?”

Without evidence of anyone or anything approaching, Satoru twists his neck in every direction possible, searching far and wide among the tree foliage and the water streaming on the sides of the walkway, going as far as to check the gap between his own legs. Instinctively, you repeat his routine, glancing over your shoulder when you realize he’s got his eyes on you—not on you, but through you.

“Are you sure you are here? Can’t see you.” Satoru brings the phone to his lips, executing an amateur’s set of jumping jacks while waving his hands around and shouting your name at the top of his lungs, doing his absolute best to appear clueless when he passes you by and uses your head like an armrest. “Don’t tell me you got out-heighted by the trees.”

Are you sure you want to permanently delete the contact My Noodle Man <;3?

Cancel

“I’m leaving.”

You manage exactly two steps before you are halted by two arms whose length smothers you—a proper vice that closes around your shoulders and immobilizes you against what feels like a colossal tree trunk but is your (occasionally) loving boyfriend’s chest.

“Let go, Satoru!” You try to shake him off, but your conviction is about as strong as the frail set of bones he aspires to crush.

“C’mon, you just got here!” Satoru begs, his mouth so close to your ear that you feel his voice shooting straight into your heart, goosebumps erupting down your spine. “Don’t leave, mm? Mm? Pleaaase?”

You groan, dragging your feet forward, but it’s impossible to progress when a well-over-six-foot boulder weighs you down. He’s viciously clinging onto you, nuzzling to your cheeks one at a time, and humming at every kiss he prints on your grimace. His frosty spikes tickle, softer than silk and fluffier than the clouds above.

Couldn’t he have been like this five minutes ago?

“Doesn’t matter if I’m here or not.” Bitterness pools in your mouth from where your teeth bite into your gums. Your voice faint. “You’ll be on your stupid phone, anyway.”

“Is that why you’re acting all upset? You want my attention?” The lack of answer prompts him to continue, a low chuckle setting the mood for what comes next.

“If you want my attention, then… all you have to do is ask for it.”

It’s at this point that you realize more than your upper bodies are touching, his knees slightly bent for his hips to press against your ass—and with them, you feel something else pressing too. Something that oughtn’t be there when all you’ve been doing is bickering and fooling around with each other.

You gulp hard, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Satoru. His head rests fully upon the elbow on your shoulder, covered eyes definitely taking in the blush that’s become somewhat of a second nature since you got together. He’s effortlessly seductive, and you’re thankful for both his typically childish demeanor and the blindfold around his forehead, or else you’d be in big trouble denying him.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe what?” Satoru coos in a condescending tone.

You try to look away, but he won’t let you, jaw tilting atop his other arm. There’s no hiding from him, and the stupidly smug smile that begs you to erase it.

“…yes.”

“Yes what? Cheating won’t do. You need to say it.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who won by teleporting to the finish line,” you mumble.

He doesn’t yield, and you know you’re going to be stuck there for a long time unless you stroke his ego. “Fine. Please gimme your undivided attention, oh grand sorcerer, Gojo Satoru.”

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” He croons contentedly. “Now, how much do you want it?”

“I changed my mind. I want a divorce.”

“We need to first be married in order to divorce.” He points out, rubbing salt in your wound like your next reply won’t be “You’re the one who refuses to settle down,” but it’s not. Just this once, you bite back your tongue.

Your restraints loosen as Satoru shakes his phone into your face, demonstrating how the device turns off with a click of his thumb. An airy laughter rings in your ears, and just like that, he reverts to the kind of man who giggles at knock-knock jokes and thinks it’s peak comedy when he mixes gummy worms in your cereal.

“No more calls!” He declares. “For a limited time only, strongest sorcerer Gojo Satoru is at your service.”

You snort, fighting back a smile that ends up crinkling around your eyes. “You make it sound like you’re a genie.”

“Hmm, you could always try rubbing me and see what happens. Might grant you a wish or two.”

You laugh at his attempt to flirt, trying and mostly failing to distract yourself from what was previously pushing against your body. It should embarrass you that two of your two wishes are sexual in nature, but that’s entirely on him, his innuendos, and the raw lust you’ve missed seeing transform his eyes from the sparkling color of the sea to one found a thousand meters under the surface.

Maybe three.

“Where’s the catch?”

“What catch?” He chirps.

“I know you, ‘Toru. With you, there’s always a catch.”

One moment you feel his breath on your skin, and the other you see him standing before you, his arms flexing behind his torso while he tips forward—a toothy grin stretching on his lips.

“Well, a fee is always due where there are services involved.” He takes a page from Mei’s book.

“The Gojo family vault running out of cash, so you lookin’ to extort your girlfriend?” You quip. “Go on. Name your price.”

“Oh, y’know.” His shoe traces a circle on the ground. “Just you saying what an amazing, handsome, charming, wonderful, funny, kind, and handsome boyfriend you have for the world to hear.”

You browse the acres of trees surrounding you; there is not a soul to be seen or heard within a close radius. What world?

“You said handsome twice.”

“Intentionally.” He deadpans.

You return his playfulness by saying he forgot to add infuriating to the list, even though you’ve already decided to humor him. Cute is more like it.

“My boyfriend is the most—”

“Does your boyfriend have no name? Take it from the top.”

You sigh, “My boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, is the most amazing, handsome, wonderful—”

“Ah-ah-ah!” Satoru intervenes, raising his forefinger in objection. “Forgot charming!”

Your teeth clatter, gritting a growl.

“Only one life left. Better get it right this time or,” he draws an imaginary line across his neck, faking a choking sound as he’s supposedly decapitated.

With both hands around your mouth, you shape a cone and shout so loudly that countless birds betray their hiding spots between the tree branches as they pour out into the sky. “My boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, is the most amazing, handsome, charming, wonderful, funny, kind, and handsome again, boyfriend in existence who totally didn’t put me up to this!” In a quiet voice, “Happy now?”

“Full marks!” He gleefully shoves a thumbs up in your face. “Now I’m all yours and will be for the rest of the night. Feel free to make the best of me while you can.”

“Then, can I get my first wish granted now, Mr. Genie?”

“What is it?”

He stands still as you bring your hands to his face and cup his cheeks, fingers teasing the seams of his blindfold. “Lemme see your eyes.”

“Hmm? You wanna see them? Why—you missed them?”

A nod. “Don’t put me through that same speech again. They are pretty, and yes, I miss them. We haven’t been seeing each other as often, so. C’mon. Lemme see them.”

You try to lower the fabric, but the harder you pull, the more it seems to resist. “Satoru…?”

“Mm?” He licks his lips. “What is it, sugarplum?”

Your eyes roll so far back into your skull that you’re afraid they’ll slip down your esophagus. “I said, I wanna see your eyes. May I?”

He cocks his head in consideration, entertaining an affectionate smile before he denies you with a cheeky little nope!

“Why not?”

This is the first time he denies you.

“For a multitude of reasons.” He states wryly. Uncharacteristically for him.

You wait for an explanation—a slight opening between his lips. His tongue lays flat against his teeth, darting upward as if he’ll finally say something, but he doesn’t. This happens about four times before he sternly announces, “The sun.”

“The sun…?” You glance at the sky, a veil of darkness slowly descending upon the peachy gradients of the melting clouds. “You mean the one that just set?”

“I wasn’t done talking. My other reason is…” He motions for you to get closer. You lean in as instructed, patiently hanging on his lips as if he is about to open the envelope and reveal the name of a talent show winner, yet his answer isn’t any more satisfying than the previous one is. “The people.”

“Satoru, we haven’t seen a live human in over an hour. What are you talking about? And since when were others an issue?”

“You don’t know what it feels like to be me!” Satoru exclaims in an exaggerated tone as he shakes your hands off and turns in the opposite direction. “Having everyone stare at you wherever you go, people asking, Sensei, please! We need to see your wonderful eyes! and getting called Six Eyes like you’re a piece of meat. Should’ve known you wouldn’t be any better than them, Y/N.”

You blink a number of times, “stunned” being too little of a word to describe your surprise at his sudden burst. He always had a knack for the dramatic, but with the way the back of his palm is pressed against his forehead, he’s closer to an Academy Award than ever.

“Satoru.” Your hand moves to his shoulder without ever closing the distance. Damn infinity. “What is up with you today?” You ask half-jokingly, half-concerned. “Acting insecure; you are the one who doesn’t miss the chance to show your eyes off to everyone, and when I ask you to show them, you pull this—why?”

“It’s because I only have eyes for you.” He smirks full of confidence, roughing up your hair and then bringing his thumb below your chin, holding it up for a kiss. You don’t even stop him. Hell, you don’t even close your eyes. You are too baffled to.

You regain agency over your words only after he starts parading away from you, his feet spending more time in the air than they do on land. “Hey, wait! What was that? What does you having eyes only for me have to do with anything?”

His chuckle precedes his answer. “You’ll see when we reach the inn. Last down the foothills is a double loser!”

“Ahhh, that was soooo good! I feel—ugh, reborn!”

Satoru’s joints click as he stretches both arms behind his back and over his head, the striped sleeves of his gray-colored yukata rolling down his elbows. He doesn’t mind that he’s blocking the doorway or that the long face you’ve been sporting since you parted at the lobby threatens to hit the floor at his theatrics.

Your onsen experiences differed by miles. While he was off soaking and splashing by himself at the vacant men’s baths, you were forced to endure 45 excruciating minutes in the company of a group of bachelorettes who wouldn’t shut up about the “dreamy masked man” who booked the single most expensive suite in the compound, rewriting his life story with lewd fantasies that—for as long as you could help it—would remain as such. Unrealized.

“The temperature was just perfect, the right amount of hot without scorching, and the minerals already circulate through my bloodstr—ouch!”

You shove past him and his impromptu review of the hot springs, temporarily giving up on the blockbuster that your mind crafts—Blood Bath: Revenge of the Hot Spring Killer 2—in favor of a spot where you can drop off your toiletries.

The room, or rather, the rooms, are vast in space and rich in furnishing. Opaque sliding doors separate the main area from the wardrobe and the bathroom, drawn to provide a direct view of the ryokan’s rock garden. Tatami mat flooring is indiscriminately strewn, replaced by granite tiles around the indoor hot tub. Raised alcoves host colorful ikebana vases; a couple of ukiyo-e scrolls depicting Mount Yoshino hang from opposing sides on the walls. Lastly, futons are neatly spread in the far back, with a short-legged table spanning at the center of the sitting space.

Bingo.

You settle beside it, laying your belongings on the floor while scrutinizing the couple’s gift box on top, regional specialties packed beside a ceremonial tea set that bears the inn’s logo. You flip the box on its back and attempt to decipher the cursive letters just as Satoru steals it from your hands, wasting no time ripping through the luxurious wrapping paper and tossing a block of brown-colored kuzumochi in his mouth.

“Gotta mmph hring Hahami ‘n’ Meghumi ‘ere.” He refuses to keep his remarks (or food) in his mouth, flour dusting the corners of his lips. “That oughta brighten ‘em up.” He says once he swallows, bringing his cup of welcoming tea to his teeth and cringing away at the sheer bitterness of the matcha. “Bleugh, this tastes like poison!”

You break into a quiet chuckle as you scrub his chin, sleeve curled over your fist, and thumb running stray along his frown. Cute. No, beyond cute. Adorable.

“Don’t blame the tea when your blood type is caster sugar, Satoru.”

“But that’s the secret to my sweetness.” He quips, returning to his previous floured-lip state as he flings a second kuzumochi into his mouth, supposedly to wash the bitterness away. “Think they sell more of these in the gift shop?”

You roll your eyes, humoring him with a teasing sure.

Making it back to your spot, you down your share of matcha in one go, savoring the delightful tartness the beverage leaves on your tongue. “‘Tis not even that bad.” You comment, pouring yourself a refill.

A certain form of silence prevails over the space, during which words aren’t spoken but expressed through various hums of content, with Satoru loudly nibbling on his loot and you quietly sipping on your tea. Moonlight filters the atmosphere through the semi-transparent shoji doors, casting playful shadows that dance along the subtle movements of his fingers.

He’s the puppeteer, and you his devoted audience, easily convinced that there’s genuine mastery in the way he handles his instruments and earnestly keen on trying them out before their numbers are further decimated. A pinch is at the ready, your thumb and forefinger making strategic advances towards the box of delicacies when a counter-offering presents itself to your lips.

“Say ahhhh!” Satoru waves the kuzumochi in your face, your teeth losing to the speed of his fingers as he retracts his hand at the last minute. “C’mon, c’mon!” He giggles, again dangling the bait. “Open wider. Ahhh! Ahhh!”

Your nose scrunches up. You don’t trust his intentions, and you have every right not to, considering he makes you chase after the confectionery with an open mouth, utilizing his infinity to keep you at bay whenever you get remotely close to succeeding.

“Satoru!” You yelp unamused.

“Sorry, sorry!” His apology sounds the opposite of truthful. “Promise, that was the last time. One big ahhh f’me! Ahhh—c’mon, it’s really good! You won’t regret it.”

And it’s no surprise you come to immediately regret it, your tongue hanging loose from your mouth, barely connecting with the dessert before your aghast eyes witness it being devoured by him, so quickly that you lose the opportunity to protest.

There’s no one to blame but yourself, though that doesn’t stop you from pouncing and tackling him to the floor. Two fists grab at the lapels of his yukata, fingers curling around the fabric, while you violently shake him like an unresponsive vending machine, urging him to spit out your eaten cash.

Satoru snorts, and he chuckles, and he laughs, a boisterous symphony of sounds pitted against one another as he, himself, refuses to fight back, merely showcasing the empty contents of his mouth and baring his teeth into a haughty grin that agitates you even more.

“You need to step up your game, munchkin. Or else you’ll never get your prize.”

“And you need to stop tricking me every chance you get!” You hiss, a sigh casting your head backward as you swipe the hair from your forehead. “If you played a fair game, then maybe—just maybe—I would actually win!”

“Aww, baby.” A lofty purr makes you awfully aware of the fact that you’re still straddling him, knees planted on both sides of his hips and thighs squeezing tightly around his crotch. “That’s so cute! Thinking you could ever stand a chance against me.”

“I could!”

“Mm, I don’t think so.” Satoru’s palms glide along your curves, taking full advantage of the position to rub circles that spread over your ass and close around your thighs; slender fingers tantalizing as they ghost over your exposed skin. “I’m quite strong, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He makes you a living example of his words, giddily watching your self-control crumble when he forces you down against his body. A complacent smirk rises on his lips, countering the soft gasp that evades yours.

“See?” He chuckles. “Unmatched.”

“You’re quite annoying too.” You huff, biting your lips into a straight line while you deviate from staring at his face—a grave mistake.

All the wrestling has caused the lapels of his yukata to recede, the fabric so loose it barely counts as hiding a thing. Delicate collarbones pave the path toward his toned chest, rosy claw marks littering his creamy complexion (and it swells you with pride to know you’re the only one to have ever blemished his spotless body) down to the few unruly frosty hairs that span over his sculpted abdomen, and lead lower—much lower than your eyes can currently follow.

Goddamn it, Satoru.

“Is that why you’re grinding against me? Because I’m annoying you?”

His accusation makes your heart sink inside your chest as you are found guilty of a crime you unwittingly committed. Your hips were swaying back and forth against his hardened cock, guided by a firm grasp that failed to emulate the typically lazy manner with which he’d keep you anchored whenever you rode him.

(Aww, bunny. Keep bouncing like that, and you’ll hit your head. Me? Help? Don’t be silly. How you gonna grow stronger if I put in all the work, mm? Better be satisfied with what you have throbbing in ya already. Now, where were we? Right—Ijichi and his…)

Except you were in the middle of a fight, and you’re supposed to be holding a grudge that seems to matter less by the minute.

“Hey, baby?” His thumb harbors softness when he cups your cheek, candied voice flowing from pretty, pink lips that glisten under the pale moonlight. “Think you can be annoyed with your clothes off?”

You almost succumb to his will, the lines between vexation and lust becoming increasingly blurred as you try to get your point across a final time.

“Y’know, I too like sweets!” Your declaration practically melts into his touch. “Just because I let you do the honors doesn’t mean I don’t want to try some. It means I’m a better girlfriend than you.”

“No arguing here.” Satoru beams. “Don’t think I could be a better girlfriend if I tried.”

“Satoru!” You exclaim for the millionth time that day.

“Too early to be screaming my name.”

“I’m serious!”

“And I’m not?” He gasps, hand moving to his chest as if your words actually damaged his impenetrable ego. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. My girlie is such a meanie.”

Your eyes perform a semi-circle, knowing better than to venture beyond his neck. His face is cute, in that boyish way everyone swoons over, but his body is another story. The kind you read with the blinds lowered and the lights dim, colored cheeks, and giddy chuckles muffled by your bedding.

Sigh.

“How can I take you seriously when you say such things?”

“Never said you have to do it seriously. Just takin’ me is good enough.”

“Stop that!”

Swatting his hand from your face, you feel it join its twin behind your ass. You don’t want him to catch on to how affected you are simply by mounting him, but as your hips are forcibly rocked into his crotch, the wet patch your slick paints on his yukata reveals all that your tongue struggled to keep hidden.

“Jerk!”

Satoru grins, holding you tight against his lap as he sits the both of you up. Your noses are suddenly found brushing, and his lips expel a heavy breath your lips eagerly inhale, the proximity dizzying. “Maybe if I gave my girl some sugar, she’d turn sweeter.”

“Ugh, this is exactly what I meant!” You growl in frustration. “Satoru, I swear, if you use one more lame line on me, I’ll—”

Whatever was supposed to come next is drowned out by his tongue as it presses against your mouth, enticing your lips into an all-consuming kiss that threatens to eat you alive. Warm palms hook below your legs, turning scorching as they roll your yukata above your thighs and help secure your knees around his torso, caressing every inch of supple flesh they unveil.

You’re overcome by need in an instant, and judging from how ardently your boyfriend’s cupping your cheeks, as if he’s either trying to breathe life into you or suck it out of your lungs, it’s safe to say it goes both ways.

His cock rubs against your clit through his clothes. He’s so hard, and you are so wet that one thrust would be enough to sheathe him fully into your cunt and meld you into one. But that won’t do. If there’s one thing Satoru doesn’t rush, that’s the way he fucks. He wants to savor everything—every kiss, every touch, every whimper, every moan, every last drop of your essence that dribbles onto his fingers and drenches his tongue like the finest, most delectable nectar meant solely for him—before indulging the twitching sensation in his balls.

There’s no reason for today to be any different.

A string of saliva is cut in the middle as Satoru pulls away, your half drooling down your jaw and his collected by his tongue.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, baby! You were saying?” He coos in an awfully smug tone that barely registers over your incessant panting.

“Hm? Nothing? Thought so.” He deduces after turning his ear to your mouth, and for a second, you’re tempted to bite his earlobe right off.

But somehow you don’t, and in his book, that counts as obedience, which in turn qualifies for a reward.

He plants a kiss on your nose, tender enough to distract you from the no-good smirk plastered on his lips. “How about I do that other thing you asked for?”

Your mind traverses a foggy terrain. You’ve asked him for a lot of things in the recent past. Not overloading Aiko’s bowl with cat food the minute he sees it empty. Not surprise-hugging you when you’re walking alone at night and are unaware of his presence. Not rapping your morning routine to the tune of the hemorrhoid cream commercial. Not calling you munchkin or dwarf when it’s him who’s the long-lost descendant of the legendary tree people.

The list goes on and on with plenty of whimsical examples, and you realize, there are more things you’ve explicitly asked him not to do than do, with your one recurrent request being that he get you a ring made from neither fried dough nor grass blades.

“Close your eyes.” You do as you’re told, thinking you’re oh-so-clever when you try to peer at him through downcast eyelashes, only to be shot down by his technique. “Uh-uh! No peeking!” The last thing your eyes see before they’re covered by his left palm are two fingers that hook under his blindfold and tug it upward.

“Why the secrecy?” You ask impatiently. “Afraid I’ll be blinded by your beauty? Must I remind you I’ve seen you sleeping with your mouth open? The magic is gone.”

“Is it?” His chuckle louder than the elusive sound of his blindfold coming undone. “And here my eyes were thinking you’ve turned even more beautiful than the last time they saw you. How unfortunate.”

There’s a certain humility that comes with someone as ethereal as Gojo Satoru calling you beautiful to your face, but right now, your mind remains fixated on one word and one word only. Eyes. My eyes. His eyes.

“You took it off?” Excitement colors your tone. “Lemme see!”

“Baby, baby, baby.” Satoru playfully chides. “When will you learn to be patient, mm? Don’t you know that good things come to those who wait?”

Seven years is an awful long time to be waiting around.

Eventually, you feel his hand be drawn away, but before light can enter your eyelids, darkness engulfs them again. Cold satin now covers your brow, the kind of silky material you’ve previously only been able to experience via your fingertips as they yanked and hurled it across your bedroom walls.

