#oh god i need to tag them all again hold on

[vyzz-undercover]

the voices have made this happen

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3)

(5,900ish words) (OUUGHHHHH)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•slight dubcon

•hints of size kink (obligatory)

•vaginal fingering

•oral (f receiving)

•mild possessive behaviour

•the consequences of ignoring important medical devices

•mentions of (hypothetical) torture

•tumblrs recurringly cancerous formatting

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im back on my bullshit after having to do overnights so as payment to the dark gods of whoring and degeneracy i humbly offer this taglist of sweet darling who've indulged my insanity: @the-raven-lady, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @bispecsual, @lemon-russ, @kit-williams, @passionofthesith, @egrets-not-regrets, @moodymisty, @sinistermojo, @justeverythingnothingelse, @pluvio-tea, @thevoidscreams, @beckyninja, @yestheantichrist!!! if you wanna be tagged (or not) in the next let me know!!! also it may take me longer to do a part four to this namely because ive got more wageslaving ahead of me soon but alas i'll definitely have rowboat girlyman catch em. also maybe give cato some top. myehehehehe,,, AND THANK YOU FOR READING AS USUAL ILY ALL!!! :3

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Cato is just about leaving.

After having spent the better part of an hour discussing the predicted destruction pathway of a hive-fleet on the system's rim with his Father; it sends his balls into his throat when you nearly run into him in the chamber's huge archway.

It only takes a fraction of a second to catalogue your presence.

You're wearing the same utilitarian blue robe as you had been last week again.

Last week, when he'd been pounding you insensible on a lounge in the library—Cato promptly quashes the insidious memory, smothering down any sort of reaction. But there is a change in comparison to the dizzying reminder: there's a new addition to the reoccurring outfit.

You've brought a navy, high-collared turtleneck into the mix, layered below your lapels.

So, the efforts of his mouth hadn't gone unheeded, then.

Throne, if he's not smug, he's got no bloody clue what he is.

Cato steps aside and turns to allow you entrance first before his exit.

"Commander Sicarius," you lilt with a soft voice and a small downward tip of your chin, all while holding his gaze.

He's transfixed periodically at the honeyed sort of warmth in your eyes.

Despite himself, he lingers and greets you with a slow, "Lady Ambassador."

The left side of his mouth twitches upward in a half-aborted smirk that he quickly tries to mask as a stern, frown-nod combination.

You break the staring match and Cato's confident he's salvaged his slip-up without detection.

Or not—because oh, fuck—if he doesn't feel the burning focus of a Primarch's eyes boring a hole into the side of his head like a brand.

It only lasts an instant, but the second is an eternity to him.

Of course, you're oblivious to this subtle exchange—and promptly trot past him to his Father's vast desk.

"My Lord Primarch," you say with a curt little bow; and then Guilliman's attention is solely on you, his favourite little pet project. "I read the data-drives you instructed from the preceding article logging. I've arranged them back to the most recent mark counts."

You're looking for an empty spot to lay them on his table, but with all the meticulously arranged stacks, it's none too easy to find one.

"Perfect," the Primarch breaths, "Just on the side there is fine, don't worry."

Obligingly, you lay them atop a small mountain of paperwork.

"Do you need anything else of me, my Lord?" You chirp brightly, the tone of your voice so very painfully sweet—Cato is nearly overwhelmed fighting a pitched battle against the urge to run over, pick you up and shake you around suddenly.

Guilliman chuckles, waving one massive hand about vaguely, "You've done more than enough for me today, why don't we leave it at that for now, hm? Go on."

"Of course; thank you, and have a good evening, my Lord," You say, bow once more, and turn on your heel from the Primarch, and—and smile at Cato as you walk back towards the exit. That's—that's the first time you've smiled at him. His twin hearts lurch, slamming forward against the inside of his fused chest cavity. It's perfect abominable. You rotten temptress, he's—he's going to rectify that audacity later. Or now, if you're... possibly heading the same direction he is. Which is whatever direction you're going, purely by chance.

It's merely coincidence, he swears.

He's certainly not planning on hounding after you like a dog tailing a bitch in heat.

He's certainly not going to drag you into a side room the second he's sure no-one with a credible opinion's around.

He's certainly not going to indulge in anything heretical, like bending you bare over his knee for daring to taunt him.

Cato makes as if to fall in step behind you as you pass the threshold before him, but is quickly halted by his Father's curt, "I do not believe you have been dismissed, Cato."

