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underground-secret · 10 months

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The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: The infamous “Hook Man” seems to terrorize a small college town in Iowa, leading these hunters to take care of it.

Warning: Cannon violence, slight description of a corpse, guns, ghosts, flirting 🤭, sitting on lap, slight fake dating, mentions of sexual activity, creepy college boy for like 2 seconds

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44

A/N: B/N = brothers name. Yes i haven’t forgotten that reader has a brother i just never had an excuse to bring him up. Anyways his lil convo with reader is based on one i had with my brother, i figured y/n is basically based on me from how i react to things and my speaking mannerisms so i might as well base her brother off my own. (hope you enjoy)

Word count: Around 7K

Hook Man

(Master list, Previous Ch., Next Ch)

The spring breeze rustles my hair as I diligently sip on the chai latte in front of me, the small outdoor cafe we sat at bringing me some much needed peace after a hectic last hunt.

Deans next to me, his arm around my chair practically bringing us closer even as his brother stands at a payphone on the phone with the FBI.

Suddenly my phone rings, the familiar yet annoying buzz ringing in my sweater pocket. Dean looks at me with a raised eyebrow. I shrug at him, I have no idea why or who would be calling me. I fumble the phone out of my pocket looking at the name that was printed on the screen of my flip phone, ‘B/N :D’ sliding across the small screen.

“Oh! It’s my brother!” I smile at Dean. He smiles at me back beneath the cup he brought to his lips, he pulls it away from him “Say ‘Hi’ for us” he requests. Both boys have kind of always been close with my brother, especially Dean who was closer to him in age.

I scoot my seat back, getting up from the white metal chair and walking away slightly, the opposite way in which Sam stood. I flip my phone open with a satisfying click, answering the phone “Hi B/N!” I answer.

“Hey! How are you?” He asks me, his voice sweet and smiley as he speaks. “Busy and tired”, I answer, “What about you?”

“Oh you know, tired also…but I haven’t heard from you in a couple of months. Like at all, you could have texted you know” He lectures and I know he’s more disappointed in me then angry, he’s always been scared that we would become distant considering we lived in different states and that I wasn’t the best at communicating first.

“I’m sorry” I sigh, disappointed in myself too, “I’ve been hunting.”

“All this time? Alone?!” he shoots back without missing a beat.

“No! no no. I don’t do long hunting trips alone… I’m, uh, well Dean came to me and said he needed my help an-“ I explain getting cut off by my brother, “And you can’t say no” He laughs.

“Yeah” I exhale, laughing along with him, “They say hi by the way.”

“Say hi for me too and that if anything happens to you I will personally track them down and remove their orga-“

“Okay okay! I get it yup!… You know they’d never let anything happen to me” I explain, even though under the concealer I wore there were bruises still healing from the shapeshifter hunt. (I don’t blame either one of the boys for what happened.)

“Yeah well I love you and miss you and I wish you’d call more especially if ur out hunting, I need to know you’re safe.” He tells me.

“I love you too, I promise I will call you at least twice a week for updates.” I smile.

“You better, anyways I wish I could talk longer but I’m sitting in the parking lot of my job and have to go in.” He explains. “Alright, bye bye love you!” I finished. “Love you too” he says before hanging up.

I pocket my phone twirling around with a smile on my face. Sam’s back at the table now talking to his brother and by the scowl on his face I'd say his call hadn’t gone well. I walk back over to my seat, Dean's arm still around the chair, “What did I miss?” I ask as I sink down into the chair.

“Dads not in the FBI’s Missing Persons Data Bank and Dean found a possible new hunt for us” Sam brings me up to speed, looking disappointed.

“Here check it out” Dean turns the laptop towards me scrolling up to the beginning of the article, “Ankeny, Iowa. It’s only about a hundred miles from here.”

I read through the article quickly, years of having to read as well as just for fun making me a fast reader. A key point sticking out to me, ‘The mutilated body was found near the victim’s car, parked on 9 Mile Road.’

“I think it might not be anything. One freaked out witness who didn’t see anything? Doesn’t mean it’s the Invisible Man.” Sam points out as I finish reading. “And I think it’s worth checking out, Dad would” Dean counters, giving his brother a pointed look.

“I mean emotions can affect the liability of an eyewitness. However, the fact that the body was suspended from a bridge right over the car in presumably a matter of minutes, considering the time of death and the arrival at the scene, without the witness seeing a thing- like at all is a little bazaar. It’s probably worth checking out.” I ramble out.

“Ha! See” Dean smirks.

The Impala comes to a stop in front of a fraternity house, a big white townhouse, where the victim Rich used to live. It seems like an army of men are outside working on all sorts of cars, was this some sort of bonding thing?

I may have gone to college but I never interacted with frats and I certainly have never seen them all working on different cars all together. Is this normal? Is this what guys do?

We get out of the car immediately getting the attention of the guys working, all their eyes pinned to us.

“Nice wheels.” Dean starts, gaining weird looks from the younger men, “We’re your fraternity brothers. From Ohio. We’re new in town. Transfers. Looking for a place to stay.” He grins. One of the boys nods slowly at him, his gaze then switching to me. He eyed me up and down as if he’s never seen a woman before, despite being in a frat. Maybe that was unfair to say, stereotypes and all that, but it still made my skin crawl and I was suddenly all too aware of the fact that I had chosen to wear a skirt this morning.

The man that looked at me wiped his hands on a dirty rag, “You guys can check it out, but,uh, sorry, no chics allowed here. She’d need to find a sorority spot.” He nods towards me, his eyes a shinny kind of creepy.

“Aw, don’t worry she’s my girlfriend” Dean smirks wrapping his arm around my waist, pulling me closer to his body till my side was pressed right up against his, “Gotta make sure my girl knows which rooms mine” he winks at the man and my face flushes. My heart lurches at the phrase ‘my girl’ even though I knew it was just for a cover- it was a lie and yet it felt so right.

*****

We walked through the frat house which was cleaner than I expected, only a few cups lying around and only a small smell of booze.

Dean's fingers were intertwined with mine to keep up the act of me being his girlfriend, and I didn’t mind one bit. Maybe I'm touch starved.

After one last turn in the house we found someone to talk to which happened to be a shirtless guy with yellow shorts painting his face and body purple. Dean knocks on the door with his free hand while Sam and I share a look of confusion with the purple man in front of us.

“Who are you?” the guy asks, turning his body halfway towards us. “We’re your new roommates”, Dean smiles walking further into the room.

The man holds up his paint can and brushes to Dean, “Do me a favor? Get my back. Big game today.” I try to conceal the horror on my face. Dean smirks pointing to his brother, “He’s the artist. Things he can do with a brush.” Sam takes the brush and can with a total look of mortification on his face as he begins to paint the guys back.

Meanwhile, Dean occupies the worn armchair, effortlessly tugging me towards him. He manspreads in the chair, then practically places me on his right thigh. My legs slip between his spread legs. His grip releases my hand, transferring possession to my exposed thigh, the frigid touch of his ring kindling goosebumps along my skin. Suddenly I'm back to not regretting my choice of a skirt this morning.

I search his face for a tell, but all I find is a cryptic smile. He's not giving anything away, engrossed in a magazine he casually picks up from a nearby table. I swallow hard, attempting to regain mental composure, but the echo of 'my girl' and the weight of his hand disrupt any coherent thought. A fog settles in my mind as butterflies riot in my stomach, leaving me dizzy and utterly consumed.

“So…Murph. Is it true?” Dean starts, most likely getting the name from the magazine he had picked up. “What?” he answers.

“We heard one of the guys around here got killed last week.” Dean leads him.

“Yeah.” Murph sighs.

“What happened?” Sam asks, still painting his back.

“They’re saying some psycho with a knife. Maybe a drifter passing through. Rich was a good guy.” Murph explains.

Dean's hand suddenly flexes on my thigh, squeezing it slightly right as I was about to talk, “R-Rich he was with somebody?” I stumble over my words, my voice seemingly a higher octave as I speak. Either way I only asked to see if my assumption was correct- the eyewitness wasn’t just a witness but a possible victim who got away safe.

“Not just somebody. Lori Sorensen.” Murph laughs a little.

“Who’s Lori Sorensen?” I ask, Dean cutting in right after me to poke fun at his brother, “You missed a spot. Just down there- on the back.” Sam glares at him before getting said spot, Dean grins like crazy.

“Lori’s a freshman. She’s a local. Super hot. And get this…she’s a reverend’s daughter.” Murph smirks

“You wouldn’t happen to know which church, would ya?” Dean asks.

The church looked a little worn on the outside, a clear sign it’s been here for awhile but the inside was beautiful. Cherry colored wood used in the whole inside except the walls which were laid with cobblestone and big stain glass windows depicting certain bible scenes. The sun shone through them illuminating the people sitting in the pews with a light of oranges and reds. Yes it looked like any other church sure, and maybe it was the people here showing the love that they felt for someone who was no longer here that made it so beautiful, whatever it was brought a certain warmth to my heart regardless of the fact that I wasn’t religious.

The steady voice of the reverend flowed through the church, the peaceful atmosphere and his voice was interrupted by the heavy brown door that slammed behind us entering. The whole room fell silent for a beat and people turned towards us, the source of the disruption. With an awkward smile as an apology the sermon continued as usual.

“As a community, and as a family. The loss of a young person is particularly tragic. A life unlived is the saddest of passings.” The reverend begins again as we find a seat towards the back. “So, please, let us pray. For peace, for guidance, and for the power to protect our children.”

An odd feeling of familiarity and sadness fills my veins, my fingers twitch with the countless memories I had of what now seemed like a lifetime ago even if it really couldn’t have been more than ten years. I bow my head in prayer and respect, the act coming naturally to me. But I can’t find it in myself to actually pray, to talk to a god again.

The last time I talked to a god was when my mom died, I thought if I prayed she’d come back or at the very least the hole in my chest wouldn’t be there anymore, that he could take my pain away when I hadn’t wanted to feel that way.

I kept praying. Every night for it to change.

I never got an answer, not a sign, not a peep of comfort.

I don’t remember when I stopped believing… but I do remember praying to a God that would not answer.

****

Outside the church, people stood around talking in small groups and hugging each other before moving on to another person or leaving all together.

A brunette girl in a green and white top speaks with her slightly taller friend, and with a lasting hug their conversation is over. According to the picture Murph had shown us of Rich and Lori posing together, the brunette just had to be her.

We walk up to her, mostly confident in the matching identity, “Are you Lori?” Sam asks in confirmation.

“Yeah.” She nods.

“My name is Sam. This is my brother, Dean. And my friend, Y/N.” Dean waves a little awkwardly and I smile sweetly at the girl in front of us.

“We just transferred here to the university.” Sam explains, Lori nods “ I saw you inside.”

“We don’t wanna bother you. We just heard about what happened and…” Sam trails off eyebrows furrowed. “We wanted to say how sorry we were” Dean finishes his brother's sentence.

Sam clears his throat as if his words were hard to get out, “I kind of know what you’re going through. I-I saw someone..get hurt once. It’s something you don’t forget.” Lori nods sadly, her eyes turned down instead of the previous eye contact.

Suddenly the reverend came over to his daughter, a hand placed on her shoulder, “Dad, um, this is Sam, Dean, and Y/N. They’re new students.” The older man shakes each of our hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I must say, that was an inspiring sermon.” Dean smiles, his dimple on display.

“Thank you very much. It’s so nice to find young people who are open to the Lord’s message.” He looks between the three of us.

“I was actually hoping to catch you after the sermon” I begin, my fingers ghost over Dean's hand, “We’re also new to town.” As if understanding my plan to give Sam time to talk to Lori in private Dean intertwined his fingers with mine, continuing my sentence and leading us and the reverend slightly away from his daughter, “And, uh, we were looking for a, um, a church group.”

The boys follow after me as I search through the rows of bookshelves in this large library, “So you believe her?” Dean asks his brother.

“I do.” Sam answers plainly.

“Yeah, I think she’s hot, too.” Dean smiles. I turn my head towards him slowly, giving him a sharp look, “Would you like to say that again” I smile at him. “No ma’am” He puts his hands up in defense and defeat.

“Look, man, there’s something in her eyes. And listen to this: she heard scratching on the roof. Found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car.” Sam continues, ignoring what just happened.

I turn towards the boys behind me swiftly, my skirt swishing against me at my movement, “You think we’re dealing with the Hook Man?”

“Yeah I mean that’s one of the most famous urban legends ever” Dean tries to rationalize.

“Every urban legend has a source. A place where it all began.” Sam replies.

“Yeah, but what about the phantom scratches and the tire punctures and the invisible killer?” Dean asks.

“Well, maybe the Hook Man isn’t a man at all. What if it’s some kind of spirit?”

*****

The nice librarian brings over the last of the heavy boxes we asked for, the number of which I lost count of, “Here you go. Arrest records going back to 1851”, she announces placing the box down. Dean blows some dust off the box immediately coughing. A laugh escapes my lips, “What did you think was going to happen?”

The librarian walks away, Sam catching her to say thanks while Dean and I “bickered.”

He rolls his eyes at me pushing over one of the boxes towards me. I stand up from my seat to see in the box better, I pull out one of the many manila folders sitting back down to start what I know is going to be hours of research.

“So, this is how you both spent four good years of your life, huh?” Dean asks, eyebrows raised as he leaned back in his chair, a folder in his hand.

“Mhm” I hum, getting too focused to give a proper response.

“Welcome to higher education” Sam sighs as if to get comfortable.

I finished the first folder quickly as there weren't many papers in it to begin with, plus it was about a kidnapping case. I’m glad the guy got caught but it wasn’t what I was looking for, I put the folder to the side before picking up another.

“I’m sure you’re wishing hunting didn’t have so much research to it” I inquired, slightly mumbling.

“Yeah no kidding” Dean huffs

****

Hours later and multiple boxes down, Sam suddenly speaks up, “Hey, check this out. 1862. A preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. Looks like he was so angry over the red light district in town that one night he killed 13 prostitutes.

Uh, right here, ‘some of the deceased were found in their bed, sheets soaked with blood. Others suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh.’”

I leaned over to pick up a paper from the folder he was holding that he must have put to the side, “And apparently the preacher lost his hand in some sort of accident and had it replaced with, get this, a silver hook of all things.”

“Look where all this happened” Sam points.

“9 Mile Road” Dean reads.

“Same place where the frat boy was killed” Sam adds, the pieces connecting.

Dean smirks, “Nice job, Dr. Venkmen. Let’s check it out.”

The pure darkness of the night cloaks us, despite the fact we weren’t wearing all black, the trees hide us and Baby as we exit the car heading towards the rear. Dean opens the trunk and hands both Sam and I a rifle, “Here you go”. I shift the gun in my hand, opening the magazine to make sure every slot is filled with a bullet.

“If it is a spirit, buckshot won’t do much good.” Sam points out, having opened his gun magazine too.

“Yeah, rock salt.” Dean smirks, showing him a bullet cartridge as an example. “Huh. Salt being a spirit deterrent.” Sam mumbles in astonishment.

“Yeah. It won’t kill ‘em. But it’ll slow ‘em down.” Dean adds as he picks up a coil of rope from the trunk.

“You know, your brother has been quite the creator since you’ve been away at college” I acknowledge, hoping it didn’t come off as a backhanded comment. Dean winks at me as he slams the trunk shut, a slight warmth spreading on my cheeks. “No kidding, first the homemade emf and now this, you and Dad think of this?” Sam asks as we walk towards the trees.

“I told you. You don’t have to be a college graduate to be a genius.” Dean's smile fades to a hardened look at the sounds of walking and rustling in the trees.

I come to a full stop, my boots skidding in the soft dirt below me, I raise my gun towards the sound and I realize to anyone else I must look a little silly wearing an outfit that includes a skirt and holding a heavy shotgun.

“Guys!” I whisper-shout at the sight of a figure approaching. Both boys appear on either side of me, Sam with the only other gun standing slightly in front.

“Put the gun down now! Now! Put your hands behind your head.” The figure yells raising his own gun as he approaches us, I curse mentally at the Sheriff. But before he can get too close I whisp the gun out of my hands, transporting it safely back to the trunk, if we were gonna get arrested at least the confiscating of one gun is better than two.

Dean and I are quick to follow the guys instructions as Sam slowly neals down to place the gun, his hands raised in defense. I would have loved to hide his gun too but the sheriff most definitely saw at least one gun, his gun.

“Now get down on your knees. Come on, do it! On your knees!” The Sheriff demands. Slowly I drop to my knees, the boys following, the cold dirt sinking into my exposed knees. Frick.

“Now get down on your bellies. Come on, do it!” He yells next. This is just annoying now I think to myself as I lie down. “He had the gun!” Dean throws his brother under the bus, lying down too.

“Shut it!” He yells, kicking the shot gun out of reach before rounding to the back of us. Figuring out by sound alone, he pockets his gun before patting us down thoroughly. Then he tells us to stand again and get in our car. He will follow behind us to the sheriff station and “there better be no funny business.”

****

Exiting a sheriff's office after being “arrested” is a weird experience, especially when all the cops of sorts are looking at you while whispering to each other.

“Saved your asses! Talked the sheriff down to a fine. Dude, I am Matlock.” Dean slaps his brother on the back.

“But how?” Sam asks, looking annoyed, and truthfully I'm not surprised Dean got us out of this.

“I told him you were a dumbass pledge and that we were hazing you.” Dean shrugs.

“What about the shotgun?” Sam points out.

“I said that you were hunting ghosts and the spirits were repelled by rock salt. You know, typical Hell Week prank. And while you were ‘hunting ghosts’ I told ‘em I was gonna try and get in her pants” He motions towards me, my face flushing red with a mix of embarrassment and anger.

“Hey!” I grumble.

“And he believed you?” Sam questioned in disbelief.

“Well, you look like a dumbass pledge and she looks like an easy girl to play no offense” Dean laughs.

“Hey! Offense taken!” I say this time with actual frustration. I slap his shoulder and I know he was expecting it, old habits die hard, but he lets me hit him. “What?! You look all innocent and you’re wearing a skirt which is perfect for banging in the woods!” He says all ‘matter of factly.’

“Dean!” I yell going to slap his shoulder again this time harder but before I can reach him he clasps my wrist. Naturally I try to go at him with my other hand but seemingly reading my mind he grabs my other wrist with the same hand. Now holding both my wrists in one large hand at his side he quirks his eyebrow, I should be a little mad at him but somehow he’s able to diffuse me in a matter of second and to be fair I can’t decide where to look either his veiny hand or his eyes that seem a shade darker than usual.

Suddenly several police run out of the building and jump into their police cars before speeding away. Dean drops his hold on my wrist, the three of us exchange a look.

The car comes to a stop on the street behind the sorority house, getting out of the car we move closer to the white building. “Why would the Hook Man come here? This is a long way from 9 Mile Road” Sam brings up.

“Maybe it’s about something else.” I answer, pulling pairs of latex gloves from my pocket that I made sure to grab from my bag before leaving the car. I hand each of them a pair, Sam putting them on without question while Dean looks at me weirdly “Getting fingerprints on an active crime scene doesn't seem so smart especially when we were already found at the original crime scene” I explain, he makes of face that reads as ‘fair enough’ before he puts his own pair on.

Two sorority girls come out of a side entrance near us looking like they’ve been crying, we push up against the side of the building, the girls passing us.

“Dude, sorority girls! Think we’ll see a naked pillow fight?” Dean asks, a little too happy turning to see his brother climbing onto the balcony of the house. “Yeah cause these girls would have a pillow fight when someone just got murdered in their house” I answer in disbelief as I climb up after Sam, thank god for wearing shorts under skirts and upper body strength. As I reach the top I swing my legs over the railing straddling it before swinging my other leg around, my boots landing on the white concrete, Dean following quickly behind me.

Sam opens a window that leads into a walk-in closet, Lori’s closet, just a door away from the crime scene.

I crawl in after him, Deans right behind me except ever so not gracefully he knocks into one of the dressers.

“Be quiet” Sam snaps.

“You be quiet!” Dean bites back

“You be quiet!”

“Boys!” I whisper yell, their bickering immediately stopping though they glare at each other from the corner of their eyes.

I walk over the closet door, pulling it open slowly just enough to see a cop in the room writing down something on a notepad before leaving. I count to ten in my head before opening the door fully exposing the bloody mess of a crime scene from the walls to the bed the girl must have died in, considering the blood pool.

“‘Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?’” Sam reads off the wall, the words written in blood, “That’s right out of the legend.”

“Yeah, that’s classic Hook Man all right.” Dean acknowledges, he taps his nose in regard to the horribly strong metallic smell, “It’s definitely a spirit.”

“I don’t think i’ve ever smelt ozone this strong before” I add, scrunching my nose from the smell, Sam nodding in agreement.

Dean walks over to the window in the room, “Hey, come here. Does that look familiar to you?”

****

Outside again, gloves disposed of, we stare at a cross symbol with little t’s or x’s in each space, a symbol that dangled from the hook-hand the preacher from our research had worn. Also the same symbol Dean had found on the windowsill and written in blood on the wall.

“It’s the same symbol. Seems like it is the spirit of Jacob Karns.” Sam confirms.

“All right, let’s find the dude’s grave, salt and burn the bones, and put him down” Dean announces, going through the usual steps.

Sam reads from the yellowed paper in his hands “After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in an Old North Cemetery. In an unmarked grave.”

“How fun and easy” I remark sarcastically.

“Ok. So we know it’s Jacob Karns. But we still don’t know where he’ll manifest next. Or why” Sam brings up.

“I’ll take a wild guess about why. I think your little friend Lori has something to do with this.” Dean comments, getting into the driver's side of Baby.

The bass pounds loudly, the sound thumping in my chest as the bright neon lights illuminate the drunken atmosphere of college students. I weave through the crowd to get back to the main room where Sam said to meet, having barely enough time to shower, change and take a nap before night fell again and the frat party started.

Suddenly an unfamiliar hand grabs hold of my wrist pulling me back towards them. I looked up at the guy who pulled me back, a blonde spiky haired college student with a red solo cup in hand looked down at me “Where you going, pretty girl?” he asks me his breath reeking of booze. He pulls me closer, my chest nearly flushed with his, I pull my head back at an awkward angle to get away from him as I pull my wrist away. This guy really represented every reason why I rarely, if ever, went to parties as a college student, “Oh you know tryna get back to my boyfriend!” I yell over the music, finally snatching my wrist free at the lie.

“Oh.” His face falls quickly turning around to head to some other girl, I roll my eyes before continuing my way down the hall and the stairs to the foyer.