“Tada!” The unmistakable sound of palms clasping. “You can open them now.”

“Satoru, what—what is this?” You mutter, tight-lipped, as if your ability to speak was also impaired. “I asked to see your eyes, not play suikawari.”

“Aw, shoot. Should I go ask for a watermelon?”

You sigh, fingers withdrawing into fists atop your thighs. You wonder how many years of jail time killing your boyfriend warrants, but then again, you doubt you’d possibly achieve what countless others have failed at.

“You wanted a rematch, didn’t you?” His hands move against your own, soft thumbs rolling reassuring circles around your wrists. He brings them to his lips, printing a kiss on each knuckle set. “Better strike while the iron’s hot. Besides, this game’s so easy, even you got a chance at winning,” he scoffs a laugh at how quick you’re to escape, pulling your hands back as if you were struck by an electric current. “All you hafta do is sit back and answer a few questions. Pretty easy, right?”

His voice rings close to your ear. You realize he’s in fact closer when he takes his affections to your cheeks, shamelessly bribing you with the sweetest kisses he can muster.

It’s working.

“I didn’t agree to this.” You state as his jaw perches on your shoulder, strong biceps caging your body while he reaches around your waist to undo the bow of your yukata.

“Really?” His breath travels south, hot steam depriving you of the opportunity to feel any real cold as you’re slowly stripped of your garments—and yet you still shudder when his lips close below your throat and suck onto your sweet spot. “‘Cause you seemed pretty agreeable when you were all ready to jump my bones a minute ago.”

“Th-that’s because—”

The fabric slides down your shoulders like butter, melting into the soft curves and pebbled peaks of your tits before it pools around your hips. His thighs tense up, blood rushing straight to his swollen cock head while he cradles you, eating you up with the eyes you so fondly reminisce.

“Aw, pumpkin! Won’t you look at that!” Your cheek is captured between his fingers, lightly pinched. “You’re blushing through the blindfold.”

You feel so vulnerable, and you aren’t sure whether that’s because you’re straddling your fully clothed boyfriend while being fully naked yourself or because everything around you is amplified, from the way his finger pads dance around your nipples, to the fruity shampoo remnants lingering in his tousled hair.

“‘Toru, I—”

You cut yourself off. You don’t want to be the kind of woman who has to beg her own boyfriend for dick.

“Will you still be blushing as I fuck your cute face?”

But you’re about to be.

“Hey, I was just joking!” Your hands are seized without accomplishing their goal of removing the blindfold. “Don’t want you losing before the game begins, do we?”

“‘Toru, just—I don’t care about any stupid games, okay?” You whine, voice purposely pathetic in case he feels generous enough to cave in. “I just want you. I need you. Please?”

“And you will have me, baby.” Satoru soothes, shifting both your hands to a single grip while he digs into the pile of clothes at your side. “A promise is a promise. I’ll pamper my precious girl to her heart’s content if that’s what she wants.” A string too thin to be a rope wraps around your wrists, piecing them together. “Love her all night long; teach her all the things she misses when her eyes are wide open. My sweet honeypie, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d also like it if you quit it with all those corny nicknames.” You answer, having absolutely no idea as to how the floor is replaced with the futon when you haven’t budged an inch. At least you think you haven’t.

“You love them.” The grin strong in his voice as he lays you down and climbs on top of you, pinning your bound wrists above your head. “Like you love me, my little sugarboo.”

“I’m rolling my eyes.”

“Wow, this early? Have barely touched you.”

“I’m rolling my eyes again!” You repeat at a higher volume.

“Of course you are. This isn’t too tight, is it?” A finger curls between your binds. You shake your head, and he pecks it, gently caressing your hair while situating his knee between your thighs, bouncing it against your pussy. “You’ll see, you’re gonna love every minute of this,” Satoru continues, his hand playful as his fingers toy with yours.

You have little to no agency over your body when Satoru lifts your leg and folds it onto your stomach, his lips held against yours and his tongue slotted in between. He kisses you slowly, like he has all the time to unravel you, and in a way, he does. He could stretch this moment to infinity, savoring your lips until they’re all swollen and coated with spit, his name replacing every word in your vocabulary while he wanders lower, dragging his warm mouth against your skin and smearing wet kisses down your tits.

“The mochi weren’t half as sweet as you,” he murmurs, soft lips clamping over your nipple, the suspicion of sharp teeth grazing the sensitive bud. “I’ll buy you some in the morning.”

“Y-you don’t need to,” you huff, your chest heaving with one heavy breath after another as he takes hold of your other nipple, alternating between pinching and rolling it around with his thumb, repeating the same ritual of licking and sucking as the nipple in his mouth changes.

“Mm, but I want to.” He insists. “I want to spoil my baby and give her everything she wants. I’d give her the world if I could.”

And yet, you won’t marry her.

His smile ghosts over your flesh, gradually fading as he approaches your navel. “But first, I need to fuck her pretty pussy, mm? That’s what my princess wants, doesn’t she?”

Reluctantly, you nod, a lump forming in your throat when his fingers find purchase beneath your thighs and spread them apart. His biceps curl around your calves as he mounts your knees on his shoulders, peppering your inner thighs with more featherlight kisses that continuously inch closer to your entrance.

He is so attentive when he wants to be, but in his core, Satoru is a selfish lover. He gives, and he gives, and he gives more than you can take, his satisfaction lying in your cute little moans and the tiny arch of your back whenever he pushes you to your limits.

“Thank you for the food!” He croons, and you swear to hate yourself for almost chuckling at his distasteful joke.

He was always like that, to the point where suggesting he bewitched you into falling for him isn’t an exaggeration so much as an undeniable reality. Him, who with his cheeky smiles, exaggerated gestures, and mirthful snickering, conquered your thoughts and claimed the mushy land of your brain as if it were the moon. Him, whose dimples crease around his lips every time you kiss and whose bright blue irises bloom behind your shut eyelids. Him, who’d remain the most extraordinarily beautiful person, even if your eyes never opened again.

Him, whose plump lips round around your clit as he finally takes it in his mouth, suckling on the small bundle of nerves as if he expects it to dissolve into liquid sugar.

“F-fuck!”

Your hips buck into his face, lifting from the covers while your hands maintain their position. If it weren’t for his stupid infinity, you’d be threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him as far into you as humanely possible, but for now, you can only chant his name, feeling his shoulders tense up while his hungry tongue runs laps between your slick folds.

“I’m so lucky you aren’t bound to a region. I’d have to stockpile on you every single day.” Satoru hums against your clit, the vibrations from his mellifluous tone translating into pleasurable tingles up your spine. “My favorite specialty,” he chuckles, sounding so lovable that you can’t hold it against him.

He doesn’t kid about you being like a dessert to him, his tongue greedily soaking up all the juices that gush from your hole right down his chin. He moans in pure delight, perhaps more than you do, the uninterrupted flow of compliments making you feel at least worthy of a Michelin star. So pretty. So sweet. So perfect. The same combination of words he’s been repeating since you first got together, as if his fascination never truly ran out.

The sounds get more salacious while he fucks his tongue into your entrance, and you throw your head back, feeling so unbelievably light that if it weren’t for his hold on your thighs, you would be floating straight to the ceiling. His thumbs stretch out your lips for him to reach deeper, pointy nose rubbing deliciously against your swollen clit while he persistently works your body to its high, making out with your nether lips like he’s kissing your actual mouth.

“Feels s-so good, ‘Toru,” you whimper, struggling to keep your legs from closing around his head.

“Yeah? Like that?” Satoru chuckles, and it would’ve pushed you over the edge if his tempo wasn’t disrupted. “I like it too. Love eating your little pussy. I can tell she loves me too, doesn’t she?”

You can’t believe that the man who’s making all the stars of the night sky appear in the confinement of your tied eyes is the very same man who’s addressing your pussy as a she.

“Hm? You’re hurting my feelings here.” He sounds pouty, though you can picture the sadistic glint in his eyes as his teeth sink into your clit, softly enough to not induce any pain, but hard enough to bring your hips to a stutter.

“Y-yes, she does—fuck, my pussy loves you, S-satoru!” You cry out.

“Hah, that’s more like it.”

Your voice shatters into a million broken sobs which only motivate Satoru to keep going. He nibbles on the sensitive nub, darted tongue inflicting short and rapid flicks that cut right through the coiling tension in your guts with precision that’s exclusive to him and the countless times he’s had you fall apart with his mouth alone.

Your fingers clench while your toes curl, thighs trembling as succulent juices spurt all over him, and, God—how you wish you could see his pretty face ruined like that.

“Mm, baby, you always cum so much for me.”

Without letting a drop go to waste, Satoru licks a luscious stripe between your slit, rolling your essence in his mouth to relish the taste.

“Y’know, I could just make time freeze and eat you out for hours. Days,” he lays a kiss on top of your mound. “Weeks,” one for every thigh. “Months,” his lips on your clit making you wince from pleasure. “Years.” He snickers, marveling at how easily you respond to his touch. “You’d want that, sweets? All that pleasure, just for you. Think you could take it?”

Not knowing better, you nod, and he laughs. You aren’t familiar enough with Jujutsu to be horrified by the prospect of reliving the same moment over and over again, literally getting fucked dumb in a way his technique has never achieved on another.

“Alright, time to turn off the cheats.” He announces after you manage to regain your breath, and it isn’t until his question that you’re reminded of the whole “game” ordeal.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“What?” Your voice scratches its way out of your throat, coarse and laden with desire.

“You asked me the same question earlier, remember?” His fingertips tickle as they drum against your stomach. “At the plateau?”

I’m surprised you can still see my face behind that thing. How many fingers am I holding up?

“The one you didn’t answer?”

“Four, five, two, four, one.” The number of fingers he presses on your skin changes depending on the number he calls. You’d be impressed if you’d actually kept track of the digits you’d shown him, and they weren’t picked at random.

“So, how many?”

You try to pull yourself together, calmly considering your options. He wouldn’t start with five or four. The first three numbers are more likely, and taking a leap of faith—

“One.” You lock in your answer, with an excitable cheer following suit.

“Wow, my girl is so smart!” Satoru praises. “Got it on her first try!”

“Quit treating me like I’m one of your students.”

“Oh, trust me.” He runs his middle finger down your abdomen, emphasizing his point with a tap on your clit. “I’d never treat any of my students the way I treat you. Or anyone else for that matter,” he trails off, gathering some of the slick that’s trickled out of your slit, and brings it into his mouth, finger coated with spit the next time he touches you.

“All of my special treatment is reserved for my special girl.”

His finger prods lazily into your cunt, thick enough for every ridge to be lusciously dragged against your velvety walls, and long enough to delve straight into your pulsing core.

To his disappointment, there isn’t much of a reaction—save for the occasional hitched breath. You can take it. For seven years now, you’ve been trained on his deft fingers and the many tricks they play, but when his thumb begins circling your clit in tandem with his thrusts, your facade cracks.

“Aw, you didn’t think it’d be this easy, did you, bunny?” Satoru coos in fake sympathy, as his thumb zigzags feverishly about your clit, the finger in your cunt curving in a repetitive come-hither motion.

“‘T-toru, please—ngh!” You whine, your lower half squirming on its own accord. “You said you’d let me win!”

“Let you?” A complacent smile takes shape on his face, and although you cannot see it, you can hear it chiming in his tone. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Y-you evil man!”

He giggles at your supposed insult, one moment asking if that’s the best you can do, and the next cheering you on by saying he’s rooting for you.

Asshole.

Heat runs rampant between the lowest pit in your stomach and the apex of your flushed cheeks, the blindfold soaking sweat off your forehead like a headband. You are close; pressure steadily building only to wither away once Satoru retracts his hand.

Asshole!

“Sorry, pretty. Got a little carried away, but no hard feelings, hm?” Your tormentor asks, rubbing your clit at a pace far too slow to be soothing. “Now, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“T-two.” You answer, your sanity chipping the longer your hole remains puckering around nothing.

“Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner!”

You kiss your teeth as Satoru angles his wrist with your pussy and shoves two of his fingers in, curling them against the spongy spot that swells with each pump, and when that isn’t enough to muffle your cries, you bite down onto your lip, choking on every sob you’ve been withholding. Last thing you want is to give your next-room neighbors another reason to fantasize about your boyfriend.

“It’s fine. You can let it all out.” Satoru reads your mind. “Room’s soundproof, though there isn’t much you can say, right?”

Your walls flutter around his fingers in utter bliss. You hate (love) how his words get to your body before your brain can process them; every remark you’d typically deflect, seeping under your skin and igniting as fire in your loins.

“Don’t worry,” he chuckles, maintaining a steady rhythm even with his thumb swiping at your clit. “I’ll be the one doing all the talking from now on.”

“Sh-shut up!” You manage to say before returning to your three-word prayer of little oh-my-god’s and ah-ah-ah’s.

“But you love my mouth.” Satoru argues back. “And now you love my fingers. How long they feel stretching you out, how deep they can go.”

He’s buried to his knuckles, slowing down for the sake of plunging his digits further into your wet cunt, the lewd squelching bouncing across the walls along with the obscene sounds you let out.

“You’re practically fucking yourself on them.”

Your boyfriend’s words cloud your brain, your body acting purely on instinct as you begin to hump his hand. Satoru doesn’t stand in the way; rather, he assists with a sturdy hold that has your hips slamming against his fingers, repeating the motion until your creamy essence comes pouring down warmly over his palm.

You aren’t sure whether the white speckles in your vision stem from the gates of heaven welcoming you to the other side or the light fixtures on the ceiling, becoming certain only after the outline of a halo brushes against your forehead. It’s hard to call the man slumped above you an angel when his one hand is cupping your cunt, the fingers of the other tasked with undoing the knot around your wrists.

You are free to move—or about as free as one can be when every joint in their body begs to drag them down, your limbs strewn over the sheets like those of a tattered rag doll. The blindfold is still on, albeit slightly lowered over your nose. A little more wriggling and you can take it off, yet that too requires effort you lack.

Satoru says something that fails to register in your trance. He’s mocking you. He’s praising you. He’s mocking you while praising you, and praising you while mocking you, because those two go hand in hand in his brain—a proper carrot and stick. You think you should be thanking him or cursing him, but your words turn out a jumbled mess—nothing worth writing home about.

“Ready for the final round?” His voice finally conquers the ambient—heavy, almost as though his own ministrations have worn him out, and distorted by every prolonged inhale and sharp exhale he takes.

“Do I have a choice?” You provoke.

“Sure you do. Just—hah, not when it comes to this.”

A low fuck evades him, and you are oblivious to the way he’s been fisting his cock this entire time, smearing your slick over his length and squeezing the reddened tip in the ring shaped by his thumb and index, biting onto his tongue whenever your name comes remotely close to spilling from his lips. Only he knows the endurance he’s shown keeping himself from busting in his hand at the sight of your fucked-out form, trembling thighs calling to him in a carnal manner your lips could never muster.

You look ravishing, and ravishing you is all he aches to do.

“How many—” Satoru begins, only to be cut off with a croaked three that jumps an octave the moment his fat tip prods into your folds. “Three?” His fingers burrow into the supple flesh of your thighs as he splays your legs over his bare chest. “Could’ve sworn it was at least eight. Guess I need to make it go a bit deeper, huh?”

His lips lay soft against your ankle, trailing honeyed kisses down the expanse of skin that lose finesse once they near the crevice of your knee. An idea blinks in his brain as he grabs your thigh and presses it down against your stomach, repeating the same pattern of tenderness on the other until you are folded in half.

He stares down at you, and for a moment, that’s all he does. His eyes—the prized six eyes that are the very synonym for quintessence—well with adoration over the point where your bodies connect, the tight fit of your cunt prompting him to lose control and fuck an entire generation of sorcerers into you.

All in good time.

A quiet whisper reminds Satoru of his promise, hips drawing back before they snap right into you, the crude sound of his balls slapping against your ass reverberating across the room. You moan in unison, your fists thudding against the floor as his thrusts send you flying past the covers.

It’s too much. It’s too little. You want less. You want more. Your desires bend and twist around one another like indecisive vines, settling on a direction only after he leans forward and fixes the cushions behind your head.

“Congratulations.” The gentle action of his hand combing through your hair contradicts the cock throbbing inside your pussy. “To think my baby would make me eat my own words—well; I can get behind dating a winner. Especially when they’re as beautiful as you.”

“S-satoru!”

You look away—if resting your flushed cheek on the significantly colder pillow and fixing your gaze at whatever lies beyond the blindfold counts as looking—the sincerity in his words moving you more than it should.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you are embarrassed.” Satoru chuckles, punctuating his own question with a sensual roll of his hips that drags against your clit, coaxing the tiniest of moans to slip from your pursed lips.

“Hmm, is it because I called you beautiful?” He leans onto his elbow, relying on the weight of his chest to keep you pinned down. “Nah, can’t be it. I call you beautiful on a daily basis, don’t I? Then—hmm—is it ‘cause I’m so nice to you? Because I’m the best boyfriend you could ask for?”

“Q-quit it with all that self affirm—oh my god!”

Tears prickle your eyelash line at the familiar way his cock glides between your walls. He’s in so deep, relaxed thrusts pushing against your abdomen from the inside, with your cervix serving as the last line of defense for your merge, gallantly bearing every kiss his tip prints on your core.

“C’mooon, you gotta help me out. I’m all outta guesses here.” Satoru whines in your ear, his voice a pitch too high. “Is it because you can’t see me? Because this feels so good? Or because,” his hand sneaks between your bodies to work languid circles around your clit, “you just love me that much?”

“Aw, so that’s what it was?” He interprets the clenching of your pussy as he wills. For once he isn’t off the mark. “Okay, look at me.”

Even when you weren’t embarrassed before, you are about to be as heat pools in your stomach anew, threatening to make your score three to zero. You feel yourself turning liquid, dissolving between ripples of pleasure, drowning in you and drowning in him, and he’s both the riptide pulling you in as he’s the lifeline washing you ashore, the salty tang of the sea clinging to the fingers fumbling about your chin.

“I said, look at me.” His tone serious this time.

Every sense of yours is held captive as Satoru’s lips finally smash into yours, the taste of your essence refusing to die out no matter how many times your tongues swirl around each other. Your breathy moans are traded for his needy grunts, compiling into a broken record that plays sinfully in your ears, the whiff of sex lingering potent in the thick air between you.

He doesn’t fuck into you so much as he grinds against you, allowing you to grab at his biceps when your legs start to shake, the white clouds in your peripheral dispersing behind the sky blue of his eyes, placid orbs electrified by lust.

“Hi,” Satoru greets with an amiable smile, the blindfold dangling from around his forefinger.

“H-hi,” you return, your palms creeping up his face as if to appraise it, soft thumbs pushing the dampened strands away from his forehead, a thirst within you at last quenched.

“It’s-a me.” He says stupidly, basking in the affectionate way you cradle him.

“If you crack a Mario joke I’ll kick you in the nuts.” You warn.

“Oh no! How dare you genocide my children?” He gasps, and you can’t help but chuckle, eliciting a moan from him as your walls tighten around his cock. “M-minus one Gojo junior.”

Another laugh. Another moan. Another kiss.

“Would you put a baby into me if I didn’t?” You trace against his lips, uncertain of the answer you want to hear.

There’s no reason to be discussing having kids when you haven’t even tied the knot, let alone when more qualified candidates exist to continue his clan’s lineage. Maybe Shoko—she and Satoru have always been close, and a healing technique sounds like a valuable inheritance. Utahime—you aren’t sure what her abilities are, but they too go back. Even Mei, her family have a sizable fortune, and their genes combined would—

Mischief sparks in his eyes, tugging at the corners of his mouth and spreading to your lips as he kisses you—not his close friend, not his self-declared nemesis, and certainly not his senior. Just plain old you.

“If that’s what the future Mrs. Gojo wants, then—”

“What do you—”

Before your questions can manifest, Satoru picks up a tempo that knocks the air out of your lungs and the thoughts out of your mind. Big palms wrap your knees around his torso, sculpted pecs smothering your plushy tits while he vigorously drills his cock into your sopping cunt, having the nerve to laugh at your whimpers in between strangled noises of his own.

“You feel so good f’me, baby. S-so fucking good, aren’t you? My good—nah, my perfect girl. Our kids will be perfect too. G-gonna have lots of ‘em, mm? Gonna-fuck, gimme a whole class to teach, right?” He blabs deliriously, broad shoulders flexing as your nails rake them.

You want that. Everything he’s willing to offer, a future where his last name precedes your first, and chubby babies that bear his disposition, his ideals, and his smiles follow on your trail like little disoriented ducklings; one where he’s your husband, and you’re his wife, and you’re tied to each other for life.