He's never been subjected to such sinking dread quite so nonchalantly.

"Approach."

Cato complies stuffily, sparing a glance at your figure disappearing down the corridor before acquiescing. He's practically dragging his ceramite boots across the intricate rugs as he nears the Primarch's seated but colossal form.

Guilliman isn't looking at him, having had returned to notating a miscellaneous form.

The scritch-scratch of his gene-sire's preferred, yet archaic method of manually writing on the parchment is like someone grating a plate with a fork to his ears right now.

"You've gotten over your petty grievances regarding the Ambassador at last, I take it?" Guilliman asks, without looking up.

It is not Cato's duty to like or dislike. Nor is it to be biased without reason—his opinions are to be intellectual, not emotional. His duty is to assess, analyse and provide feedback, so that his Primarch can take it into account when making rulings and decisions.

Cato swallows around the proverbial hunk of drywall lodged in his throat and answers, "She has proven herself... useful, yes, sire."

Guilliman finally meets his eyes but says nothing for a short while. There's dark bags under his Primarch's eyes, and the deep, stern crease permanently between his dark blonde brows is a slight bit harsher, but the only thing Cato can parse out of the expression's intent is a vague sense of knowing. Because, insofar, he's thought himself quite adept at reading his Primarch; and rather well versed in deciphering the intricacies of his moods.

And right now, he feels like he's being read like an open manuscript.

The daunting prospect Cato's caught sinks it's teeth in his gullet. It's impossible, he's not left any room for suspicion, he's covered his tracks—there's no logical reason why he should be getting raked with such a look.

His gene-sire isn't a psyker nor omniscient, just impossibly intelligent—and so absurdly good at the mathematics of plotting and planning that it only appears superficially as if he is all-seeing. He can't possibly know what Cato has been doing—or rather, who he's been doing.

"It's about time," his Father hums abruptly, suddenly disinterested. "Now you're dismissed."

Cato nods, turns on his boot heel, and nigh bolts marches out the room. His proverbial tail definitely not between his legs.

The hall outside Guilliman's apartments is a central domed area that functions as a meeting area, where people go to one of six looming hallways. It's the bottom of a series of levels; and above, three echelons encircled by arcades and balustrades, framed on the exterior by engaged columns.

But the structure itself is immense and ancient, even by Imperial standards. One of the few still-original, unaltered parts of the great Gloriana-class warship's innards. It is doused in long swathes of red carpet and great standards of Magcraggian note, alongside glorious, heroic frescoes depicting Legiones Astartes in their thousands, crusading across the heavens with the Emperor their head.

Cato keeps his head down as he passes them, uneasy with guilt. Feeling as if their lenses are following him—intent on venturing into the lower layers to brood.

Several Astartes are hovering about amongst the personnel and serfs. The baselines look up at him in awe, and his Brothers nod in respect, but he pays them all no mind.

The furthest corridor beckons him, and so he goes; down the complex system of broad walks with high, barrel vault ceilings, mazing through the vessel's higher clearance reaches like arteries through a body.

Cato is seething, and self-admittedly itching to take a howler of a swing at the next thing that speaks to him.

He cuts down the southern channel and sees one of his subordinate Victrix Guard lingering in the middle of a groin vault intersection.

The younger Astartes is about to continue straight, yet he pauses.

Brother Marcellus meets Cato's eyes for a second, clearly notes his Commander's absolutely stinking mood from a hundred meters off; nods, swallows, takes a step backward—and changes direction to go left rather than pass him.

Cato's too pissed to even linger on the strangeness of the action.

Still, he doesn't rightly blame him.

Cato strides on, back straight, chin up—the red shawl pinned beneath his pauldrons swirling behind him.

His thoughts are eating at him the whole while.

He's sure his Primarch is just trying to innocently divine his sudden change of mind regarding you. There's no way his Father's aware of why. And yet, guilt is a big black wolf nipping at his ankles, making him hasten; and unease clouds about his heart. He's mortified, for lack of a better word.

The full implications of the situation are too enormous to be faced all at once; so he picks the smallest, most banal facet he can think of.

That being, you.

You, who he'll never see again if his Primarch finds out.

You, who's practically damned him without knowing it.

You, who he's now valiantly trying not to imagine in a hundred different circumstances where he gets away with it all. Each one more heretical than the last—it's like it was before he'd managed a hand on you: his body giving in to suffocating delusions, sleepless in his cot; lapping at whatever scant, lust-soaked morsels his mind offers up.