“There you are!” Sam yells over the music as I approach him, Dean not yet in sight. “Sorry! A college boy stopped me!” I replied.

“Sorry, You alright?” Sam asked with eyebrows scrunched, he apologized to me as if he was the one to do it, ever the sweetheart. I nod my head in response just as Dean approaches, “Man, you’ve been holding out on me. This college thing is awesome!” he says immediately, winking and smiling at a girl that passes by. If this didn’t show the double standard between genders then I don’t know what will.

“This wasn’t really my experience” Sam answers

“Same here!” I add, recalling every ill memory of any parties I did go to.

“Nerds” Dean scuffs.

“Yeah yeah anyways Sam what did you find?” I ask getting back on topic.

“Yeah. It was bugging me, right? So how is the Hook Man tied up with Lori? So I think I came up with something.” Sam answers, unraveling a folded piece of paper he produced from his pocket.

Dean takes the paper reading the important facts, “1932. Clergyman arrested for murder. 1967. Seminarian held in hippie rampage.”

“There’s a pattern here. In both cases, the suspect was a man of religion who openly preached against immorality. And then found himself wanted for killings he claimed were the work of an invisible force. Killings carried out—get this—with a sharp instrument.” Sam explains

“What’s the connection to Lori?” Dean asks, face full of confusion.

“Dean. A man of religion…who openly preaches against immorality…you know Reverend Sorensen.” I clarify, a sudden look of understanding passes over Deans features. “Yeah except maybe this time, instead of saving the whole town, he’s just trying to save his only daughter” Sam adds.

“You think he’s summoning the spirit?” Dean counter.

“Maybe. Or, you know how a poltergeist can haunt a person instead of a place?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, the spirit latches onto the reverend’s repressed emotions, feeds off them, yeah, okay.” Dean mumbles.

“Without the reverend ever even knowing it.”

“Either way, you should keep an eye on Lori tonight.” Dean suggest. Sam nods in agreement, “What about you guys?”

Dean gets distracted by an attractive blonde by the pool table. I roll my eyes “We’ll go find that grave, do some digging and burning.”

****

In the dark of the night Dean and I search the large cemetery, our only light being our flashlights. He looks a little grumpy, probably because he couldn’t hook up with the many eligible bachelorettes.

I ignore his brooding, searching each gravestone for some sort of hint of him being buried here.

“Over here!” Dean calls out from a few feet away, I walk over to him seeing the same cross symbol we’ve been seeing engraved on the headstone. “Nice” I smile, putting my bag down and taking the shovel he handed to me.

I don’t know how much time goes by but we are most likely only a foot deep. Digging up a grave is hard.

“You know I read somewhere that digging up a grave can take up to like six to eight hours to complete.” I huff as I kept digging trying to make conversation.

“What kind of books do you read?” Dean exclaims, giving me a weird look as he places his shovel down to strip down to his T-shirt. I try to ignore how his muscles flex as he lifts his many layers off of him to combat the sweat he was building.

I shrug at his question, answering, “All sorts of things.” The conversation ends there as we keep digging away, the only sounds from us being huffing and grunts.

I start to take my tops off too, going down to the black lace cami I wore as an extra layer. No wonder they use a machine to do this now.

Hours must have passed before one of our shovels hit wood. His coffin. Dean and I speak at the same time our voices overlapping,

“Thank God”

“Hello preacher” Dean breaks open the casket more, the remains of bones lying there.

We climb out of the grave, dirt and sweat sticking to our clothes (so much for showering before). Dean looks especially good, sweat causing his light gray shirt to stick to his skin causing his muscles to be on display, his cheeks flushed from all his hard work. This should really be the last thing on my mind especially as we pour salt and lighter fluid on the corpse.

“Goodbye, preacher.” Dean throws the lit match into the grave, the bones and wood igniting into flames.

Dean and I walked down the hospital hall, Sam having called and told us to come to the hospital no other context other than he was okay and even that had to be pried out of him before he hung up.

I trail behind him as he tries to shove off two cops holding him back, “No, it’s alright, I’m with him. He’s my brother. Hey! Brother!” Although a little embarrassing he did get Sam and the sheriffs attention, “Let ‘em through” the sheriff announces with a careless hand wave.

The two cops haul off, “Thanks” Dean says, fixing his jacket as his brother approaches, “You ok?”

“Yeah.” Sam nods, walking back down the hall where we had come for some privacy.

“What the hell happened?” Dean asks through gritted teeth.

“Hook Man.” Sam answered plainly.

“You saw him?!” I exclaim.

“Damn right. Why didn’t you torch the bones?” Sam counters. “Hey!! We did!” I argue.

“You sure it’s the spirit of Jacob Karns?” Dean points out.

“It sure as hell looked like him. And that’s not all. I don’t think the spirit is latching on to the reverend.” Sam answered.

“Well, yeah, the guy wouldn’t send the Hook Man after himself.” Dean spoke.

“I think it’s latching onto Lori. Last night she found out her father is having an affair with a married woman.” Sam reports.

“So she’s obviously upset about it, the immorality around it, especially from someone who quite literally preaches about that sort of sin” I ramble on, “Wow that’s like the Scarlet Letter.”

“Yeah” Sam laughs at my reference, “And she told me she was raised to believe that if you do something wrong, you get punished.”

“Alright nerds, so she’s conflicted. And the spirit of Preacher Karns is latching on to repress the emotions and maybe he’s doing the punishing for her, huh?” Dean said.

“Right. Rich comes on too strong, Taylor tries to make her into a party girl, Dad has an affair.” Sam lists out.

“Remind me not to piss this girl off. But we burned those bones, buried them in salt, why didn’t that stop him?” Dean noted.

“You must have missed something.” Sam shrugged.

“Oh frick” I gasped at the sudden realization hitting me, “The hook. Except it wasn’t in the coffin.”

“Great, so if we find the hook…”

“We stop the Hook Man.” Dean finishes smiling.

****

Back in the same library as a couple days before we once again spent hours researching.

“Here’s something, I think. Log book, Iowa State Penitentiary”, Dean reads, “Karns, Jacob. Personal affects: disposition thereof.”

“Any mention of the hook?” I ask, looking up from my papers.

“Yeah, maybe” He begins reading again, “Upon execution, all earthly items shall be remanded to the prisoner’s house of worship, St. Barnabas Church.”

“Isn’t that where Lori’s father preaches?” Sam questioned. “Yeah” Dean confirmed, “Maybe that’s why the Hook Man has been haunting reverends and reverends’ daughters for the past 200 years.”

“But how do you miss a bloodstained silver-handled hook? Let alone in a church” I point out.

Dean shrugs, “Check the church records”

An hour or two later I came across the answer to my own question, I nearly knocked my chair over going to where the boys sat placing the clip of the newspaper down, “St. Barnabas donations, 1862, they received a silver-handled hook from the state penitentiary. It got reforged, melted it down into something else.”

“Alright, we can’t take any chances. Anything silver goes in the fire.” Dean said as he slammed the trunk shut, swinging the duffle on his shoulder. “I agree. So, Lori’s still at the hospital. We’ll have to break in.” Sam announces.

“Alright, take your pick.”

“I’ll take the house.” Sam answers pointing in that direction.

“Ok. Then you're with me Y/N” Dean smirks, swinging his arm around my shoulder pushing me closer to his side as we walk off in the other direction. “Hey Sam!” He calls out without halting in his steps, “Stay out of her underwear drawer!”

“You are disgusting” I laugh, poking his side as I speak.

****

“When someone comes back in the morning they are going to think they’ve gone crazy. I mean like imagine walking into a space you know well and suddenly only very specific items are missing like silver.” I comment as I throw more silver candelabras in the fire Dean had started in the basement's old heater thing.

“At this very moment that’s what you're thinking of?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow at me with a smile. “I mean yeah…” I shrug.

“I got everything that even looked silver” Sam announces, coming down the stairs. “Better safe than sorry” Dean says, moving off to the side so his brother can throw his load of silver in.

Suddenly the floorboards above us creak, clear footsteps. Sam produces a gun from the back of his jeans heading up the stairs first, Dean and I following.

Up the slightly winding stairs and down a short hallway Lori sits in a pew alone. She was the source of the steps.

Dean shoves his brother forward towards the lone girl as he pockets his gun and grabs my hand leading us back down stairs. As we reach the basement I twirl towards him, “You think they’re gonna kiss by the end of all this?”

“If they haven’t already” He scuffs.

A few minutes later the quiet noise of a couple things hitting the ground sang from above us, “I swear if they are screwing upstairs-“ Dean complains looking up annoyed. Another thing hit the floor much harder, “Yeah Dean I don’t think that’s what’s happening” I say, pulling my gun back out Dean already ahead of me rushing up the stairs two steps at a time.

We sweep around each hall with no one in sight, Dean motions for us to split up. I nod, holding my gun tighter in front of me. Suddenly a yell and a gun goes off in the opposite direction from where I walked, I run towards the noise halting at the sight of Lori and Sam covering their faces on the floor up against a wall as Dean stood with his gun raised.

“You guys okay?” I ask lowering my gun slightly.

“Yeah” Sam nods, even as he holds his seemingly injured shoulder.

“Was that the Hook Man?” I question further trying to get caught up.

“I thought we got all the silver.” Sam announces instead, which was an answer enough.

“So did I” Dean adds

“Then why is he still here?” Sam exclaims, getting up from the floor.

“Well, maybe we missed something!” Dean yells looking around.

“Lori, where did you get that chain?” Sam looks at the girl's neck, a cross hanging from the chain.

“My father gave it to me” She answers confused.

“And did your father happen to get it from a church?” I ask very specifically.

“Yeah it was a church heirloom, he gave it to me when I started school.” She explains.

“Is it silver?!” Sam nearly yells.

“Yes!” She yells, Sam ripping the chain from around her neck just as a loud scratching noise echoes through the halls. The Hook Man nowhere in sight but the scratch evidence alone that he’s there, right near Sammy.

“Sam!” Dean yells throwing his rifle at Sam, he catches it throwing the necklace to his brother in turn. Dean runs off with it as Sam shoots at the scratching spot.

He tries to reload his gun just as the Hook Man appears in all his ugly glory, long greasy hair falling from a big black hat accompanied with a dirty black trench coat, he knocks the gun out of his hand. I pull the trigger, the rock salt launching from the gun and into the spirit causing him to disappear. I cock the gun ready to shoot again when he appears, except when he does his arms are raised in the air towards the sky, his hook melting to the floor, the iron dripping as the rest of his body burns into nothing.

“So you’re saying a man with a hook attacked you?” The cop asked me for the fourth time, scribbling something in his notepad. “Yes! Exactly, we fought him off as best as we could and then ran out here.” I explain, for once, truthfully to a cop. He looks like he’s about to say something when he looks back up just past my shoulder, I turn my head to see the sheriff who was talking with Dean make a hand gesture. I turned back to the cop in front of me, “Alrighty then, ma’am have a good one” he tilted his hat towards me walking away.

I walk over to Dean who’s leaning on the outside of Baby, his hands in his pockets, “You think they believe us?” he asked me. “No chance” I laugh, “They’ll probably chop it up to hysteria and crazy college students.”

He scuffs opening the back door for me, I get in smiling at him as he shuts the door and gets in on the driver side. He looks through the side mirror at his brother, sighing, “I wish things could be normal for him.”

“It won’t be for a while” I answer referring to the loss of Jessica. How could anyone move on from a loss like that?

Sam approaches the car getting in wordlessly, “We could stay.” Dean offers, Sam shakes his head no.

Dean sighs again, looking at me through the rear view mirror. I mouth ‘You tried’ to him with a sad smile.

He looks forward again with a slight frown on his face, putting the car in drive we head off.

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capsules-rot-box · 2 years

Text

vash x male!reader

☆ mini - vash’s first kiss

“Well I- I’ve uh, never actually kissed a guy before. Thinking about it, I haven’t kissed anyone at all.”

“And that’s okay.”

He closed his eyes as you pulled him in closer. Lightly scraping your fingernails over the skin of his neck, you felt Vash shudder as your lips made contact. It was soft, but passionate, as Vash pressed his lips against your own. It was his first kiss and his undoing.

His hands hovered over your arms, the ghostly touch of his fingers tickling your skin. Vash wanted to stay like this for as long as he could. He felt like it was only right, after all, that this moment could be shared between the two of you.

You pulled back, only slightly, to catch your breath and as you looked to Vash you swore you fell in love all over again. As his eyes fluttered open he quickly averted his gaze, the sunburn on his cheeks making his blush stand out.

“That was good.”

“Yeah ?”

He took a small step towards you.

“I’d like to keep kissing you, please.”

“How could I ever say no to that face.”

#absolutely hooked on the idea of vash’s first kiss #ik this man is so touch starved #self ship #selfship #f/o community #vash the stampede #vash imagine #vash x male reader #trigun stampede x male reader

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pastelpousay · 4 months

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💗🖇Welcome🖇💗

hihi!! Ik I already made an intro but I had to redo it

(I didn’t but still)

☆ You can just call me Pumpkin or Pastel on here idrc

☆black as the night 🐺

☆she/he

☆I’m 16!! WOOOHOOO 🥳

‧₊˚ 🐚⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

things to keep in mind n more!!🥳

☆I’m an artist, if you use my art (you probably won’t💀) please please credit me, I’m also a self shipper so uhhh yea be aware (I’m good for sharing f/os btw) and get ready 😽 (the ship tags are usually under the 7000 other tags so yea!!)

☆uhhh I don’t have a commission thingy set up nor a carrd or anything but I will at some point so yea!! But that’ll probably be on my main acc

☆speakin of which here’s so of my other accounts (and other places to check me out on 🎀🐺)

My main: @drrobobitch

my YT: yippee

My tt: yippee again

YOU CAN READ MY HADINA FIC HERE

If you want any of my other socials just message me if you want ig

MY DNI and Rules:

☆ I don’t and won’t write nsfw (I’m a minor)

☆not to experienced with writing men or for men so uhh I’m mostly a gn blog but I literally don’t use pronouns so uhh yea-

☆no p3dos and pro/comshitters please thx ☺️😽

☆no being rude or anything please cuz If you go low I promise I’ll go lower 💀

☆no transphobia,Homophobia, or racism

OKAY THATS IT!! ALR TOOTLES GUYS 😽

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dirtywresling102 · 2 years

Note

This is me projecting for sure, but can I request a female reader x Hook? She meets him at a convention meet and greet and he ends up being really into her. Feel like this is kinda cliche but I’m supposed to meet him in two weeks so I am projecting/lowkey manifesting👀 😂😭

Pairing: Hook x Female!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Meet and Greets

Imagine Requests: Open!

Note: YOU'RE MEETING HOOK!? Ugh lucky! I just met Brian Cage a 2 weeks ago! Ugh I hope to meet Hook one day! I hope you have fun!

Follow My Main Blog!: @dirtywrestling

Your stomach clenched tighter as you saw Hook's fluffy brown hair in view. You bit your lip to see him looking up at the person in front of him and smile. His smile melted your heart in way you never thought someone could. You grew even more nervous as you realized you were the next person in line to speak with him.

It seemed like your legs were becoming wobbly with each step you took. Watching the person in front of you leave in excitement you looked at Hook to see he was already looking at you with a large smile. "Hi!" He greeted.

"H- Hello." You gushed, walking up to the table. You handed him a piece of paper with a drawing on it of him.

"Holy shit, is this me!" His eyes sparkled as he admire the art work.

"Yeah, I uh have been working on it for awhile." You blushed as he grew excited over your work.

"This is amazing." Hook's eyes never left the paper as he grabbed a marker. "Who can I make this out to?" He popped off the lid.

"Y/N." You said sheepishly, biting your lip as you watched him autograph the drawing. "I'm a big fan of you." You finally admitted.

"And I'm a big fan of you as well." Hook gave your art piece one last look before handing it to you. "Do you post on Instagram?"

"Of my work? Daily." You smiled, carefully grabbing the sheet, making sure not to ruin it.

"Well, how about I give you a follow so I can see all your amazing art work?"

You stared at him in disbelief. "R- Really?" You fumbled to grab your phone, looking up your Instagram username. "Here, it's this." You showed him your profile picture as he pulled out his phone with a smile and put in your account.

"And, followed."

You looked at your screen to see Hook was officially following you.

"Come on, can't leave without a picture." Hook stood up from his chair as you made your way around the table, he wrapped his arm around your waist and held you tight, smiling towards the camera. Once the flash went off me whispered in your ear. "I'll text you later."

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stardustqueenbooks · 2 years

Text

Captain Hook x reader- This is wrong, isn't it?

Description: Pirates were notorious for kidnappings but you never thought it would happen to you

AN: There could be a part two if people want it

Based on a request by @disney-girl67

It was meant to be just a normal day, hanging out with friends, relaxing away from work and just having a good time but as soon as you saw that stupid ship approaching you knew that the day was not going to go how you had planned it.

The pirates in the area were notorious for kidnapping and there had been a rise in people going missing that everyone had presumed were them. Now you found yourself becoming one of those people, you had lost your friends running away from the beach and were now being chased by pirates who were hooting and hollering behind you.

You had no idea what would happen if they caught you so you were trying your best not to get caught, running through the trees and breathing heavily. You hated running, hated it with a passion so this was probably your worst nightmare.

Suddenly, a man with long hair jumped in front of you laughing loudly and showing his gold teeth, you gasped and turned to try and run away from him but were stopped by another pirate. You quickly realised that you were surrounded by the pirates who all sneered at you before simultaneously jumping forward and grabbing you.

You felt their hands wander all over your body before you were lifted from the ground, no matter how much you wiggled or moved around you couldn't get out of their grip and you soon found yourself being dropped onto the wood that was the pirate ship.

As you looked around all you could see were pirates, some were sneering, some were laughing and others were staring blankly. You continued to look around until you heard a voice shout, "everyone back to your posts."

Black boots entered your vision as the man who spoke walked closer to you, "Mr Smee," the voice asked, it was smooth and made chills run down your spine, "take the girl to my quarters."

You were then pulled to your feet and dragged down some stairs and thrown into a room by a fat man who stuttered his way through a sentence. And then you were left alone.

You took a moment to breathe before you began to wander around the room which you believed to be the Captain's quarters. Your wandering was put to a stop when the door swung open and in came the man who had spoken before, he was muttering to himself before he stood to his full height and looked at you.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked, taking the red hat from his head and placing it on the desk. You nodded stiffly and answered, "You're captain hook."

"Good!" he stated, walking to sit down by the desk, "I've been watching you for a while now," Your eyes bulged in surprise at what the captain has said, "I saw you one day on the beach and knew that I had to have you." His voice sent more shivers down your spine, that wasn't normal, was it?

"What?" you asked, your voice shaking as you trembled, your mind swirling with thoughts, you couldn't deny that the captain was attractive in a unique way and being on his ship send shivers of excitement down your spine. That must not be normal?

Captain Hook smirked down at you as he walked closer, "I knew that I had to have you when I saw how beautiful you are, you're gonna stay here with me," you started to stutter slightly but quickly quietened when he continued to speak, "you're going to stay here with me forever and be my right-hand woman."

This was wrong.

Was the only thought that was spinning around your head.

This was so so wrong but why did it feel so good...

#disney x reader #captain hook x reader #x reader #modern disney au #x female reader #request #x reader request #request x reader #captain hook x f reader #dark captain hook x reader

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celestie0 · 20 days

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gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

title. around the clock

Hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision.

ᰔ pairing. babysitter/boxing au - underground boxer & babysitter!gojo x college student!reader (f)

ᰔ summary. when underground boxer gojo satoru becomes a little strapped for cash, he gets a day job as a babysitter for a five-year-old kid named yuuji who most definitely has adhd (but that’s besides the point). the kid’s mom gave gojo two rules, and two rules only: don’t accidentally kill my son, and do not flirt with my daughter. he’s pretty sure he’s got a good hold on the former, but he’s got no self control over the latter.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, smut, casual sex, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of crack, slight age gap (reader’s 22 & gojo’s 27), cum play, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, gojo is a sleazebag that cares?, sort of porn-coded smut except there’s a lil bit of lore so it’s kinda porn w plot, uhh having sex with risk of getting caught, gojo beats people up at night & then plays father figure to a 5 y/o during the day, mentions of violence/alcohol/drugs/blood/cigarettes

ᰔ word count. 12.6k

a/n. hiiii friends jeez it feels like FOREVER since i've posted some good ol' smut (still has plot tho xd)...hopefully you enjoy n see ya at the bottom! lmk if i missed any warnings! if you asked to be tagged but didn’t get tagged it’s bc you have your tags off aaa :( even when some ppl tried to fix it i still couldn’t tag them i’m sorry!!

alsoooooo so very much love to @starmapz for beta reading this for me :”) really helped me w my posting nerves haha. she is also a wonderful jjk author pls go check out her works!! 💕 ART CREDITS: @/3-aem

➸ masterlist

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): heyy um i’m sorry if this comes off kinda rude i just am kinda bad with this but i was wondering if you could text my mom for questions about yuuji’s care instead of me?

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Oh 2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Yeah, sure

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sorry i know my mom doesn’t know much ab how to take care of him bc i was the one that took care of him for a while but i just really want to separate myself from that guardian role now that i’ve transferred to NYU yknow? :/ i think it’s not my place anymore. i just wanna be big sis now haha

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: I get it. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable with my texts

2:48pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): no no not uncomfy by it, thanks for looking after him. it’s just i’m kind of busy n stuff so it can be distracting

2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it

2:52pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): and it was kind of an issue with his last babysitter

2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?

2:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeahhh like he would keep textinf me n stuff uhh kinda weird things�� i told my mom about it and she was super pissed so she fired him

2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?

2:56pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah he was always “accidentally sexting me” n like he sent me a dick pic once sooooo yeah

2:56pm Gojo Satoru: Who tf 2:56pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll go beat him up

2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): oh no no its fine lol 2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): please dont beat anyone up 2:58pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i’m not saying you’re like him tho i just think maybe less texting unless its an emergency okay?