Satoru’s lips drift toward your neck, biting sloppy marks that have you writhing below him. And when his cock hits that one spot inside of you, the one he’s been abusing all night long like a kid with a brand new toy on Christmas Eve, “Oh my God—G-god, p-please j-just like that, shit shit f-fuck!”

“Why bring religion into this?” He mumbles, voice inadvertently sultry and cumbered with every bit of self-restraint he showed before entering this frenzy where his climax is the only thing that matters. “Just—hah, say my name. Let the heavens know who helped you ascend them.”

The next time your eyes meet, he’s grinning, pink lips bitten cherry red, and he’s pretty; so pretty; too pretty.

“C-can’t say th-things like that!” You struggle to maintain control over your bobbing head.

“Why not? Your little heart can’t handle it?”

“Sh-shut up, dumbass!”

His eyebrows unite amid his forehead, even his frown attractive.

“That’s not my name.”

“S-stupid!” You yelp, mainly addressing the myriad stupid butterflies that chose to swarm your stupid stomach at his stupid commentary.

“Mmm, I think you’re the one getting fucked stupid here, sugarplum.”

Satoru zooms on into your lips, playfully swiping his tongue in between. You can’t cum any more; it’s physically impossible. You think. But “impossible” isn’t a word in his vocabulary; every snap of his hips causes you to ride on a rollercoaster with no end-destination, only a consistent state of newer highs.

“S-satoru.” His name rolling off your tongue works like a charm, the rhythm of his thrusts slowing down as he presses your foreheads together.

“Again?” He pleads. Quietly. A pin capable of overshadowing his tone.

“‘Toru.” Two smiles turn into one. “My ‘Toru.”

“More.”

There’s not a single gap between your bodies; every piece of him fits into every piece of you like a puzzle, but somehow he seems to get closer, squeezing into your hips a little tighter and kissing your lips a little rougher.

His heart beats wildly against his chest, red leaking onto his cheeks and blue spilling from the ocean in his eyes. He looks at you with love—so much love that it’s seared into your very being and becomes your own identity as the only woman Gojo Satoru ever truly, madly, deeply loved.

“I love you, ‘Toru.”

It’s the combination of those four little words that pushes Satoru over the edge, his hips jerking violently while his cock pumps ropes upon ropes of creamy cum inside your spent pussy, filling you up until you can’t be filled any more.

He collapses on top of you, head reduced into a fluffy snowball that takes refuge in the crook of your neck, and that’s your cue to hold him close, pampering him with all the affection you’re otherwise so frugal about. He’s touch-starved to the point of shaking in your embrace, nearly purring as your arms loop behind his back and your lips touch his shoulders, peppering incomplete kisses across his hot skin.

Your hands relocate to his cheeks as he regains enough composure to face you, an idiotically bright smile stretching from one ear to the other. He nuzzles your palms, pressing kisses at the center of each and then rubbing his nose against them like a content kitten who just received the world’s greatest belly rub.

Aiko should learn from him.

“I love you more, hunny bunny.” Satoru beams, soft rays of sunshine pouring from the cracks in his dimples. “Non-negotiable.”

You bask in the afterglow together, locking toes as if you’re trying to hold hands and making out like two teenagers in heat. Correction: two idiots in love.

Your so-called honeymoon period never ended, probably because you never ran out of things to love about each other. Right now, you’re loving how Satoru’s dick remains plugged inside your pussy despite its painful twitching, for the simple reason you asked him to stay like that a little longer.

You love how Satoru tries to keep his eyes open when you kiss just so you can appreciate them a while longer, and you love the light giggle that tickles your lips as you remind him that only sociopaths kiss with their eyes open.

You love the way Satoru buries his head between your tits and squeezes them against his cheeks, apologizing to his “girls” for not giving them the proper attention and promising expensive lingerie and whipped cream treatments when you get back to Tokyo.

You also love how when Satoru pulls out and sees the mess he made out of your hole, his seed rolling between your thighs in an endless stream, his first reaction is to grin, and his second is to teleport across the room, cleaning you up before you can realize he ever left. You love that the answer to the question “how?” is a cocky “because I’m Gojo Satoru,” which seems to be the answer to most things concerning him.

The list of things you love about your boyfriend grows exponentially after Satoru puts the two of you in bed and pulls you into his arms. You love his hugs. How you drown in them, how he engulfs you better than any dress, shirt, or skirt can. You love the comforting scent his pores exude and the temperature of his naked skin on yours.

You love the narrow hugs that date back to lazy mornings in your student one-bedroom apartment, splayed in a bed that could barely fit his enormous legs, and the wide, almost too comfortable ones you share in his king-sized bed. You love the silly, whiny tone that typically begs you to miss work and try to outlast eternity with him, now declaring it’s “sleepy time.”

You love the Satoru that chased after you until you loved him back, and the Satoru who patiently waits until your eyelids close first so you don’t go a minute without him.

“‘Toru?” You mumble into his chest, seconds before the last semblance of conscience fades away. “Did you turn it off? Your technique, I mean.”

“Did I?” Snowy lashes flutter slowly above his tired eyes. “Hmm, guess we’ll have to see in nine months.” Satoru kisses your forehead. “Goodnight, my little cuddle muffin.”

On second thought, there is one thing you hate about him.

“Goodnight, Gojo.”

“G-Gojo?! Hey, what happened to ‘Toru? Baby? I know you’re not sleeping—hey, wake up, I was just joking! Come on!”

43 Missed Calls—Principal Nanimon

You have 9 new voicemails.

Press play.

“Satoru!” The phone rattles in his grasp, nearly falling into the wooden plate splayed on his lap. “I think I told you to keep your phone on at all times! You are a sorcerer; show some responsib—”

“What is he going on about?” Satoru yawns, scratching the back of his head, and then scrolls to the next voicemail in line.

“Satoru! This is your final chance to answer before I—”

“Final my ass, there’s like—what, seven more of ‘ese?” He comments with a mouth full of fruit that the room service so kindly delivered a few minutes ago. Delicious. Another reason for him to drop a five-star review.

It’s no surprise when the third voicemail starts with the exact same enraged pronunciation of his name and continues with empty threats that want him scrubbing the entire school grounds. Yaga seems to have forgotten their teacher-student relationship ended a decade ago.

Neeeeeext.

“Satoru, I saw what Nanimon is, and I am not happy.”

“Oh? So he outgrew Windows XP?” He chuckles inaudibly.

Licking the sticky nectar off his fingers, Satoru pads toward the window, standing guard between the vicious sun rays and your sleeping form. You appear immune to Yaga’s ear-shattering voice, eyelids shut, and sheets kicked off your nude body, with your hair coiled around your head like a hornet’s nest.

Muffling the speaker with one hand, Satoru leans to untangle the hair from your open mouth. He thinks he might be partial to your charms, because even when he’s holding onto your spit-laced locks, he can only smile at how cute you are drooling in your sleep.

“Satoru? Satoru!” A voice far too guttural to be yours calls out to him, until he realizes Yaga’s voice has broken out of the voicemails.

“Principal Yaga!” Satoru greets once he puts some distance between himself and the bedding. “Good morn—”

“Satoru! What do you think you are doing not answering my calls?” The man fumes.

“Eating persimmons while watching my adorable girlfriend sleep,” he answers earnestly, switching apps and snapping a quick picture of your face. “She’s so pretty—ahhhh, I feel so lucky! Want me to show you? Do you even remember what a real woman looks like?” He taunts.

“She’s still your girlfriend?”

“Huh?” The phone changes ears. “Man, your memory is really failing you. How about I pay for you and Principal Gakuganji to go on a little vacation? I know this amazing resort for senior citizens; their cognitive enhancement therapy did wonders for my great-great-great uncle. Just say my name; they’ll treat you—”

“Satoru, this is important!” Yaga cuts him off. “You’ve been off the map an entire day,” fourteen hours, he corrects, “and haven’t popped the question? What are you waiting for?”

His gaze rakes over your exposed body, trailing the necklace of mauve lovebites around your neck. Smiling, “We’ve been busy.”

“Tell me you didn’t forget the ring.”

“Nah, it’s right here.”

Satoru reaches inside his yukata’s sleeve and examines the small jewelry box, tempted to ruin the surprise by grabbing the blue diamond ring and placing it around your finger—right here, right now. It will look so much prettier on you than it does gathering dust in its confinement.

“What about you?” He stores it away and resumes his call. “Did you do what I asked you to?”

A sigh. “It’s all ready on our side. Are you sure she’ll say yes? You sound confident, but a woman’s heart isn’t the same as jujutsu, Satoru. When it comes to love, the mouth is the source of disaster, and when it comes to you, it’s better to just give her the damn ring and say nothing.”

“And Sugiyama Kiyotaka says it’s fine as long as we understand each other. I get your point. Don’t need love advice from an old man with a doll fetish. I know what I’m doing. Besides, she’s the only one for me. She will say yes.”

A low roar reverberates from the speaker like a faulty engine that’s about to combust, and when it does combust, the entire room shakes. “Satoru! You’re gonna be a married man soon. Better shape up or—”

“Blah blah blah,” Satoru mocks. “Don’t you have anyone else to nag? I think Ijichi forgot to file that—”

“‘Toru?”

The sweet sound of your voice gives him all the reason he needs to hang up the phone after a hasty, “Don’t call me if you don’t need me, and if you do, then don’t.”

“Babyyyyyyyyyy!” He drags out the syllable as much as possible, an invisible cloud of dust appearing around his body when he falls on the empty space beside you, open arms wrapping your shoulders in an excruciatingly tight embrace. Kisses—lots of kisses slobbered all over your face while you are too drowsy to repel him.

“‘T-Toru! S-stop!” You chuckle hoarsely, reciprocating the sentiment however you can. “Who was that on the phone?”

“No one important,” Satoru grins, balancing his chin against your chest. “Ready for today? I got a very fun day planned ahead of us.”

A/N: If you made it this far, then congratulations! You finished reading my first Gojo fic (that made me fall in love with him jsjsjs)

As I mentioned above, chapter 1 is a flashforward to the main storyline that will start kicking chapter 2 onward. Expect laughable misunderstandings, questionable comedic moments, cat rescuings, college tutorings, and the angst behind Gojo's refusal to get married.

Hope you'll stick with! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments, are always appreciated 💙

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo smut #jujustu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #i wanna tie the knot #satoru <3 #jjk gojo #jjk fanfic

498 notes · View notes

amongsnot · 1 month

Text

there are baby shoes in your drawer.

you don’t know how long they’ve been in there—a month, a year, perhaps even two—just that they are gently tucked into the right corner, taking space on top of a toddler onesie.

you sit down on the edge of your bed, cradling the shoes between your hands; cupped like a dove. you tentatively pick one up (turning it around with squinted eyes) and read the size on the back. it reads a number that you do not understand.

but you once did, and there are baby shoes in your drawer, and you are not a baby.

you are eighteen. you are eighteen with a job (to a store you’ve never bought a toy from) and a family (that does not love you) and a life (that does not feel like yours).

and the baby shoes did not belong to you eighteen years ago. they are new and shine and your mother would never buy you something this nice.

the baby shoes are chaste in the front from where a little kid took their first steps. the shoes are tied (double knotted with care and worry). the shoes were put in your bedside table with a precarious sort of caution. the shoes belonged to a baby that was loved, and you did not know that feeling eighteen years ago.

there are baby shoes in your drawer, and they are purple.

you frown and put them on top of your bedside table, next to the tank without fish.

you pull out the onesie that belongs to a toddler next, unfolding it and holding it out in front of you. it has a pun on the front that makes you smile. (“my brother mayde dis shirt!” it reads. then, in a small font underneath. “he cant spel.”)

and you know that this onesie does not belong to you either, because you never had a brother. your parents would rather kill you and then each other before having another kid. your mom still glares at you in the bathroom mirror when she looks at her stretch marks. your dad still forgets to unlock the door when you come home from school.

you would never have a brother; but that’s fine. it’s what you’ve grown accustomed to, after all.

so you would never have a brother, and there is a onesie in your hands.

and there are baby shoes on your bedside table.

you examine the onesie further, checking it for stains or grease marks or rips. you check it for signs that it has been lived in, and you are surprised to see that there are none. this is not the ending you want, though; it is not the ending that the kid with the onesie and the purple shoes deserves.

you run a hand through the neck hole and pull at the cloth from the inside, desperately searching for a sign that this kid had been loved. you glance upwards, through the entryway to your bedroom and at the mirror hanging on the wall in the hallway (there is no physical door to your room. your parents had it removed as soon as they could). you check your own clothes, noting the wrinkled creases and year-old stains. you look at the onesie in your hands and search for everything that you don’t recognize: grass stains from playing outside and food stains from yummy meals. rips from growth spurts and baby drool.

there is nothing, and you come to the terrifying realization that this kid will grow up to be just like you.

the world does not need another one of you.

perhaps you should do something about that. stop it before it happens.

subconsciously, you run a hand through the hole for the neck and check the inside, and then you run a hand through the sleeves, pushing something hard and sharp out of the other end.

you pull your hand out and grab the card, and you pull your hand away from it just to leave a red stain, but you do not care because youve had babysitter who have done worse damage.

(“happy fifth birthday poof!” the card reads, accompanied by a small doodle of a balloon.)

there are three lines that have been scribbled out, before the writer finally decided on a meek “i love you.” and your hand shakes. you can feel a tear run down your cheek, landing on the card next to a similar water stain.

you throw the card across the room and bury your face into the piece of clothing. you don’t know why you’re crying now, when you’ve never cried once in your whole life. you don’t know why you recognize the hand writing on the card. you don’t know why you know what the three lines scribbled out say (“i’m going to miss you.” “it’s better this way!” “you’re going to do great things, i wish i could be there to watch.”).

you don’t know why you bought a purple onesie with a card addressed to a person you don’t know.

you don’t know why you don’t know.

all you know is that there is a card on the floor of your bedroom, and a purple onesie in your lap.

and a pair of baby shoes on your bedside table.

#yeah chat i’ve been having feelings recently #i wrote this in like ten minutes but i needed to say some stuff #its unedited #timmy turner #nicktoons #cosmo and wanda #poof fairywinkle cosmay #my fics #i wrote it on my phone #this was a struggle

121 notes · View notes

noosayog · 25 days

Text

he's not subtle! ft. ojiro aran

maybe he’s not one for over-the-top declarations, but it’s all the same when he makes it this obvious

wc: 1.2k

for @seiwas's and there's something, this feeling collab! happy 1 year anni selly belly and thank you for letting me join <3

1. social battery low

You dump the rest of your sugary drink down the drain before tossing the plastic cup in the nearest trash. Then, you weave through the hordes of people, all mingling, laughing, and drinking.

Except for you.

“Hey, baby.” You hear your boyfriend’s voice before you feel his warm presence by your side.

“Aran,” you relax, turning to give him a hug. He reciprocates and as much as you’d love to nuzzle your face further into his neck and lose the noise of the party in him, you know that he would notice something wrong instantly.

“Havin’ fun?”

Wordlessly, you nod.

Your boyfriend opens his mouth but he’s cut off when another friend of his joins you two to say hi. To you, his introduction goes in one ear and out the other as you tune the conversation out while Aran talks animatedly.

You watch Aran laugh at what the friend says and give him the man-handshake. Another person joins in on the conversation, and then another, and then another. Soon, your boyfriend has a harem around him, all ribbing him and making jokes. As much as you try to laugh along and respond when it’s polite, you begin to withdraw, going silent.

“Hey,” Aran murmurs in your ear. “Wanna ditch this party?”

Your eyes snap open. You know how much Aran has been looking forward to seeing his friends and he seems to be having so much fun.

You force a smile on your face. “What, no! Let’s stay.”

Aran chuckles. “Nah, I wanna go. Let’s go get some food.”

You let him usher you out and when the cold outside air hits you, you ask him, “what gave me away?”

His eyes crinkle when he smiles down at you, gaze tender as it always is. He says nothing, only intertwining your fingers with his own and walking the two of you to the nearest fast food joint.

2. something he saves for you

Aran needs to suit up today. Besides the few sponsorship parties and interviews, he hasn’t needed to tie a tie since his high-school uniform days. That being said, it’s like riding a bike – once you learn it, you don’t really forget how to do it.

That being said, he doesn’t argue when he sees you emerge from the bedroom, hair a mess and eyes bleary. You trod over to him, plopping your forehead into his chest while your arms dangle as deadweight by your sides.

He chuckles a bit, happy to hold you up, until he feels you tug at the fabric around his neck.

Long ago, he had told you that you don’t need to see him off on his early mornings, but you had been stubborn, insisting that you at least help him tie his tie on suit days. As he does with any and all of your demands, he had given in, making sure to let you know the night before any suit days.

Routine now, he leans down to indulge you.

In your drowsy state, eyes hooded, you reach both arms up and begin to fumble with his tie. Aran continues to hunch down, hovering his lips over the crown of your head while you go through the motions.

When you’re finished, you give the tie another tug, which is both a signal that you’re done and that you’re ready for a proper good morning kiss. He obliges, gently tilting your chin to drop a sweet kiss to your waiting lips.

“Thank you, baby.”

You say nothing, but keep your arms wrapped around his neck to cling on for just a second longer.

Aran knows how to tie his own tie. When you tie it, your knot is messy and one side of the neck never seems to be properly tucked into his collar.

But he doesn’t mind. He can’t say no to you, after all.

3. designated seat

“Can I do this to you?”

A phone is shoved into Aran’s face. He cranes his neck back to avoid getting cross-eyed.

He eyes you above the phone. “Why don’t you just do it on yourself?”

“Yours are longer than mine. It’s not really fun with mine.”

He sighs. “Now?”

Instantly, your eyes glaze over with excitement. “Yes please!”

He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t need to. You dart into your shared bedroom before returning with an eyelash curler and a tube of mascara. Aran settles deeper into his seat on the couch while you sidle up next to him, on your knees to hover over him.

Before you start though, he grabs hold of your bare thighs, fingers just brushing the openings of your flimsy sleep shorts. “Here,” he grunts as he picks you up and plops you down in his lap, your knees straddling his thighs.

You wiggle, getting comfortable before holding the contraption up to his eyelashes. “Keep your eyes open, okay?”

He nods, earning him a swat to the chest and a “don’t move!”

Aran watches you as you press the curler to his lashes. Surprisingly, he barely feels it. He takes advantage of the quiet to just look at you, eyes roaming over your cheekbones, wrinkling of your nose, and tongue darting out the corner of your lips. His thumbs absent-mindedly stroke the sides of your thighs where he has yet to let go.

“Aran.”

“Hmm?” he doesn’t look away.

“Your hands are distracting me.”

His gaze continues to roam shamelessly. He hardly registers the words coming out of his own mouth. “It’s this or nothin’”

You finish curling each lash, applying a coat of mascara to both sides. Aran only blinks when the wand gets a bit too close, but keeps them wide open, not wanting to miss a second.

When you finish, you sit back, plopping your butt on his legs. A big toothy smile streatches across your lips when you appraise your work. Both of your hands come up to squish his cheeks.

“Pretty,” you giggle.

“Yeah,” Aran murmurs. “Real pretty.”

4. through the wire

“... Hello? Hello, babe, you there?”

You say something in your drunken haze, further muddled by the fact that you’re face down on your pillow.

“Did you get back to your hotel?”

“... Mmmm.”

“Did you go back with everyone?”

“Mm.”

“Did you have fun?”

“...”

He chuckles, enjoying the sound of your evening breaths against his ear. It may be through the phone, but he can imagine your drooping eyes and limp body sprawled out on the little hotel bed. It’s just shy of his essential daily fix of you, but it’s going to have to do tonight. He continues to ask you questions about your trip, your night, what you wore, what you drank, even though your answers have long tapered out to a nondescript hum or nothing at all. He listens to your sounds with rapt attention, pressing the phone closer to his ear, even though he joked yesterday that you’d miss him way more than he’d miss you.

It’s cute. Your voice, your breathing, your drunk dial. It’s all so so cute.

He can’t help but tell you as much. Maybe you don’t hear him, maybe you’re not awake to register it, but he can’t help it.

His eyes are crinkled and his lips are curved upwards. He has an urge to squeeze something tight, preferably you. His voice drops an octave, his tone more tender than he thinks possible.

“You’re cute.”

108 notes · View notes

writingjourney · 7 months

Text

The Outlines of a Dream

Gale senses your concerns about the future with his very life on the line. He manages to comfort you – for once without as many words.

pairing: Gale x f!reader // tav!reader

content: 2k words, minor spoilers for late act 1/act 2, angst, fluff, mild hurt/comfort, kisses and cuddles, soft sleepy smut (p in v, v fingering, coming inside, unprotected, emotionsTM, they are so in love with each other sorry), rated E, 18+ only

Masterlist – Ao3 link

─── ⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆ ───

Magic thrums against your fingertip as you let your thumb glide over his cheek, tracing the purple veins where the orb has taken root inside of him. The sensation is faint, perhaps the lingering remains of your own magic, but it weighs on your heart nonetheless. For a moment you observe your lover as sleep gently takes him. Long lashes touch as his eyelids flutter in a last effort to stay awake, caressing his cheeks with every yet unsteady breath.