One of his favourites remains you scantily clad beneath a moonlit night sky, on the parapet of his ancestral fortress on the coastal edge of Perusia.

He likes to fantasise you like it there.

He suspects you would.

He knows just about all there is to know about you on paper, and wonders if you know much of Talassar. Or if you've read about Castra Tanagra. He assumes Guilliman would share the tale of that famed old battle with you as a part of your readings.

Each impossible reverie is a new shiny nail in his coffin, or dreadnaut—it depends where and how he dies, and if there's anything scrape up of him when he eventually goes down in a blaze of glory and duty, and honour.

If his Primarch catches him, there's going to be none of that.

He'll be struck from living record, like Titus had been. Cato would be lucky to get a little plaque in the deepest pits of the Fortress of Hera. Reduced to a whispered memory of his achievements passed solemnly between Captains, followed up with words of disappointment. Of waste. Until his memory dies with them and his deeds fade into obscurity, lost to any new brothers.

The fate that awaits you would somehow be worse. Cato was always going to die in war, as was his right—but you—you were not fashioned for such things. Yes, Guilliman enjoys you, but that fact won't save you. Just like it won't save Cato for all his usefulness. You'd be tried as a heretic, as a source of corruption upon the Legiones, and you'd be made to suffer; because torture ever comes before execution. You're so very soft weak in so very many ways. Your life lived in a gilded cage, without pain nor discomfort that extends further than grating professional grievances—he doesn't want to imagine the sound of you screaming, but he does.

He cannot stand the thought.

The sudden urge to barricade you in his chambers for permanent safe keeping is all-consuming.

It's suddenly all he can think about.

He has to find you.

The amount of serfs passing and parting to allow his passage thin out to nothing.

Even from the sterile confines of one of the many winding hallways, Cato abruptly swears he can hear the echoed rush of sandals—your sandals—reverberating off the floor.

He hadn't notice you following behind immediately because, damn it, he's spiralling thinking.

He chances a confrontation, and rounds about-face.

You stand there in the middle of the empty hallway like you've got a bolter aimed at you, frozen.

"Come here," he says, clipped.

You do not.

"Come here."

Again, no compliance.

"Do you pride yourself on being a idiot?" His voice is scathing now, taking a heavy step into your space and being met by you staying stock stiff, still. "Do you have any idea what that stunt of yours earlier might incur?"

"What?" You blink, finally animating. "I didn't do anything—"

"You know what you did," he hisses, accusatory. "You're hollow between the ears, but you're not blind."

Lips pursing tightly in mental deliberation, you make a fey noise of annoyance as a little frown graces your features, apparently not deigning to offer a comment back.

"Do you not understand that... this," he gesticulates between you both and his voice falls to a whisper. "This... is not common allowance?"

"It's not?"

Are you being intentionally dense at this point, or is it just second nature?

Cato raises a hand to knead the crease between his brows, "No."

"That explains a lot, actually," you say, seemingly without any real comprehension on the gravity of the matter. "I couldn't find any notes or references on it."

He's genuinely stunned, "Is that what you were doing when—"

"When I was rudely interrupted," you cut in, the comment is nigh a spat insult.

Cato isn't sure what to say to that sudden display of spine, and grumbles.

He surmises the optimal action is complete disregard.

Therefore, he has no problem turning on the heel of his sabatons and starting his pace on again.

"So... this isn't normal by Astartes standards?"

He's taken aback at your abrupt want for conversation after all that. Namely because it's atypical. You never attempted small talk with him. You never do anything but scurry off when he's accosted you for you flagrant overstepping—wait.

He feels as if the paradigm between you both has shifted again since the last time for some reason. More than last time, actually. More than you just simply having the audacity to backtalk him.

It's like some symptom of a deeper sickness rising to the surface.

It makes him unreasonably curious suspicious.

He wants to see just how much ground you'll give, so he plays along and answers, "Not as far as I am aware, no."

You hum, and immediately are at it again, posturing, "Surely you have heard of cases of it happening?"

"I have not," Cato says, and you hum in consideration.

You're satisfied at that information for a brief while, but then he remembers you cannot shut your mouth for more than five minutes, and purses his lips. He's already tiring of your incessant questioning.

"But you'd done it before?"

And that's just great.

You've expertly found an exposed nerve.

More kindling on the bonfire of him having an aneurysm before the cycle's end.