3:00pm Gojo Satoru: Are you sure because I will totally go beat him up for you

3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO I DONT WANT YOU TO BEAT ANYONE UP FOR ME 3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): also no offense but you dont look like you could beat someone up

3:01pm Gojo Satoru: WHAT 3:02pm Gojo Satoru: Tf you mean “no offense” that’s literally the most offensive thing you could say to a guy

3:04pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeaa i mean you have muscles ofc but in the ‘ohhh i wanna look good for instagram’ way and not like real man muscles yknow

3:06pm Gojo Satoru: Ok princess next time you visit home and go on one of your stupidly large grocery hauls I’ll make sure you carry all those groceries in by yourself

3:06pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): I WAS JUST JOKING 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): YOURE SO STRONG TY FOR ALWAYS CARRYING THE GROCERIES INSIDE 3:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): PLEASE KEEP CARRYING MY GROCERIES INSIDE

3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Nah 3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Should we be texting right now? I’m not sensing any emergencies here

3:11pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): pls. my groceries :(

3:16pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll let the kiddo know you say hi 👋🏼

The irony of it all was that, if Gojo really wanted to, he absolutely could beat the shit out of someone. And he has, hundreds of times, pseudo professionally. Although that isn’t something he’d admit to you, out of fear that you might relay that info back to your mom who would then become mortified that she’s entrusted her five-year-old son’s life to the hands of an underground boxer.

But he needed the money. A night-time job didn’t really make daytime money, not when they could easily replace him with the next dude the second he gets knocked out of the ring more than twice, let alone if he let it happen once. And although he sometimes made large sums, it wasn’t stable income. He needed a back-up plan, and so babysitting it was.

The babysitter working nights at unsanctioned dojos and gyms located in the back of cartel blocks, knocking teeth out of men twice his size, would put any decent mother into a coma or induce some episode of syncope, hence why it wasn’t something he put on his resume before he got hired. Not that he even needed to provide a resume; your mom seemed desperate to cover the position as fast as possible, that promotion at work was moving faster than she wanted to, and Gojo’s beneficial attribute that he possessed as a candidate to look after her son, compared to all the other potential hires, was that he had a penis.

He likes the kid. Yuuji. He’s got kind of a short attention span, and makes Gojo weary of his age. Hold up, that makes him sound like he’s geriatric, he’s really only the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but the immortality and infinite stamina that a five-year-old boy has on him is enough to have him huffing and puffing at the end of every single evening shift he takes on with the rascal.

Fighting is all sprint, and no stamina. Sure, there might be some more seasoned boxers that might disagree with him, but for someone as young as him in the field, it’s the tactic he’s been forced to gain. If he draws a fight on for too long, he'll get killed by a forty-two year old man with steroids clogging up his adipose tissue and enough testosterone to grow a full-body beard by the time the sun starts to set. No, his strategy is to knock them out within the first fifteen seconds. Use their weight against them, and whatnot. A tactic he’s found has worked, since he’s been undefeated thus far.

He can never wrap his head around it. The drug lords that run the rings who’ve gained millions the night before from selling crystal meth only to lose it all the night following in the second Gojo hooklines a solid punch to their betting boxer’s chin, making them see God & their Momma before they tap out (if they’re even able).

He doesn’t pocket much money from it, not anything compared to what the men who bet on him end up making at least, but it’s a decently solid sum. How lucrative it really is depends solely on what he thinks the value of his life is.

It’s not unheard of, boxers dying in the ring. Turns out, rich drug dealers care very little about the sheep they’ve captured to perform their entertaining little stunts. But Gojo wasn’t doing all of this to feel some sense of work-life pride, no, it was just sustenance. When basic needs are not met, humans resort to the most animalistic of all behaviors, and while he’s not proud of what he does, he can’t deny the fact that it’s turned him into an adrenaline junkie that gets a rush in his veins every time he knocks a jaw loose.

But balance was key. And hence why he’s a boxer by night, babysitter by day. For at least four days a week, he gets to pretend he’s the king’s most trusted appointed knight, or he’s the radioactive tyrannosaurus rex that wants to tyrannize all the other dinosaurs, or maybe he’s the evil power ranger (he always forgets which color that one was) that is determined to make the world a living hell by smashing mr. potatohead against the bunk bed post a billion times for all the other toys to see. Or whatever other imaginative hyperfixations Yuuji imposes on him in the later afternoon once he’s had his bowl of spaghetti-O’s and is ready to play. Lately, the kid’s been really into space. They’ve got all sorts of space toys these days. Back in Gojo’s day, he just had a good ol’ Buzz Lightyear.

“One rule, that’s it: don’t accidentally kill my son. Actually, one more rule. Don’t flirt with my daughter.”

There’s a part of Gojo that believes your mom kind of knows he’s up to shady shit at night, otherwise why else would she clause for him to not flirt with you if she didn’t read the slight swell to his eye and the healing gash across his cheek as anything other than this boy is trouble and I want him nowhere near my too-good-for-him daughter of reproductive capacity since that’s the exact tale of how I became a single mother in the first place. Or maybe he inherently looks like he’s up to no good? He’s not sure which angle is more offensive, and which one was more flattering. Well in any case, she entrusted Yuuji’s life to him, despite acknowledging the plausibility of harm, and that means she overall thinks positively of him, right? ……right?

The first night he met you, it was awkward to say the least. Gojo spends most of his nights performing deadly stunts for middle aged men with potbellies, and most of his days hanging out with a five-year-old (one who he’d argue is his only friend at this point). Sure, he’s got some people he sees occasionally back in his high school hometown when he can brave hearing about how everyone’s in college now or doing a masters or they’re working respectable nine-to-five day jobs meanwhile he has to lie to his Pops that he’s been working in insurance for the past two years. Listen, in fairness, he probably makes the same amount of money as an insurance broker would anyways, but he can’t exactly own up to the identity of his craft.

Anyways, the point is, he’s not used to seeing other people his age anymore. There’s the occasional hook-up with girls he hasn’t seen since Mrs. Tracy’s homeroom period back in sweet two-thousand-sixteen, or his twice-a-year hangout with Suguru where he only learns the day of where he's visiting from since the guy moves around more than Gojo can keep up with. But save for that, he mostly just sees your mom and then Yuuji.

So seeing you standing in the kitchen for the first time when he went to put Yuuji’s half-finished GoGurt back in the fridge was startling to say the least. When the sight of a woman startled him, he knew he needed to start getting out again.

You were on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab at something over the fridge, and wearing these ridiculously short shorts to where he could see the curve of your ass, his line of sight trailing down the skin of your bare legs. He couldn’t see anything of your form above your shorts, given you were wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt with NYU on it in big bolded university letters. As far as he knew, you were a senior at NYU, studying psychology, made dean’s list consecutively for the past three years given the way your mother posted all your stellar transcripts up on the fridge (he gets that she’s proud of her daughter, but doesn’t that kind of stuff usually end in grade school?) But other than that, it was all the information he had on you.

“Here,” he said, pressing his front to your back, maybe just to get a feel, as he reached over to you to finally grab the box of cereal you were swatting for, the one that he purposefully placed at the back because Yuuji learned how to climb counters recently. “Is this what you want?”

He had heard you gasp, spinning around on your heel fast, staring up at him with wide eyes like you weren’t expecting some random man to be in the house right now, and your first instinct ended up being to grab the knife out of the kitchen knife block and lunge it straight at his torso.

If it wasn’t for his boxer reflexes, he’d have ended up at the ER that evening. Or dead. All depending on the strength you could pack into a stab. But instead, he deflected it, though not without a gash to his torso through the fabric of his shirt, one that you spent the rest of the evening profusely apologizing for and eventually mending to with cotton balls and neosporin.

“I didn’t know you were my little brother’s babysitter,” you mumbled with a small wince on your face as you dabbed ointment on the wound while he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his shoulder. He’s never had an injury tended to before. It was nice.

“It’s fine, I get it, totally acceptable response to seeing a random dude in your house.”

He remembers the curl of your eyelashes while you stared down at his bare upper half, something he imprinted on his memory rather than the concern in your face as your fingertips traced the scars across his chest. He hoped they made you feel better about the one you just slashed into him, because after all, what was one more?

He knows he shouldn’t have, but he kissed you that night. Two minutes before your mom came home, and right after you bid him goodnight with one more apology, he backed you up against the door of your bedroom, his hands on your hips pulling you towards him, and his lips pressed against yours. Something seamless, from candid conversation that was heading towards an end, to full fledged making out against white-painted wood, his teeth nipping at your lip and he wondered just how touch-starved those university boys were leaving you given the desperate way you’d clinged to his shirt for dear life as he deepened the kiss.

The moment only lasted one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and in the remaining three, your mother’s key pushed into the front door and he had to pull away. Always, on the dot, 10PM, she was home. It was how he knew he had two minutes left to make a move in the first place.

So much for no flirting.

6:57pm Gojo Satoru: Bahahah I accidentally forgot where yuuji’s epipen is 6:58pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 6:59pm Gojo Satoru: Turns out this can-o-soup was just covering it in the cabinet

7:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): ??? why did you need to find his epipen

7:08pm Gojo Satoru: Oh he accidentally took a bite of my pad thai 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: I freaked cuz I thought it had peanuts in it but I remember I asked for it without any 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: shit’s crazy

7:10pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY THE FUCK DIDNT YOU TEXT ME????????

7:12pm Gojo Satoru: YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING YOU UNLESS IT WAS AN EMERGENCY ?

7:13pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): SATORU YOU THOGHT HE ATE SOMETHING W PEANUTS IN IT AND YOU FORGOT WHERE HIS EPIPEN WAS THATSS A FUCKIGN EMERGENCY

7:15pm Gojo Satoru: THE KID IS DOING FINE HES ALIVE JESUS LEAVE ME ALONE 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: See. he’s chill 7:17pm Gojo Satoru: with intact airways might I add 7:18pm Gojo Satoru: Also isn’t he a little too old to still be watching baby sensory videos?

7:20pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah my mom thinks he has adhd :(

7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh

He tried to keep his word though (although he doesn’t recall ever giving it) out of the respect he had for your mom. She was a hard-working lady, single mom of two who went from working three jobs to now being a major administrator at a big law firm near the outskirts of town. It was an underdog story if he’d ever heard one, and he loved an underdog story.

But a little texting here and there wouldn’t hurt, right? Or so he thought, until you told him to cut it out with the contact. Maybe you were just trying to be the good one in this situation. After all, hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision. Still, he’ll eventually get your replies to his which shirt should Yuuji wear to the park? and look, the toothfairy gave him the butt of a joint and a couple thumbtacks for his front tooth. he’s ecstatic texts, although in a less timely manner than before when you weren’t trying to preserve propriety. And when you’d occasionally visit every other weekend, he’d do his best to keep his hands in his pockets, and you’d fill up your nights with hangouts with your hometown friends to avoid spending too much time with him at the house. A silent agreement to not fuck each other, it was.

4:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): send pic of yuuji pls i miss him :(

5:04pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo]

5:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): IS THAT BLOOD?!?!?!?!

5:09pm Gojo Satoru: chillllllll it’s fake. We’re working on his halloween costume

5:09pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY DOES IT HAVE BLOOD?!?!?!?!?!?

5:10pm Gojo Satoru: He wants to be a baby xenomorph and I'm his parasitic host. You know that iconic chestburster scene from the old school alien movies? yeah

5:12pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): satoru please for the love of god just dress him up as a dinosaur or something

5:13pm Gojo Satoru: I’m not the one that came up with the idea, okay? It was him

5:14pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): because you let him watch adult swim with you before putting him to bed. you’ve deranged his brain.

5:14pm Gojo Satoru: He needs it. Builds character.

Gojo was living a double life, and if someone asked him, he’d say it was less of a Clark Kent way and more of a Bruce Wayne way, although in reality, he knows it’s close to neither. He’s no superhero with a concealed identity fighting crime, he’s a con artist that’s tricked a hard-working woman into hiring him just because he’s trying to save up enough money to get the fuck out of this godforsaken town, given he’s not knocked dead before then for the crime’s amusement.

But Yuuji looks up to him now. And Gojo’s grown attached to him too. He taught the kid how to tie his own shoes and piss inside the actual toilet like a real man. And that kid’s the only thing that’s made him question any of this. Maybe that’s what dads feel, suddenly held to all this impossible responsibility and the pressure to stop doing stupid shit so that you’ll stick around to see your kids get older. The thought that there are eyes on you now, eyes that are innocent and hopeful and learning, and because they know nothing at all, you feel the responsibility to protect them from everything. For fucks sake, remind him to never become a dad.

“Do you like my sister?” Yuuji had asked him out of nowhere one afternoon after he just got home from preschool, stacking a blue cube over a yellow one at the dining table.

“Uhh,” Gojo starts. He wondered if your mom had put a wire on the kid, so his answer was as diplomatic as he could manage. “Yeah, she’s cool. You’ve got a cool sister.”

“But. But.” Yuuji stutters, trying to find his big boy words. He stretches up higher to reach the top of his stack of blocks, but he only has so much arm real estate at the age of five. “Do you like her like you wanna kiss her?”

Gojo grabs the block from the kid’s hand, for a moment questioning Yuuji’s decision to want to put a blue block over another blue block, but he figures aesthetics are the least of a kid’s concern, and so he places the block where Yuuji wanted it.

Why does the kid know what kissing is anyway? Do kids know that kind of stuff at that age? Isn’t a kiss to a five-year-old just something their mom gives to them before they head off to preschool for the day? And not something that happens between adult men and women? Maybe he should stop watching that adult swim in front of him.

“No. I don’t want to kiss your sister,” he says, again, because he is suspicious of a wire. It was a lie and then some, because he wants to do a lot more than just kiss you.

Gojo lifts the RedBull he was nursing up to his lips and watches Yuuji in the corner of his eye as the kid stares at his growing stack of blocks with a concentrated expression on his face, his chubby fingers squeezing tightly into little round dimpled balls, like he’s putting together all his tiny brain cells together to form another coherent thought before turning to face Gojo on the chair.

“It’s ok. You can kiss her if you wan’ed to. You can marry her too,” Yuuji says.

Gojo almost spits out his RedBull. He barely manages to swallow it, a broken cough immediately leaving his throat when some of the liquid goes down the wrong pipe and he’s smacking a fist against his chest to knock the sanity back into himself.

“Where the fu—…where the flip did that come from?” he asks, blinking back tears from the rasp in his throat.

Yuuji’s small shoulders sulk as he sits back on his heels. “I want a papa.”

Oh fuck that hurt. Jesus christ, there was nothing more sad than that. Yuuji has literally never known what it’s like to have a dad, since his had left before he was even born. Gojo’s not really close to his old man by any means, but he had still been a fatherly figure in some pivotal moments when he had needed it growing up. Kids need their dads. And he’s seen enough people lose their way without one to know that the value of them is really underestimated.

He’s also kind of shocked that Yuuji really did think of you as his motherly figure. Maybe since it had always just been him and his dad, Gojo learned how to self sustain from a young age, and he and his dad became accustomed to just looking after their own interests to avoid the headache of tending to one another. My land is my land, and your land is yours, and there was the occasional Saturday night spent together with his dad’s millions of beer bottles emptied dry on the carpet in front of the 1992 box TV as the two shared a greasy pizza from the place down the street. That was the extent of family solidarity that he knew.

But he can’t imagine being barely eighteen and having to take care of your little brother all by yourself because your mom was too busy trying to put food on the table and was too poor to hire a babysitter. Your mom tried so damn hard to keep you away from the single teenage mother life, but somehow ended up giving it to you by proxy in the end anyway. It was no wonder you wanted space now that Yuuji’s a little older and your mom can afford a babysitter. No matter how much you might love your sibling, being their effective guardian out of pure necessity had to have taken a toll.

Gojo clears his throat before he speaks. “Buddy. If I married your sister, we’d be brothers. I wouldn’t be your dad.”

Yuuji’s eyes light up at the word brother. “Brothers? Me and you?”

“Yeah. Bros.”

The kid giggles, all bubbly with cheeks rounding fully and eyes sparkling. Gojo reaches out to ruffle at his hair before Yuuji gets down onto one stubby leg at a time from the chair then bolts towards the kitchen.

“Juice!!” he yells somewhere around the corner out of sight.

Gojo sighs, staring at all the toys he pulled out for Yuuji to play with, all left in a scattered mess across the table. He gets up out of his chair and heads towards the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your juice, you little demon.”

The conclusion he comes to, and it might read like an obvious one, is that kids don’t really know the reality of life, hence why adults hide so much from them.

This is what he thinks of tonight when he wraps his worn out boxing tape around his hands and his wrist, tightening it with his teeth, and he can smell the sweat and grime from them. The back of the underground gym had an old dated locker room, and as Gojo stretches his neck side to side while sitting on the stiff metal bench, he eyes the peeling red paint of the locker in front of him, blurring vision making it look like spilt blood.

His phone pings with a text. He shuffles inside his duffle bag to look for it while his other hand scratches at his bare chest.

1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): omgomgomg sor y i’m

He blinks at the screen, confusion flashing across his face. He types one letter, but then he sees three dots and a speech text bubble in the bottom left, so he waits for you.

1:09am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i drunk :(

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly.

1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell

1:10am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): at a apartyyyy

His eyebrows raise slightly, the thought of you tipsy on some frat party couch flashing through his mind, yet of all things you could be doing at that frat party, you’re texting him? Must be a really boring party.

1:11am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): whyyy are you aawake?

1:12am Gojo Satoru: Couldn’t sleep 1:12am Gojo Satoru: Don’t you have a midterm in the morning?

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): wtf hwo do you knwo that

1:15am Gojo Satoru: Your mom keeps your schedule posted on the fridge

1:15am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): im so fucked;’;(((

He snorts. He’s got a bit more life experience than you, five-ish years to be exact, more than enough time to master the no-hangover hangout, but just before he can offer you some advice, he sees another text from you.

1:16am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): can i tell u smething

His gaze flits up to the ceiling briefly, and he hears commotion outside the thick walls of the locker room. The previous fight was over, and fast. The guy must’ve been knocked out in under twenty seconds tops, which means that Gojo was next up against whatever superbeast just beat him up.

1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure

He stands up, placing his phone down on the bench before he flexes the muscles in his arms a couple times to get the blood flowing into them. And there’s the noise of another ping. Actually, four.

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sonetimes 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i thikn of 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): when u kisse me 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): *kissed me

His eyes widen slightly, irises dry to the ashy cigarette smoke from outside lingering in the air, and his heart rate picks up a bit. An adrenaline junkie with close to no fear in his veins due to the way his amygdala’s been fried to a crisp from years of boxing, yet he’s got his breath hitched from the memory of your soft lips against his. It makes the blood rushing through the muscles of his arms rush somewhere down south instead.

Loud banging on the door of the locker room jolts him out of his trance, and he’s stiff around the edges once more.

“Satoru! You’re up, man,” he hears Danny, the fight coordinator, yell at him from the other side of the heavy & poorly-installed steel door.

Gojo sighs, glancing down at the texts on his phone. To respond, or not to respond. You’re off your face, clearly chatty from the alcohol, and he knows for certain you’ll regret every life decision you’ve ever made once you wake up in the morning and see the self sabotaging behaviors you’ve engaged in tonight. He knows that responding to you might put you at ease rather than straight up ignoring you, but the feeling will pass, and he has a match to win with no more room left to stall.

He makes his way out the locker room, pushing past the crowded halls of people underneath dim flashing club lighting, some dudes angrily jerking to face him when he pushes past them with a stiff shoulder, only for their eyes to widen when they see just exactly who pushed them.

There’s strippers in the ring, doing some routine for pre-match, and Gojo narrows his eyes at the man he sees laying back over the rubber boundary rope, head tipped back up to the ceiling with a wicked grin on his face. So that was his opponent? He’s never seen the guy before. Was he from a different district? Different district talent was tough, you had no background info on them, while they’ve been preparing to be here for weeks. Hence why boxers tend to do better when they visit a different district than they do in their own. There have been rules made to limit these types of fights, mostly over outrage that it was unfair to bid on them, but they were also usually more entertaining to watch. Gojo’s got a sick feeling to his stomach as the strippers clear the ring.

“Hey,” Gojo calls out, grabbing Danny by the back of his collar and dragging him towards him and away from the girls stepping down onto the floor, “what’s in for this fight?”

Danny glances up at the ceiling. “Tarp’s bettin’ tonight, so it can’t be anything less than ten grand for you. I’d say tops fifteen?”

Gojo narrows his eyes further, then glances off into the ring again. The man stands up, and Gojo gets a better look on his face. He’s got short hair, neon green in color with a dark fade underneath and tattoos all over his face. But those eyes. They were freakishingly red, and it made him uneasy. He knows the type. The type of boxers that do this to genuinely hurt people for thrill. Make no mistake, Gojo understands he’s made himself out to be like that too, gaining some kind of rush out of this profession, but this type of fighter was different. The type to literally continue smashing a dude’s face into the floor until they’re a bloody mess even minutes after the winning call, and no referee to stop it because that’s the kind of action the spectators wanted.

Danny reads his line of sight. “That’s Gale. Newton’s new boxing toy. Came outta nowhere about a month ago. He’s undefeated so far in his district, and Newton specifically wanted to see you up against him tonight,” Danny tells Gojo, resting his elbow up on his bare shoulder. “Chances are he’ll compete with Tarp for final bid if you win this one. I’m talking twenty-five grand in the next if you can knock him out in this.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo acknowledges, rolling his shoulder so Danny’s elbow falls from it. Forget the money, he just wants to make it out of this alive.

He sets his foot up on the square, ducking through the dividing boundary straps and the tacky caution construction tape that the gym thinks creates an exciting ambience. He hears the static of the speakers as the announcers call out Gojo’s name, then this other guy, loud bass club music booming through Gojo’s chest as he tries to take a few deep breaths through the thick air of this low-ceiling arena.

The dim overhead lights flickered, casting shadows over the makeshift ring, and the crowd pressed tight around at every perimeter area, yelling and pushing, one even tosses a beer bottle on the square and it shatters, spreading glass all across, a few shards reaching Gojo’s feet and he looks down at them with a shudder. A fight immediately breaks out in the crowd over something related or possibly entirely unrelated, and he’d have no way of knowing as he swipes the shards away with his heel.

The influential men always sat up on higher seating, off towards the back in their own VIP section where they suck in the smoke of fat cigarettes and peer through 100% tinted sunglasses to assess the boxers they’ve bid thousands on. The light reflects off the golden grills of their teeth with every snarl at any passerby that gets too close, like a lion in its den. That’s what the sanction was called. Lion’s den.

Gojo sighed, eyeing the twisted grin of this Gale guy across from him. Was that his real name? Usually, foreign district guys get nicknames. Gojo’s always thought the nicknames were tacky, and he’s accumulated some of his own over the years, but to his ears, none of them ever really landed, although The White Fox admittedly was kinda nice. Reminded him of throwback shooting games.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, holding his hands up in front of his chest in weak fists, storing energy in them in the form of pure anticipation alone, and then the bell rang.