It has not been long since you met Elminster just outside the Shadowlands and he bore tidings that you reject more with every further step you take. Gale seemed so determined at the time, he still does whenever you argue about it, but you know that this conviction is slowly dwindling the closer you get to its execution, the closer you two become with no chance of ever building a future. At the very least stabilising the orb has brought you both the physical comforts of each other’s touch and you are making use of it as often as you can amidst the perils that surround you.

The hour is late and you retreated to his tent a while ago, two bedrolls pushed together to create the illusion of a comfortable bed. After fighting off shadow monsters on your way back to camp, washing off the smell of death and a good night’s sleep were all you longed for. But despite your fatigue you can’t find any rest now, anxiously pondering what lies ahead. Feeling quite tender and protective of him, you lean in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. With a sigh he blinks his eyes back open and you run your thumb along his jaw to soothe him.

“What ever happened to the exhaustion you complained about all throughout dinner, hm?” he grumbles, then at your expression, his brow furrows. “What’s on your mind, love?”

You brush a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Nothing in particular.”

“You’re a horrible liar as I have told you many times before. In fact I should be offended that you still try.”

It is not your intention to lie, not really. You simply do not wish to talk about the orb tonight, to argue yet again, not after a whole day of being surrounded by death and darkness and monsters, and you certainly do not wish to speak about the Goddess who caused his pain in the first place.

“Did something happen, out in the field today?” he asks, ever inquisitive. “You did look rough when you came back, I simply assumed that it was because of the ambush and after bathing you seemed better–”

“It’s not that,” you assure him. “I just want to be close to you, if that’s alright.”

He reaches out to caress your cheek, teasing the knots in your hair until they give and he can run his fingers through the damp strands. “I will make an educated guess and assume that you do not wish to speak about it. Which I will accept, of course, if begrudgingly.”

The corners of your mouth twist into a smile. “How generous of you, my love.”

“If it is distraction that you seek, however…” His hand grips your hair a little tighter, pushing your chin forward until your lips are about to meet. “I shall gladly provide you with that.”

“I thought you were tire–”

He closes the gap before you can finish, chapped lips brushing against even more chapped lips but you forget the signs of your involuntary travels as soon as he presses in harder. His warmth is melting away your worries for the moment, soft mouth and soft tongue contrasted by the roughness of his beard against your chin. He tastes like the herbs he used for dinner, like the glass of wine you shared before bed.

“If I ever tell you that I’m too tired for you then you know the tadpole has finally infiltrated my speaking apparatus,” he mumbles, trailing his lips along your jaw while his hand meanders down over your breasts and along your waist before settling firmly on your hips. “I will never get enough of you.”

You breathe a sigh when his lips attach to your neck and he pulls you flush against him. Nimble fingers massage your flesh while he sucks your skin into his mouth, pulling a little before releasing it and shifting further down. Your own hand is burrowed in his hair, tugging at the soft strands which causes him to release a moan against your throat.

“I need you,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says. “Don’t worry, my love, I have you.”

His fingers snake between your bodies while his other hand slides underneath you, keeping you close by pressing against your lower back. You feel him pulling at your underwear which is all you’re wearing anyway, and once it’s off his hand urgently cups your sex, feeling the heat against his palm. His lips whirr with a low hum when his fingers find your wet cunt, probing at your entrance with eagerness. When he pushes one inside of you you keen and he brings his face back to yours, his nose brushing against your cheek.

“Shhhhhh.” The sound is sharp, a hiss that feels cold against your lips. “We don’t want to wake the others, hm? I’ve grown quite tired of Lae’zel throwing rocks against my tent.”

You nod and he closes the gap for a kiss just as his finger slides in deeper, swallowing the moan that involuntarily leaves you. Adding a second finger, he sets a gentle, slow pace, preparing you carefully while never breaking away from your lips. He is quite dextrous. Observant since the first time you were intimate, he already knows exactly where to press, where to stroke, where to caress.

“Gale,” you whimper against his mouth, rolling your hips into his hand for more friction.

When you feel the heel of it press against your sweet spot a hot spark runs through your whole body. Instinctively you wrap your leg around him, hiking it up behind him to pull him even closer. His mouth opens and he pushes his tongue against yours as he crooks his fingers. For a moment you focus on the kiss, the way he tastes you like you’re the sweetest fruit, devouring you with a hunger that puts any bear or wolf to shame. When you return the favour, resting your hand on his neck, you can feel the deep rumble in his throat vibrating against your palm.

His hips buck, then, and the sounds leaving him gain a desperate quality. You know he’s too far gone when instead of words only groans and sighs leave his lips. Understanding even without language, you fiddle with his clothes, trying to find the lacings of his pants to pull them open. He is hard when you finally palm him, stroking to the rhythm of his fingers moving inside of you. The moment you feel him leaking onto your hand, he loses his rhythm, and you decide that you’re not in the mood for any teasing tonight.

You grab his wrist and pull his hand from you, the loss of him making you clench desperately around nothing. Then you hitch your leg up higher behind his back to open yourself for him while aligning your hips with his. In this angle, his hard cock slides between your legs and when you finally feel him pressing against your cunt you lose all focus. Gale assists you by lining himself up and pushing in slowly, achingly. More needy sounds fall from both of your lips, need and desire coursing through you with every little shift.

Once he is fully sheathed inside of you, he pauses, urgently pressing his mouth to yours again while grabbing at your ass to pull you ever, impossibly closer. You bodies are melting into each other, just like your mouths, the closeness of this new position only heightening every vivid emotion that pools into your belly. You pour all of them into the kiss, everything you feel for him, and when he starts to move your moan sounds more like a sob.

He can’t reach quite as deep from this angle but you don’t want to loosen your embrace and you’re both too exhausted and achy to move too much anyway. It doesn’t lessen how perfect he feels, how your whole body is filled to the brim with love for him even though you struggle to find the right words for it when it matters. You hope that he can feel it, somehow, that he knows every precious moment with him is the happiest you have ever been.

Slowly and in a steady rhythm he rocks against you and you try to meet his every movement. Pleasure trickles into your lower belly, gathering hotly in your core. Gale gasps every time he manages to sink in deeper, his hands grasping at you desperately to hold you tight.

“Feels so good,” you whisper, encouraging him. “Don’t stop, d-don’t ever stop.”

His reply is a strangled moan, his hips stuttering into yours more urgently than before. You clench around him, dangling on the precipice of your peak. It’s a little messy, clumsy, the way you move against each other so desperate not to let any air come between you. But you need him like that, fully, wholly, everything of him that you can possibly have. You don’t know how long you’ll be able to feel it, every moment so invaluable and fleeting.

You come with a sob that rips through your whole chest, the sparks now running through you in hot shivers. As you tighten around him, rolling your hips to ride out the sensation, Gale whimpers in your ear. He spills inside of you not two ragged breaths later, trembling in your arms as he fills you. When he deflates, his muscles going limp as he sinks further into the bedroll, you curl up half on top of him. You’re not ready to let go, not now.

For a long time you just hold onto him and he wraps you up tightly in his arms, breathing kisses to your hair as you both catch your breath. You know you should relax, loosen your muscles to let go of the tension, but you can’t bring yourself to ease your grip on him.

“I won’t let you go,” you whisper.

“I think this is a conversation best had in the morning, not in the middle of the–”

“I won’t,” you stress, clinging to him like he’s your anchor in a stormy sea. You don’t care if your nails dig into his shoulder or if you squeeze the very air from his lungs, you need to hold him as close as possible or the storm will drag you away.

“I won’t go anywhere, love,” he assures you. “At least not anytime soon.”

“You’re a horrible liar,” you echo him. “I should be offended by your weak attempt.”

He gives a soft chuckle, then places another kiss on your forehead that tickles as his beard scrapes along the tender skin. “I would never lie to you, my love. Though perhaps we can both bend the truth a little bit when it comes to this matter, if it means you get some rest tonight.”

You sit up to look at him, running your thumb over the purple lines once more while holding his gaze. You can see the vulnerability in his eyes, the fear he told you you ease when you’re with him, but you also see the burning affection he holds for you. You tell yourself that it’s stronger, that it’s bigger than the fear, that the roots of your love reach deeper than those of the orb.

It calms you, eventually, and you give a barely perceptible nod. The kiss you press to his lips is soft, an offering of peace, and when you settle back against him, you place your hand on the circle on his chest. It still thrums, you note, the magic trapped inside of him. This time, you let it lull you in, trusting in yourself, trusting in him, and sleep finally comes easier.

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3 – Join my tag list

#gale dekarios x reader #gale dekarios x tav #gale of waterdeep x reader #gale of waterdeep x tav #bg3 gale x reader #bg3 gale x tav #gale dekarios fanfic #gale of waterdeep fanfic #bg3 x reader #reader insert #female reader #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 spoilers #sort of

281 notes · View notes

joongernaut · 1 year

Text

glitter

⇢ pairing(s): park seonghwa x reader

⇢ genres: childhood friends to almost strangers to lovers, SMUT, fluff, a little angst but literally just a smidge

⇢ warnings: tooth-rotting fluff (i could not help myself with this one), subby-ish seonghwa because we love desperate men around here, oral sex (fem receiving), vaginal sex, cowgirl, reader gets called 'noona' once, creampie (i simply forgot to write in a condom but practice safe sex everyone!)

⇢ word count: 3955

⇢ author's note: well this took a bit longer than expected but i was able to proofread and tie up the loose ends on this fic last night and now here we are! this is also my way of wiggling into writing for ateez more as they are one of my favorite groups 😁 also the song title is based off the song glitter by jamilah barry <3 enjoyyy

✧

“Did you know your little boyfriend is back in town?”

The question stopped you in mid-sip of your cup of tea as you peered over the rim of the mug at your roommate, Hongjoong. He peered back over his own mug with a little smirk on his face and a lift of his eyebrow.

Slowly bringing the mug down you let out a heavy sigh. “Oh, I’ve only heard the news about a hundred times. Kinda hard to forget, y’know,” You bit back with a sarcastic smile, “Also, he was never my boyfriend. Why does everyone keep saying that shit?”

“Hm, I really don't know,” Hongjoong said with a shrug, taking a drawn out sip from his coffee before speaking again, “It’s not like the guy followed you around like a lost puppy before and you let him. Honestly, I’m a little surprised you two didn't tie the knot right after high school, I was so sure you would be childhood sweethearts turned old, disgusting married couple.”

Hongjoong hissed as your foot kicked at his shin from under the table, glaring at him before you finally downed the contents of your mug. “God, you all are so annoying! First, my own family and now you? I don’t care if he’s in town, okay? We haven't talked in like 5 years and I highly doubt that I’d see him anyways. It’s whatever.” You said exasperatedly, chair scraping against the floor as you got up to place the empty mug into the kitchen sink.

“What if you do see him, though?” Hongjoong asked, the question once again catching you off guard. “What if he hasn't forgotten about you in the slightest in those years you two have spent apart?” He pressed on with a pointed look, watching your mouth open and close as you blinked over at him.

Park Seonghwa, from what you recalled years ago, was a very sweet boy.

You remember the first day you had met him, walking into your elementary homeroom class clinging to his mother with a thumb in his mouth and fat tears rolling down his face as he refused to let her go.

You were only 2 years older than him but still had felt the overwhelming need to protect him from any harm. And that's also how you two became close friends.

When Seonghwa would fall down and scrape his knee or elbow, you were there telling him not to cry while dusting him off and helping him get back up. When he wanted to be like the bigger kids, who were taller and strong enough to get on certain parts of the playground, you were there to encourage him and give him a boost. And when his eyes sparkled with curiosity, wanting to learn more about this and that as he gained new interests, you were there to talk and listen to him ramble on and on about anything and everything.

That Seonghwa was the one you hadn’t seen in years. You had been really good friends leading all the way up to high school and then slowly drifted apart during that time. Once college had begun, it was like he dropped off the face of the earth and you didn't hear from him for a while.

It wasn't like you to be stuck on anybody for too long, you watched many people come and go into your life before. But Seonghwa wasn't just anybody and you couldn't help but wonder about the crybaby often and what he had been up to lately.

Okay so maybe you did care just a little bit that he had come back to town. But did it really matter? After all, neither of you really made the effort to reach out to one another after going your separate ways.

You shook your head, pushing those fleeting thoughts away before you reminisced too deeply. “Like I said, I highly doubt it.” You mumbled with a shrug before turning away, a part of you truly doubtful while a sliver of yourself remained hopeful.

✧

You were home alone the very next day. Usually Hongjoong would be the one to stay inside while you were out and about but he had run off to god knows where and he insisted that you stay at the apartment to relax. “Because you deserve it.” He had told you with a wink.

So, naturally, you were suspicious.

Not that Hongjoong was an untrustworthy person or anything but this almost, overly-nice front he had put on since this morning was just a little off-putting. Before you could really begin to question him, he had already flown out of the door and was barely responding to your text messages.

He did make sure to tell you to listen out for the door, however, as he said he was ‘expecting something’. You had almost forgotten about whatever that ‘something’ would be, hours into the afternoon, until you heard the sound of knocking coming from the front door of your apartment.

Dreading on leaving the comfort of your spot on the couch, you heaved a sigh before getting up from your seat and dragged yourself over to the door to answer it. “Hello-” You swung the door open and were immediately greeted by someone's chest in your line of vision. Your eyes traveled upward and you felt your breath catch in your throat.

“Y/N… It’s good to see you again.”

The man before you looked much different from the last time you had seen him. But even with the big and little changes in his appearance and how he seemed to carry himself differently, you could still tell exactly who he was just based on the look in his eyes.

“Seonghwa,” You gaped, still not entirely sure if you were seeing him in front of you or just hallucinating after watching TV all day, “H-How… How did you…?” You trailed off with furrowed brows as he gave you a sheepish look in return.

“Ah, sorry, this is rather impromptu of me. I bumped into Hongjoong a few days ago when I first got back and he mentioned you two were roommates so…” Now it was his turn to trail off as a small blush formed on his cheeks. You mentally cursed at Hongjoong, finally putting the pieces together that he had set this all up. You didn't know whether to kiss him or kill him.

“I see,” You muttered, reminding yourself to shoot the little mastermind a colorfully worded text later, “Well, please, don't be shy. Come in, come in.” You insisted, a smile spreading across your face genuinely as you stepped to the side for him to enter.

Seonghwa smiled back gently, a sight that made your heart soar as you saw a flash of the boy you used to know appear for a split second before he stepped over the threshold.

✧

It had been hours of just talking and catching up with Seonghwa. You had learned that he was finishing up his last year of college soon, reaching to earn his degree in astronomy, and planned to move out of his dorm and into a place of his own nearby. The university he had attended was well out into the city, roughly 8 hours away, meanwhile you had attended your local college in town and graduated with your art degree about a year or so ago.

“Definitely not as cool as studying the stars and planets, though. I’m like the definition of a starving artist.” You chuckled, albeit a bit bitterly, facing Seonghwa as you propped your elbow over the back of the couch and tucked your legs underneath yourself.

Seonghwa had turned to face you as well but a bit awkward in body language, one leg crossed over the other as his hands remained in his lap stiffly. “Ah, it's not all that interesting. Trust me. Once math is involved, then you’ll see what I mean.” He said, earning another laugh from you that made his shoulders less tense and a fond smile spread on his face.

“You were always the artistic type, though. That’s something I’ve always liked and admired about you. Never afraid to be yourself… Just being able to think of something so creatively, from a vastly different perspective than anyone else, and turning it into something so beautiful. That’s always been pretty cool to me.” He went on, leaving you a bit stunned at his words.

“Hwa…” The old nickname slipped from your lips in a whispered tone and his eyes found yours, locking onto them as a few seconds passed by in stretched silence. Seonghwa opened his mouth to speak again, hesitating at first before licking his lips, and asked, “Can I tell you something?”

Words felt like they would fail you right now so you simply nodded for him to continue. Seonghwa swallowed the lump in his throat before speaking again. “I’m really happy that you still remember me. I know that's silly to say because it's only been a couple of years but I wouldn't know how to feel if you acted as if I was a complete stranger…” He said, looking away with an almost pained expression despite the smile still on his face.

“I would never! We were important to each other back then.” You told him, scooting closer to him on the couch as you reached out to place your hand over his own. Seonghwa’s eyes shot down toward the movement, feeling the warmth of you from your body’s proximity and your fingers touching him so delicately, then back up to your face. “And now? He questioned, hopeful, as he placed one of his hands over yours and squeezed.

You squeezed his hand back and sighed. “I was scared of the same thing… that you would forget about me or pretend like you did. Or you would see me and want nothing to do with me so I figured I’d try to avoid you... But after you showed up and we talked, it feels like you never really left at all.” You admitted, feeling Seonghwa subtly shuffle closer to you.

“I thought about you almost all of the time during the years we spent not with each other, Y/N. I don't think I could forget you even if I tried.” He admitted back, similar to the words Hongjoong had said to you the other day. That had to have been something Hongjoong had heard him say when they bumped into each other and you mentally noted to punch the man whenever he got home.

Right now, however, you were going to focus on Seonghwa and what you wanted to do next.

Your hand came up to wrap around the back of his neck and he froze, his body stiffening as you leaned in close until your lips were a breath away from his own. “Tell me if this is okay. I want to show you how important you still are to me.” You murmured, the movement of your lips lightly brushing against Seonghwa’s causing him to exhale shakily.

A quick nod was all the confirmation you needed before diving in, catching his mouth in a deep kiss. You untangled your other hand from his lap and brought it up to join the one around his neck as you pulled him closer, crawling your way into his lap in the process until you were straddling one of his thighs.

Seonghwa’s body shook slightly underneath you, his hands hovering over your sides as if he were hesitating to touch. You pulled away briefly, nibbling at his bottom lip before tugging it and making him groan. “You can touch me.” You said, sensing his hesitation, and started to lick the seam of his parted lips.

He let you in with no resistance, the feeling of your tongue against his wet and probing as his hands gripped onto your waist tightly.

You licked in to Seonghwa’s mouth eagerly as you started to move forward until he was effectively pushed onto his back with ease. Feeling breathless, you parted from his mouth again to catch yourself but started to trail your lips from the side of his face to his neck where you began to bite and suck at the sensitive skin there.

“Y/N…” He gasped before letting out a whiny moan. Your eyes flitted up to his face to take in the sight of Seonghwa— already looking debauched and fucked out, and you barely even started. “What do you want, Hwa?” You mumbled against his skin and he shivered at the sensation.

“Whatever you want. You take the lead. Please.” Seonghwa replied in a strained voice, holding onto you as if you were a lifeline.

When you suddenly pulled away from him and stood up, Seonghwa shot up in panic wondering if he had said something wrong until you put your hand out for him to take wordlessly.

He kept his mouth shut and took it, letting you guide him all the way to your bedroom where you closed the door behind him with a click of the lock, officially sealing your fate together.

“You told me to take the lead, right?” You questioned once you were facing Seonghwa again, slowly approaching him. Your finger traced small shapes onto his chest as you backed him up into the bed, the back of his knees hitting the edge and making him sit down.

His ass hadn't been on the bed for more than 3 seconds before Seonghwa slid off of it and onto his knees in front of you, peering up with wide expectant eyes. “Yes. You can do whatever you want to me, I’ll enjoy anything you give me.” His tone of voice sounded airy as he uttered those words and you couldn't help but run your fingers through his hair as he leaned into your touch.

“You’re already on your knees for me… surely you already had something in mind.” You smirked at him teasingly, watching him shift under your gaze. “Can I…?” He trailed off questioningly as his eyes flickered quickly from your face to the crotch of your sweatpants and back up again. Heat pooled in the pit of your stomach seeing how eager he was to please. Eager to please you.

You tugged your sweatpants down until they dropped unceremoniously onto the floor, kicking away the article of clothing before stepping closer to Seonghwa. His breathing had gotten shallow once his eyes fell onto your panty-covered pussy, the thin layer of the material leaving little to the imagination. The small wet spot he could see near the center made his cock twitch, straining against his pants.

Seonghwa’s hands gently grazed along your ankles first, gradually going higher from there to the back of your knees and up the back up your thighs. A small shiver raked through you when his fingers traced the lining of your underwear, slipping under the band a little as he grabbed ahold of your ass.

“A-Ah… Hwa…” You moaned softly when he pressed you forward into his face and placed a lingering kiss onto your mound right where your clit was. You took a step closer to him, pressing his face fully into your pussy now, and what little hold he had of his composure immediately slipped.