Cato can feel the hint of pressure behind his eyes as he begins increasing his walking speed. "I don't think that is a relevant question."

You haste to stay in step, "It definitely is."

"You ought to learn a civil fucking tongue when you're addressing me, woman," he bites out, nose crinkling into a sneer.

Unperturbed by his short-tempered comment, another thoughtful little 'hmm' slips out of you.

"So, to conclude... you where as inexperienced as I was at the start, and all those gloating insults back then were just projection?" You suddenly blurt out at rather impressive speed, like a politician possessed—before finishing with, "Sorry, 'all those gloating insults back then were just projection,' Commander Sicarius."

Cato grits his teeth and feels his eye twitch.

He stops, turns to look over his pauldron, and stares bloody murder.

He can't even imagine the idiocy in your brain that gave you the imprimatur to say that aloud.

But Throne, the sly little glint in your pretty eyes suddenly has his face thudding with heat.

Then you smile at him for the second time ever.

Cato bites back the urge to ogle you dumbly, and actually feels himself thicken in his body-glove in real time, because oh, fuck—his hind brain practically pelts him across the jaw with the mental pict of that sweet mouth lathing up the side of his cock.

Mentally unseated for a moment, his brows furrow; and he quickly turns away, applying himself entirely to the task of trudging down the stagings.

The silence is a breath of fresh air.

Even if he can still hear your laboured breathing a few steps back him from him. You're straining to keep up with his pace, and it's an excellent punishment for you. His heavy sabatons clank-clank-clank on the steel decking, and your little boots practically pitter-patter in contrast. It's a syncopated rhythm that he's absentmindedly trying to match—and when he lingers for a step he manages to even the beat out.

He hangs a left, and scales the wide stairs to the open intersection platform above two at a time; trying not to snort amusedly at the little groan you let out as you hurry up them behind him, heaving.

Cato realises abruptly that you're actually, really, seriously following him—and pretending you're not.

He makes a right at the top and then waits for you to fall in step.

And, pointedly, he then turns and doubles back around.

You stand there stupefied for a moment, before grumbling softly and continuing down the thoroughfare without him.

If his observation skills hold any weight, he heads straight into the nearest open room and waits for you to follow.

He doesn't activate the locking mechanism on the other side in on purpose when he strides in, and lets the sliding door close behind him.

This particular room is forgettable in its ubiquitousness, though unusual. He has no idea of it's actual intended purpose. It's fitted with screens and database terminals as if it's for debriefing purposes, but he has no real way of confirming. What he can catalogue is that there's wraparound surfaces littered with candles. A few strips of harsh lighting and scant furniture—a tallish counter and a few long benches. They're thankfully Astartes sized.

Which means he can sit down and pray for you to walk right into the metaphorical snare he's just laid.

Not a minute later, the door's sliding mechanism triggers and you scurry through—only to promptly go stiff.

You stare at him like a rat he's just found by lifting a crate.

The mechanism shuts automatically behind you and it apparently spooks you enough to jump a little.

"You're disgustingly predictable," he harrumphs, unimpressed.

A flush rises to your face as you scowl, "You're disgustingly predictable," you shoot back, echoing his words.

Of course, that audacity of yours leads to a short stalemate.

He huffs out a sigh as he concedes out of sheer frustration and says, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one."

You blink dumbly at him, "...what?"

"It's my locking code," he growls, and Throne, you must be acting stupid just to grate him; because there's no way your brain is so smooth as to not connect the dots. "It's for the door, moron."

A soft 'ohh' leaves you as you turn and step aside to the key pad fixed into the frame.

"Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," he's agonisingly forced to say once again.

"Three-nine-five-eight-eight-two-seven-one..." you mumble to yourself.

Cato hears an angry beep and suddenly wants to smash his head into a wall repeatedly.

Grinding his molars, he snarls, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," and then adds, "If I have to repeat that one more time, I'm going to throw you out of the nearest airlock."

And it seems the threat of violence works wonders, because you don't bungle the input this time.

Cato sighs, exasperated, and leans back against the lip of the table behind the bench.

He ought to start carrying around a correctional stun rod. Just for whenever you annoy him. If it's good enough for a Neophyte to suffer, it's good enough for you, he supposes.

Or it'll send you into a seizing fit.

He's not to sure of the maximum voltage a baseline can take without their singular, puny little heart giving out.

One disciplinary option scratched out, then.