His opponent lunged towards him immediately, fists flying in a barrage of reckless strikes, and Gojo’s eyes momentarily widened in the briefest moments of hesitation he had been allowed before ducking and dodging every one of this guy's shots, then jumping a step back to create distance.

Fuck. He was fast. Not just boxer fast, athlete fast. There was a difference. And it wasn’t a good one to be up against.

Gojo picked up light on his feet. He couldn’t win this one fast, that much was certain. One single careless or reckless move, and he’ll get tackled. He knows that by the malicious look he sees on that guy’s face, grin wide like he’s some cannibalistic beast.

Stepping back towards the center, Gojo purposefully set himself up for Gale to swipe a vicious hook towards his head, before Gojo last minute ducked down, crouched to the floor, and swung his leg out to knock the guy off balance by his ankles, and he falls onto his back with a loud thud!

There’s a moment of momentary silence from the crowd, right before Gojo put the man in a torso-lock, twisting him in a way a human body should absolutely not be twisted, hearing the grunts of pain and the crack of spine even through the shouts of the crowd.

He can hear it. Kill him! Knock his fucking teeth out! Snap his neck like a goose, man! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM!

He feels like throwing up.

Gojo looks up at the referee, who wasn’t really a referee, just there to run the clock when there was action and only barely stop it before near death. “This is enough, right?” he asks.

The referee nods. “1-0, next round.”

Gojo lets go of his opponent, leaving him there to heave for a moment before he gets up onto his feet again. Just needs one more, and he’s a winner. Ten grand in his pocket, and he won’t have to come back here for a couple weeks.

Gale gets up, swiping at the spit that had trickled out the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and he had an enraged look on his face. The second the bell rang for the second round, he exploded forward towards Gojo with even more fervor than before, gritted expression with a thirst for violence fueling the storm of punches he was throwing towards Gojo but he tried to remain calm, light on his feet, swiftly duck and avoid before he can find another opportunity to clear a sharp, clean jab right to the ribs—

sometimes, i think of when you kissed me

Gojo misses his strike, leaving his guard wide open, and Gale takes the opportunity to land a solid punch straight to his jaw, sending his mouth guard flying straight out of his mouth into the air, and knocking him backwards onto the ground with a thud and then he finds himself staring up at the rusting metal ceiling and a ringing in his ears that almost matches the roar of the crowd.

His head is in a haze, dizzy like where one second could feel like a millennia. He feels a soreness underneath his chin, a pain that radiates to his mouth, and he briefly swipes his tongue over his front teeth to make sure he still has all of them.

What the fuck was that? That intrusive thought. There’s no intrusive thoughts allowed in life or death situations, not when he was always just one smash to the head away from a permanent concussion. But, fuck, he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of you. Even when his vision has gone blurry and he should really be weary about what happens next in this ring, his mind’s just thinking about you, at some frat party, tipping back shots of tequila and waiting for a text-back in response to your tipsy ones. Were you even waiting up on him? Have you already passed out on the couch, or were your friends dragging you back to your dorm? Or are you fucking some other dude right now? Has he got his hand up your top, squeezing at you, sleazily feeling you up before spilling beer all down your shirt, and are you kissing him back with the same enthusiasm, your phone now somewhere long slipped between the cushions of the couch and out of sight?

Even though it’s still sore, he tenses his jaw. Grinds his teeth, even. Tasting blood somewhere along the line of his gums, he realizes his lip is split. He licks at it, the flavor of copper more rich on his tongue, and he clenches his fists tightly. Why’s he thinking of that right now? It just pisses him off, the thought of you with some other dude. Maybe that’s what he needs to win this fight. Spite. Although he’s not sure why the guy across from him at the ring has to pay for it.

He lifts his head up off the ground, and while it felt like years he had been down, a glance at the timer tells him it’s only been a solid four seconds. A solid four seconds that his opponent had to fully charge a lunge towards him with the look of death in his face, raising his elbow up into the air in time with his leap, ready to come straight down, and Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight above him from where he’s still lying on the wood.

“Shit—” he cusses, rolling his body over to the side so that the dude falls straight down onto the floor rather than elbow Gojo in the fucking ribs, and then he gets back up on his feet.

Stakes were high, he has to end this, he has to end this now, and he flexes the muscle in his right bicep, channeling everything he has into this one blow, and before Gale even really has a chance to turn around and face him again, Gojo’s already three-fourths set up a knockout undercut that he drives straight up the guy’s chin, with so much force it has him lifting up off the floor, a vertebrate stretch to his spine before he’s sent flying backwards and slammed against the tight rubber lining of the ring to where he was half hanging over it.

The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted in a roar as the referee fell to one knee beside Gale, checking him for any semblance of consciousness, and when he found none, he waves the match off.

Gojo’s eyes flit up towards the lion’s den, the only opinions that he really needed to care about were sitting in those mahogany chairs with glasses of scotch swirling around in their hands, and he sees some of them looking straight at Gojo before leaning towards one another and discretely talking about something he can’t make out because he doesn’t know how to read lips.

He feels someone tug at his arms from behind, pulling him to crouch down and he balances back on the balls of his feet. He glances down through the ring at the floor. Danny was leaning against the wooden surface of it. “Dude. Go.” He jerks his head towards Gale, who still laid there sprawled across the now stretched out rubber perimeter bands. “Go fuck him up. Knock a few more teeth out, I don’t know, get some more blood out of him.”

“What?” Gojo huffs, yanking his arm away from Danny’s grip. “The fuck are you saying?”

“I told you, man, Newton’s here and he’s got his eye on you. Go give him a show,” Danny says, “do it.” And when he sees clear frustration on Gojo’s face he sighs. “Twenty-five grand, consider that, will you?”

Gojo sneers at the man, an awful taste in his mouth as he spits blood towards Danny’s feet. “Go fuck yourself on his cock if he wants a show that bad.” And then he ducks underneath the bands and hops back down onto the floor, pushing past people who were trying to grab at him and pull at him and lift him up and even throw him down until he made it through flashing hallways and back to the locker room.

He shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt lock into the frame so no one can follow him inside, and then he leans his weight back against the chilling steel before tipping his head back until it hits the surface too.

He lets out of a few deep breaths, then stares down at the sting he finds over his knuckles. Red and blistering from the last punch he delivered, and he’s almost certain he broke a bone in his hand. Fuck. It was bleeding across the cuts, too. He had to figure out a way to get it all healed by tomorrow, as if that was humanly possible, just because he doesn’t want Yuuji questioning him about it.

Yuuji. For fucks sake, when has he ever thought about the kid this much? When has he ever thought about much of anything when he’s out here or in the ring? He’s a babysitter by day. He’s a “part” of your family when the sun is up and normal functioning society is breathing their lives into the clean air. That’s it. He’s no five-year-old’s caretaker in front of all these primetime drug lords, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of you when facing big, burly men he’s aiming to rough up, all within the dead hours of night. So then how come these thoughts are on his mind at all times, twenty-four-seven, around the clock?

He heads further into the locker room, glancing down at the bench where he’d left his phone, then picks it up, neck craned all the way down to glance at the screen as he holds his phone by his hip because he doesn’t have any energy to pick it up any further towards his eyesight.

He sees your messages. You never sent any follow-up ones, just your horrendously typed out sonetimes, i thikn of when u kisse me *kissed me across the span of four texts, and Gojo runs a tired hand down his face.

He tips his head back to groan at the ceiling, guttural with no basis other than a release of all the pent up frustration of every sort, then he types in a couple messages to you,

3:23am Gojo Satoru: That’s nice 3:24am Gojo Satoru: I think about fucking you all the time

—and then tosses his phone into his duffel bag to call it a night.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You’re awoken to your alarm blaring heavily, and you whack your arm across your nightstand table beside your tiny twin-size bed to hit the snooze button, then rub your eye with a loose fist while smacking at the residual taste of alcohol you have on your tongue.

“Mm…” you mumble to yourself. And then the thirst hits you. The overwhelming, intense, unquenchable thirst that leaves your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert before you grab your twice-dented Hydroflask from the nightstand, twist the cap off and chug about twenty ounces of water in one breath.

You let out a deep exhale and fall back into bed, your hand resting on top of your water-filled tummy, and you stare up at the ceiling of your dorm.

Last night was horrible. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to that frat party, especially given you have an exam in—you checked the time on your phone—about an hour, and an hour was not enough time to recover from the raging hangover headache that’s pounding through your head. But your roommates insisted you went, and so go you did. You never knew what to expect, always torn between shaving your pussy before you go or throwing on a stained pair of sweatpants to keep the guys away instead. Sometimes, it was a combination of both. But last night, you ended up drinking more than you usually do, and that always led to poor, poor, poor decisions, in which all the sense of pride you had in yourself was washed down with the puke that you hurled into the upstairs toilet.

You grab at your phone again, briefly seeing that your friends had sent you some photos from the night. You immediately swiped off to the side to dismiss the notifications, because as far as you were concerned, you never wanted to see those photos in your life.

And then, in the briefest of moments, you saw a familiar name in your notifications that made you heart skip a beat.

Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)

With an immediate gasp, you pulled your phone to your chest and held it there, blinking up at the pale yellow ceiling, your heart picking up in rhythm.

Oh fuck.

That was right.

You drunk texted him last night.

You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.

Fuck.

Mortified was an understatement, possibly because you don’t even remember what you said, and so you don’t even want to see what he replied with.

You groan, rubbing both your hands across your face then kick your sheets back with your feet like a child having a temper tantrum because you were so embarrassed you had even texted him at all last night. I mean, he was hot. A little older than you, really gorgeous eyes, tall, and, yeah, you gave him shit for the Instagram muscles thing, but that’s only because you thought he’d find it cheeky that you were trying to humble him despite the fact that he’s more toned and ruggedly sculpted than any other man you’ve ever met. You didn’t want to have a flustered schoolgirl attitude because it would just seep through to his ego.

In any case, he was hot, there was no denying it, so can you really blame yourself? But still. There was collateral with this. You had to see him every other weekend. He knows your family, even your extended since they invited him to Thanksgiving dinner a couple weeks ago. A high-risque drunk text recipient if he ever was one (of course he has been, look at that face). Why couldn’t you have just drunk texted ECON160 guy from last semester who Clit DJ’d you underneath your desk at the back of the lecture hall instead?

The thing that made you nervous about Gojo Satoru was that he was just so…confident? Like, in that I was raised to be this way confident and not that I fought inner demons my whole life to barely end up this way confident, y’know? Never had to fake it ‘til he made it, he just was. At least that was the kind of energy you got from him, and unfortunately for you, it was nerve wracking but enticing all at the same time.

You sigh. “Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuupiiiiidddddddddddd. You. Are. So. Stuuuuuupiiiiddddddd,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair to grip at the strands.

You pull your phone away from your chest, and finally brave yourself to read the texts from your notifications screen, but not without blurring your vision a little to further stall. And then you finally refocus it to read them. The first one you see has you gasping—

3:24am Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter): I think about fucking you all the time

It has heat spreading across your cheeks, and you blink at your screen, then quickly swipe up to read the previous messages with rushed glides of your index finger on the screen to see that he had sent it to you in response to your barely coherent texts about how you still so often think about that time he randomly pressed you up against the door of your bedroom to kiss you that night you first met him.

I think about fucking you all the time

At 3 in the morning? He decided to send that text at 3 in the fucking morning? That was the devil’s hour. What’s he trying to tell you?

Oh come on, you’re not stupid. And you know he isn’t either. The sexual tension was palpable, it was there since the day you two met and you almost stabbed him, and also everytime you were visiting the house, and his shoulder brushes against yours when he’s trying to get past you in the kitchen, or when you’ve got Yuuji in your arms and the kid is clinging to Gojo’s sleeve because he wants him near him at all times. There’s even sexual tension over the phone, in those stupid texts he sends you all the time about meaningless child care stuff, and honestly, those little updates made your day.

But… you don’t know much about him, and your mom would kill you if she ever found out you wanted him. And she’d probably pulverize him if she found out he ever made a move on you. Cremated without leaving a trace behind would be an understatement. She thinks he’s no good and she thinks you’re too good. You know she’s warned him before to not get close to you, as if she was pre-emptively expecting him to try to get in your pants like it was some canon force of the universe, hence why he’s probably so fucking awkward around you whenever she’s there too. Like if he accidentally got caught staring at your ankles, your mom would light him on fire, so he’d rather not risk it by just avoiding looking at you at all.

Your mom has always been protective of you. Your father was a deadbeat, one she thought she loved, only to watch him leave. And she had to raise a baby all by herself. He re-entered your lives right before you graduated high school, knocked up your mom again with Yuuji, and guess what? Left again without a trace. To be doubly humiliated by a man is a fate you wouldn’t wish on any woman, but that’s exactly what your mom went through. It was a wake-up call for her, though. No more living paycheck to paycheck like you had been your whole lives up until Yuuji was born. The kid doesn’t even know how lucky he is with everything he has right now. Your mom worked her way up the corporate ladder and made something of herself and now you guys were comfortable, so it was safe to say she had some sort of right to look after her daughter, of whom she simply doesn’t want to follow in the same naive footsteps of her youth.

You get it. She wants to break the generational cycle. But it made being with men tough on all fronts, let alone dating. You could never bring a guy home because he’d never be enough, even if he cured cancer or could make you orgasm while doing a sixty-nine handstand. And while her overbearing paranoia over what you do or where you are or who you’re with has since dimmed slightly since you officially moved out to finish your last year of higher education at NYU, you can still feel her disappointment from a hundred miles away when you’re making out with some random frat guy on his beer-stained couch at eleven AM on a Tuesday.

But you got to college. You’ve already made it this far. You’re on dean’s list. You graduated high school as salutatorian. You’re the most highly decorated cello player in the state. You won Miss County pageant when you were sixteen for your philanthropic efforts towards feline leukemia. You did online community college for three years so you could stick back after high school and help your mom raise Yuuji, which meant that you had to forfeit your scholarship to Cornell. You’ve spent your whole life being good, you just wanna be bad for a little bit.

And if bad meant fucking the hot and mysterious babysitter, then so be it.

You pick your phone up, begin blasting what the hell by Avril Lavigne on your dorm room bluetooth speaker, then type a message to him that says—

10:34am you: do it then

—then shove your phone under the sheets and belt out the lyrics aaaall my life i’ve been good, but now, ahhhh i’m thinkin’ what the hell!!! while kicking your feet and clutching your pillow.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gojo has no clue what divine entity has overcast their gratuitous spirit over him on this blessed Monday afternoon, but he’ll thank them for it later once his balls are empty.

He’s got you on your back, sprawled across the couch in the living room, the first fuck being a rushed one that you offered him with before he has to go pick Yuuji up from circle time at preschool, which wasn’t ideal, but he’s delirious at the sight of you underneath him right now. Your little NYU shirt, a tighter one this time, bunched up over your bare breasts, otherwise entirely naked other than the flimsy panties dangling at your ankle, and the view of the tip of his cock looking hot and heavy against the velvet of your cunt, slowly pushing in, feeling the warmth of your walls squeeze around him paired with the sweet moan that leaves your lips, makes him fall forward with a bracing hand dug into the cushion by the side of your head because the sensation feels so fucking good he can hardly keep himself upright.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, pushing himself in further to try and bottom out but he’s still got a couple inches he needs you to take, and so you curl your hips upwards towards the cieling to make more room for him, practically putting yourself into a mating press and soon enough he’s balls deep, “you on any birth control?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, eyes closed and head tipped back with one hand squeezing your own tit.

“I can cum inside then, yeah?” he asks you, pushing your knees to your chest, slowly drawing his hips back and you squirm underneath him.

“Let’s get there first, and then we’ll discuss,” you breathe out.

“I’ve been there for the past ten minutes, baby. I could cum at any second with the way you look and feel,” he informs you flatly, because it was just the truth and you had to know it, then he feels himself twitch inside, slowly working up to a languid rhythm, almost fearfully like your mom’s going to pop out somewhere around the corner with a camera crew ready like one of those retro TV shows just to humiliate him on national television for not keeping it in his pants like she’d told him to.

“Harder,” he hears you whisper, and he rolls his eyes shut to just focus on the feeling. The feeling of your nails grazing down the skin of his chest and his abs, tracing the scars he’s collected over the years, and he feels you tightening around him. He leans down to kiss you, fucking you properly now with the squeak of the couch springs echoing across the room, your hums of moans seeping through his lips until he’s fully taking them on with an open-mouthed kiss of sloppy tongue.

The fact that it was wrong felt right to him, and he realizes in this moment he’s lost all sense of control. He wasn’t just an adrenaline junkie that liked to rough up dudes, he was an adrenaline junkie that wanted to fuck you against all better judgement or moral compass. The way your tits were bouncing, the slap of skin on skin, his balls slapping against your ass while you wrap your legs around him tighter, all convincing him that any consequence made it worth it.

“Good,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rams his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears and he feels heat spread all the way up his neck, “goooood, keep squeezin’ me like that, fuck.” He slows down momentarily, just to take a moment and watch, really look and see the way his length disappears inside of your pretty self with every push forward, and then he works back up to a relentless pace that has you tipping your head back with a slack jaw and eyes closed tightly shut, sprained expression of pleasure spread across.

“Oh, oh my god, Satoru—” you mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His hand finds it’s way between your legs, calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your clit and you jolt underneath him, gasping as your hand shoots out to dig your nails into his bicep for purchase. “I’m gonna cum, better tell me where you want it.”

“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”

He presses his mouth against your cheek in a lazy smile, “Atta girl,” he drawls before pushing your ankles down as far as they’d go near your ears, folding you in half and then reigns all hell into your cunt. He should really care a bit more about your pleasure, but testing your flexibility like this with both his hands holding you down was doing sinful things to his brain, and besides, you had yourself covered with the messy circles you were rubbing over your clit. It was hot to see that too, your nimble pretty fingers so close to the place where he was pounding into you.

“Oh shit, shit, shit—” he grunts when starts to see blistering white in his vision, balls straining with a pleasure that was almost painful. The moment he finishes feels like hot flashes in his brain, a heat like the cum he begins to paint inside your walls in time with your release, thrusting over and over and over, each one more staggered as he lets off a long, drawn out groan that comes from deep within his chest with the feeling of you milking him dry and the sound of you enjoying every second of it. He can’t remember the last time he came this much or this hard and even after coming down from the high, he feels the remnant pulse of your orgasm around his now half-flaccid dick.

He leisurely pulls out, hearing you let out a soft whimper as he marvels at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you and down towards the couch, before he scoops it up with a couple fingers and pushes it back inside. You grip his wrist tightly, but you weren’t stopping it, that motion of him plunging it all back into you.

“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.

“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.

He pulls his fingers out of you, coated with sex, then plugs your pussy with the fingers of his other hand because he kinda likes the idea of you walking around all day with him inside of you, so he doesn’t want it getting out. He’s then pushing his other fingers past your lips, pleased to find he’s met with not even so much as a grazing of teeth, and he grins, “bet you take a dick in your mouth as good as you take it down here.”

Your furrow your brows at him, the pout of your lips seen in the way they were puckered to lick his fingers off clean, and when you release the suction with a smack of your tongue and his fingers were wet from your saliva now, his eyes narrow with desire. You push his face away with the heel of your palm to his forehead. “Flattery won’t make me suck your dick.”

“Alright. So? How is it?” he jerks his chin towards your face, pushing against your hand with his forehead until he’s hovering over you again, “taste good?”

“It’s cum, Satoru.”

He shrugs. “Bad?”

“No,” you say, and you can’t make eye contact, “good.” You sigh. “Hot. I don’t know. Salty, sweet. I’m the sweet. You’re the salty. And this conversation is obscene.”

He kisses you, capturing your lips softly, tongue darting out to taste what’s on yours. “I like it that way. Dirty. Nasty. Obscene, whatever.”

There’s the slam of a car door heard from the driveway, and the two of you instantly make eye contact with round eyes.

“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”

He gets up off the couch in a panic, and heads to the window of the living room fully butt-ass naked, then peers through the blinds to see—

Your mom was making it up towards the front door, rustling with her keys in her purse. And the last thing he sees before he turns around to face you is her pushing the keys through the lock.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he cusses, finding his boxers off of the floor, hopping on one foot with his cum & slick coated dick flapping around and slapping against his thighs unceremoniously as he tries to get one leg in through them and then the other. You’re trembling as you hook your panties back into place, pull your shirt back down your torso, and even in his extremely panicked state, he’s still sad he can’t freely stare at your tits anymore. You’re rummaging for your skirt in a haste, looking everywhere for it, and he finds it underneath the coffee table before tossing it to you and then he side-to-side hops towards the coat closet while he pulls his sweatpants up over his ass, in time for you to quickly run and shut the door of the closet closed just before the front door of the house swings open.

The inside of the coat closet is dark, barely enough space in there for a six-foot-four two-hundred-and-twenty pound man, but it’s better than being balls deep inside his boss’s daughter on the couch when said boss just came home from work.

He hears conversation on the other side of the door, albeit muffled, and he presses his ear to it to hear better while he tucks his dick into his boxers from where it was hanging over the waistline.

“Mom! You…you’re home so early,” he hears you squeak out.

“Yes,” your mom says, “The rest of my meetings today are online, so I figured I’d come home when there’s less traffic.”

Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.

“I see, I see, how was your day at work?” you ask with a tremble in your voice.

“Fine.” And then nothing. The silence could mean that was all she had to say, since your mom wasn’t really a woman of many words, or it could be a silence that means she’s suspicious about something. “Darling, why is your skirt flipped up and tucked into your panties? Your whole butt is showing.”

Through the wood of the door, he hears you softly gasp. “Oh, um, I just went to pee. Must’ve—…must’ve got caught when I pulled it back up.”

“I see,” your mother says, and Gojo can hear her dropping her heels down near the shoe rack at the entrance. “You know, I really don’t like those short skirts you wear often. Maybe it’s just your generation, but I think it looks tacky and cheap.”

“Mom,” you say, in as stern of a voice as you can manage without sounding embarrassed.

Your mother sighs. “In any case, where is Satoru? I still would like him to go pick up Yuuji. I don’t have the patience to sit in preschool & daycare traffic right now.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” you chirp, and then he hears you let out a small oh no before you lean even more weight against the door, this time somewhere lower, and he realizes you’re pressing your ass against it. His eyes narrow with a small frown, and then he realizes— his cum must still be trickling down your thighs. You couldn’t put your panties on fast enough.