Seonghwa groaned as he buried his face into every crevice he could fit into, his long tongue rolling out of his mouth so he could run it along the moist material messily. “Knew you’d taste good,” He mumbled against the inside of your thigh, “Smell good, too. I could only dream about something like this happening in real life.” He added before latching his lips onto your clit and sucking the bud through the fabric. This plus the friction of your panties still covering your pussy was enough to make your body lurch forward a bit.

The back of Seonghwa’s head was now pressed against the edge of the bed, pinned between the comforter as you began to grind against his face.

“You should've told me sooner. I think I like seeing you like this.” You told him with a breathless giggle, swiveling your hips as Seonghwa tried to follow every movement to the best of his ability. He didn't mind it. You were using him to pleasure yourself and he couldn't be any more happier.

His grip on your ass had tightened when he felt you begin to back up and you rubbed your thumb against his wrist to make him loosen his hold. “I just wanna move onto the bed, Hwa.” You reassured him and he reluctantly let go. Despite not being completely bare, the evidence of your arousal shined like a gloss on Seonghwa’s bruised lips when you got a good look at him.

You crawled onto your bed, peeling your shirt and dampened panties off before throwing them somewhere you’d worry about later, and waited for Seonghwa to join you. Realizing your lack of underwear now, he followed along until he was stripped bare and crawled slowly up the bed until he was situated between your spread thighs.

Seonghwa’s eyes stayed locked onto your own as he trailed kisses along the inside of your thigh, bringing his face closer and closer until he could finally taste you without restriction or barriers.

The first swipe of Seonghwa’s tongue starting slowly from your hole up to your clit had your legs spreading out wider for him. And when his plump lips wrapped around your clit sucking earnestly, you felt your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head as you reached out to grip his hair roughly.

Seonghwa groaned, muffled by his ministrations, and the vibration of it made your hips buck up. He unlatched himself from your clit briefly only to laser focus his attention on dipping his tongue into your hole to lap up whatever juices started to leak from it.

“Hwa,” His name came out in a shuddered moan as you placed your hands on his shoulders and squeezed to get his attention, “I really need you.”

Seonghwa’s response came delayed, spending a couple extra minutes using his tongue to simply savor your taste before he made his way up your body where his mouth came crashing into yours. “You have me, baby.” He panted between open-mouthed kisses as his hand came up between your bodies to grab ahold of his throbbing cock.

“Do I?” You smirked against his mouth, nudging his hand out of the way so you could wrap your own around his length. Seonghwa gasped lightly, bucking up into the tight ring of your fist. “You think you could switch places with me, baby?” You purred as you stroked his cock languidly. It didn't take long for him to carefully flip the two of you over and have you hovering above him.

“Fuck, you're–” Seonghwa breathed out, eyes glued to your face as you rubbed the tip of his dick through your folds, “you’re just as beautiful as I always remembered but this is truly a sight.” He said while trailing his hands along your thighs then higher up to your hips where he held onto them as you lined him up to your entrance.

The breach stung a bit once you started to sink down onto him and Seonghwa rubbed his thumbs gently into your hip bones as you took your time taking him all the way inside of you. “I’m starting to believe that crush everyone keeps saying you had on me.” You sighed out once your pelvic bone met his, moving your hips slowly in small circles as you relished the way Seonghwa felt so deep inside of you.

“Have,” Seonghwa corrected as he tried to keep himself still under your movements, twitching every time he felt your walls constrict around his cock, “I think it was obvious to everyone but you.” He licked at his lips before tucking his bottom lip between his teeth when you lifted yourself up momentarily only to sink yourself back down onto him.

Picking up a steady pace now, not going too fast or too slow, you simply enjoyed the way Seonghwa stretched you out and filled you up with every movement of your hips. A whimper-like sound punched out of him when you came back down just a little bit harder, clenching around his cock, and you cooed at the noise. “Poor baby. Am I at least making it up to you well?” You pouted at him with a tilt of your head, smoothing a hand down his chest soothingly.

“Noona,” Seonghwa whined, your body immediately stiffening at the sound of his voice sounding so wrecked, “Please, please go faster.”

You obliged without question, deciding that you would have a chance to tease him another time. You pressed your hand down flat on Seonghwa’s chest and used it as leverage to ride him the way you knew you would both love; bouncing on his dick as he thrusted upward involuntarily to meet the action.

This helps Seonghwa to go a little bit deeper, the head of his cock brushing along your walls just right until he hits directly at the spot that has you quivering above him.

You can barely hold yourself up and soon feel your arm give out as you bow your back and press your foreheads together. “Feel s-so good, baby…” You muttered while staring into Seonghwa’s eyes. His half-lidded gaze stared back briefly before pressing your mouths together in an intimate kiss.

He then caught you off guard by starting to buck up into you, almost frantically, as he wrapped his arms around your body and pressed you to his chest. “Cum with me, please, please, please–” Seonghwa begged, seemingly right on the edge of cumming.

Thankfully you weren't too far behind him with the way he had started to desperately fuck into you. And with the remaining body strength you could muster, you rode him with just as much urgency while still pressed closely to his chest.

Seonghwa had been the first to tip over, pleading over and over again until his voice became slightly hoarse. He stilled himself deep inside of you before you felt warmth filling you up in spurts, a pretty drawn out moan falling from his lips as you clenched around him tightly and followed suit.

You whimpered as Seonghwa helped you ride it out, his hands placed on your waist to help you grind down against him and giving your clit some added friction.

Feeling boneless, but most of all satiated, you finally collapsed against him as he started to rub along your back and traced over your spine. The delicate feeling of his fingers sent a tingle throughout your being that you could only chalk up to the resurfacing of those feelings you had kept hidden so deep within.

Seonghwa attempted to sit up and you grumbled in protest causing a laugh to escape him. “We have to get cleaned up.” He reasoned but you only clung on to him tighter as he rose and had you seated on his lap. “Will you stay afterwards?” You asked quietly, hope laced into your tone with a hint of vulnerability. Because now that you had him in your life again you would be damned to see him go so quickly.

“Of course. I’m not going anywhere without you again.” Seonghwa said, leaning forward to press his lips chastely against your forehead before looking at you with eyes full of love and sincerity.

Those same eyes that always held the stars in them that sparkled like glitter and reassured you that he would be right by your side for as long as you would let him.

#park seonghwa #seonghwa #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez fics #ateez reader insert #ateez seonghwa #ateez x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop fics #kpop smut fics

774 notes · View notes

waklman · 1 year

Text

Chatterbox

prompt: bob helps his teacher assistant girlfriend get her mind off work.

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni. fingering, oral (f receiving), slight size kink and dumbification if you squint.

a/n: dont ask me why im releasing one-shots before i even finish chapter one, because i dont know either okay. but anyway, here is a peak at bob and honeybee :).

word count: 2.3k

college au, frat boy au

the after party masterlist.

Bob never had a problem with how chatty you could get.

If there was one thing Bob was grateful for, it was his girlfriend's ability to fill in an awkward silence when needed. The blond was certain he could listen to you talk all day, running that pretty mouth of yours while he sat there nodding attentively. And it was just a plus that you looked so enamoring, eyes glittering in excitement and hands animatedly gesturing as you spoke.

However, Bob did have a problem with how chatty you got about your TA tasks—especially when you were supposed to be forgetting about them for now. The end of the semester always came with a bigger pile of work, but today was a Saturday. Yet, you're still thinking about school.

For once, the rowdy frat house was empty with everyone visiting home for spring break. It was a perfect opportunity for Bob to finally get you out of the grayed out dorm room you trapped yourself in, day in and day out. So, when he made the move to invite you over, he had every intention to ease your stress, hence the dress code of comfy attire only.

But this afternoon, it looks like Bob has to do more than just lay stomach down between the plush of your thighs, glasses set off to the side, letting you mindlessly braid his hair, and mindlessly run your mouth.

“Does he think I have no life?” Your pointed complaints are still ongoing, leaving you ignorant to the subtle movement below you.

While your brewing anger is very much directed at Professor Simpson, it’s currently being spewed towards Bob’s ceiling fan—which can do nothing to argue back—just how you like it. If looks could kill, the mean glare you’re giving the motionless object suspended over his bed would be on living its last day.

The remembrance of your professor’s threatening email to you about getting grades out, completely distracts you from the braid of blond hair in your hands, slowly losing its structure as your boyfriend shifts his weight under you.

Again, you let out an annoyed breath. “Five days of my spring break to grade some last minute assignment he just—conveniently forgot to mention to me?!”

You’re so lost in your story telling that you’re not even registering the hot breath dusting over your exposed tummy, and the gradual rise of your shirt as Bob uses his nose to drag the fabric upwards, ghosting his lips over your navel.

Bob shakes his head against you, mildly entertained by your cluelessness.

“Remind me to never work with the english department again,” you huff, hands now curling into fist at your sides, regretting your decision to assist with that course over the others available to you this semester.

“‘Cause now I have over eighty research papers to check ove–” With a light pull of his teeth, Bob loosens the drawstring of your sweatpants.

The sound of the thick cord coming undone from the knot is muted compared to your tangent, but your ears catch the noise, your stomach feels it, and your mouth clamps shut immediately.

Blinking at the ceiling dumbly, you open your mouth to say his name, but it just snaps shut again.

After a beat of silence, there’s two sets of fingers hooked into the loose band of your sweats next, giving your pants a suggestive tug.

Bob makes sure to keep his patience at bay, wanting to soak in your flustered state, just a bit more. Because, honestly, he would’ve ripped these sweats off you long ago if you weren’t so cute—already so meek and tiny under him.

With your eyes still refusing to meet his very own, you miss him running an intending gaze over the underside of your jaw, and making note of the bead of sweat running down your cheek. While you were the one mostly making him nervous in your relationship, it was a nice change of pace to inflict it back onto you once in a while. You were so obliging too.

Bob lowly hums, eyes dropping to the strappy pink lace sitting on your hip bone, revealed by his slight yank of your sweats. “Honeybee..” he commands your attention. “You gonna let me see these cute little panties you got on for me?”

Bashfully, you lift your butt off the mattress, letting him pull it off your waist. Because, yes, you will let him. Though, you’re sure they’re thoroughly soaked through at this point.

“There’s my good girl,” he sings, deep voice vibrating through his chest, pleased by your obedience.

If you weren’t very aware that his head was currently stationed between your legs, you would’ve clenched your thighs together at his raspy tone.

Finally, you suck in a nervous breath, redirecting your attention down to your boyfriend who’s starting to make his way down your legs—dragging down the thick fabric, leaving wet open mouthed kisses to the flesh of your thighs, to the side of your calves, and finally to your ankle.

Near the foot of the bed, he sits up momentarily to tear your pants off your feet. They go flying into his open closet. “B-Bobby,” your breath shallows at his sudden forwardness.

“What? Nothin’ to complain about anymore?” He quietly teases, a faint smirk playing on his lips, laying back between your ankles.

“Well…I—not really. No it’s just–,” you stammer, rubbing the wet pads of your fingers together.

“That’s what I thought,” he cuts you off.

Keeping his eyes locked onto yours, Bob makes his way back up your naked legs. All you can do is blink at him, arousal sitting heavy at your pulsating core. He almost looks unrecognizable. The baby blue eyes you’re so used to seeing are casted over in a thick, dark, cloud of lust.

With him settled between your thighs, Bob’s eyes snap down to your slick, leaking through the flowery lace pattern in front of him. “So fuckin’ wet for me honey,” he marvels, licking a slow, flat stripe to your covered folds, with a slight pressure against you, coating his tastebuds in your arousal. The tip of his tongue flicks your bud, teasingly, as he moves off.

“Please,” you thoughtlessly whine, heat blooming through your chest.

Without so much of a warning, Bob roughly tears off your panties with one hand, pocketing it for himself.

You raise your voice. “No! That was—” Again, he cuts you off.

In an instant, his front is pressed to yours, pushing you into the mattress, meeting you in a desperate, sloppy kiss. Eyes fluttering close, you return the eagerness, letting him swallow every small noise that sears through your throat. Then, a fuzz takes over your brain, eyes scrunching in pleasure as his knee nudges your exposed clit. The scratchy fabric of his plaid pants drives you on, more than you expected it to.

You can’t help but to buck your hips, chasing the feeling. But the moment you start a steady grind against him, Bob stills you, pressing a firm hand on your hip, ripping his mouth from you at the realization that you’re starting to get yourself off.

At the loss of his knee, a small whine escapes your lips, and your glossy eyes blink open again.

There’s a light threat resting on his tongue, but it immediately dies at the sight of you, pupils shot, underneath him.

Even with the steady hold of your lower half, you’re shaking as you struggle to remain still for him. The pinch of his eyebrows loosen, eyes dropping down to the heave of your chest under his t-shirt. But what finally does it, is the way his hand fully swallows the side of your hip. Experimentally, he stretches his fingers against you, scanning the amount of skin he covers with the move.

Biting your lip nervously, you start to pathetically plead with him again. “I’m sorry. I–I’ll be good. I–Please. Will be so good for you.”

He knows he should’ve held out longer, but for some reason—he’s spurred on to get his hands on you again.

In a matter of seconds, he dips back down, placing bites on your sweaty neck. You’re so sure it’s punishment for trying to ride his knee, because he’s leaving them in spots he knew would be hard to hide.

The hand that was previously keeping you steady, extends down to your swollen folds, forcing a pitched whine from your throat as he toys your clit. “Oh–Ah–F-Fuck,” you moan, clamping one hand around the back of his neck, as the other scrunches the sheet below you.

Dipping his thumb down to your dripping entrance, he collects your slick, before coating your bundle of nerves with it. Then, Bob bites down harshly on your collarbone, continuing to draw tight, uniformed circles as you mewl from the precision.

It’s almost heartless, the way his pointer and middle finger curl into you next, roughly working against your walls that instinctively tighten around him. You're glad no one's home, because you couldn’t be bothered to stifle the shaky moans and mindless string of pleas that falls from your lips, begging him for more. Because it just feels too good. But, even if some of his house-mates were present, you're not too sure if you could stay quiet.

"That good, huh?" He licks over one of the marks he's been littering across your skin.

Bob’s mouth pulls into a pleased smirk against the side of your neck, letting you chase his hand, hips snapping off the mattress as you soak him down to his wrist. With his other hand, Bob’s palm travels up your bunched up shirt, giving your left breast a quick squeeze before rolling the hardened bud between two fingers.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs in your ear, putting more pressure on your swollen clit, working in unison with the unrelenting drag of his fingers inside you. All you can do is blabber, brows knitted in pleasure—too caught up in the building knot in your stomach. “I—I want—” You careen off the mattress again, rolling against his drenched hand.

“What is it?” He clicks his tongue at your incoherent response, fucking his fingers into you harder.

In response, another jumble of unintelligible sentences is pushed out of you. “Want my mouth on that pretty pussy? Is that it?”

The palm under your shirt slips downward, as he removes himself from the crook of your neck, trailing down to your sopping core—all while keeping the bruising pace of his hand against you, eyes glued to the glossy sheen coating his entire forearm. It’s quick, the way he swaps from his thumb to his tongue, suctioning it around your clit, giving it all of his attention.

You’re not even sure you’re breathing anymore. There’s a burn rippling through your lungs as your jaw hangs open in a silent moan, unable to grapple the feeling of him groaning loudly against you.

With your orgasm growing in the pit of your stomach Bob pushes you closer to it, adding a third finger, splitting you open and hitting you at the exact spot that gets your thighs to clench around his head, muffling his ears. With the confirmation that you’re close, his eyes snap shut—lapping at you with such vigor that the intensity finally sends you over the edge.

The orgasm hits like a strong wave, washing over your trembling body as it racks every part of you. You're so sure, you felt your bones shake inside you. Underneath you, Bob slowly removes himself from your sensitive core, sweetly pressing his lips to your inner thigh, murmuring praise with each soft kiss.

You suck in a much-needed breath of air, trying to focus your vision. At the moment, Bob has two ceiling fans overlapping over each other.

“I–I don’t even care about the essays anymore,” you confess. How could you when your boyfriend ate you out like his life depended on it?

Tucking your chin, you curiously look down at him. With your wetness completely coating half his face, leading down to his bobbing Adam’s apple—he lightly laughs. He looks that good, and he has the audacity to laugh, causing your cheeks to heat up—as if you aren’t half naked in front of him.

You’ve always had trouble hiding your fluster when he smiled at you like that—So you’re certain, he can see how it’s affecting you.

“That was my intention, Honeybee,” he rises to sit his knees, gently scooping you into a sitting position.

The oversized tee drops down your upper body as you sit up in front of him. You shouldn’t be—but you’re embarrassed to feel his sticky hand on the small of your back as he holds you up. “I love you, but you gotta give yourself a break. I can listen to you all day, swear it. I just—don’t like seeing you stress yourself out for no reason.”

He kisses your forehead, almost as if he's implanting the reminder there. Bob then gives your back an affectionate rub, prompting your lips to twitch, a tell-tale sign they’re about to wobble next.

Biting down on your bottom lip to stop yourself, you lean forward, wrapping your weak arms around his neck. “I love you so much. Don’t deserve you,” you profess, brows knitted together—hit with the random urge to cry.

The only response you ever got from your incessant ranting were snappy remarks, telling you to shut up or go into another room if you were gonna talk to yourself. But here you are, in the arms of the first person to ever admit that they don’t mind it. On top of that, he even loves you—caring enough to voice his concerns about your habit of rambling, which only resulted in a build up of unwanted anxiety.

Bob softens, pulling you closer to him, petting the top of your head. “You deserve me,” he assures you. “And you deserve a bath too, with me,” he adds on.

You quietly sniffle. “And cuddles.”

“How could I forget,” he scolds himself jokingly, drawing a giggle from you. At that, his mouth breaks out in a smile. “Then you can catch me up on the stuff you were tellin’ me about last week. You haven’t told me what happened after Professor Benjamin was caught with Bradley’s uncle.”

“Oh! Right. So when I walked in on them…” Bob listens intently, coaxing you off his mattress, laughing at your—maybe too detailed—description of what you saw. Once you’re both inside the bathroom, you move onto your opinions and theories next. Bob leans in close to your seated figure on the bathtub ledge, letting you talk into his ear, tuning out the loud bath water shooting out the faucet.

His eyes widen, pulling back in surprise at your theory. “No way!”

“Yes, way!” You burst out in laughter, grabbing onto his shirt as he joins you. He makes sure to cradle your head so it doesn’t hit the sink by the tub. The sound of the running water can barely be heard over the obnoxious cries of laughter that come next.

After the bath, the rest of the day is spent with you playing with his hair as you stream through your gossip, updating your attentive boyfriend on what he missed out on. And he enjoys every second of it.

So, it just stamps it down further, that Bob never had a problem with how chatty you got.

note: thank you for reading, seeing that i'm struggling a bit to put something out for this series, i decided to put this out for now! :) as always, thank you for reading and reblogs are always greatly appreciated.

join the taglist for this series here or follow me on @waklman-library and turn on notifs to be notified when i post!

tags: @blueoorchid @queen-of-elves @cherrylipgloss-baby @purplevortexx @goosterroose @floralfloyd @doggo-and-goosey @chicomonks @maplesyurp07 @grxcisxhy-wp @anna1523 @laylaskywalker

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd smut #robert floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd x you #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd fic #bob x reader #tgm smut #tgm fic #bob floyd au

884 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 years

Text

North To The Future [Chapter 11: I Will Buy You A New Life]

The year is now 2000. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, discussions of sex, sexual content, violence, this chapter has something you’ve been waiting for. 😏💚 (And some things you have definitely not been waiting for.)

Word count: 5.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @ladylannisterxo @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @hinata7346 @poohxlove @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @travelingmypassion @graykageyama @skythighs @lauraneedstochill @darlingimafangirl @charenlie @thewew @eddies-bat-tattoos @minttea07 @joliettes @trifoliumviridi @bornbetter @flowerpotmage @thewitch-lives @bearwithegg @tempt-ress @padfooteyes @teenagecriminalmastermind @chelsey01 @anditsmywholeheart @heliosscribbles @elsolario

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

No one knows what to say to you: not Heather when you return to the Jeep with Sunfyre in tow, not your parents when you walk into the hushed house littered with glass bottles and wayward appetizer crumbs. Sunfyre immediately begins assisting with the cleanup effort, sniffing around the couch and under the dining room table, licking up the delicacies he finds there. Your parents look at the golden retriever, look at you, look at each other.

“Um…I’ll drive Heather home,” your mom offers. She finishes the Earl Grey tea she’d been sipping, sets the cup in the kitchen sink, and grabs her keys. They depart into the night together, Heather giving you one last long, sympathetic glance. But still, she doesn’t know what to say. You haven’t told her what you found in Aegon’s apartment, but all the same she can read the horror of it on your face. And perhaps that is more truthful than mere words anyway, unbound by the restrictions of jagged consonants and the curves of vowels, lexicons, syntax, ink.