But he can think of many, many more to make a model Ambassador out of you. The wonders of carefully applied violence are plentiful. A little roughing up never hurts, or at least, not for long. And fuck, do you need some lessons on proper manners. He could have you smacked into shape like a show pony in no time—even if it'd be more like teaching a grox to trot lateral movements. Then again, he also believes if he stuck a frag far enough up a Carnifex's ass, he could probably get it to play Regicide.

And then pointedly, he starts thinking about your ass.

Cato is so utterly lost on the tangent of hypotheticals that he's flabbergasted when a small mouth lands on his own.

He hadn't even been paying attention.

He hadn't even noticed you'd neared.

It feels like the breath has been knocked out him at the sheer unexpectedness of it.

The kiss is hasty, your eyes scrunched shut and cheeks flushed, scowling with focus.

All the while, his mind reels because Throne, the contact of his lips to yours doesn't really feel particularly profound aside from how soft your skin is—but the intention of it is the real reward.

Cato's genuinely infuriated when you pull away.

You blink owlishly at him, giving him a cautious look like you're trying to gauge his reaction.

There are a thousand things he wants to ask, to say, but the foremost among them is but one.

"Again," he huffs, lessening the distance between you just enough to invite you back.

And he thinks that perhaps he’s abusing his station over you, but when you tentatively find a hold on his gorget to steady yourself to give him another kiss—those thoughts are all but erased from his mind. It's a curious weight off his shoulders to have you initiate and to show you want him in return, especially since it's as new to you as it is for him.

Nonetheless, he can't even imagine finding a reason to stop you, so he starts blindly mouthing; trying to coordinate around the fact he's so much larger than you.

The angle is difficult, but he's willing to follow your lead. Your body is even more fragile when he's in full armour. The risk of actually hurting you is realer than ever, but he can't help the desire to wrap an gauntlet around your waist and pull you closer to him. Thankfully, you let him when he urges you to, trembling hands flitting across his chestplate like you're unsure of what, exactly, you should be holding—and he catches the tiny line between your brows smoothing out as you risk a peek. Only for you to yelp, nervously wrenching yourself back in flustered surprise upon meeting his unwavering stare.

It's as if you expected something else.

He senses he's made a mistake of some kind.

Then he remembers from the motion-picts he's not supposed to keep glaring at you when kissing.

Regardless, he studies your face, memorising the lingering want still clearly there like his life depends on it.

He pulls you in and kisses you again, just because he can, this time brief and chaste. And then he goes for a third, fourth—fifth, each time slightly longer, until finally he rears back; and when he does you push up on your toes just a little, trying to chase him, but lose the nerve; although to Cato the reason for your faltering is, frankly, irrelevant. Because just like him, you lack the practical capacity to really know what next step you should take. Still, you look down at his armour, as if there's a latch to pull that magically undoes all his wargear.

He knows he's not going to get himself out of his armour in any reasonable way or amount of time.

There's no way he's getting the satisfaction of having you on him right now—but he still wants to keep you near.

He thinks he hears you ask for something, but he's too distracted to catch it in time.

"What?" Cato scowls, "What do you want now?"

It's clear you've been struck by your own embarrassment, strung up somewhere between shy and wanton, "I.. uh..."

"Spit it out," he rumbles.

You wince, hesitant as you mumble, "You, uh... i-in me."

Cato's brain skids to a halt. And it's the gall of that request alone that has him sweeping you up off the ground and spinning you around to sit in his lap.

It's obvious you're overwhelmed at being held to the formidably larger size of himself in full-plate. But as usual, you're yet to actively complain. Using his vambrace as a leg-bar to scoop under your thighs, he folds you in his grasp—your knees pressed to your chest as you're tucked back against his pauldron and chestplate.

The angle forces the hems of your robe aside, and he can see the underside curve of your ass; along with the plump mound of your vulva under the white of your small-clothes.

Cato's suddenly offended by their existence. You didn't wear any last time, so why now? The irritation of there being one more thing between you and him is enough justification to yank at them, tearing them loose—before throwing them aside.

You grumble sourly, which he chooses to ignore.

The palm of his gauntlet smooths across your hip, and you make a small hugg as you shiver, goose-bumps suddenly covering your exposed flesh.

Cato lets the pads graze closer and closer to your sex, content to watch you impatiently glare at his armoured fingers from between the gap of your thighs.