Shit. That’s hot. A little fucked up, but hot. He feels his dick harden against the fabric of his boxers, and he rests his forehead against the door, fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat as he slips his hands down his sweatpants and then gives his cock a firm squeeze. The thought of you discretely swiping his cum up your inner thigh and smearing it against your thin panties so your mom doesn’t catch sight of it dripping down your legs has him slowly working up to a rock-solid erection, and he almost lets out a broken grunt from the feeling.

“What?” your mother says, “what do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve just been watching TV this whole time,” you say, “last time I saw him…he was…um, in the backyard pulling weeds?”

He lets out a small scoff through his nose at your cover-up. Cute. And not bad.

Your mother sighs loudly, and he glances down at the strained veins on his dick as he tugs it through his hand, the tip rearing and appearing flushed and dripping with precum. God, you were just on the other side of this door. Less than a few inches away, and he’d be inside of you.

“I’m going to take a shower. Go find him and tell him to pick up Yuuji soon. But before then, change into something less revealing,” your mother says in a more or less detached tone, and he can hear the stomps of her footsteps up the stairs from above him in the coat closet.

The two of you wait at least a solid minute, and just when the coast is clear, he hears you turn the knob of the coat closet and slowly crack it open.

“Okay, I think she’s in the shower, I hear the water running,” you whisper at him, “you can go now—” You glance down towards his groin, your jaw dropping. “What—…Satoru, why the fuck is your dick staring at me right now?!” you whisper-hiss at him.

He pulls you into the coat closet, pushing your front against the door to where it clicks shut, and you gasp when his hands pin your wrists crossed behind your back and his dick presses into the plush of your ass.

“You talkin’ to your mom while your pussy’s stuffed full of my cum was the single hottest thing that’s ever grazed my lizard brain,” he tells you, flipping your skirt up and hooking your panties to the side, his index finger briefly brushing against your entrance to find it still leaking from the way your walls were pulsating from his words. And then he aligns his tip to your entrance. “Now keep quiet while I do this, ‘kay?”

“Oh—” you gasp, your cheek pressed against the door as you arch your back and push your ass out for him, “okay—” you say, barely vocalizing the first syllable before he’s already stuffing himself inside of you with one solid glide of a push, making you yelp loudly and he has to instantly cup a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh,” he hisses at you, immediately starting to pound you from behind, “told you to— fuuuck,” he catches sight of his length covered with a mix of your glassy arousal and his white cum, now starting to cream at the base of his cock, “jesus christ—” he breathes out, squeezing the flesh of your ass harshly with his other hand and you let out another yelp, “I told you to fuckin’ keep quiet.”

“I’m—mff,” you muffle against his palm, “I’m trying but,” your hips move back in time with his, “feels good, feels too good,” you mewl, and his hand desperately yanks up the fabric of your shirt so he can squeeze at your breast.

“Yeah?” he grunts, hypocritical for telling you to keep it down when he was slamming his hips against your ass with so much fervor he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was reverberating across the entire house, “you like it when I fuck you while your mom’s all clueless just up the stairs?” His rhythm falters, feeling his release building, and his hand reaches in front of you to rub your clit, making you drop your head against the door with tightly closed eyes. “Gets— you—wet, doesn’t it?” he torments you, his lips near your ear as he slams his hips against you harshly with every enunciated syllable.

“Mhm, mhm,” you easily agree, or maybe that’s because it’s all you can really articulate, and he angles his hips up so his balls slap more fervently against your clit, making you scream into his palm while he picks up the pace of the circles he draws on your clit and in one, two, three— beats of his pounding heart, he feels you come undone around his cock, gushing wetness leaking out of you, he can feel the mess of fluids splattering on the skin of his thighs due to each of his heaving thrusts as he cusses out a fuuuuuuckkk before spilling his cum inside of you, a short-lived and thicker release this time that has you mewling from overstimulation, and in a few following thrusts, he’s given you everything he had to give.

His eyes open, he wasn’t even aware he had shut them in the first place, and he glances down at where the two of you were joined. Rings of arousal coat the length of his half-pulled-out dick, and the second he retreats all of it, a bulging push of his cum seeps out of you, dripping and pooling all over the hardwood floors.

“Holy shit, I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says, taking a step away to commit the sight to memory, your legs trembling and still slightly spread, ass pushed out and when you wiggle it a little, he lets out a huff of an exhale because he just can’t believe how sexy you are. Are all college girls like this? He’s never been to college, his old man’s been trying to get him to go for years, but maybe this is what finally convinces him.

“No pics,” you breathe out once you catch your breath, standing up straight slowly, “that’s my one sex rule.”

He takes a step closer to you, flipping your skirt back over your ass while you shimmy your shirt down to cover your chest. “That’s the only rule you have? Anything else goes?” he asks.

You spin around to face him, his eyes briefly flitting down to the still exposed skin of your midriff. “I have a feeling I’d be making up more specific rules if it was with you.”

He smiles, his hands grabbing your hips before pressing you up against the door again. “I also had a rule. It was to not fuck you. Wait, no, to not flirt with you. Which, technically, I didn’t do.”

You blink your eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused, “I didn’t.”

“Huh—” you scoff, “how do you think we got into this situation in the first place?? You didn’t just say wanna fuck? You were insufferably flirty with me.”

“Nahhh nah nah nah nah, baby, that’s not flirting,” he tells you, thumb running circles over your hips, “that’s, like—…I don’t even fuckin’ know how it worked on you to be honest, I was just being stupid.”

“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid?”

“Well you said you were being stupid so me falling for it must mean I’m stupid.”

“Pshhh. You’re cute. Pulling weeds, by the way? Adorable.”

Your hand slowly roams up the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching at your wrists until you uncovered up to his collar bone, and you stare at his skin. He tries to not let the way his heart’s beating faster show through the heave of his chest.

“Why do you have all these scars, anyway?” you whisper to him.

“Too many girls tryna stab me,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” Your thumb traces the one you had left on him.

“I—” He stops himself.

Does he tell you? Should he tell you? What, just because he’s seen you naked and you took his dick like a queen he’s supposed to open up to you about these things now? He doesn’t know. Maybe he could? Maybe you already suspect what he does at night. And if not, at the very least, I’m an underground boxer might make you think he’s hot? At the very worst, you’ll report him to the cops and he’d get fired as your little brother’s babysitter then thrown into jail, but not before the busted cartel gets him first.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling it from his chest, “no hyper personal details until you’ve had my dick in your mouth at least once or twice. That’s my one rule.”

You snort. “I could’ve guessed that rule from a mile away.”

He hums. And then there’s the sound of steps creaking down the stairs above the two of you.

You both make eye contact, eyes widening, internally yelling at each other: how the fuck did we get into this situation twice?!

This time, Gojo opens the door and stumbles out of the closet, leaving you inside of it, just in time for your mom to come down the stairs.

“Satoru. I was looking for you,” she says as she rounds the post. “Have you picked up Yuuji? He has to go for his swimming lessons soon.”

“Ah, nope, was just about to head out,” he says, letting out a cough to diffuse tension, “sorry, I was—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind him, “…pulling out some gnarly weeds.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I see. Well, thanks. If you want, I can add a gardening stipend to your paycheck. Let me know.” And he’s not sure how to respond because he’s not sure if she’s joking.

He heads out the door, the keys to your mom’s minivan in his palm as he throws them up into the air and catches them a couple times. And just before he gets inside the car, he turns on his heel to face the house and pulls his phone out of his pocket to type in a message for you.

3:22pm Gojo Satoru: Send over those me-specific sex rules soon

[the end]

a/n. hope u enjoyed im shitting bricks posting this bc i haven't posted a oneshot smut since february but thanks so much for reading i appreciate u!! i got way too invested in the whole underground boxer thing 😂😂 but the fact i managed to keep everything under 12k is an accomplishment to me bc if u read my other fics you know i’m a yapper LOL i have another kind of a similarly written smut oneshot n it’s a lil angsty (totally different au tho) i’ll probs post that one next but yea i really like, hmm, i really like exploring entire characters within a short amount of time i enjoy writing the obscure lore drops xd it’s been kinda fun so far anywho much loveee hope to see u around! <3

➸ masterlist

taglist:

@joemama-2 @erencvlt @pickuptruck01 @hanakotateyama @nuronhe

@beabadobeee @air3922 @timetoletmyimaginationfly @chiyokoemilia @jotarohat

@sirencholia @sorcerersseestars @horisdope @to-dabi @staoru

@aliidarling @ninjaturtletoes @lavender-hvze @lanadelreylover11 @chckn-pi

@satoryaa @gojodickbig @v4mpieres @reinam00n @sleepyyammy

@haikomaiko @tbzzluvr @myahfig4 @arabelluhhh4200 @bloopsstuff

@nat-the-gayass-down-bad-mf @badbclub @blackunecorn @geniejunn @n0tviv

@verystrawberryhottub @iheartshopping @peonysfordayz @dreamsxmerci @aishies-stuff

@milkm4nz @athinasaurus @sashisuslover @welldamnsatoru @aeriiixhh

@crystalymin @dcvilxswish @miakxn @satxoru

9K notes · View notes

gethooked · 2 months

Text

We got you ~ HOOK & K. Shibata

Requested

@moniquelovesaewhook : Katsuyori shibata has a young sister who is hooks girlfriend and she's sick so they both take care of her or something where they all hang out together pretty please? 🙂🥺❤

Taglist: @saramusazzi99 @carlybow @moniquelovesaewhook @biggesthat3r

You woke up Tuesday afternoon after your plane landed you decided to take a nap in your hotel room. But you woke up to your head feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. A stuffy nose, and a horrible cough. After realizing you are officially sick your brother Katsuyori called you to check to make sure you were alright. You didn’t want to bother him so you said you were fine and not to worry about you. Not even five minutes later your boyfriend HOOK called you asking the same thing. And he said not to lie to him. You told him your symptoms and he said he would be there in less than an hour.

*an hour later*

HOOK arrived at your hotel room door and he did not come alone. He brought your big brother with him. Your brother right away told you to get back in bed and that himself and HOOK would take care of you until you feel better. You rolled your eyes knowing they will NOT leave until you actually do feel better. So you went back to bed. HOOK got all the medicine you needed to take and made sure you took it. Your brother came back in the room with two cold wash rags. One for your head and then one for the back of your neck. You brother then proceeded to put on a show of your choice and laid down on the other couch. While HOOK cuddled with you. After awhile of watching your favorite show you fell asleep in HOOK’s arms.

#hook aew #aew hook #hook #send hook #730 hook #aew hook imagine #hook imagine #aew hook x reader #hook aew imagine #hook x reader #handsome devil hook #hook x f/reader #hook x female reader #hook x you #hook x y/n #katsuyori shibata #katsuyori shibata imagine #katsuyori shibata x sis reader

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eupheme · 2 months

Text

— tooth and nail

alpha!logan x mutant!f!reader

rated e - 4k

tags: dub-con (logan goes into a rut), a/b/o-lite elements (logan-only - ruts/knots/mates), breeding kink, mutual pining, two jealous dummies, size kink, fighting as foreplay, return of The Claws (claw-play?), outercourse, biting, marking, come play, rough PiV sex

a/n: pure pwp. reader has druidic-based mutant powers (wild shape, strong connection to nature/animals, influence over vines/foliage) and is from Earth-10005.

Logan knows this feeling. He thought he’d left this part of himself behind. Left on his Earth, carved out and buried with the rest.

Should have told you no. Should have locked himself away like he always did. Instead, he’s stuck, unable to keep his mind from wandering while his sparring partner - sweat-dewed and squirming - is pinned beneath him.

(Or - Logan’s rut begins at a most inopportune time)

Something wasn’t right.

It’s been settling under his skin for days now. Tiny hooked claws, digging into flesh. A syrupy urge low in his guts, his mind not quite his own.

He thought he’d left this part of himself behind. Left on his Earth, carved out and buried with the rest.

The world he lives in now is different. There’s humans, mutants, aliens. But none like him, answering to something innate that defined him in a way that didn’t matter anymore.

It’s been a while. Almost forgot how it felt, after years of tamping down this part of him. Should have recognized sooner what it was. This rippling, simmering irritation just beneath his skin, so much stronger than usual.

Should have locked himself away, when he realized his rut was returning.

In his years in his own Earth, the urge had lessened. Dulled by alcohol and grief. Managed by himself, in the few months this part of his nature did visit him.

But he hadn’t been able to tell you no. Hadn’t been able to resist, not when you smiled so prettily at him, practically begging him.

And the thought of you leaving him behind at the X-Mansion, while you went off without him - to spar with Hank, instead - made him want to rip McCoy’s arms off.

Desire swirls around him now, as he trades blows with you. Your arms snaking around his shoulders as you shoulder a well-placed hit, bringing you both down the floor.

Logan feels like a pup again, watching your breathless laugh. The clench of your thighs around his waist. The heady throb low in his guts, the pressure of his cock as it strains against his suit.

His hips lift, separating him from you. Trying to form an excuse, while his brain is rocketing into overdrive.

Fighting back the urge to close that gap again. To peel down those tight leggings that drive him mad, bury his mouth against your pussy and make you scream. Fuck you full of him, until he’s dripping out of you for days.

The though makes him growl, as he tries to concentrate.

Tough to fake an illness, or injury. You’d see right through him.

Or even worse, worry.

So all he had to do was finish out this session.

Shouldn’t be too hard.

If you can just avoid touching him… he might just make it through.

You know you shouldn’t let yourself get distracted like this while sparring with Logan, but you can’t seem to help it.

Not when you’ve been nursing this thing inside you for months now. Something planted from another earth, settling low in your chest. Infesting like the vines that sprout from you, taking over until you’re fully ensnared.

You’ve tried to ignore it. Didn’t want to ruin a good thing between you.

Out of everyone in the X-Mansion, you got along with Logan the best. Used to a solitary lifestyle after being raised among the druids, before you knew the truth to what you were, the mutant lineage that flowed through you.

It had paired well with his temperament. His anger and grouchy quips slipped from you like raindrops on a leaf. Something about spending time with you softening him at the edges - just a little bit.

He was still the hard man he used to be. Grizzled, with that scowl of his and the flecks of grey at his temples.

And despite your efforts - forgetting and moving on hadn’t been successful. Not at all.

Because it’s impossible to ignore when he’s close, like this. Pressing your back to the mat, your wrist slammed against the padded floor. A knife skittering away, because even after all this time - even with his insisting - you were still reluctant to use it.

It sends your pulse racing. He’s so fucking strong - and you think that maybe, even if you had been an equal pair, that you’d still throw these matches.

Let him win, if it gets him like this. Sweaty and pressed up against you as you struggle beneath him. A thigh jammed between yours to prevent you from slamming your heel into his calf.

You’ll think about this later.

You always do after your sparring sessions. You hand slipping between your thighs in the shower after. Bitten-back moans as you play out more in your mind - the plunge of your fingers inside your aching cunt until you’re shuddering with the pulsing pleasure, slumping back against the cold tile.

The fantasies always comes back to him.

You think that maybe Logan wants it too. Have felt his gaze on you when he thinks no one is looking, but your senses have always been keen. Animal attraction, perhaps. Pheromones. Something about his smell, his touch, beckons you - though you don’t understand what it means.

And it’s only now that you realize he’s gone still above you. Eyes blown wide, a sharp breath of air inhaled through clenched teeth. A low growl, caught in his throat.

Holding himself back. You can see it - the way his muscles string tight. How his eyes dip, flicking over your face. Down to the part of your lips. The sweat that dews your chest.

Close enough that you can inhale him - the smell of leather and cigar smoke blending with more - something inside you giving them a name.

Want. Need.

It gives you courage.

You bridge the gap, for a just a moment. A shallow lift of your hips. Encouraging, the movement pushing your tits against his heaving chest.

“Bad fucking idea, sweetheart.” He growls.

It’s rough, low. Ground-out as if to himself, a wounded sound slipping from his throat.

His response has a mark forming between your eyebrows. A soft murmuring of his name.

Logan’s face dips, eyes closing as he inhales. Then, without warning, his knuckles cradle against your throat.

Wrist flexing as two of his claws spear forward on either side of your neck. Punching through the training mats and sinking deep into the concrete beneath.

Pinning you completely under him, your hips dropping as your free hand wraps around his forearm. A tug of fear ripples through you, but he doesn’t budge.

“Logan,” You repeat, gasping, “What are you doing? What’s wrong?

This isn’t like the times you’ve sparred before. He’s never drawn his claws. You don’t heal like he does - you both know it. Never using more than a loose fist, an open palm in your sessions.

He’s breathing heavy. Holding himself over you, his other hand still wrapped firmly around your wrist.

“I’m gonna let you go.” It comes out ragged, through clenched teeth.

“And then I need you to leave, and lock me in after.” Only now does he look at you - his dark eyes burning, “You understand?”

His voice is so rough that it makes your skin prickle. Heat licking down your spine, stoking the embers that have settled low in your belly.

“I don’t.” It comes out hushed.

How can you? It’s like a flip has been switched, in those few moments. Did you truly misread everything?

His eyes haven’t left your face. There a peek of his tongue against his lips, the words coming slowly, “Don’t wanna do something you’re gonna regret.”

And for a moment, time stands still. An ache in your chest that’s so different than the one between your thighs. Finger unfurling, reaching.

Slipping up his arm, touching his cheek. He flinches, eyes fluttering shut as he holds his breath.

“What could I regret with you?”

If it were anyone else, the question would be stupid. You should be running from the man that has you pinned to the ground, claws drawn. Another twitch and you could be dead - the middle unsheathing to pierce clean through your soft throat.

“Whatever it is, let me help you.” Your voice is gentle - coaxing - and for a second, he leans into the touch. Palm pressing against heated skin, and you gasp, “You’re burning up, Logan.”

“You can’t help me with this.” He rasps with his eyes closed, voice strained.

Your head shakes, “Let me try.”

A long pause lingers. The room filled with the uneven intake of breath. Logan’s words coming slowly, as his eyes open - dropping down to your throat. And then away, like he can’t bear to even look at you, “Does the word rut mean anything to you?”

It feels like something stirs again inside you. The flutter of wings, not unlike the feeling when you tap into your power. Like threads slipping your fingertips, connecting you down to the earth below.

“Animals have ruts. Deer, elk, creatures like that.” A beat, as you begin to understand. Heat flaring in your cheeks at the implication, “But, not… not humans.”

He grunts, shifting.

It takes everything not to let your chin tip down, to look.

“They do where I come from.”

Pieces start to fall in place. His increased irritability around you lately. Territorial. Aggressive.

Blending in to what you know, in your connection to nature. Those animalistic instincts that linger in your blood long after you’ve shed your beast form.

Desire. Mating. An urge to breed.

Oh, fuck.

You squirm and he makes a warning sound without thinking - a rough rumble from his chest. His weight shifting on top of you, still hovering.

“How do you handle it?”

His eyes flicker up to yours, then away again. Jaw working, a breath before he answers, “Take care of it myself. Or, I’d find someone to work through it with me.”

Even as you’re scrambling to make sense of it, you understand his insinuation. It stuns you into silence. You cannot allow that. The thought sends your heart crashing into your guts.

Your chin tips up, defiantly.

“Let me help you.”

Those dark eyes narrow as they snap to your face. Your words softening, as your thumb sweeps across his skin, the scruff of his cheek.

“I want to help you.”

Logan laughs, the sound ragged. Showing the points of his canines with the shake of his head.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” His voice is smoky-low. Rough as it scrapes across your skin, leaving goosebumps, “You couldn’t take me.”

Your heart feels like it’s pounding in your throat. Heat licking down your spine, and surely he can feel it - the flutter beneath the press of his knuckles.

“I can.” It comes out breathy. Insisting.

His tongue brushes over his lips as they part. A tilt of his head as he lowers himself. His knee pressing against the meat of your thigh, nudging. Opening your legs up further. Spreading them wider.

“I will ruin you.”

It’s growled in your ear. Each word coming slowly, as he lets the hard curve of his cock grind against your core. His meaning unmistakable, his voice pitching down with a ragged groan.

“I want you to ruin you. You understand?”

And, you do. It floods through you, sending your nerve endings alight. Imagining how he would handle you, take you. The space between your thighs throbs.

His admission - the rasp of his words and the heavy nudge of him against you makes you do something very selfish.

And very stupid.

You’re just able to reach your thigh holster now, with this new angle. The quick fumble of your fingers to loosen the small dagger.

The metal side of his claw pressing into your skin as your head turns. Before he can move, a flick of your wrist sends it through the air.

Your aim is slightly off, but it does the job. Seating itself in the control box by the door, a sizzle as the wires are cut.

A metallic snick as the doors lock. The lights click off, plunging the room into darkness. The ground bathed only with the stripes of sun that stretch across the floor from the row of window along the wall.

Logan lets go of your wrist, but leaves you pinned. His fist curling in the strap of your tank, knuckles pressing against your throat as he yanks you forward.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Logan snarls, “You want me to use you?”

His words make you whimper. A soft little whine that has his hips dropping further. An unconscious rut against your core, leg muscles flexing as you clench around nothing.

You meet his second thrust, your body curving against his. Head tipping back as the seam of your leggings nudge against your clit.

“Fuck.” It almost sounds awed now, his words soft and slow, “You do, don’t you?”

Letting his full weight drop, as your hands grip onto his shoulders for purchase. You had thought you were pinned before, but he had still been using his knees, his elbows. Hovering, in an attempt to keep control.

Now, you can feel all of him, as his body maps against yours. Pulling a rough groan as his hips flex, grinding himself slowly against your core.

“Logan, please.”

He growls. Fingers unfurling from your shirt. Ghosting down your side to fit against the curve of your hip. Biting into flesh with a bruising force, as his face buried in the crook of your neck. A hot exhale against your skin, as he pants - finding a rocking rhythm, as his body curls around yours.

You can feel the way his muscles tense with each needy snap of his hips. The way each breath pitches into a near-silent whine, as he seeks friction.

It’s not enough, as much as he wishes it was.

“I need-” Logan rasps, “Tell me to stop and I will.”

The hand on your hip snakes between you. Roughly tugging on the belt of his suit, until the clasp opens. All while murmuring assurances, half to himself.

“I’ll let you go. Work through it myself-”

That need he speaks of rolls off him in waves. Facial hair scraping against your cheek. The brush of his lips against your throat, just above the cool press of his claws.

“Don’t stop.” It’s easy to answer. Easy to lean into what he offers you, all those sweet promises wrapped in steel.

The groan he makes is filthy, “Give me your hand.”