In the silence, in the sunless dawn of the new millennium, your dad studies you, red dress and mascara-stained face and shoulders limp. He asks tentatively, like stepping through a minefield: “How long will Sunfyre be staying with us?”

“Forever.”

“Okay.” He nods, understanding. He doesn’t need to know the details. Addiction wears many faces—masks it peels off and discards until it finds the flavor you like best, the one that can knot itself around your throat—but its soul is always the same, grave-cold and grasping. “I’m sorry about Aegon. I’m sorry that you had to find out what this feels like.”

“He’s leaving. It’s over.”

Your dad smiles, profoundly sad, dreadfully patient. “I’ve heard that before.”

You’re so heartbroken and ashamed that you can’t meet his eyes. Jessie died twenty years ago, and now it’s all come back around again. He must feel like he’s seeing ghosts.

Your dad sits down at the dining room table, sighing deeply, rubbing his forehead with his thumbs. And he’s not talking about Aegon anymore. “I’ll never stop living in that man’s shadow. I know it. Your mother knows it. It’s not something we’ve ever discussed, but it’s there. And I can’t even resent her for it, because she would forget him if she could. I fully believe that. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t love me and the life we’ve built together. But it does mean there’s a part of her that will always be somewhere else. In another room, in another time. And I wonder sometimes…if there is an afterlife, if there is a cosmic Round Two where we all meet up someplace with harps and angels and cities made of clouds…who she will be standing with.”

The terror is overwhelming. Does it never end? This pain, this longing, this irrational hope? You wonder if there’s any cure for what you’re feeling. You wonder if your dad was ever some tedious, try-hard jock that your mom avoided at bars and parties.

“I know it hurts,” your dad says. “I know it hurts like hell. But I think it’s better if you can end things sooner rather than later. Because I imagine that once you start loving someone like that”—someone brilliant, someone broken—“it’s very difficult to stop.”

It’s too late, you know. You smooth the bloodlike satin of your dress, trying not to start sobbing again. It’s too fucking late.

“Jesse used to do things like that.” Remarkably, there is still anger in your dad’s voice: rusty, treacherous, decades-old anger. “He would make plans and make promises, and then your mother would be sitting there waiting with a suitcase and he’d act like it never happened. I don’t know if he really forgot or if he had to pretend he did because he’d blown all the money. And then of course he’d apologize and promise to make it up to her, buy her flowers, pour her tea. He was always saying they’d go to London together. They never did. They never got out of Alaska.”

The tea, you think, dismayed. The Earl Grey tea. Just like Aegon’s hot chocolate. It’s like looking at yourself in a mirror. It’s enough to drive someone insane. “I need to go to bed now,” you say, your words weak and splintering.

“Okay. Okay, ladybug.” He looks sorry, like he knows he’s said too much. He gets up to hug you goodnight. He’s immense and warm and strong, yet careful, yet benign, yet so palpably ordinary.

Why can’t I fall in love with someone like you, Dad? Why can’t I be happy here?

He helps you put out food and water for Sunfyre, and when you volunteer to gather up some of the trash in the living room he adamantly refuses. You climb the staircase in the high heels you hardly ever wear, your skull flooded with unwelcome reminders. Aegon was supposed to be here with me. In my house, in my room, in my bed. Now he’s nowhere. And he’ll never touch me again.

In your bedroom mirror, you stare at your reflection. You can’t explain it, but you don’t look like yourself. The red woman in the silvery glass is not self-possessed or pragmatic or wise. She is a frayed thread, and she is desperately, irrevocably sad. You step out of your heels. You unzip the back of your dress. And before you take it all the way off—Aegon was supposed to do that part—you tear the magazine cutout of the Mustang convertible flying down the Pacific Coast Highway off the mirror. You rip it in half over and over again until it is a flurry of unidentifiable scraps on the floor. You think of how you have never acted selfishly, never acted irresponsibly. You think of how far that dedication has gotten you. Not far enough. Nowhere near far enough.

You are trembling with exhaustion and fury. Your eyes hurt, your ankles hurt, you hurt in places so deep you can’t name them. You think of all the things about Aegon you were willing to overlook and how vanishingly little he could give you in return. You want him here, and because he’s made that impossible you want revenge; you want him to feel as viciously, nauseatingly betrayed as you do. You want to do something he could never forgive. You want to knock his memory out of you like the asteroid killed the dinosaurs.

She’s hoping in time that her memories will fade.

You see it in a sudden, scarlet vision: how enraged Aegon was when he thought you had slept with Trent, how he tensed up every time Trent touched you, how he didn’t want you to be alone with him. You see how Trent has been throwing himself at you—like a skydiver out of an airplane—in a way that is somehow both frightening and shamelessly pitiful. You had once told Aegon that Trent didn’t want you dead. I know, Aegon had replied. He wants you to be his wife.

You pick up the phone on your nightstand, and then you pause. Can I do this? Can I really?

You couldn’t yesterday, and you probably won’t be able to tomorrow. But right now…

You dial the number for Trent’s apartment across town. He answers on the second ring. “Sup?”

“Hi, it’s me. Are you busy?”

“Hey!” There’s a boisterous grin in his voice. “Nah, not at all. You need something? Are your parents rearranging the living room furniture again?”

“I don’t need anything, but I’d like something.”

“Oh yeah? What?”

“What you’ve been waiting for.”

Stilted, silent seconds tick by as he puzzles it out. “For real?” He’s ecstatic, yet circumspect.

“For real.”

“Why? I mean, I’m not complaining, maybe I shouldn’t be asking questions, maybe I should just be sprinting for my truck, but I’m…uh…you changed your mind?”

“It’s not a marriage proposal, Trent,” you tell him. “It’s not a date. I just want to start out 2000 the right way.” Without Aegon. Without any threads still connecting me to him.

“Hell, I’ll take that,” he says, chuckling.

“You have to come here though. It has to be at my house.” Where your parents are just a few rooms away. Where Trent will have to be the best possible version of himself.

If he was really the Ice Fisher, why would he have saved Aegon from the channel? Why would he have been so unabashed about his anger, his strength, his size 12 boots? This killer is quiet, strategic, invisible. That’s the only way he’s managed to murder five people without getting caught. Perhaps Trent really does lack the requisite subtlety…the requisite intellect, to be perfectly blunt about it. But then who else could it be? Who the fuck could it be?

“Totally. On my way now.” Trent hangs up.

When he arrives, your parents are still downstairs cleaning up after the New Year’s Eve party. They greet him warmly and (seemingly) without much surprise. He flips his hair and offers to lift the couch so they can get the bottles that have rolled underneath. They gratefully accept. Small talk and festive merriment are exchanged, and you marvel at how seamlessly Trent blends into this family, into this house, into Juneau; he was made for Alaska. It’s in his strapping muscles and lumbering bones. It’s in his claustrophobically small mind. And then you lead him upstairs.

You don’t waste any time talking. Already you’re losing your nerve, already you have a voice surfacing in the choppy waves of your mind like a drowning man: You don’t want to do this, you don’t want to do this, you know you don’t want to do this. You tug off Trent’s blazer, button-up shirt, and khakis and shoo him onto the bed. Then you take off everything that you’d put on for Aegon, back when the Alaska Standard Time Zone was still living in the dark dwindling hours of 1999.

You’re in control the whole time because you don’t trust Trent to be. You don’t want him to be. You don’t even want to think about him. It feels like nothing. There’s no moment to get lost in, because it’s not a moment at all. It’s just logistical adjustments and premeditated reactions and flesh, heavy, crushing, bumping, artless flesh. Your thoughts are far from this room, drastically far. You hope Aegon drives by in the morning and spots Trent’s truck in the driveway, or he hears about it, or he reads it in the straightforward, chiseled lines of Trent’s face next time he sees him. You hope it digs its razored claws into him and never lets go. You hope it fucking destroys him.

As soon as it’s over you get into the shower and scrub off every remnant of what you’ve done. You regret it immediately. Aegon shattered any chance the two of you had and you ended it, so you don’t know why this feels so much like infidelity; perhaps because the reality of it is less like betraying Aegon and more like betraying yourself. In the foggy bathroom mirror, you notice that Trent left a darkening violet bruise on the side of your neck. You don’t even remember him doing it. You were so far away from him: miles away, years away, in the ambiguous future, in the lurking past. You can’t stand the thought of sleeping next to Trent. You suggest he claims the living room couch instead, complete with fresh sheets and several spare pillows. He gamely agrees.

You are optimistic that Trent will be long gone by the time you wake up. But when you venture downstairs at just before noon on New Year’s Day, you find him in the kitchen making breakfast with your parents, flipping pancakes and turning bacon and whistling along to the Red Hot Chili Peppers song that spills from your dad’s record player: not Scar Tissue this time, but Otherside.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Monday, January 10th when the green Nova skates into the vet clinic parking lot and slides to a slippery rest across three different spaces. As the engine dies, the song that was blaring is cut short: I Will Buy You A New Life by Everclear. Aegon steps out under the fading midday sun, almost falls on the ice, traverses slowly and cautiously towards the entrance.

“Oh no, not him!” Jennifer laments. You rush back into the exam room and slam the door.

You haven’t seen Aegon since New Year’s Eve, but you knew he hadn’t left Juneau. You’ve spied the Nova parked outside his apartment building, and Heather has run into him around town: the Foodland, the Gas ‘N Go, Ursa Minor. And then there are the phone calls. He left fifteen messages before your dad picked up and politely asked him to stop calling. Then he started putting notes in the moose-shaped mailbox.

You can hear Jennifer telling Aegon to leave. She must not be very persuasive. He bursts through the exam room door and closes it behind him. He’s wearing all black—parka, turtleneck sweater, jeans, combat boots—and his white-blond hair slicked back from his face. It gives the impression that he has no distractions, no secrets. You are suddenly acutely aware of your own, your skin crawling everywhere Trent touched you. The bruise on your neck has vanished, but the memory of it is still trapped there, heavy and scorching like shame.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you say coldly.

“Then you should have picked up the phone.” Aegon throws it down on the metal exam table: not a thick, neatly-sealed envelope but a lump of mismatched crumpled cash—ones, fives, tens, twenties—knotted together with several rubber bands.

“What is that?”

“It’s your half of the money for the San Diego trip.”

“How—?”

“I picked up every shift I could and I sold the necklace.”

“You sold it? Permanently? It’s gone?”

“It’s gone,” he agrees. He looks good. He looks more than good: the shadows under his eyes are almost nonexistent, his skin is bright and healthy, he’s even standing taller. He moves so he’s not blocking the door, so you have an escape if you want it. You don’t leave. You wish you wanted to, but you don’t. You just don’t. “It doesn’t matter. It was the last thing I had from home, it was time for me to let go of it anyway. That was my insurance policy for anytime I needed quick cash…I’ve probably pawned it fifty times in the past six years. But this was important.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you say. “I told you I wanted you to leave Juneau and I meant it.”

He searches your face, his eyes blue and clear and wide. “You didn’t mean it.”

“I did,” you insist, lying.

“Look, I’m…” He presses a palm to his chest. He glances down at your right arm, then comes back to your face. “I am so, so sorry that you had to see me that way. I’m sorry for what happened. But it’s not going to happen again.”

“I don’t believe you. And I’m not interested in making plans and sacrificing so they can be a reality and then waiting around to see if you ever show up.”

“I’ll show up,” he swears. His gaze flicks down to your arm again.

“What are you looking at?”

He doesn’t reach for your forearm. Instead, he points to his own. “I remember grabbing your arm, but I don’t know how rough I was.”

“Oh. No, it’s fine. You didn’t hurt me. I don’t think it even left a mark.”

He exhales, relieved. “Good.”

There is a lull that is quiet and still but not awkward. You can hear the clock ticking on the wall, miserably prophetic. The way I feel about him hasn’t changed, you realize with disbelief. I still want him in a way that is helpless, all-consuming. I still love him.

“What happened was a mistake,” Aegon says, slowly and with great effort. “But it wasn’t random.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“This isn’t going to make any sense to you, it’s going to sound insane. But I don’t like New Year’s Eve.”

“Well I don’t like having a heroin addict boyfriend.”

“I’m not a heroin addict.” His voice is sharp and forceful, but not cruel. “It was a momentary relapse, I detoxed on my couch, I’m fine now.”

“Why don’t you like New Year’s Eve?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

You scoff bitterly. “More lies?”

“Not lies,” Aegon says. “Secrets. I haven’t lied to you.”

“Yes, you have. You said you’d be there.”

He shows you the palms of his hands, empty. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“I want this,” Aegon says determinedly. “I’m not ready to give up on this. I want you back.”

“Why can’t you leave me alone? Why can’t you just jet off to some new city and resume sleeping your way through the eligible bachelorettes of the world and then maybe I could try to move on, maybe I could—”

“Because you ruined me!” he shouts. “Because I used to be that guy who didn’t care, I used to be able to be content with meaningless replaceable flings and now I’m this idiot who doesn’t even see other women. I tried to replace you. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t even invite a girl to come home with me, it was all too goddamn sad. I’ve been with one other person since I met you, and that’s Kimmie, and it’s been over for weeks, and you knew about it the entire time, and that was nothing like it is with you. I don’t want anyone else. I’ve forgotten how to want anyone else. I don’t know how you managed that. I don’t understand what kind of black magic you have swimming around in your blood, but whatever it is worked on me. I’m hooked, baby. I’m fucking hooked. I’ll do whatever you want to make this work, just name it. Please just name it. I’m giving you the money back to show you that I’m sorry and that I know I messed up. But I still want to go to San Diego with you. Hell, I’d go anywhere with you. I’d go to Omaha fucking Nebraska if that was the place you’d dreamed of, the place you hung pictures of on your bedroom mirror. I want you back.”

You don’t have to say that you want him too. Aegon can read it on your face, can see the fight bleeding out of you like the sea at low tide. He’s going to find out about Trent, you think with ice-cold dread. Sooner or later, he’s going to find out and he’s going to lose his goddamn mind. Since he left your house on New Year’s Day, you’ve avoided Trent. What Heather said must have made quite the impression, because he hasn’t tried to pressure you into inviting him over again; he has given you a wide berth of space, passing waves and smiles but no demands. Still, he has this glow. He thinks that night was a stepping stone to something more. He thinks he’s got a real shot now, and he’s basking in the gilded potential of it. I made such a mistake. It feels like everything I do now is a mistake.

“And besides, even if I was willing to go, I can’t leave yet,” Aegon says. In explanation, he looks to the flier on the wall, the one with the shadowy red-eyed specter in a trench coat. Report suspicious activity immediately! Beware of strangers! Help keep Juneau safe! The sixth and seventh victims were pulled out of Crystal Lake three days ago: a couple this time, newly engaged, mid-thirties, snatched while they were hiking in the Tongass National Forest. No one died while Aegon was in the hospital, you think randomly, vaguely. Is that a coincidence? Or is that a clue?

“Aegon, how could you possibly protect me from the Ice Fisher when you’re passed out drunk at night? Or when you’re working on a boat out in the channel, or when you’re singing rock songs at Ursa Minor? You can’t follow me around all the time. And honestly, I think if the killer really wanted me, he could probably get rid of you too.”

“If I leave and I find out later that something happened to you…that maybe, somehow, things might not have gone that way if I’d stayed, that the dominoes could have fallen in a different pattern…I’ll feel responsible. And I’d never recover from that.”

His tattoo flashes in your mind like high-beams: I’m a killer. It’s a strange thing to get inked just above your heart, even if it is a Johnny Cash lyric. It’s a little too dark. It’s a little too real. “Okay,” you hear yourself tell Aegon. “You can stay, I guess.”

“Great. Also, I need my dog back.”

“He’s happy where he is.”

“I don’t doubt that. But he’s mine, and I need him.” And when you hesitate, he adds: “If you’re so worried about Sunfyre, I would encourage you to stop by any time you’d like to check on him. And me too, obviously.” He takes his keyring out of his pocket and slips off the spare key for his apartment. Then he holds it out to you, a sliver of gold in his palm. You consider the key for a long time before you take it.

“Fine. I’ll bring him over in a few days if you’re still sober. Well…your version of sober.”

“Deal,” Aegon says. “You haven’t been at Ursa Minor recently.”

“Yes. Because I didn’t want to see you.”

Aegon shrugs, his hands in the pockets of the black parka you gave him. “Maybe you’ve changed your mind about that. Maybe you’ll show up tonight. I hope you will.”

You can’t decide how to reply. Aegon leaves while you’re still mulling it over, a vast silence stretching out between you like the void between stars.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your parents don’t want you driving alone at night. They convince you to carpool with Heather, a prospect which elates her. “You’re finally leaving the house?!” she exclaims when you call, the vibrations of her voice shrill in the phone receiver. “You’re finally going to be kind of fun again?! Hold on, hold on. I’m just sending a quick mental thank you to sweet baby Jesus. And Buddha, and Allah, and Brahma, and Thor.”

“Odin’s the king of the Norse gods.”

“Bitch,” Heather says gleefully, and hangs up.

When her Chevy Suburban rolls into Ursa Minor’s parking lot—the night indigo and starless, the ochre streetlights dim—Heather kills the engine and opens the driver-side door. Frigid wind gusts into the cabin. She glances back, realizes you haven’t even unbuckled your seatbelt, and pulls her door shut again.

“What?” she asks.

You look at her, miserable and mortified. “I made a mistake.”

“Yeah, you wore that ugly fucking grandma sweater instead of something hot.”

“No, Heather,” you whisper, tears brimming in your eyes. “I really made a mistake.”

She is concerned, mystified. “What did you do?”

“I slept with Trent.”

“You what?” She blinks. “You what?!”

“I called him after the New Year’s Eve party.” You speak quickly, like tearing a bandage from a weeping, still-inflamed wound. “I was upset and I wasn’t thinking clearly and I asked him to come over. It was horrible. He doesn’t seem to know it was horrible, but it was for me. I mean, he wasn’t aggressive or anything, he didn’t do anything wrong, he just…he wasn’t who I really wanted.”

“He wasn’t Aegon,” Heather says quietly.

“Right.” You swipe away the tears that escape down your cheeks. “And now Aegon’s going to find out. I know he is. At first I wanted him to because I wanted to hurt him, I wanted to hurt him as badly as possible. But I don’t feel that way anymore. And I can’t take it back. Trent thinks I like him and Aegon is going to hate me and I’m…I’m just…” You break down sobbing, covering your face with your hands. “I’m just so fucking stupid. My entire life I had meticulous plans and I checked every box and now I’m this fragile, illogical, aimless, stupid loser who can’t manage to hold on to anything she wants. I can’t fix myself and I can’t fix anyone else either.”

“So you fucked up,” Heather says casually. She’s not really casual, but she’s doing a good job of making it seem like she is. “So you slept with the wrong person or said the wrong thing or made a wrong choice, or two wrong choices, or ten, or a hundred, or a thousand. Who hasn’t fucked up? I have, Joyce has, Kimmie definitely has. So what? It’s not like you killed somebody. You learned from it. You’ll be a better person in the future. Regret is a useless, poisonous emotion. It’s something evolution should have bred out of us eons ago. You don’t have to carry this weight around forever. You can let yourself bury it.”

Under the dim, yellowish streetlight luminescence like a sepia photograph, you give her a weak smile. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I love you.” And then you add, so she knows you’re okay: “Bitch.”

Heather laughs. “Let’s go get you drunk. Bitch.”

You hurry together to the front door, braced in hats and parkas against the wind. Inside, it is odd to see Ursa Minor stripped of all its Christmas decorations. The multicolored lights have been taken down, the ornaments removed from the taxidermy deer heads. From Dale’s stereo soars Shania Twain’s You’re Still The One. You hear Heather’s boots squeal on the hardwood floor as she stops dead, and then you see him too: jet black suit, spidery limbs, long silvery hair that is not unruly or tangled but pin-straight. He’s sitting at the bar with his back to you. The fingers of his right hand—elegant, willowy, uncalloused—are closed around a frosty Caipirinha.

“Oh my god,” Heather breathes. “There’s two of them. The Greek boys.”

If Aegon knows he’s been found, he’ll leave. And only now can you feel the true, unmitigated devastation of it. Had you really told him to leave Juneau just ten days ago? Had that really been you? No no no no no no. He can’t leave. He can’t leave.

“Don’t talk to him,” you order Heather in a whisper, then bolt to the usual booth. Kimmie, Brad, Joyce, and Rob are already there, eyes startled and darting from you to the stranger at the bar. “Kimmie, do you still remember Aegon’s phone number?”

“Huh? Yeah, um, I think so.”

“Here.” You root around in your purse for loose change and press several quarters into her palm. “Take this. Find a payphone outside. Call him and tell him not to come to Ursa Minor tonight.”

“Okay.” She doesn’t understand, but she’s obedient. Brad goes with her. When they open the front door, the stranger at the bar glances over to make sure no one new has arrived. That Aegon hasn’t. Because this is exactly where he’d be.

Another wave of horror crashes through you. He knows Aegon so well. We’re in such fucking trouble here.

As Dale finishes serving locals at the other end of the bar and returns to his section, the stranger begins asking him something. You have to shut it down; you have to stop Dale from telling the stranger that Aegon lives in an apartment building just down the street. You can see it from Ursa Minor’s parking lot. It’s a distance that could be closed in ten minutes.

You go to the bar and sit immediately beside the stranger. Dale—seemingly relieved—excuses himself, but not before raising his eyebrows at you. Crazy world, right ladybug? that look says. He sets an apple Bacardi Breezer on the counter and is gone. The stranger turns to you, and your jaw falls open before you can stop yourself; the gasp hisses free.

The stranger smiles, like he’s caught you in a lie. The right side of his face is pristine: angular, regal, beautiful in a way that is gem-rare. The left is bisected by a scar, gnarled and old. His left eye is gone. The scraps of his lids are ragged. In the useless, gutted socket is a gleaming sapphire stone, like what the ocean looks like in the pictures you’ve seen of California. “You must know my brother.”

I have to distract him. I have to get rid of him. “Oh yeah. Totally. He talked about you and Helaena all the time.”

The stranger’s lips curl into a sly smile. “Even he forgets about Daeron.”

Aegon, Helaena, Daeron…and at least one more sibling. This one. The determined one, the capable one. You don’t know what to say; you give him a vague smirk in return. The bells on the door jingle as Kimmie and Brad scurry back inside, cold wind chasing them and clawing at their hair. Kimmie shakes her head at you. No luck, she means. Aegon didn’t answer. Probably because he’s already on his way here. The stranger notices this exchange. He notices just about everything. And there’s no way for you to tell Kimmie or Heather what you need from them without him knowing. To stop Aegon from coming here. To stop him from being caught.

The stranger offers you his hand. “Aemond Targaryen,” he introduces himself. “Targaryen Enterprises.” His voice is unlike anything you’ve ever heard: low but soft, effortlessly dignified, beckoning you to lean in closer. Aside from the shade of his hair, he is very little like Aegon. He is tall and precise, every movement purposeful. Aegon slouches and flops and makes dramatic, unrestrained gestures; this man is a sculpture of marble and blue. This man is a work of art.

You shake his hand—cool and smooth—and tell him your name. “But Aegon always called me Appletini.”

“Appletini? Like the drink?”

“Exactly.”

“Yes, that sounds like him.” His eye sweeps over you. What he asks next doesn’t sound like a question at all. It sounds like a command. “Where is he.”

“Gone,” you say, perhaps too quickly. “He left last week. He’s in Chicago now. You’re a little too late.”

Again, Aemond smiles. He sips his Caipirinha. “Hm.”

The front door opens. You and Aemond both whirl towards the clanging metal bells. Aegon shuffles inside; he’s beaming, he’s humming brightly. He drags his boots on the doormat, kicking off most of the snow. And then he looks up. His face goes entirely blank; his eyes are mindless and panicked like a trapped animal’s, iron jaws snapping shut with such force they crack bone. A second passes, two, three. Then Aegon spins around and sprints out of the bar.

“Aegon!” you shout.

Aemond knocks his Caipirinha off the counter as he leaps to his feet and races after him; glass and lime slices spew across the floor. You follow Aemond as closely as you can, running out into the frigid darkness, your boots slipping on ice and crunching through mounds of snow. Aegon makes it a hundred yards up the street before his brother catches him. Aemond grabs the hood of Aegon’s parka, yanks him backwards, slams him face-first into a green Dodge Ram that is parked on the shoulder. Blood gushes from Aegon’s nose and splatters against the truck’s icy window. His lower lip is split; his eyes will blacken. He struggles futilely.

“Let me go—!”

“Six years!” Aemond seethes, pinning Aegon to the truck by his throat. “Six Christmases, six birthdays, six Januarys since you left and not a single phone call, no letters, no postcards, no emails, nothing, and who had to be there to comfort our mother? Who had to be there trying to convince her that you weren’t an unclaimed body on a slab in a morgue somewhere?!”

“You’re all better off without me,” Aegon moans, his skin stained red. Aemond smashes his face against the truck again.

“Stop it!” you shriek.

“You don’t get to leave,” Aemond growls at his brother. “You don’t get to abandon your responsibilities.”

“I won’t go back,” Aegon wheezes. “You can break every bone I’ve got, but I won’t go back. If you kill me, you can take me home in a box, I guess. But that’s the only way I’m going.”

Aemond shoves him away, disgusted. His brother sinks down into the snow, groaning, feeling his face with trembling hands to assess the damage. “I saved you,” Aemond says with cold, black fury. “I saved your life and you’re just throwing it away.”

“She doesn’t know,” Aegon rasps, his voice choked with blood. “Let me tell her. It should be me. Please don’t say anything. Please let me be the one to tell her.”

Now Aemond turns to you, as if suddenly remembering you’re there. His remaining eye narrows. He is deeply, genuinely perplexed; you’re a brand new species, you’re a comet that hasn’t clipped by Earth in a millennium. He says to Aegon, still looking at you: “Your type must have changed.”

“No, my type is still groupies and strippers,” Aegon replies, and spits a mouthful of blood into the snow. “I just fell in love with this girl.”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon x y/n #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen ii x reader

305 notes · View notes

sanjisblackasswife · 2 years

Text

“Birthday Sex” Zoro x Chubby!Black Fem Reader (NSFW)

Happy Birthday, Booty Hunter Zoro <3

Bad Summary: Zoro doesn’t celebrate his birthday and today you wanted to give him one of many gifts by massaging his entire body

CW: Sensual Massaging, Vaginal Sex, Slight Sub Zoro, but Becomes Dom Again, Oral Sex, Mentions of Pregnancy. Overstimulation, Fluff,

“I want to sleep, that’s all I wanted for my birthday, woman.”

“I do not accept that.”

“What do you mean you don’t accept it?!”

You and Zoro were in your room resting after the first out of three day celebration for Zoro’s birthday. When you told him the surprising news he was a bit grumpy all day but you knew Sake would cheer him up so you had a little gift for him.

“It’s your birthday.”

“I don’t give a fuck I don’t want to celebrate it.”

“Fine…I guess you don’t want my gift.”

You pretended to pout, getting up from your bed and reaching under it, Zoro’s eyes were rested until he heard the clashing of bottles being swung around.

“What is that…” Zoro sat up alerted and curious making you smirk.

“Oh nothing. Just some special Sake I got from an island a long time ago..I was saving it for your birthday but since you don’t celebrate—“

“Give me the bottles.”

“No you ass you said you don’t wanna celebrate imma toss them or give ‘em to Sanji—“

“NO!” He damn near shrieked which caused you to laugh a little, but he cleared his throat and tried to lay back down putting his arms behind his head, “It’s fine we can keep celebrating…just give me my gift.”

“Aww Zoro…” You walked back over to the bed, he had a small smirk seeing the 12 different bottles of drinks he couldn’t wait to try but you swung it away from him. “I wanna give you another gift first.”

“What?”

“I wanna give you a massage.”

Zoro furrowed his brows at you, he loves you. He really does.

But sometimes you’re very sneaky and he just cannot trust you especially with that little glint in your eye.

“…why.”

“Ugh you ask too many questions—here. Now take off your clothes I’ll be back.” You handed him one of the bottles from the 12 and put the rest on your desk by the door before heading out for a moment, “DO NOT DRINK ANYMORE!”

Zoro pouted sitting back with his bottle, he opened it and took a large swig and the taste was amazing, he knew he had to pace himself because he couldn’t get another but the flavor was nothing like any other sake he has drunk.

You on the other hand went into the bathroom to grab some items for his “massage”. You began to mentally giggle because you’ve been planning to give him one for a long time, but there was never enough time on the boy to do so, but now that the boat is docked, everybody is long gone to sleep it was as better as time as any.

When you came back Zoro was half clothed still sucking on the bottle like he was a baby and you sighed. You helped him out of the rest of his clothes and placed a towel on your bed and a smaller towel over his fat butt as he laid on his stomach.

“So You’re still ganna Drink as i give you a massage…”

“What do you want from me woman I’m doing exactly what you said I didn’t drink anymore sake and I’m naked.”

“Fine, Birthday Boy…”

You gazed at Zoro’s muscular back for a moment and bit your lip. You tend to forget how built your boyfriend is and it made your face blush. You shook your head from any nasty thoughts, but almost as if Zoro could read them he stopped drinking and looked back at you.

“Stop being a pervert and get to massaging, woman.”

“Shut up nobody lookin at yo ass.”

“So you were looking at my butt—“

“THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT—“

You got closer beside him and worked your now oiled hands on his neck and shoulders, Zoro flinched for a moment feeling a bit exposed right now, but the pressure you spoiled on his sore body worked it’s magic because it only took a few minutes until he was putty in your hands.

“You like it?” You coo’ed at him seeing how relaxed he was still holding on to that bottle for dear life as you work your way down his back.

“Keep going.”

You must have hit a small knot in his lower back because a small groaned erupted from the back of Zoro’s throat, you smiled with some pride knowing your big boy was feeling good.

“Okay, turn on your back for me please.”

“No.”

“What?”

Zoro sat up a little on his elbows, his face was irritated again and he his cheeks were blushed.

“I can’t turn around….”

“Why I just wanna massage y—“

“I’m hard.”

Your head jumped back by default, and you held in your lips looking down.

“You …well I don’t mean to sound cocky or nothing but my hands are pretty—“

“Shut up.” He slammed his face back in the pillow. “Why we’re you even massaging my legs like that?! Was this your plan all along?!”

“Firts of all, jackass I was touching your legs for a second! And secondly…lemme see.”

“No.”

“Common please!….i can help you out with that.”

“See I fucking knew it was your plan all along your pervert !”

“Okay listen here—you can call me a pervert all you want or do you want me to help get rid of that hard on you got.” You squatted to be eye to eye and in all honesty Zoro wasn’t innocent in any of this. He was already turned on from your subtle touches, and now that you’re in his face with a mischievous smirk behind your words.

He sucked his teeth and rolled on his back, he seen your eyes not look away from his lower body and he throws off the small towel barely covering anything anyways. His cock was free and leaking a little of pre cum, you’ve seen it many times but the size of it always shocked you.

“How the hell do you fight with that thing.”

“Shut up.” He fought back laughing at your reaction, you blinked up at him finally closing your mouth and you took off your dress, “Fuck, I knew you didn’t wear a bra today.”

He reached towards your breast and squeezed it, rolling his thumb and index on your areola, you held in a whimper since he caught you off guard, Zoro noticed so he bit his lip and pulled you close—

“Wh-what—ah Zoro!” You whined feeling his lips latch around your nipple, you had an initial plan to give him a happy ending, but it turned out to be a bit of a challenge when he began to suck on your tit. His eyes were closed flicking his tongue around knowing you’re so sensitive “Mmm—Zoro…”

“Feels good huh—“

“Shut up!” You slapped his firm grip off of you, “I’m supposed to make you feel good!”

“Then do it.”

You reach over him to grab more oil and feel a slap to your butt, scoffing and ignoring his lewd comments about how fat your ass is you rub the oil back on your hands and grab his shaft. It twitched in your hand as you stroked it at a slow pace.

“Don’t fucking tease me, now. Either stroke it right or shove it in your mouth—-AH FUCK!”

“Whatever you say, Zo..” Your mouth now muffled sliding his tip and some inches of shaft in your mouth, you ignored the terrible taste of the oil that managed to touch your tongue and kept mixing it with your saliva and spit while switching from sucking to stroking.

Zoro began to grit his teeth slightly squirming under you and it gave you satisfaction in your mind. He looked so good huffing and puffing trying not to cum too soon, but he could never hold it in for too long, you just were too damn good to him.

“Fuck!” Zoro exhaled staring down at you clean him up with your tongue, “Dirty slut.”

“And what about it?” You cocked your head to the side and pulled down your panties, Zoro licked his lips seeing your already wet from just sucking his dick before you got on top to straddle him. “Think you can handle me on top tonight, big boy?”

“Don’t get so fucking cocky I still can fuck y—AH!”

You clenched down on him as you let him inside you, you hummed through your teeth bitting down on your lower lip at the delicious stretch he gave you. You felt him get hard again, his bottom vein pulsating making you rock back and fourth laying your hands on his wet chest.

“You feel so good, Zo…” Your Voice had a tinge of teasing behind it, he knew you couldn’t be running the show for long so he grabbed you close to kiss you. He tasted himself in your mouth making him do a low growl and thrust up into you.

He was cursing under his breath picking up the pace, his balls now slapping under your ass made your toes began to curl crying out his name in his mouth. Zoro took the opportunity to grab your ass with both hands and squeeze it not losing his rhythm in the way he was dragging his cock in and out of you. You squeezed down on his tip every time he lowered his hips making him slam back inside you greedily.

The mixture of oil, spit, and cum all inside you making your extra wetter than Zoro could handle he felt his stomach knot, he latched his lips on one of your breast and brought one hand down to rub messy curled on your clit.

You began to feel the knot too nearly hollering out. Zoro always loved how louder and high pitched your voice got when you were close to cuming so he kept the same pace.

You were so close to curled into his neck biting his shoulder as you felt yourself cuming.

“I’m—! Im—!”

“Let go for me don’t hold it in, baby—“

His lips dragging against your mouth hearing every praise and groan made you clench down on him as you came. He wasn’t far behind you not stopping, making your eyes swell in tears from the overstimulation riding you right into another orgasm.

“Zo! Too—too much!” You cried for him to stop but your body kept him locked in, arms around his neck and legs trying to wrap around his waist , Zoro sat up and laid you on your back holding your lower body close against his hips with a firm grip on your ass.

“A little more!” He moaned in your ear, breath shaky and sweat not stopping, it was a burning hot sensation of the painful feel of being fucking through another blissful orgasm you screamed his name in pleasure letting him fill you up with his cum as if it’s his intent to get your pregnant.

As you both caught your breaths Zoro laid on top of you for a while, you rubbed his scalp, as a small apology for gripping it so hard moments prior and he gave you light peppers on your sweaty neck.

It was peaceful silence, he got up from you and threw a sheet on your lower body kissing your forehead,

“What are you Doing im not done cuddling, sir!” You followed his figure with your eyes and seen him grab another Sake bottle and swig half of it down and sigh with that same stupid smile he always does when he drinks.

“Scoot.” He motioned you to move and sat back on the bed as he drank, opening his arms so you can lay on top of him he hums and trace the stretch marks on your body with content.

“So I assume you liked your gift?”

“Oh yeah your pussy felt amazing—“

“I MEAN THE SAKE YOU DICKHEAD!”

“Oh yeah this shit is great, thank you, Y/N.”

“Anything for you—let me get a swig.”

He playfully grumbled and held it for you to drink, you grimaced a bit at that particular flavor.

“Ugh i don’t Like that one.”

“Good More for me.” He kissed your forehead before taking another sip.

Zoro wouldn’t admit it but he really appreciated the work you did on making sure his birthday was a great one.

#one piece #one piece headcanons #black reader #one piece smut #one piece x female reader #ronoroa zoro #zoro x y/n #zoro hcs #zoro headcanons #op zoro #zoro x reader #zoro scenario #zoro smut #zoro imagine

807 notes · View notes

that-gay-guy-from-hell · 2 years

Text

The Scent of You: Nero x Male Reader

MINORS DNI: THIS IS FOR 18+ ONLY (ngl I don't know if this stuff is allowed here, but I think it is lmao)

SUMMARY: Nero has been on a job for almost a month. When he returns to your shared home, he decides to relax and take a hot shower. While doing so, he gets really horny and tries to control himself. However, your scent is driving him up the wall with need. 🌟🌟🌟 🌟🌟🌟 🌟🌟🌟 Wrote this to try and get a better feel for what I want Nero to be like; kinda what I did with Vergil ngl. ... I didn’t realize it till typing this, I am legit doing the same thing I did for Vergil for Nero because I had the same issue--wtf lmaooo 🌟🌟🌟 I also was having a hard time describing certain locations on the body; so there are some “real” names for muscles and whatnot; sorry if that throws you off a bit lmao. 🌟🌟🌟 Semi-mindless smut. Minor fluff. Very minor description of masturbation (Nero). Pre-established relationship; implied marriage. First time Devil Trigger sex; mentions of blood (which Nero gets aroused by) and knotting Male Bottom Sub. Reader x Top Dom. Nero (side note: Nero does use his teeth on your dick; I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but I wanted to write it in idk). 🌟🌟🌟

The van ride from the DMC to Nero’s was abnormally quiet. The only noise was the van's engine and the faint humming that Nico made to the tunes on the stereo. That being said, a nuke could've gone off and Nero, who was sitting in his usual spot on the passenger seat, wouldn't have noticed. The teal demon had zoned out a long time ago. He was looking out the window, watching the buildings pass as they got further toward the outside edge of Red Grave.

It had been one hell of a month for the youngest descendant of Sparda. Between having to work alongside the rest of the Sparda line and the contract being a bigger pain than they were informed; he was beyond exhausted. All Nero wanted to do was take a hot shower, eat something, and cuddle into you.

He groaned in irritation; God did he miss you. All that he could think about the past week or so was how much he yearned to hold you in a tight loving hug. Feeling your heartbeat against his chest, running his fingers through your hair, kissing your sweet face and lips--there are no words to even describe how much the young devil hunter craved you.

“Welp, here we are,” Nico spoke and gestured to the house in front of the van; breaking Nero from his thoughts, “Don’t forget any of your shit now, alright?”

Nero scoffed and rolled his eyes, “You’re never going to let that go are you?”

“Not a chance,”

He got up from the passenger seat, “Figures--” with a smooth motion he grabbed Red Queen and his duffle bag of gear from the couch, “Thanks for the ride, asshole.”

“Anytime, dickhead!” Nico waved a short goodbye as Nero departed from the van onto the asphalt.

He watched the van drive off for a moment; attempting to gather himself. Nero hadn’t told you he was coming home and wanted to surprise you-- hopefully, you won’t stab him thinking he is an intruder (again). With a springing giddiness to his walk, he went up to the front door. It took him a moment of rummaging in his pockets for him to find his keys.

Upon finding them, he unlocked the doorknob and deadbolt as quietly as he could. Once inside, he slowly shut the door behind him. Nero focused for a moment, trying to place where you were in the house; he found out you were in the kitchen through your heartbeat. Discarding his bag on the floor and leaning Red Queen up against the wall, he crept toward your location. You were turned away from him doing something on the counter, not paying any attention to the stalking paces of the sly hunter.

“Miss me, baby?” a set of muscular arms wrapped around your torso making you jolt forward and knock your head backward into Nero’s jaw.

“Jesus-!” you shouted as your heart raced.

Nero chuckled as he kissed the top of your head, “Not quite, but, at least you didn’t stab me this time.”

“No,” you looked down at the cutting board on the counter in front of you, “I just stabbed myself instead.”

“What.”

Nero removed his arms from your waist. You casually walked over to the sink to rinse your newly formed cut on your hand’s purlicue. Blood didn’t bother you much since Nero’s constantly covered in it, however, the placement of this particular cut is going to be a bitch to heal.

Nero re-wrapped himself around your waist and pouted, “Sorry.”

With a grin and shake of your head, you turned off the water. Feeling how warm he was, you couldn’t help but lean back into your teal devil, “It’s fine, Nero… I’m glad you’re home.”

Nero grabbed the cut hand and gently placed a kiss on the small wound, “There, good as new.”

A loud snort of a snicker came from your nose, “Oh my god, Nero,” you wiggled in his arms to turn and face him, “you are a dork.”

He winked and smiled, “and I’m yours forever.”

With an exaggerated roll of your eyes, you gently kissed his cheek, “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

“Nope, sorry. That title’s mine,” he placed tender kisses on your neck.

The feeling of his warm lips against you sent a shiver up your spine. You placed one of your hands in his hair and ruffled it a bit. Nero’s kisses stopped and turned into nuzzling as you continued your motion; the teal demon practically melted into you.

Your face turned to a scrunch and you removed your hand. His hair was full of dried blood.

“Nero--” you looked down at him, who was now staring at you with the most puppy-dog-eyed stare you’ve ever seen, “Don’t give me that look…”

He stuck out his lip in a pout and made a fake sniffling sound, “Why’d you stop?”

“You’re full of blood and stuff,” you gently took your hand and placed it on his cheek, thumbing over his soft skin, “You need a bath.”

With a sigh, he stopped pouting, “Care to join me~?”

“I would but,” you looked over to the stove, “the soup won’t cook itself.”

Nero stood back upright with the energy of a small child, “You’re makin’ soup?!”