Your fingers unlatch from the vice-like hold on his suit. A broad hand wrapping around your wrist, as he tugs you where he needs you. The tips brushing heated skin, making you gasp.

“Make a fist,” He rasps, “Fuck, that’s it.”

Lining himself up, pushing his bared cock into the circled grip of your fingers. Using you like a cheap imitation of what he craves, as his desire leaks from him. Slicking up your fingers, with each roll of his hips.

He’s heavy in your hand. You can feel how your fingers stretch - flexing, opening, with each forward thrust. Barely able to circle around, fingers splitting when you reach his base.

You can’t help but move with him. Hips rocking up, to match his messy rhythm. The knuckle of your thumb pressing against your seam, nudging at where you ache for him.

“I can smell you, sweetheart,” Logan moans, his nose dragging along the curve of your jaw. Lips parting so he can test his teeth against a spot under your ear, the pressure making you shiver, “Your pussy’s leaking, thinking about me.”

Your eyes flutter shut, as you whine. Squeezing his cock a little more tightly, wishing it was filling you instead just your fingers.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” He husks, “You think you can take it?”

You want anything he’ll give you. And anything is better than the way he’s teasing you. Palm slick with his desire, your own soaking through the soft fabric of your leggings.

“I want it. Want your cock,” You breathe, “Want to fuck me, please-”

There’s a final jerk of his hips against you, his voice gruff as his thighs shift.

“Stay still then, sweetheart.”

There’s the sharp rasp of adamantium against stone as they withdraw from the floor. His knuckles easing carefully from your throat as he leans back. Eyes dropping down, considering.

Barely a heartbeat before there’s the kiss of metal against skin, as the edge of a claw hooks under your shirt. Your breath held as it slips up, between your breasts.

A tug, and the fabric is shredding. Fibers splitting until the drag of the sharp tips, from belly to throat. Baring you, the air in the open room chilling your heated skin as you gasp.

Nipples already pebbled as his mouth descends. A needy moan loosening when he kisses at the curve of your tits, his tongue flattening across a tight peak.

Your arms wrap around him, their duty forgotten. Distracting you as his claws shift down. Your breath catches, but then there’s the sound of them sheathing - slipping back under his skin.

His hands finding the slice he made in the waistband, making short work of the rest himself. Ripping your leggings open - dragging your thighs over his as he leans back on his knees.

And looking down, it’s only now that you can fully see him. The familiar, worn yellow suit that shows off how broad he is. Zipper yanked down at the crotch, his cock pulled through with his impatience.

Eyes widening, when you realize there’s more to him than you though. Hanging heavy between his thighs, pretty and flushed. A thickened bulge sitting where your fingers had split - what you had mistaken for his base.

“Need to be inside you, sweetheart,” Logan’s hand already wrapping around his shaft, dragging the tip across your cunt, “Don’t make me waste a drop, alright?”

Fingers tugging the gusset of your panties to the side. Letting the tip slap against your clit. It glides against you, slipping against your combined arousal. Seeing how you flutter as you clench, your own need spiking.

“Logan,” You beg, “Stop teasing, please-”

He makes a rough sound. Almost a laugh, if it didn’t sound so pained.

“Just listen to you. Begging like you’re in heat,” He grunts, “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need.”

The tip dips down, nudging at your entrance. Lining himself up, before his hips drive him forward. The sudden pressure chokes you - a bitten-back cry as your muscles string tight, thighs clamping down around his waist.

“Fuck, I’ve dreamed about this.” He growls. Spearing into you an inch at time with a long, fluid motion. Fingers biting into your thigh, holding you open as your own scrabble against the mat - searching for something to hold onto.

“Tugging down those leggings. Fucking you into the floor.”

You can barely contain the whine. Brow furrowed, as he splits you open. Your pussy making room for him until the swollen ring at his base cradles your entrance.

Only able to inhale a short breath before he’s moving. Hands catching your legs, slipping to the joints of your knees where they press into his ribs.

Pushing your thighs back towards your chest, opening you up further, as his cock drags along your walls. He feels deeper, bigger - groaning at the way you clench so tightly around him.

Better than any of those daydreams, as he leans into you. Chasing that animalistic urge inside to bury himself fully in you, ensuring that you’ll take every drop.

Your fingers bite into his wrists. The breath pushed from you with each thrust, feeling like he’s deep in your belly, as that swell stretches at your opening.

“Thought about it too,” You admit with a gasp, as that heat inside you burns, “Wanted you, like this.”

“Yeah? I bet you did.” He grunts, as his thighs snap against your ass. Leaning over you now, eyes fixed on yours. Close enough that you can see the glaze to them, lost in his need for release.

Before his eyes drag down. Seeing where you’re stretched around him. Another shallow nudge, urging himself deeper. His thumb pressing at your entrance, before slipping back to hook around the swell.

“Good girl like you’d take my knot too, wouldn’t you?”

His knot. Your head shakes. He barely fits at is. You can feel every ridge as he ruts into you, every thick vein, “I don’t think- Logan, that won’t fit-”

The thumb shifts up. Pleasure burning through as he rolls the pad across you clit. His brow pulled in concentration, but there’s a flesh of white teeth.

“Sure it will, baby.” It’s slick, how he touches you. His cock grinding again and again against a spot that steals your breath, “You were made to take it. We’ll make it fit.”

It makes you moan. Your fingers sliding into his hair tugging at him. He comes willingly, a soft sound as his mouth dips to press against yours. Turning hungry as your lips part. Rubbing at you as his tongue strokes against yours, deepening the kiss.

The pleasure licks in your veins, a molten feeling building in your core.

A rough murmur against your lips, “Tell me you want it. I’ll make you feel good, sweetheart.”

You parrot it back to him without thinking, hips chasing the press of his thumb.

“I want it,” You keen, “Your k-knot.”

Willing to do just about anything he asks if he keeps touching you like this. If he keeps rutting against the spot that makes your arousal leak around his cock, each drive of his hips loud and messy in the quiet room.

He groans, the hand at your thigh pinching, sure to leave bruises tomorrow. The fingers at your clit slipping up to splay across your abdomen, his palm hot again your skin.

“Yeah?” Logan husks - pressing down, almost as if he can feel himself buried inside you, “Fuck, you’d look so good filled with my pups.”

His rhythm going sloppy, as a hand slips up to palm at your breasts, “These pretty tits nice and round. Wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you, baby.”

Some of his words are new to you, but your body still reacts to his tone. The need, the longing. An intrinsic understanding of what he wants, even if it’s impossible with your implant. It still doesn’t stop your hand from slipping down to replace his.

Of pretending, with him.

The circles practiced, leaving him to concentrate on his own end. Soft panting cries pulling from you as the pounding of his hips drags you closer.

He’s close, as well. Those sharp thrusts growing shallow, messy. Letting go of your thighs, letting them wrap around his waist as he drives you into the padded mats. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, lips pressing against your jaw. Tongue dipping out to drag against a spot on your neck that makes you go slack in his arms.

“Should mate you,” He rasps. Teeth pinching down, where his tongue just was, “Bite you right here. Make you mine.”

The words tip you over the edge. A ragged gasp as your pussy clamps down around him, blood thundering in your ears. Nails catching on the panels of his suit as you cling to him, moans ripped from your throat as you pulse around him in time with your thudding heartbeat.

There’s no sharp bite of teeth. Just a muffled groan against your skin as he grasps at your hips. The sharp feeling of pressure increasing, as something thick works its way inside you. You keen as it stretches you, swelling so he can’t withdraw.

Twin ragged moans, as you’re joined together.

He comes with you squirming on his knot, his lips pressed against your throat. Sweet nothings murmured - “squeezing me so fucking tight, baby”, “gonna need you to take every drop, atta girl” - his cock throbbing as he spills inside you, pumping you full.

Still grinding into you. It draws your own orgasm out, with the way he’s rubbing against your walls, nothing left untouched. Overstimulation flickering at the corner of your mind, but you’re locked in place as he breeds you.

Understanding what he meant by using you - you feel it now. Fucked out and boneless and it sends another gush of sticky need between your thighs.

The sharp, panting breath starts to ebb. The ghost of his teeth becomes the nuzzle of his face, that strung-tight pull of his muscles turning liquid as he relaxes into your embrace.

“Why were you so worried?”

It comes out hushed, in the now-silent room. You’re sore - will be, tomorrow. Pleasure-drunk certainly, but not quite as ruined as he promised.

Almost to your disappointment.

“That wasn’t too much.”

Logan laughs, the sound dripping with condescension. A flex of his hips, still knotted inside you. Cum leaking from your swollen pussy, smearing against your inner thighs.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He coos, “Ruts can last for days.”

His fingers drop, dragging through his spend. Finding your clit again, rubbing slick circles against the tight little bud.

Intent on doing this one himself.

“We’re only just getting started.”

[moodboard] // I had two ideas for his claws after the movie - this was the second one! This is my first time writing something like this, so keeping it a little light with the dynamics 💖 thanks for reading!

and speaking of - I have to link this amazing alpha!logan thot by the incredible @avocado-writing! please check it out! 💕

#do NOT look at me #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett x you #wolverine smut #james logan howlett x reader #xmen x reader #logan howlett x f!reader #logan howlett x fem!reader

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joeloverture · 8 months

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save a horse...

...ride your hot neighbor's thigh

up next: morning cardio! a.k.a. the one where joel makes you hump his thigh and puts you in your place. did i mention he's your shitty dad's 'bff'? also — this is my first crack at a series. it has a (very loose) outline. anyway, this one should be out sometime next week. i'm looking forward to it

POSTED: morning cardio

#take a shot everytime vetty says hook 'em punches is coming next #🫀sneak peeks w/ vetty #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader

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gojonanami · 3 months

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❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 ! ❞

❝ THE FOUR TIMES YOUR NEIGHBOR TRIES TO HOOK UP WITH YOU AND THE ONE TIME HE SUCCEEDS !! ❞

✧ pairing: uncle! sukuna x neighbor! reader

✧ summary: you had grown up next door to the itadoris, but you never had met their uncle. and for good reason, he had spent the majority of his life in and out of jail. but now he was finally out, and he only had one goal in mind -- getting you in his bed.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, modern au, uncle sukuna, degradation (slut, whore, brat), freshly out from jail sukuna, implied age gap (sukuna probably like late 30s / early 40s, reader is like mid twenties), wet dreams (f!), masturbation (f! +m!), dom!sukuna, sub!reader, dirty talk, oral (f + m), spanking (f!receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, orgasm delay (f! receiving), implied multiple rounds, swearing, fanart found on pinterest (let me know if you know the og artist)

✧ w/c: 8,939

You were a pretty little thing.

That’s what he thought when he first saw you. And when he saw you smile, his second thought was — how could he have you?

You were the girl next door. Literally. Grew up next to the Itadori family, you watched the brat on weekends, helped around the house after the mom had left, and even slept over some nights in the guest room.

The very room you were in now, pinned underneath him, legs spread as your cunt gushed as if you had been the one doing time instead of him.

“Fuck, girl, did the boys your age not fuck you properly?” He clicks his tongue, the glint of his piercing in the low light of the moonlight that illuminated the barest hint of the room. It was by that light that you could not only see the way his lips curled into a smirk as his hand came down on your needy pussy, but the noticeable bulge in his pants, “g’nna have to fix that,” as he thumbs meanly at your swollen clit, “I’ll have you screaming my name soon enough.”

“Are the cookies almost done?” Yuji asked, rubbing the back of his head, squinting at the cookies through the oven window, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, “sure you’re not burning them?”

“I know how to bake cookies, Yu,” you roll your eyes, as you clean the counters off of the flour and bits of dough and sugar that smeared the surface, “why are you so impatient anyway?”

“He wants to leave before the wrecking ball blows through, and you should do that same,” Choso adds, emerging from his room with a yawn, and you tilt your head, his gaze slides to Yuji, “she doesn’t know?”

Yuji shakes his head, “I thought Dad was—”

Choso glances at you, gesturing to his face to tell you that you had something on your own, before his eyes slide back to his younger brother, “You know Jin can barely remember to tell us, much less—”

You cross your arms, wiping the flour and sugar from your cheek, but you only manage to make it worse, “Can you guys just tell me instead of having an argument about who should have told me?”

Yuji sighed, leaning against the counter, elbow propped up as he held his head up with his fist flat against his chin, “My dad’s brother is coming to stay for us for the summer,”

“Your uncle?” and you miss the way Yuji grimaces at the question, too busy pulling on oven mitts, “Your dad’s great — I can’t imagine your uncle being any different,” you pull the cookies from the oven, swatting Yuji’s hand as he tries to take one off the still burning rack, “you’ll burn yourself, just wait,”

Your own family was scattered here and there now — and the Itadoris had been like your own family as you grew up — Jin was like a second dad to you, he had always looked after you, even after you had graduated from college. The quiet man didn’t say much but he did a lot, and you couldn’t imagine his brother being much different.

And then the door swung open, a large man caught in the backlight of the summer sun, casting a long shadow across the entryway made your breath stick in your chest as if it was where it belonged — pinned under his mere presence.

“Looks like you’ve done nothing to change the place, did you?” He takes a step or two in and finally his body is cast into view — tattoos bound like ribbons against his skin, muscles are heavy cords that look more monstrous than human — as no human should be as hulking as he was. But that was nothing compared to his face itself — black tattoos lining both sides of his face in an intricate pattern that stole your breath from your lungs, while his eyes were black holes that cut right through you than at you, a flicker of flames burning underneath, “tch, brat, take my things up—“ he tosses the duffle bag slung over his shoulder at Yuji who catches it with a glare, before his gaze slides to Choso, “and he’s still here?”

“Don’t be rude to my son and his brother, Sukuna,” Jin sighed, entering behind him as he shut the door, “Choso is welcome, and don’t forget you’re a guest here,” he takes the bag from his son, and takes it upstairs instead.

And Sukuna’s gaze finally falls on you. It’s heavy, the sharp tip of a sword tracing every inch of your body as it circled its weak points — his eyes lingers on the curves of your body — and perhaps the points he liked too.

“And who’s this?” he jerks his head towards you gruffly, as if you couldn’t answer yourself.

You say your name, “I’m their neighbor,” and he nods, eyes darting to Choso, his body growing tense, as he gritted his teeth, but Sukuna was only all smiles, he took steps forward. You can’t help but avert your gaze, as he approaches, fingers outstretched, a slight flinch but it’s gone soon enough.

You glance up, and find him taking a bite of one of your cookies, tongue darting out to lick the chocolate from his lips, “sweet,” he devours it, “not bad, brat,” and he leans close again to grab another, “but probably not as sweet as you.”

And your eyes widen, as he bears no reaction, except for a small smirk that graces his lips, as he follows his brother upstairs, “You better not be fucking around in my things,”

You don’t hear Jin’s reply, still utterly consumed by what just happened.

“You okay? He’s just like that,” Choso murmurs, “he won’t bother you, I promise,”

“No, no, I’m okay,” your lips curl in an offer of reassurance, but you’re sure it falls flat, as your eyes glance back at the stairs.

And that was your first time meeting Sukuna.

But far from your last.

The next time you saw him was at a summer barbecue the Itadoris always had to kick off summer break. And most of your time was spent chatting with Choso and kicking Yuji’s ass at Mario Kart, until it grew dark, and Choso was stuck carrying a slightly tipsy Yuji inside.

You laid back in the patio chair, scrolling on your phone to the symphony of cicadas filling the silence, the smoke from the barbecue still lingering in the night — and then you hear the creak of the back door open.

“You want another drink, Choso?”

“I’d love a drink, girl,” and your eyes snap over to spot Sukuna, standing with hands tucked into his pockets, a black tank you assumed was several sizes too small.

“Sure,” you say, slipping from your chair, “but we only have the mix for a sex on the beach,” and his eyes find yours, a ghost of a gruff chuckle on his lips.

“Sounds perfect if it’s from you, sweetheart,” and you have to suppress the urge to roll your eyes — he may be nice to look at, but he isn’t smooth, you make the drink in relative silence. Until you sense his presence behind you, your head whipping back to find him looming, your breath caught in your throat.

“Uh—“

“Just wanted to see a master bartender at work, you seem like you really know what you’re doing, with, what’s the drink called again?” And you force yourself to look forward, ignoring the weird mix of his musk and alcohol, with the clink of the ice cubes against the glsd breaking the silence.

“Sex on the beach,” you offer it to him, and fuck, you don’t like it — don’t like him and his smug grin, the way your eyes can’t pull away from his, the way your heart clenched, and the way you wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug smile on off his face.

“Good girl,” he plucks the drink from you, his fingers brushing yours, “want to have one with me?”

And you almost find yourself saying yes, find yourself buckling under the heat of his gaze and the summer humidity that clings to your skin and strangles the sense from your head — and you can’t help but think how nice those fingers of his would feel around your neck—

“No, no, I probably should head home. It’s late—“ and just then the back door opens again, Choso standing in the doorway, “Choso, where’s Yu?”

“I got him to bed. Come on, I’ll walk you home,” and you nod, grabbing your bag with a slight nod to Sukuna before disappearing inside, and you don’t catch the way your best friend glares at Sukuna.

And you don’t see the way Sukuna stares at you as you walk away either.

The third time you meet Sukuna is a few nights later — and it wasn’t for lack of trying to avoid him.

“Can I have some popcorn?” you ask, eyes still glued to the TV, a movie that the two of you had seen a million times before during movie night, “Choso?” you glance over at him, but he’s staring off into space, “hello?” you nudge him, and he finally comes to.

“Sorry, what?” And you sigh, leaning over and grabbing the popcorn bowl, “sorry I was just—“ he shakes his head, “nothing,”

“You’re so convincing,” and you see a flush crawl up his neck, “C‘mon, what’s bothering you?”

You toss a pillow at Choso, the pillow bouncing off his face to land in his lap, the glow of the TV in his dark bedroom giving you enough light to see the glare on his face, “Cho, you’ve been brooding all night — did Yuji call you by your name instead of big brother?”

He scoffs, “I only got upset about that once,” or twice or maybe ten times, “it’s Sukuna. He’s been really grating on my nerves,” and your eyebrows knit together, as you put the volume of the TV down.

“What has he done?” and Choso hesitates, several emotions flicker across his face before a stoic look glazes over his face, as he presses his hand to his lips, “you can tell me—“

There’s a knock at the door, and Yuji sticks his head in, “Hey, Dad has to sleep now for a meeting, so move to the living room,” and you throw popcorn at him, but he only catches one or two in his mouth and leaves.

You sigh, “I should probably just go home anyway, I have to get some sleep,” you glance at Choso, who is fascinated with his floor all of a sudden, “you okay?” He moves to get up, but you shake your head, “just chill, I’ll walk back.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it, “I’m fine, just get home safe okay?”

You snort, “think I’ll be fine walking the ten feet to my door,” you grab your things, “I’ll see you tomorrow,”

And you close the door softly, turning to head up the hallway and out of the house, bag slung over your shoulder, and you’re turning the corner, when you nearly crash into someone.

A hand curls around your wrist to steady you, “You should watch where you’re going, brat,” and your eyes flit up to find a dark gaze looking back down at you, lips curled in a small grin, “don’t know what you’ll find wandering these halls,”

You pull your arm away, “I’m pretty familiar with these halls and what wanders them,”

“Not all of them,” the low tone of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, as you brush past him, avoiding his piercing gaze, cutting through you with practiced ease, “what were you doing here so late anyway?” You ignore him as you go to grab your shoes, but find them missing.

“Have you seen my shoes?” and he only tilts his head, arms crossed, muscles inked with tattoos that littered up and down, and you knew he could pin you down with barely an ounce of effort.

“Maybe answer my question and I’ll tell you,” and your lips twist into a scowl, as you begin to look around, checking the coat closet, under the couch, “was he really that bad?” And his question makes you pause, “the cursed brat, in bed? Did he not do the job for you?”

You haul yourself to your feet, “What is your problem?”

And his expression is as milquetoast as ever, as if he had asked you about the weather as opposed to asking if you had fucked your best friend, “You don’t have to be fucking sensitive, it’s just a question,” he runs his painted nails through his dyed cropped hair, low light glinting off the black sheen, “unless it was that bad,”

“Fuck off,” you scoff, trying to walk past him but he blocks you, “what?”

“Maybe I’ll help you find your shoes, if you have a drink with me,” and you cross your arms.

“Did you go to jail for stealing? Because with all those muscles and tattoos, I’m surprised you weren’t caught sooner,” and he’s leaning closer, breath warming your lips and your blood alike, boiling under your skin as if he had set you on fire without lying a single finger on you.

“Didn’t take you to be one to admire me, little one, after all, I’m just your neighbors’ uncle aren’t I? Jailbird, criminal, fucking lowlife, right? And his fingers ghost over your jaw, “but I don’t see you pulling away, do I?”

And you aren’t. But why aren’t you? Every brain cell is telling you to fucking run, but your body wants nothing more than to lean into his touch, to give in, let yourself be engulfed by him—

The creak of the door has you jumping back, “hey, you forgot your shoes—“ Choso starts, and his gaze snaps between you and Sukuna.

“Thanks, Cho,” you slip past Sukuna, grabbing your shoes, “i was wondering what I did with them,” you step into your shoes, cheeks still burning as you can’t quite meet your best friend’s eyes, “I’ll see you tomorrow,”

And you’re gone without another word, the silence of your exit hanging overhead as the screen door clicks closed behind you. Sukuna watches you leave, and as he turns he’s met with a glare from Choso.

Sukuna only gives a gruff chuckle, walking past as he lets his shoulder bump against Choso’s, “What are you fucking looking at?”

And now he had visited you in your dreams too.

“S’fucking wet,” Sukuna has you pinned down with one hand, face hovering over your drenched cunt, as he toyed with it, tugging your folds apart to let some of your pre drip onto your bedspread, “fucking slut, you were begging for this, weren’t you?”

And a thick digit sinks into you with little resistance, making your back arch as pleasure rips up your spine, “fuck off,” you manage, between pants.

“I know, brat, that’s what I’m trying to do,” he laughs, as he works a second finger inside you with practiced ease, “like I was made to fuck this cunt open, my fingers are already fucking drenched, and all I’ve done is open you up,” and to punctuate his point, he’s scissoring his fingers to stretch your walls out, dragging against them, as your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

“A-ah, please—“ and he’s grinning now, a purr as he leans down to meet your blown out gaze. His fingers begin to fuck you open, his thumb rubbing against your clit as your body rocked against his hand. And a grunt has you looking at him, only to see him palming his erection, slit dripping with precum, “Sukuna, please—“

“Knew you’d be a good girl f’me, good little slut gonna break my fingers in two,” and his other hand spanks your clit, “now cum,”

And you do, muscles clenching as you do, a cry of his name on your lips that does nothing but stroke his ego, your orgasm soaking his hand. Eyes fluttering open to find him licking your release from his fingers, as his other hand undoes his pants and tugs down his boxers, his cock already dragging against your still twitching cunt.

“Fuck,” you mumble, under your breath, and he only smiles.

“Now you’re getting it, baby.”

And your alarm jolts you awake, you stare at your ceiling, watching the ceiling fan spin, while you glance at your side to find nothing but your comforter beside you. Not to mention, as you shifted, feeling the telltale stickiness of your arousal and the dull throbbing of your cunt, the aftermath of your dream — your very wet dream.

“Fuck,” you say, this time out loud and to no one but yourself. This was going to be a problem, if you let this go on. And you couldn’t. Not after the last time — you swing your feet over the edge of the bed and stand, glancing back at the stain of your pre that you flipped your comforter over — and not after that.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

Yes, you have done a good job. Until now.

You gritted your teeth, as you stood in the doorway of the room. But how could you have avoided him in the guest room of the house he lived in?

And as he loomed in the doorway of the kitchen, dwelling in the shadow of his form, you were kicking the ass of past you, the one that had convinced you it was okay to stay over because Sukuna had been out.

“Had” being the operative word.

It had been a few days since you had found yourself at the Itadoris. And more than a few days since you had found yourself dreaming of Sukuna — waking up with his name on your tongue and your panties uncomfortably drenched. You had gone through more underwear this week than you had in a month. And it didn’t help that you felt the need to get off once you did wake, the ache between your thighs was too much to bear before sleep.

And now here was the subject of your dirty dreams darkening your doorway, as if your dreams were some naughty prophecy waiting to unfold (though you were sure he could fold you).

“What are you talking about?”

And you knew exactly what he was talking about. You had made sure Sukuna wasn’t around when you came over (the absence of his motorcycle is a telltale sign), and always left before he returned. But tonight you made the mistake of drinking with Choso, the two of you finishing two bottles of sake before being completely fucked.

Your head was spinning — you could barely have made it to the bathroom, much less your home. Choso had corralled you into taking his bed, before going and collapsing on his couch. It had been only a few hours into the night before you got up in a haze of confusion with your mouth drier than the Sahara. You pulled yourself up, slipped on thin sleep shorts that you had thrown off at some point due to the summer humidity, before finding your way to the door.

You made your way to the kitchen, the squeak of the fridge as you pulled it open to grab a water bottle. And that’s when he spoke.

“And here you are,” and the water bottle nearly slipped from your grasp, “no need to jump, brat, I’m not a monster or a shadow,”

No, but he’s so much worse, he’s real.

“I was just getting something to drink,” you murmur, and he tilts his head, as he takes a step closer.

“Just water?’ That’s not the kind of drink you still owe me,” and why was his presence so intoxicating? Several drinks in and you could still hold your own, still speak in complete sentences, and even make your way home on foot. But Sukuna comes near, and suddenly you can barely form a fucking syllable, your limbs feel far too heavy, and your body is nearly burning, as if he had turned your blood to wine without any miracle needed.

No, it was more of a curse.

“I don’t remember owing you anything,” and he’s tilting his head, amusement flickering across his lips, a step closer and then another, until you’re utterly engulfed in his presence. You can smell the mix of exhaust and sweat off of him from his motorcycle ride, the way his jaw tenses as if he is holding himself back from taking a bite, and the way his gaze pierces into you as if he has you pinned like a butterfly under glass.

“Do I need to give you a reason?” And when his fingers ghosted over your swell of your cheek, a featherlight brush from rough, calloused skin that makes a shiver roll down your body, “didn’t think I had to with the way you were nearly melting into my touch when I saw you last, girl,”

“I wasn’t the one begging for me to be there,” and he clicks his tongue derisively, and you wonder what else he can do with it, before his fingers grip your chin roughly, forcing your gaze to his.

“Tch, so pleased with yourself just for resisting, are you, sweetheart?” he tilts his head, while his other hand slithers down your side until he finds your waist and tugs you close, lips hanging close, a forbidden fruit begging you to take a bite, “imagine how good you’d feel if you gave in,” and you almost do, melting into his touch, as if you were made to fit in his arms, leaning up so you could feel the warm breath of his welcome—

SLAM!

You’re sent stumbling back again, clearing your throat, as the sounds of footsteps grow close, and Yuji wanders into the kitchen, mouth pulled open by his yawn, as he blinks as he spots the two of you.

“Hey, I thought you were asleep upstairs,” he walks past the two of you to grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, and sparing a short glance at Sukuna, “and I thought you had plans,”

“Plans can change, brat,” Sukuna sighs, his eyes still trained on you — a homing missile with a target, and Yuji was an obstacle in the way, “shouldn’t you go back to bed?”

“I could ask you two the same,” he leaned against the kitchen counter for a moment, while you only shook your head.

“I’m going to go to bed,” your only exit opportunity and you’d take it — there had been enough mistakes made, and you didn’t need another to add to the list, and you’re slipping back into your room without another word.

You don’t see the way Sukuna glares at his nephew, cursing the day of his existence with only his eyes, only gaining a confused stare in return, “What? Ow!”

And you’re only left questioning why Yuji is holding a bag of ice to his head the next morning.

But you knew you couldn’t avoid Sukuna forever — and you couldn’t avoid how you felt either.

Especially when he gave you exactly what you wanted — space. You had barely seen him for the next week, the former criminal making himself scarce, apparently telling his brother that he had grown tired of “rooming with a bunch of brats,” and had found himself another place to stay for a while.

Jin had sighed when you had asked over breakfast a day or so after he left, “I don’t know how long he’ll be gone, but we’ll see. The only requirement of his release was to stay in the prefecture—”

“And that’s already far too close,” Yuji muttered under his breath, earning a sharp look from his dad, “so we don’t even know if he’ll be back huh?”

Jin shrugs, as he sips his coffee, “I don’t know — your uncle isn’t one to stay in one place — unless there’s something that he wants,”

“I’ll take any amount of time that he’s not here,” Choso shakes his head, offering you a small smile, “and this way you can stay over in the guest room now,”

“Yeah, true,” you offered a weak smile, as you continued to pick at your food. This was good news, things were going back to normal, but even so, as you pushed your food on your plate — why did your chest ache so much?

“Yuck, do people’s heads really explode like that?” Yuji sat with the two of you in the living room, TV playing the movie Yuji had chosen, shoveling popcorn by the fistful.

“How would we know that?” you snort, stealing popcorn from his bowl, “why did you even choose this movie anyway?”

“He heard there was a Megan Thee Stallion cameo in it,” and Yuji’s cheeks flushed, visible even in the dim illumination of the TV, as he got to his feet.

“I’m gonna get a drink, do you two want anything?” And you both shake your heads, as you stifle your chuckle.

“You wanna stay over tonight?” Choso asks, and you tilt your head, toying with a popcorn kernel between your fingers.

You shrug, “we’ll see,” your eyes drift back to the movie, but you feel the creak of the bed as he shifts.

“You don’t have been avoiding staying over, even though it’s just us,” Fuck, your eyes still found themselves on the screen instead of him, anywhere but him, and you can hear the unspoken words — even though Sukuna is not here, “are you sure we’re good?”

And you couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t him that was bothering you. It wasn’t him keeping you up at night, it wasn’t him who had been tempting you the last few weeks, and it wasn’t him that you wanted to see — no matter how much you didn’t want to admit it, even to yourself.

So you don’t.

You smile as best you can, “Everything’s fine, Choso,” and he frowns, still unsure, and you know there’s only one thing that will assure him, if only a little, “I’ll stay over,”

And so you end up in the guest room — far too late. Even though Sukuna no longer lingered here, his scent still did, even with the sheet change and the small amount of his things gone, he was still very much here.

And it did little for your sleep. Or maybe too much.

Again, you dreamt of him, his large palms dragging down your sides, lips pulled in a smirk that he pressed to the hollow of your throat before it’s consumed by a flash of canines that pinch and tease the softness of your flesh.

“S’fucking wet,” he huffs a chuckle out, “such a little slut, been wanting this for far too long haven’t you?” And he’s undoing your robe with ease, a single tug has your body revealed to him, “haven’t even laid a finger on you and look at the mess you’ve made,” he clicks his tongue, and a whine parts your lips, “already whining like a bitch?”

He shoves two fingers inside you, a gasp ripped from your throat, thick digits stretching your walls, clenching around the intrusion, “Sukuna—please,”

“Silly girl,” he murmurs in your ear, “I’m not even the one touching you now,” and fantasy melts into reality as his hand cups your chin, eyes fluttering open, “but I know I can make you cum faster than any dream,”

Wait. What?

And suddenly the touch down your body feels all too real, pain ribboning from the fingers squeezing your hips hard, and a gasp as your body trembles, still caught between sleep and reality. Your body can’t move, but it’s not the weight of your own limbs keeping you still.

Your eyes shoot open completely, sleep shed completely from your mind.

And you found Sukuna, his lips curled in a smile that was far too familiar from other sleepless nights. But was it? Or was it another dream that he had invaded, far too real as you slept in his bed, rather than your own.

Your hand reaches out for him shakily, fingers tracing the hard line of his jaw, “Is this real?” you mutter, more to yourself, but he takes it upon himself to answer, his hand darting out to curl around your wrist, squeezing, while the other holds himself up, mattress creaking a divot where his hand pressed in, body heat all too close.

“Want me to pinch you? Can’t say it’ll be the cheek you’re thinking of,” he chuckles, unable to meet his gaze, “don’t go acting like a shy virgin now, woman. You’re the one having wet dreams about me,”

“No, I-I, it wasn’t—“ but your brain is short circuiting and his laugh that rumbles against you tells you he’s enjoying this far too much, “what are you doing here? I thought you left,” the statement comes out far too biting, and he raises an eyebrow.

“I did, but it was just for a week. I had some business to deal with,” and a grin pulls at his lips, “why? Did you miss me, brat? Is that why you’re dreaming of me?”

You’re squirming underneath him trying to look anywhere but him, “I’m not, it wasn’t—“ and he only hums, dragging a hand down your front, until he’s reaching your shorts, a brief pause to see if you’d pull away, but you don’t, and fingers pressing against your soaked shorts.

“That why you’re soaked through your fucking shorts?” And the rough pads of his fingers grind against your eager hole, nearly swallowing you in, only the thin fabric of your shorts keeping his fingers from fucking you then and there, “least your body’s honest — so eager to get fucked,” and he’s teasing your drenched entrance, drawing his fingers back to have your pre like spiderwebs between the two digits.

“Sukuna, please—“ and his lips curl.

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll go,” a small whine left your throat, the throbbing between your thighs growing with the way his gaze undid you — unscrewed you by your hinges and watched you fall apart, only to ask you to put yourself back together.

But you couldn’t. Not without him.

“Sukuna—“

“I didn’t ask you to whine, are you going to answer my question—-“

“Fuck me,” the words fall from your lips as if possessed, and you can’t find it in you to regret them.

And he smiles all the same.

“About fucking time,” and his fingers meanly rub against your clit through the paper thin fabric of your shorts, “didn’t even fucking put on panties and you expect me to think you didn’t want me fuck you open,” and embarrassment burns at your cheeks, “did you get this wet from dreaming about me?” And no words come to your mind, and he gives you a sharp spank to your clothed slit, drawing a sharp gasp to your lips and slick flooding from your folds, “better use your words, woman,”

“Fuck, please, I need—“ and his fingers practically rip your shorts off, letting your cunt gush onto the sheets.

“Need me to fuck you that bad? G’nna beg this criminal to fuck you open?” And he’s toying with your folds, tugging your tight hole apart as his eyes rake over your pussy, exposed for him, “after all of your teasing, what makes you think you even deserve to be fucked? Maybe I should leave you like this, fingers buried in your cunt, wishing they were your neighbor’s uncle’s,” and a sadistic smile graces his features as it only can his, “fuck yourself for me,”

You whimper, as his fingers leave your hole, clenching around nothing as if begging for his touch, “what? But—“

“Fuck yourself until you cum, wanna see what you’ve been doing when you’re fucking me in your sleep,” the absence of his touch leaves you keening and needy, for something, anything to get you off. Want overcomes inhibition, and your shaky fingers find their way to your cunt, fingertips tracing the outer lips, a gasp you barely recognize as your own when you rub against your clit, “c’mon girl, gotta open yourself up for me — think I’ll fit if you just rub yourself like that?” And he’s pressing his clothed erection against your thigh — and he’s fucking big — rock hard cock rubbing against you through damp damp sweatpants.

And his fingers grabs your own, guiding them to your slick hole, letting them slip past your fluttering walls, while his own teased your outsides, “Good girl,” and the praise makes your walls clench, and he’s chuckling, “want to be a fucking good girl, then fuck yourself until I see you cum for me,”

You swallow your whines, beginning to move your fingers in and out, your insides clinging to you, as if begging for something longer, thicker, better — and you knew his fingers would be. A moan falls from your lips, and he clicks his tongue.

“Gotta be rougher than that,” and his fingers curl around the base of your own, using your fingers as a glorified fuck toy. Your head lolled back, as he controlled the pace of your fingers, fucking you hard and fast, reaching places you didn’t think were possible with your fingers, “that’s it, you’re close aren’t you? Like being fucked with your own fingers, don’t you, you slut?” And you’re shuddering, soft cries and moans filling the silence of the night with the loud squelch of your cunt.

“Sukuna, f-fuck, ngh, I can’t—“ and he only begins to rub on your clit with his thumb.

“Yes you can,” he gruffly chuckles, murmuring in your ear as he leans forward, “cum on your fingers like you have every night for me,” and he forces your gaze to meet his as your fingers brush that one spot that has your back arching, “say my name,”

And you do, cumming hard around your fingers, as he uses them to fuck you through your orgasm, the wet noises of your folds growing louder as your thighs shake. Your eyes meet his, glassy with tears from your high, and Sukuna leans down to lick the salty tear from your cheek.

He pulls your fingers from inside you, your sticky cum coating your digits and even dripping onto his own. He smirks as he eyes them, before sliding them into his mouth. A moan pulled from your lips as he sucks your essence clean from them, tongue dragging up the length of your fingers.

“Shit, that was a nice moan,” and his eyes fall back to your drenched cunt, “Still so fucking tight,” he clicks his tongue, Fuck, girl, did the boys your age not fuck you properly? G’nna have to fix that,” as he thumbs meanly at your swollen clit, “I’ll have you screaming my name soon enough.”

he hums, taking in your ruined state — tear stained cheeks, your dripping cunt, and your red ruined lips from biting them, “so fucking pretty like this,” and you hear him shift, the distinct sound of his phone camera, making your eyes snap open.

“No, fuck, no don’t—“ and he’s turning the screen around to show you how absolutely fucked you look, “please—“

“It’s a little too late for that, can’t have anyone buying your little virgin act anymore huh?” he’s grinning as he leans forward, pinning your thighs in place as you try to squirm away, “don’t move,”

His order makes your muscles tense, unable to move your body under the heavy grasp of his hands splayed against your hips. The pads of his fingers dig into your soft flesh, as his lips dare closer to your weeping slit.

“Fuck, are you a virgin though? You’re still so fucking tight even after that little show you put on for me,” and he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, his breath warming your twitching cunt, “either way, you won’t be one soon,” and he’s burying his mouth in your pussy.

You moan, covering your mouth before he sucks on your clit, tongue teasing your hole open, a wave of heat flooding your body. The sounds of his licking and slurping fill your ears — and you wonder how the whole house isn’t awake yet.

You can’t stop your hips from nearly fucking his face, but he spanks your thigh, hard, as he pulls his mouth from your dripping slit, “I told you not to move,” and he spanks your clit for good measure, making you yelp against your fingers, “tell me when you’re about to cum,” and you whimper, “or I can open this door and let the house hear us,”

You nod, but he doesn’t miss the way your slit twitches at the thought, and his mouth curls in a nasty smirk, “such a fucking slut, maybe I will,” and he’s plunging two thick fingers into your greedy cunt, a gasp ripped from your throat at the intrusion, walls fluttering as they attempt to accommodate his digits. But it’s all squeezing and barely any stretch, as his fingers work you open.

And it doesn’t take long to get you worked up, his digits knuckle deep and dripping wet, “gonna fucking break my fingers in two with your virgin hole, girl,” he grunts, your body burning with his touch alone, nails dragging against your walls, curling so they can bully that sweet spot just right, “you’re gonna cum aren’t you?” the telltale squeeze of your cunt tells him so, and you’re nodding, and his fingers slip from inside.

You’re whining, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, “Please, fuck, wanna cum,” the pleasure that had built was throbbing, a dam close to bursting but denied its relief, so it remained, begging and waiting — “please, Sukuna—“

“So you do know how to beg like a good little whore, gonna fuck you again, but you can’t cum until I tell you,” and he’s sinking three fingers into you now, eyes rolling back as your back arches, but he’s fucking you meanly, curling and twisting his fingers, until the pleasure is a tight knot in your belly, barely hanging on from snapping, “wait,” he grunts, and it’s as if your warmth is made for him — or now it was, because he’s made it his, “wait,” and you’re sure he’s reached your cervix somehow, fingertips reaching places you’ve only dreamed of (literally), and then he leans down lips around your clit as he orders you, “now, cum,”

And you do, hard, as he sucks around your clit while fucking you through your orgasm, cum flooding his fingers and face alike, drenching him, even as he slurped and sucked up every bit.

He finally pulls away, a shiver slips down your spine as he slips his fingers from inside you, pink tongue flicking against his lips, still slick with your cum, What a fucking mess you’ve made,” he sneers, but he’s licking his lips clean all the same, “should make you clean up the mess you made, shouldn’t I?” And he’s pressing the pads of his fingers to your lips, you’re too fucked out to fight, lips parting with ease, “suck,” and you do, opening wide to let his fingers inside, lips and tongue curled around the same fingers that had explored your cunt.

He watched as you obediently sucked every drop of your juices off, a trickle of drool slipping down the corner of your lips makes his already hard cock twitch in his pants, and he’s pulling his fingers from your mouth.

“Better than your dreams, huh, sweetheart?” he drags his thumb down your bottom lip, he can’t fucking wait a minute longer, “turn around, gonna fuck this slutty princess cunt from behind,” but you only can watch as he tugs down his sweatpants and boxers alike, his cock slapping against his stomach.

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you had imagined. Mushroom tip red and hard, as pretty veins run up the sides, and he was looking as if he’d not only split you open, but break you all together.

Your thighs quaked at the thought, more slick slipping from your needy cunt — and you wanted him to.

Your knees shake, as you turn slowly, much too slowly his pace, and he grunts, his hands gripping your hips, as he flips you onto your stomach, a yelp leaving your lips as you bounce on the mattress. “have to fuckin’ do everything myself for this whore’s pussy,”

You’re gripping the sheets, nails surely tearing holes in the thin fabric of the sheets, as his calloused palm comes down on your ass, hard, the smack echoing in the silence of the night, a mewl you don’t recognize as your own, “Sukuna, please, I can’t—“

“You can, you’ll take whatever I give you, brat,” and another smack finds your ass again, as he pinches the flesh for good measure, drawing another moan from your lips and another chuckle from his, “and you’ll take this cock too,” and he doesn’t spare you a moment as he presses his swollen, dripping cockhead to your drenched hole, smearing his pre all over your ass — as if to erase any doubt you were his, because there wasn’t — before finally sliding in.

God, fuck.

Your arms were already shaking, barely able to hold yourself up, but your face nearly plants into the mattress as he sinks into you — he was too fucking big. Even all the prep he had given you was nothing, nothing compared to how much his dick was stretching your cunt.

He hummed, as your insides swallowed him eagerly, even with the slight resistance of your tight little pussy, watching as your walls parted for him with almost practiced ease, sucking him deeper and deeper, as if you were made for him. And you would be, after he fucked your cunt to his shape again and again — because this was far from the last time he would take you.

It was only the first.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight — am I the first to fuck this pussy?” he grunts, grasping your hips tightly, your warm, wet pussy wrapped around his dick — he had waited far too long for this, too many nights spent grasping at his cock, thinking how much better it would be buried in your pussy.

“H-hngh, Sukuna, s’big,” you’re nearly babbling as he works himself into you, inch by inch, not even halfway in, and you were gonna cum just from him putting his dick in, “can’t fit—” and he’s scoffing, watching you squirm against his length, but he only continues to fuck his way into your tight hole, another sharp slap to your ass as a warning.

“I’ll make it fit, girl,” he growls — like fuck he was stopping now that’s gotten this far, there was only one way this was ending — and it was with his cock fucking you full of his cum, “c’mon, did the dream not compare to the reality? Did you think I had a tiny dick?” and he thrusts shallowly against you, sending another inch inside your already stuffed folds, drawing a needy whine from your throat, “so fucking loud, you gonna let the whole house know what we’re doing at this rate,”

he murmurs, bending down to your ear, and your walls squeeze around him, a vice grip that has him nearly cumming then and there, but no he won’t, not yet, “fuck, did you think about letting Choso know? Maybe I’d let him watch me fuck you, only way he’ll ever see you like this,” and you whimper as he slams into you, finally bottoming out as his tip bullies your womb, making you cry out against your fingers, “to think the pretty girl next door is on her hands and knees like a slut for me now, getting split open by my dick. What would Choso think?”

You’re whining, “Please, fuck, slow down—” but he only pulls out a little to piston back in, balls slapping against your ass as he does, setting a mean pace, as he chuckles in your ear.

“You’re saying that, but we both know that’s not what you want — slutty fucking pussy trying break my cock in two,” the sounds of your skin slapping against you as his tip brushes against your cervix rings in your ear, even as he murmurs in it, “y’’know he wants to fuck you right? The little brat is always watching you, nearly fisting himself at the sight of you,” he’s forcing you upwards, pressing your back to his chest, “he wants you, but he’ll never have you, because this pussy is mine,” and his hand finds the bulge in your stomach, pressing down, as you keen, head falling back against his shoulder, as tears pooled in your pretty eyes, “but he’d never be able to reach here and fuck you like you want — like a whore,” his other hand pinches and teases your pebbled nipples, before sliding up to your neck, squeezing lightly, “say you’re mine,”

You can’t find the words, all of them fucked out of your body to make room for his cock seemingly — the only words remaining his name and “please,” but you have to do better than that, and he slows his pace to nothing, as he pulls out so only his tip teases your entrance, a whine leaving your pathetic mouth.