“Yeah…” you laughed at his excitement, “You told me last week that you were coming home so I bought the stuff for it… It was gonna go bad if I waited any longer so,” you shrugged, “I made soup.”

“God, I love you,” He kissed your forehead, “You need any help?”

With a shake of your head, you responded, “Nope; just for you to wash up before dinner--please?”

“Sure thing babe,” with a large over-the-top kiss (and a 'mwah' sound to go with it), he trotted off.

Shaking your head with a smile, you continued your cooking.

The young hunter went and retrieved his bag and Red Queen from the entryway. Then waltz over to the bedroom. He tossed the bag off to the side and set his sword against one of the walls; leaving them to deal with later. Mindlessly, Nero grabbed some clothes and a towel.

He sauntered into the bathroom and stripped himself bare--removing his Overture devil breaker as well. With the flip of a switch, he turned on the bathroom fan and moved to turn on the shower. Since his body was aching, Nero decided to turn the knob as hot as he could; creating an almost sauna-like feel to the bathroom.

A sigh of relief left his lips as he stepped into and under the scorching water. Nero began to purr in comfort as he felt the stress and strain of the past month leave his body. He reached for some body wash--not paying much attention to his actions. It wasn’t until he began to lather his body that he realized that it wasn’t his body wash; it was yours.

“Shit,” Nero mumbled to himself.

It’s not that the young hunter disliked the smell of your wash; he loves it and that’s the problem. A strained growl emanated from his throat. The smell of you drives Nero insane normally; however, due to the past month of being around his family constantly, Nero was beyond pent-up. Typically he wouldn’t have had any problems asking for some physical affection, but he didn’t want to seem rude for being home less than an hour and already asking for sex. So, the young man decided to take care of it himself.

Nero bit down on his lip as he slowly began to stroke himself. He leaned forward, placing a flat hand against a tile wall of the shower. Admittedly, his demon was screaming to go get you and claim you; which only made him bite down harder on his lip. Blood trickled down his chin as he began to move his hand faster; fantasizing about what he would do if you were there with him. How good it would feel to ram you against the wall. The sound of your strained moans while he choked you. His hand would be around your cock as you trembled beneath him; only allowing you to cum when he said so. Nero’s pace became ragged. His fingers pressed against the wall hard enough they were turning white. He imagined telling you how much of a good boy you were being. The sound of your voice as you begged to be allowed to cum. That thought broke him. A loud guttural groan slipped past Nero’s (still-bleeding) lips as he came.

Slowly coming back down from his high, Nero finished showering; this time paying close attention to what wash he was using. Trying to ignore the still very lustful thoughts that lingered at the edges of his mind.

===

It had nearly been forty-five minutes since Nero went to shower; a part of you was beginning to worry that he fell asleep while bathing. Since all the soup had left to do was simmer, you decided to leave the kitchen to find out if he was okay.

First, you checked the bathroom. It was muggy and the showerhead still had water dripping from it. Nero’s devil breaker was still resting on the countertop, which made you raise a brow in confusion; however, he wasn’t in there. So you moved on to the bedroom.

What you came upon was quite a sight.

On the bed, Nero was facing upwards. His legs were lazily hung over the edge of the bed that was facing you. Around his hips was a towel that had been thrown on as an afterthought; seeing as it was barely covering anything besides his dick. You bit your lip slightly at the sight. Despite seeing your lover naked a thousand times, it still managed to give you butterflies.

Nero hadn’t moved to acknowledge that you were in the doorway, so you decided to get a closer look. In the past, he had taken some unintentional cat naps after a hot shower; so you figured that’s what happened.

You peered over his body. His eyes snapped to you; both his eyes were glowing his goldenrod coloration from his triggered form. In an instant, Nero had pulled you onto the bed and had you pinned beneath him. The towel had been discarded and it took everything in your body to not look downwards; not wanting to break eye contact. One of his hands held both of your wrists above your head while the other gently ran up your middle. A faint growling caught your attention as you tilted your head slightly.

He leaned into your neck and lightly kissed along your jugular. A shiver ran through your body, Nero’s breath was hot and the growling had only grown louder. Although this would have typically been super hot, the fact that he hadn’t said anything was a bit odd.

“Nero--?” your voice was laced with an aroused, yet, confused tone.

His kisses stopped and he stilled for a moment. He moved up to your face and placed his cheek against yours; which you noted was scorching. Along with that, he also pressed the rest of his body into you. You felt his stiff cock grind against the ever-growing tent in your pants.

“I’m sorry but,” Nero’s voice was needy as he gently bit your earlobe, “I need you, please .”

Another shiver ran through your body, “I- I have to turn off the stove f-first.”

Nero sat back upward narrowing his eyes and placed a hand on your chest, “Stay,” with that, Nero got up and left the room (presumably to turn off the stove for you.).

This gave you a brief moment to think, “ Nero doesn’t usually growl like that… I wonder if-- ” your thoughts were cut short.

A set of bioluminescent blue wings moved you to the center of the mattress. Not wasting any time, Nero was back on top and straddling you. His lips were immediately intertwined with yours. A hot tongue was forced within the confines of your mouth, desperately exploring every corner. He used his wings to pin your wrists out to your sides as he used his hands to strip you of your clothing; not caring that he was ripping them from your body.

Once you were barren of your clothing, Nero broke off the kiss and leaned back upwards--and let go of your wrists. You were panting heavily and awaited his next move.

His eyes fluttered all over your body as barely-there fingertips ghosted down your body, only to stop before reaching your aching flesh, “God,” he leaned back down and whispered against your shoulder, “you’re gorgeous.”

Nero bit down on your shoulder and gripped your middle. Your body arched upwards as you grabbed a hand full of his slate-grey hair, pulling slightly. His growling intensified as did his bite.

“Fuck-” you pulled Nero off of you a bit, “Nero that hurt.”. He looked up at you with an intense stare you hadn’t seen before. Seeing the slightly red tint to his lips made you realize that he had actually bitten you, “Nero?”

His lips parted slightly as he continued to stare into your eyes and, after a moment, he spoke, “Sorry.”

His grip loosened on your body slightly and he placed a gentle peck on your new bite mark. Admittedly this had happened before but it had only happened when he was cumming.

Squashing down your questions and concerns (blaming it on your long separation), you whispered, "It's okay," following that with a gentle kiss on his neck. Knowing that Nero tends to dwell on accidentally hurting you when sleeping together, you decided to move things forward by leaning upwards.

However, he used his wings to pin your wrists down once again as his hands pushed you back down into the plush bedding, "What do you think you're doing?" his voice was low and husky; just oozing with dominance.

A slight confusion settled in your mind, seeing as Nero had never stopped you from moving to give him head. You decided that he was just adding to the foreplay, "I wanted to have a taste of you~"

He ran his tongue along your neckline, "I didn't tell you that I wanted you to move, in fact," Nero sat upward, "I want you right where you are…" he firmly grabbed your external obliques, leaving his hands temptingly close to your hips.

You swallowed hard. Seeing Nero taking such an intense approach to things after not being together for so long made your body ache and your cock twitch--which he noticed.

With a devilish smirk, Nero slowly began to kiss down your middle. Stopping every few to give you a hickey or bite mark; taking extra care to make sure he wasn’t being too rough. You squirmed under his firm grasp of wings and hands. It was uncommon for Nero to go down on you; typically, Nero enjoyed frotting against you instead. Seems he really wants to step out of the norm today.

A bite against your inner thigh pulled you from your thoughts. A loud sharp moan escaped your lips as you, unintentionally, bucked your hips upward. Nero growled at your movement and placed his hands harshly down on your hips, keeping them pinned down.

"Nero," you whimpered, desperately wanting to touch him and yourself.

His golden eyes met with yours, "Be a good boy or I stop--got it?" Wanting him to continue, you nodded frantically, making him smirk, "Good."

Tepid kisses ran up your inner thighs. Before he reached your balls, he would stop and place a hickey on the sensitive flesh; creating matching marks on each side. Nero looked up at you; his stare was different. A strange semi-nervous feeling began to pool in your stomach at the predatory gaze of your lover.

The young man placed kisses along your balls and up to the tip of your dick, giving your slit a small kitten lick. Nero’s lips were broiling hot against your skin, which only added to the effects of the uncommon action. You bit your lip and let out a strangled groan; resisting the urge to buck your hips again. Nero seemed to notice your restraint and rewarded you with a long drawn-out kiss to the underside of your cock head.

He smirked as he watched your internal struggle to stay composed. His tongue ran along the slit of your tip; cleaning the small amount of pre-cum there was.

“You taste good,” he whispered as he ran his tongue up the side of your shaft. You whimpered as he continued his teasing; never quite putting his lips around you.

“Nero,” your voice was whiney and laced with need. He looked up at you and gave you a small ‘hm?’ as he continued his ministrations along your cock, “please--” you gasped as you felt his teeth carefully and gently nibble along the side of your dick, “f-fuck--”

He stopped for a moment; debating what he wanted to do. A part of him wanted to keep teasing your sensitive flesh and the other wanted to hear you cry out for him. Seeing the desperation in your eyes as you stared down at him made him shudder.

Slowly, Nero placed his lips around the tip of your dick and inched his way down to the base of your dick; gagging slightly as it hit the back of his throat.

You threw your head back, “Fuck- Nero--”

His growling intensified upon hearing your voice. Nero pulled his head back up and removed his lips, “I want you to look at me,” his eyes met with yours as he bobbed slowly up and down your dick.

All the while, the grip his wings had on your wrists let go and he allowed you to grab his hair. Using his blue-feathery extensions, he reached over to the side table and grabbed a bottle of lube from the drawer--dropping it near your hips for later. He then took his wings and used them to push your hips into the bed, replacing his hands. As he continued to slow down and speed up on your cock, he took his hands and gently groped at the under and inner sides of your thighs.

Nero’s eyes stayed locked with yours as he pulled his lips off of your dick and bite down over one of the already-there hickeys on your thighs. Then gave the tip of your dick a few more licks and then circled the tip, all the while you were praising and moaning your lover’s name.

“Nero, please-- fuck, I-- ugh,” your hands pulled harder on his hair as he took your dick and placed it against his cheek, his breath grazing your aching flesh.

A shiver ran up your spine as you stared into his eyes; the primal feeling held in his stare only increased with each of your words and sounds. Once again his mouth took your dick in; this time, however, he kept a faster pace. One of his hands moved to the base of your shaft, adding small strokes alongside the movements of his mouth.

You felt your peak coming on, which Nero seemed to notice too. He moved his hand from your dick to your balls, massaging them slightly. The tip of your dick hit the back of his throat again; as he made sure to take in as much of you as he could. With a loud groan of Nero’s name, you came into his mouth. He made sure to savor every drop, still staring you in the eyes.

You expected Nero to pause a minute before continuing, as you normally would; however, before you had even come back down from your euphoria, he was back up on top of you--kissing you wildly. There was a fire in his lip's motions as he felt you grope at every inch of his body; enjoying being able to finally touch your teal demon. A small moan left Nero’s lips as you kneaded into his chest.

After a minute or two, Nero stopped kissing you and moved out of his straddling position, “Turn over.” the growling had now become interlaced with his voice; reminding you of his devil trigger.

“You’re quite dominating today…” you flipped over, “it’s pretty hot.”

You could practically feel him smirk at your comment, but he said nothing; only pushing a lubed-up finger inside of your ass.

He leaned down and began to kiss along your shoulder as he mumbled, “You’re tight; although you seem to have prepped for me-?”

A small smile tugged at your lips, “I cleaned up before coming to find you; figured you were going to-- ah~”

Nero bit down on your shoulder and began to leave yet another loving mark, “What a good boy.”

You moved your head to allow him to bite your neck; which he moved to do right away. He pushed another finger into your hole. Nero was dying to fuck you and was steadily growing impatient with things.

However, he knew that he had to take it slower than normal; since you were much tighter with him being gone so long. So he had to control himself, which did by continuing to bite along your shoulders, neck, and back.

After another few minutes, he slid a third digit inside you. At this point, you were as desperate as he was, “Nero I can take it,”

The twisting of his fingers stopped as did his kisses, but he didn’t move, “Beg.”

Your heart skipped a beat, “What?”

His voice was husky against your ear, the growling only getting worse with each passing moment, “Beg for me.”

Nero had never asked for you to beg before and you took a long shaky breath before mumbling, “Please, Nero.”

“I didn’t quite catch that,” one of his wings yanked your head back allowing him even more access to your neck, “louder. ” he harshly bit down on your neck; much harder than before.

“Fuck!” you jerked your body from the unexpected sharp stinging of his teeth, “Please, Nero-- I need you inside me!”

He licked the fresh wound he created in your neck, “Good boy.”

You let out a whimper as you felt Nero remove his fingers. However before you got too lonely, you felt his hands on your hips. Nero took a deep breath as he lined himself with your needy hole; teasing you slightly.

“Please Nero, please, ” you slightly rolled your hips against him, encouraging him to continue.

His lip twitched upwards as he let out a dark snarl. Suddenly, he slammed himself inside of your body; not allowing you to take him slowly.

“Fuck!” your body jolted forward from the force of his thrust as your hands violently grasped at the bedding beneath you. Tears had sprung up to the edges of your eyes as you tried to steady yourself by breathing slowly.

Seeing movement out of the corner of your eyes, you looked over to one side. Nero had braced himself with his palms on the mattress. Which was fine; however, your breath hitched upon seeing the ever-growing blue and iron-grey scales crawling up his arms.

“Nero-” you squirmed a bit, “I want to see you--please?” your voice was soft in hopes he would listen to you.

Which he did. He pulled himself out of you and flipped you over. This allowed you to get a better idea of what was going on.

Nero’s breathing had become quite labored. His brow was furrowed slightly and his eyes were still golden; however, his pupils had dilated heavily--something that you had never seen before--and was avoiding looking you in the eyes. Long hair covered his face and was sprawling down his back. And although his forearms were covered in scales, the rest of him was still quite human. A twitch of his lip revealed a much sharper set of teeth than normal. You could see the internal conflict he was having over this.

“Hey,” you placed a hand on his cheek, which he leaned into, “It’s okay. I can take it.”

His eyes met with yours, his voice barely audible, “What if I hurt you…”

With a warm soft smile, you gently caressed him with your thumb, “You won’t, Nero. I promise. You can let go.”

In reality, you had no idea if you were going to be fine. Nero had already bitten you hard enough to make you bleed, twice, and he tended to kiss along very vulnerable parts of your body. Over all the years you have been with the teal devil, he had never triggered during sex nor had either of you broached the subject before.

Nero allowed himself to let go as you continued to hold the side of his face; watching the metamorphosis before you. A new poking caught your attention as you looked down towards your hips. His cock grew several inches and became thicker; which, in hindsight, you should’ve thought about before agreeing.

Without wasting another moment, Nero animalistically shoved himself back inside you.

With a sharp gasp, you sputtered in response, “f-fuck, f-fuck, s-shit,” your head hit the bed as you continued your strand of ‘fucks’ and ‘shits’.

He placed his hands around your hips and pulled his cock out; barely leaving the tip inside. Only to slam into you twice as hard; not allowing you to slowly adjust to the large cock inside you.

The teal demon’s pace was brutal. You were going to stroke yourself; however, the bucking of his hips against your prostate negated the need for that. He used his wings to brace behind your shoulders and pulled you up to him. His kisses were scorching and filled with an unyielding lust. You had tried to break from his kiss, only to be brought right back with a growl to accompany it.

When Nero finally did decide to let you out of the kiss, he noticed that he had nicked your chin with one of his spikes. With a swift motion, your lover lapped up the blood that had trickled from the wound; which aroused you, much to your confusion and concern.

However, your thoughts were silenced as he pushed you into the bed with a choke. His hand gripped around your neck; making sure to keep it at a comfortable squeeze--the last thing he wants is for you to pass out.

You moaned loudly, arching your back as his wings gripped your legs and pulled them upwards; holding them above the ridges of his shoulders. The other hand slowly raked up your torso, leaving light claw marks up your middle. He brought his claws up to his lips and licked your blood clean off of them. If you had been able to think, you would’ve been afraid of how much Nero seemed to enjoy tasting your blood.

His once hard languid motions became hard uneven motions. You knew that meant he was getting close, you were too. He moved your legs back down, so he could get closer to you. The devil’s hot breath washed over your neck as you gripped the base of his horns, massaging them slightly. This rewarded you with even harder slams of his strong hips.

“God,” your voice was hoarse and cracked slightly, “I love you.”

Nero nuzzled your neck in response.

You whimpered as his thrusts became short and even harsher, “Please, I need you-- Ah~!”

His sharp teeth bit down into your platysma muscle; making yet another deep puncture through your soft flesh. Nero’s hips aggressively ground into yours and forced something larger inside of you; making you jerk your hips and hiss in pain.

A few minutes passed as he kept his teeth locked into your body and his cock buried deep into you. Despite that, however, you could feel that cum had already begun to leak from your body. Your insides were twitching as you felt him pull his hips back a little but he was unable to remove himself. Whatever had been pushed into you was keeping the both of you intimately interlocked.

You had a tired smile on your face as you gently pet his hair and his horns. Nero had begun to purr from your soft touches. You’d hoped that maybe he would relax enough to pull himself from your body; even if you weren’t 100% sure of what was going on.

After another few minutes, Nero pulled back on his hips again. This time he was able to remove himself with an audible ‘pop’. Your hips quaked as you groaned from the feeling of his hot seed dripping down your overly-sensitive body. He released his bite on your body, making you shut your eyes and cuss in pain.

Nero had gotten up from the bed before you reopened your eyes. Attempting to get a better idea of what was going on, you tried to sit upward. However, the feeling of sharp intense pain shot up your body. So you gave up on the idea of trying to move.

“ Maybe he went to get a towel? ” you thought to yourself, feeling a bit lonely without him.

You were nearly asleep by the time Nero came back into the room.

“Hey, baby,” Nero’s voice was soft. He walked over to the bed with a towel in hand, “I drew up a bath, stay still a minute.” his voice was quiet enough that his words came off as more of a question than a statement. Your young lover used the towel to wipe your body and ass off a bit as he sat at the corner of the bed; secretly enjoying the view of your undone body.

“Nero-” you propped yourself up on your elbows with a grunt. He looked up at you, his eyes were now back to his normal sea-blue eyes, “Why were we… uh… stuck together?”

His eyes widened as a faint blush tugged at his face, “I um…” he swallowed audibly and laughed to himself, “I knotted you.”

It was your turn to go wide-eyed and blush, “What?”

“It’s used to--”

“I know what it does,” you laughed and avoided his eyes, letting yourself lay back down, “just didn’t know you could do that.”

The younger hunter grinned at you as he stood, “There’s a lot I can do with that side of me; I just worry about what those things are.”

He moved to your side and picked you up to take you to the bathroom. You tiredly mumbled into his shoulder, “If you want, we can experiment more with your demonic side; I’m okay with it.”

Nero smiled. He sat in the bath with you in his lap so he could help clean you off, “Sure, I-” his smile quickly faded, turning to a frown, “Did I--?” his fingers lightly brushed over the final bite that he had left, making you unintentionally wince.

It had turned to a dark purple, almost black coloration, and was still bleeding quite badly. Nero looked as if he was about to cry as he stared at you with a furrowed brow. You gently grabbed his hand and removed it from the bite, “I’m fine Nero. It’s not that big of--”

“I hurt you,” Nero pursed his lips as he let out a shaky breath noticing the claw marks down your middle, “I could have killed you; you know that right? Using that form--” he pulled his hand back from yours.

“Nero, look at me,” you used your hands to cup the sides of his face, “I wouldn’t have let you do that if I didn’t want it; besides, I trust you.”

“But--”

“No buts,” you gently rubbed his face with your thumbs, “We both enjoyed ourselves, right?”

He nodded.

“And I am still alive; aren’t I?”

Once more, he nodded.

“So we are both okay?”

Nero nodded finally looking back at your face.

“I understand your concern but… you aren’t a mindless beast, you know? ” Nero placed his hands gently over the top of yours, “I know what I signed up for and I trust you, Nero; completely and entirely,” you could hear a very faint purr coming from him.

He took each of your hands and placed a slow soft kiss on each, “Trusting a demon, huh? Not the smartest thing to do.”

A loving smile spread across your face, “Then consider me the happiest idiot around.”

Nero laughed with a wide grin, “I really love you,” he sighed contently, “so fuckin’ much.”

---

Hope I did Nero justice with this and that y'all enjoyed this little story! Wasn't sure how to end this, so forgive me if it is abrupt lmao. 🌟🌟🌟 Thank you so much for reading!! :)))

Want to see more like this? Want to read my work quicker and several stories that are not on Tumblr? Check this out on my AO3 (Linked here)

MASTER LIST FOR TUMBLR

167 notes · View notes