“If you’re not mine, guess I don’t need to let you finish, do I?” and you’re shaking your head, frantic and repentant.

“I’m yours, i’m yours, Sukuna, please—” and he’s sliding right back into you, fucking you harder, balls slapping against your ass and sweet cunt swallowing him up to the base, a white ring of your pre cum forming around it — and he just knows you’re close, by the twitch of your sweet pussy — and his hand reaches around to rub at your clit, “I’m—”

And he ruts into you, hard and deep that you’re sure his length brushes against your womb — and you’re cumming, falling apart around him, but he doesn’t relent — but had he ever? He didn’t relent over these past few weeks, and he wouldn’t now, not until he was filling you up and watching his cum drip out of your hole—

You’re slipping back forward, face forward into the pillow and mattress, as he grunts watching your slick drip down your ass and thighs and onto the sheets — his balls tense with his release, “Fuck—” and that’s all the warning you get before he slams back into you to bottom out, as he blows his load.

His release is hot as it fills you up, never ending it seems as he slowly fucks you through his orgasm, his spurts slowing with time, until he’s finally stilling, a soft grunt, as he pulls himself from inside your warm cunt. A soft groan at the sight of his seed spilling from inside you — you’re boneless and spent, until he has you jolting forward from the press of his fingers gathering his cum and stuffing it back in.

“Kuna, fuck, I can’t—” and he scoffs, retracting his fingers for a moment, before he’s deftly flipping you onto your back, “too sensitive,” you whine as his fingers work their way back into you.

“Did you think I was done, woman?” and his softening erection is already standing tall again, and you’re almost wanting his fingers now at this point, even as your body disagrees, pussy squeezing at the thought of him buried inside you again. He leans forward, lips brushing against yours, a kiss full of nothing of tongue and teeth, the faint taste of your own release on his lips, “we’re far from done.”

The sound of your name catches your attention, your eyes snapping up from your breakfast, “what?”

“Are you okay? Choso frowns at you, as he holds his rice bowl, the rolled tamago sliced on his plate, “you look tired,” It was another morning like always, but

You shake your head, “I just didn’t sleep well, I kept waking up from my dreams,” and it wasn’t exactly a lie — yesterday was the culmination of a million dreams you had. Dreams that only ended when the sun began to come up, with his cock still buried in your cunt as you rode him, back pressed to his chest, as he worked you up and down his dick.

And finally when he came again, this time all over your back, he finally pressed kisses up and down his back, easing himself out, as his toned arms engulfed you.

“Should clean up and I should head to Jin’s room,” he murmurs, “I have a feeling I won’t have a place to live if he finds me in here,” and you chuckle, too fucked out and tired, “we’ll have to get used to sneaking around.

“Oh will we?” you had mumbled, and he answered your question with another bruising kiss to your lips.

Yuji tilts his head, scratching it, as you lift your glass to take a sip of water, mouth far too dry now, “Is that what those noises were? It sounded like you were having nightmares,” and you nearly choke on it, but force it down, hoping the embarrassment wasn’t evident on your face, stabbing your egg.

“Yeah, I had a couple last night,” you lied, and even as you suddenly found your breakfast far too interesting, you could feel Choso’s gaze still on you — your cheeks burning as Sukuna’s words about him still rung in your ears — along with the distinct ache between your legs and on your ass he left behind, “I’m fine, I’m just going to need a nap,”

“You’re not the only one, girl,” Sukuna walks into the kitchen from the rooms, as Yuji and Choso balk at his presence.

Choso’s eyes narrow, “What are you doing here?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sukuna’s eyes find yours, the corner of his lip pulled upwards, as his gaze rakes over your form, “what’s for breakfast?” and you knew he only wished that you were the thing placed on the table for him to eat. Jin barely pays any mind, too preoccupied on his phone with his work email, as he passes a plate to Sukuna.

“When did you even get in?” Yuji asks, as he finishes his own breakfast, leaning back on his two palms. And your insides begin to tie themselves in knots at all of these questions — knowing Sukuna would like nothing more than to tell them exactly what he was doing last night.

“And where did you sleep?” Choso glares, adding fuel to the fire, as Sukuna looks down on him, lips a thin line, “you didn’t bother our guest, did you?” and your cheeks burn all the same, a flicker of amusement on Sukuna’s features, lips parting only for Jin to cut in.

“He got in early this morning. He slept in my room,” Jin says with a sigh, “Don’t you two have to get ready? You’re going to your mom’s this morning,”

“She’s not my mom,” Choso grumbles under his breath, “more like a leech,” but he still gets to his feet all the same, as Yuji follows suit, picking up their plates, a comforting hand on his older brother’s shoulder.

“I should get to work,” Jin sighs, sparing a sharp glance at his brother, “behave,” and he turns to you, “feel free to stay as long as you want. Yuji and Choso will be back this afternoon,”

And the three of them find their way out of the house, a rush of bags and feet, as Choso spares a glance at you.

“I’ll be back soon — you can hang out in my room if you want,” Choso says, before scowling at Sukuna, “let me know if you need anything,” and you nod, waving him off, and the door shuts behind them all.

Sukuna slides into place beside you, sitting as the two of you eat breakfast in relative silence. You finish up your meal, and move to get up, but Sukuna’s hand finds its way onto your thigh, holding you in place.

“Are you done?” and you glance at him, plate empty and food untouched, “with eating?”

“I am,” you raise an eyebrow, “And you?”

“My appetite wants something else, sweetheart,” he leans forward, fingers inching higher until his thumb grazes your inner thigh.

“And what’s that?” and he nearly growls his next words, thin patience already tearing in two, just as he would your clothes if you weren’t careful.

“I’m done playing coy, woman,” he’s lifting you with ease, slinging you over his shoulder as you gasp, and he’s gotten you on top of the counter, the very same counter you had baked cookies on the day he had arrived, but now his hulking body was quickly pressing your legs apart, “there’s only one thing I want to eat in this kitchen, and it’s between your fucking thighs.”

“Not sick of it yet?” you chuckle.

“Think I could bury myself in your slutty pussy for days and not get sick of it,” and he looms over you, just as he had that first day, and he leans down to kiss you, stealing the logic from your mind and leaving only the need for his touch behind, “it is the sweetest thing I ever tasted after all.”

“Really?” and he smirks, as his fingers dig into the fabric of your shorts ripping them and your panties down, the cool air against your already wet cunt.

“Want me to prove it?”

And oh, he would. Again and again.

✧ a/n: i have a problem. i really wanted to write something with degradation ok?

✧ taglist: , @k0z3me , @monstrousbuu , @abiiebibie , @strawmariee , @luciiferslover , @sxnkuna , @psychxbby , @addehehe , @cpu1d , @dreamtardisspace , @authorintheshadows666 , @arcielee , @trxnmagic , @smilk01 , @abcdbleh , @elisaj313-blog , @jinslunv , @n3ptunxe , @pinkyvomit , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @rat-loves , @spider-fan72 ,, @niks1673 , @lafffyyytafffyyy , @miseraa , @astraxa-xx , @fushitoru , @hanxyy , @milky-milkyway , @nakariabnrb , @johannakhalafalla , @tojicvmbucket , @flyingtranscatofeffed , @vampzys , @caelestine-the-caelicatto , @hatsunemitskislobotomy , @k1ttybean , @catsgomurp , @goddess-ofthe-godless , @i-spilt-ink-on-my-phone , @forest-fruits-jam , @mua-for-now , @pricetagofficial

#sab [mlist]#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna fanfiction #ryomen sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x you #ryomen smut #ryomen sukuna x you

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bpmiranda · 1 month

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Not Sweet |l. howlett| nsfw

A/N: neighbor!logan x f!reader, jealous!logan, daddy kink, dom!logan, kind of inexperienced reader, reader is casually hooking up with a guy and logan knows he could do it better for her

Not Sweet II

It was quiet in the apartment building, his heightened sense of hearing sought out and focused intently on the sounds that he happily let keep him up past a reasonable hour. Her sweet moans and hitched gasps, his name choking in her throat as she got herself to that high. Logan grunted, stroking his cock languidly as he imagined what she might look like as she currently writhed and fisted her bedsheets. It was inappropriate for him to listen in on his sweet neighbor, but no one could really prove he was doing it.

Logan couldn’t help the smug smile on his face when they would run into each other in halls or in the stairwell. Her flustered expression and reddened cheeks making the blood rush to his cock as she stammered a polite greeting or a shy ‘thank you’ when he held the building doors open for her.

The only thing stopping him from going across the hall and suggesting she let him pleasure her properly was the boyfriend, or date, or whoever the cockblock was that had started coming by and taking her out. Adam, the name alone irked Logan more than he cared to admit because he knew there was no real reason for disliking him. Logan just didn’t like that he was in her apartment while he sat across the hall forced to listen to the mediocrity that was supposed to pass as sex.

Her moaning was louder when she was alone.

As Logan was leaving for work one morning, Y/N was walking Adam out into the hall in a silky, black robe. Logan pretended to have his key stuck in the door as he lingered, watching him peck her lips goodbye in the most passionless way he had ever seen. “Later, baby.” Adam said and Y/N waved at him with a small smile as she leaned against her doorframe. Adam gave Logan a nod who offered a fake smile.

Y/N noticed Logan standing across from her and she blushed. “Good morning.” She said shyly, raking a hand through her messy hair and blushing as she took in the sight of him in his work clothes. Sleeves hugged his large biceps, shirt tucked into his pants making it all too easy to notice the definition of his torso and abdomen.

“Mornin’,” Logan smirked, moistening his lips as he could more clearly smell her arousal the longer they stood this close together. “You look nice.” He added, leaning back against his apartment door to look at her shamelessly.

“Oh,” She blushed harder, looking at her robe that fell right above her knees and her bare feet, toes painted a light shade of pink. It was impossible to hold a conversation with him where he wasn’t completely catching her off guard with compliments and charming smiles. “Thanks.”

Logan gave her a small nod and his nostrils flared, her scent becoming too much to handle. “Later, baby.” He teased with a wink, making her bite her lip as she hid a grin and shook her head at him before going back into her apartment.

They had several interactions like that. They were good, friendly neighbors who could safely assume there was a mutual crush between them. Logan wasn’t the type to shy away from flirting with a pretty girl, and ever since she had moved in across the hall, Y/N was the prettiest girl he knew. Y/N was simply just too shy to make the first move with Logan, too polite to turn down Adam’s suggestion that she go on a date with him. It made Logan ache that he couldn’t have her, couldn’t seem to find the right moment to show her that he could be what she needed.

It was late at night and Logan was beginning to wonder if tonight was one of those nights where she decided to watch a movie rather than pleasure herself until he heard a knock at his door. After pulling on a pair of sweatpants to cover his cock, he sauntered to the door and opened it. Y/N was standing in front of him, arms crossed over her chest as she wore a nervous smile. “Hey, I’m so sorry to bother you,” She apologized, rubbing her arms from being in the cold hallway in a thin tank top. Her legs were covered by a pair of pink sweatpants, but she was still shivering. “The heat in my apartment has gone out. I really can’t wait until the morning. Could you help me out?”

After grabbing his tools and a tank top, he followed her into her apartment and was immediately overcome with the smell of her. The coffee she was always drinking, the bakery themed candles, the whole place made his mind go fuzzy with lust. Y/N showed him where the radiator was in the back room which seemed to have been turned into an exercise room. He could smell her in here too. Logan knelt down to inspect the apparatus and he hummed. “This packing nut is smooth on the inside now. It won’t hold.” He explained as he dug into his box for a proper one that would seal the leak. As he screwed the new packing nut into place, the radiator began to expel heat properly, the leak stopped, and he closed his toolbox before standing back up.

“Logan, thank you so much.” Y/N sighed, her hand pressed into her chest as she gave him a grateful smile. “Let me pay you.” She said quickly, leaving the room and making him follow her into the kitchen.

“Adam couldn’t come by?” He asked, not trying to pick on the kid, but it was second nature to him.

Y/N looked at him as she paused digging through her purse and she chuckled lightly as she shook her head. “He doesn’t know very much about fixing radiators, or anything of the sort.” She explained, walking over to him and handing him a wad of cash. “That’s all I’ve got on me right now.”

Logan pushed her hand away gently and shook his head. “Nah, don’t worry about it.” He told her and she frowned at him. He smiled at her and held her chin between his index and thumb, caressing her skin softly. “Can’t stand the thought of you bein’ cold and all alone over here.”

Y/N’s cheeks burned hotly and she tried to look away from him, unable to as he continued to hold her jaw in his hand. “Can I at least offer you a drink?”

It surprised him that she had whiskey at all. They were sitting on her couch, drinking and complaining about their shitty apartment building and jobs as the alcohol flowed freely. Y/N was blushing constantly, her body heated from being so close to him. Logan could practically taste her arousal the scent was so thick. “Why that guy?” He asked, throwing caution to the wind as he figured she was at a good number of drinks to not be upset if he asked.

“Oh, um,” Y/N wasn’t expecting that question. As far as she knew, Logan didn’t even acknowledge Adam’s existence. “I guess he’s nice, you know? He’s sweet to me.” She said, downing the last bit of her third shot of whiskey.

“You like ‘em sweet?” Logan asked curiously and she nodded with a shrug. “You don’t seem very sure.” He chuckled, drinking his last shot and setting the cup down on her coffee table.

“Well,” Her throat closed around the words, but he looked at her as if urging her to continue like he knew exactly what she was going to say. “I - I just haven’t been with a lot of guys.” She tried not to come off as if it was something she was embarrassed about. “And the few I have been with were sweet.”

Logan felt his mouth water, his chest swelling at the thought of her having little to no experience. “How many?” He asked, looking over her frame, which was much smaller than his own, and picturing the things he would teach her. Y/N blushed and shook her head as she covered her face. “C’mon,” He smirked, lightly tracing a hand up her shin to her knee. “Tell me.”

“Adam would be my second.” She mumbled, dropping her hands into her lap and looking at him.

“This year?” He asked to clarify and she shook her head. “Ever?” Her nod was all the confirmation he needed and he leaned back in his seat with a smug look that made her insides heat up. “Third time’s the charm, huh?”

Not long after, Logan had her pinned to her bedroom wall as he stood between her legs and held tightly onto her waist. His tank top had been discarded in the living room where she had helped him take it off as their kiss heated up. Her moans rolled off her tongue and into his mouth while her fingers laced and tugged on his hair, her hips bucking into the hard shaft pressing painfully into her core. Her top was ripped off suddenly, thrown aside as he pushed a knee underneath her to keep her suspended while his hands lifted her up so he could kiss her hips and belly. “Oh, Logan.” She moaned, desiring more of him than she had ever desired of anyone.

“Gonna show you how it should sound when you get fucked right.” He growled into her skin, making her tremble in his hold. “None of that sweet shit tonight, baby.” He told her, pulling her off the wall and throwing her down on the bed, quickly crawling back on her as if she would’ve taken the opportunity to get away. Y/N stayed where he wanted her, however, and let him do with her body as he pleased.

“Yes, please, take it.” She urged, lifting her hips as he tugged her pink sweats off. His smirk returned at the sight of her black thong and she blushed madly. “Shut up.”

Logan chuckled, kissing her legs softly, nipping at her inner thighs which made her whine. “I knew you wanted me.” He murmured, pulling her thong off and admiring her as he finally had her to himself. “You want me as bad as I want you, sugar?” He asked, his large hands smoothing along her waist and to the sides of her breasts. Y/N nodded desperately, her body arching into his touch. “Tell me.”

“I want you, Logan,” She breathed out as his thumb caressed her nipple and his other hand squeezed her hip harshly, her hands tugging on the drawstring of his sweatpants as she urged him to take them off. Logan discarded himself of his pants and tossed them, looking down at her as he breathed heavily. A lump formed in her throat when she felt his strength in the way he picked her up and repositioned her on her belly as if she weighed nothing. “Oh, fuck, please. I wanna feel you so bad.” Logan groaned and kissed along her spine down to her ass, biting the fat harshly, and making her whimper. He roughly lifted her on her knees while keeping a hand on her back to press her onto the bed. His nose buried in her, inhaling her arousal, and growling loudly into her womanhood before his tongue lapped at her glistening folds.

“This fucking pussy calls to me all damn day,” Logan moaned, his hands squeezing painfully on her hips and ass while he circled his tongue into her core, swallowing her juices as they coated his tongue. “Fuck, it tastes better than I imagined.”

His filthy words had her riled up, whining and mewling while she tugged desperately on the bedsheets as his mouth brought her down into the pits of a tortuous pleasure. He was relentless, mean with his smacks of her ass and the bite of his teeth. “Oh, fucking shit!” Y/N cried as he brought her to orgasm, her thighs trembling while he simply continued eating at her, holding her firmly against his face so she couldn’t squirm away from him.

“How’s that?” He asked as he flipped her onto her back, settling between her thighs as he slowly pumped himself. She was breathless and she nodded approvingly. “Better than that vibrator?” Her brows furrowed and he smiled, nuzzling his face into her neck as he said, “I hear everything, sweetheart. You’re so sweet when you moan, rubbing your little clit slowly and gently.” His thumb came down between her thighs to do just that. Her moans fell out in a melody and Logan groaned. “Fuck, yeah, like that. Keeps me up all damn night.”

“Didn’t think - uh - didn’t think I was that l-loud.” She stammered, her hands flat on his chest as he slipped two fingers into her pussy with a filthy squelching sound. “Oh!”

Logan chuckled softly. “You could be louder.”

His fingers and thumb continued rubbing and stroking her, his eyes fixed on the features of her face. The way her brows scrunched together from the overstimulation, the pleasure, the pain of his tight grip on her thigh to keep her legs open for him. Her delicate hands pushed at his thick torso in an attempt to move him away, get herself away from this pleasure that was quickly becoming too much to handle. “I-I can’t, Logan, please, make me cum!”

Obliged, he knelt down and sucked on her clit, fingers pumping faster and deeper until she was shaking again, high from the ecstasy of pleasure. Logan definitely didn’t fuck like the others, not even close, and it wasn’t even over yet. “Had enough?” He asked as he watched her body tremble in her sheets and noticed her half-lidded eyes looking at every inch of him. Logan flexed his chest teasingly and she bit her lip, shaking her head to his question. “Good, cause the best part’s coming.” He winked, hovering back over her and holding her thighs together so he could push them into her chest. Y/N cried softly as he ran the leaking tip of his cock along her puffy lips, teasing her until tears fell from the corners of her eyes. “That’s it, sweet girl, cry it out.” He groaned, the sight of her pouted lip turning him on all the more. “Let daddy do what he’s gotta do.”

His cock pushed into her, filling her quickly in one thrust which made her sob. “S-so big.” She whined, her hands resting on his strong thighs as he dragged his dick back out, slow so he could inspect that every inch was coated in her cream. “I can’t take it.”

“Looks like you can from here,” He taunted, pushing back in and hissing at the sight. “Fuck, it looks really good from right here.” Y/N’s vision blurred with hot tears as he kept a steady, slow, and brutual pace. The stretch stung and she could feel him deep in her, hitting spots that had yet to be discovered. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” He coaxed her, keeping her knees over his shoulder, his hand held onto her thighs and the other wrapped around her throat. His lips met hers in a kiss, soft and gentle unlike the rest of his actions as he was now rutting into her with an animal-like purpose.

“You’re in - sniff - really deep.” Y/N sobbed, her fingernails were digging into his thighs and he groaned in approval as he felt her legs start shaking violently - she was close again. “It’s too - ah - too much!”

“Is this my spot, sweetheart?” He asked, pressing firmly against her cervix which made her whine loudly, her hand weakly punching on his leg because she was so close. She nodded, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes and that pouty lip that just made him wanna force her to take more. Logan wanted to push her to her limits, maybe even a little further. “Yeah? Is this daddy’s spot?” He asked, his swollen tip pressing harder into her cervix.

“Yes-s, it’s yours!” She cried, unable to take the pain of the tension in her abdomen. Logan growled, the sound rumbling in his chest and she felt the vibration against the back of her thighs. “It’s your spot, daddy, p-please!”

“Wanna cum?” He asked, kissing her neck softly as she nodded, sucking on her sensitive skin as his hips continued in their rut, the contracting of her walls squeezing the hell out of his girth. “Cum, sugar, cum on my cock.” He encouraged, staying deep in her as he pounded harshyly into her and repeatedly slammed into her cervix. Y/N cried, sobbing as she felt that tension come undone, her orgasm gushing around his thick member and soaking her bed sheets - she had squirted for the first time in her life. “Goddamn!” Logan growled as that feeling made him unload his release in her without a second thought. He couldn’t think of the consequences when he was well aware of what he wanted; he wanted to fill her with his seed.

Y/N cried softly, her face buried in his chest as he let her legs go, resting between them still as he slowly pumped every last drop of him into her, throbbing in her as he waited for her to calm down. Logan kissed the top of her head, his arms caged around her head as he slowly rode out their highs. Her teary eyes met his and he looked concerned for a moment until she smiled weakly at him, her hands cupping his bearded cheeks as she pulled him down to her lips for a kiss. Logan sighed and kissed her while he sat up on his knees, his arms wrapped around her body to hold her close so she straddled him. She whined as she sunk onto him, his cum spilling out of her and down the sides of his shaft. “That wasn’t sweet?” She murmured playfully which made him laugh. His laugh shook her body as she was pressed closely to him.

“Careful, baby.’ He smirked as he laid her down gently and slipped out of her with a wet noise. She winced and he kissed her nose. “Don’t talk yourself into something you can’t handle.”

In the morning, Y/N was still dozed off on his chest while he laid contemplating their interaction, smiling to himself as he caressed her bare back slowly. A knock came from the living room and Logan carefully got up and pulled on his sweatpants before answering the door.

It was Adam.

“Oh,” Logan grinned, leaning an arm against the doorframe as he glanced behind him at her bedroom door. “Hey, bub, she might be too tired for this brunch date.” Adam stood dumbfounded, looking from Logan to the apartment door behind him which he was sure was where this guy lived. “I’ll let her know you stopped by, yeah?” Logan winked at the kid before he closed the door and rejoined her in the bedroom, finally on the right side of the door.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

I have so much stuff in my drafts🤭 ‘Adam’ is just a random name I pulled out of the air btw

Masterlist

#logan howlett x you #logan x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan smut #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #hugh jackman #wolverine x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #deadpool and wolverine #x men #x men wolverine #wolverine #smut #im just a girl

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