With little preamble, he's stuffing his middle in. You're already so wet it's practically a cake-walk. Your cunt swallows down each articulating segment of his armoured finger down to the knuckle. The fact he's going to have to personally scrub your slick out from between the joints, instead of a lowly serf, is infinitely worth the shrill whine he receives as tribute.

"Would that my wargear had a zipper," he breathes, and fuck, he grins behind the obscurity of his gorget at the mournful mewl that remark earns. "I'd have you on your knees sucking for all the cunted trouble you've caused me."

You're making a warp-awful attempt at keeping yourself together, high-strung as you evidently are. Little more than a minute of him pumping his finger in and out of you has you red-faced and panting. All it takes to get those heavy breaths of yours to change into proper whines is his large thumb-pad adjusting to rest on your clit, applying pressure. You jerk, reflexively trying to buck into every motion. Fighting and failing to withhold the stuffy little moans escaping you—trying to stave off the inevitable by scrambling at the thigh plating of his power armour with one hand and tugging at his couter with the other.

Some part of Cato wants to stop solely out of spite for you being so grating earlier, or some other stupid mercurial justification of his; but instead, he simply continues, letting you squirm on his fingers.

And squirm you do.

It's clear to him the tide of it all is becoming too much for you to resist. Your sandal'd feet kick out where he's got your legs secured, joining in on the struggling as it begins anew when his thumb starts circling. It's a good sign, so he adds his pointer into you to bolster the stretch, curling in; before letting his fingers fan out inside you, stretching rather than stabbing. Your hips try to stutter forward in time with the quick thrusting of his digits, broken whimpers resonating off the room's walls. He promptly stuffs down to the knuckle and curls them again—and you all but bleat his surname as you're dragged into a fast and apparently exhausting orgasm. Just knowing he's you got you beat has his erection ache where it's trapped under the suiting and plating of his navel.

Cato can't feel you clenching through all the layers separating his skin from yours, but he knows from experience that you're seizing in fits internally—tight little cunt trying to milk a load out of an Astartes cock that should've been stuffed in you.

Just to allow himself one last bit of smugness, he scissors his fingers; giving a final swirl for good measure.

The shivered sob is worth every possible future disciplinary action he'll receive.

He pulls his gauntlet away slowly, and the wet shlick of it leaving you is almost amusingly alike pulling a blade from sinew. It's a degenerate comparison, he knows, but it's true.

Nonetheless, he splays out his hand and swallows dryly, eyeing the sticky, clear liquid webbing out and thinning between each ridge of his gauntlet'd digits.

Suddenly focused entirely on the fluid on his fingers, he pulls his vambrace barring under your knees up away. Now limp, and without the support, you slide off his lap and onto the floor in a slow slump.

"Nn-ngh," You groan weakly, face-down, legs still juddering a little.

Seeing as you're preoccupied, Cato doesn't even dignify the concept of hesitation, and promptly jams his fingers in his mouth—lathing the aftermath of your orgasm from them. And Throne, the taste of your hormones make him groan. He's absolutely stunned, unsure of how to act. He's so fucking stupid, why didn't he do this earlier? He's practically drugged by the omophagic aftereffect—getting off on your second hand bliss. Some sort of fey feedback loop in his brain catalysing his next decision solely on instinct.

He clambers to the floor and gets to his knees guards, securing a mitt on your bared thigh to roll you onto your back.

Apparently boneless with afterglow, you're easy to manhandle.

You barely have the strength to do much more than crane your head up at him and whine as he arranges your thighs apart, settling on his front between them with a warp-awful clank; before lifting your legs up to rest onto either lip of his gorget.

You try to scud back on your ass suddenly, but are quickly halted when he holds you fast by the hip.

He raises a confused brow.

"I-Isn't—" you start, still gathering the scraps of your brain together so soon post-orgasm, "Isn't y-your saliva acid?"

Cato suddenly wants to cuff you on the ear, "Who the hell told you that?"

"M-Master Calgar," you mumble.

Oh, of course, the gossiping hen.

He's going to have words with the Lord Defender of Greater Ultramar the next time they meet—words like 'for fuck sakes, stop scaring the woman he's trying to eat out with talk of Betcher's gland, Marneus,' come to mind, but then Cato realises that doesn't sound like he's not fucking you, so he quickly settles on: 'stop dignifying the Ambassador's hundred-and-one insane questions.'

"Not Ultramarines," Cato manages not to snarl, "It's a vestigial organ in most of us."

Your voice is shaky as you parrot, "Most of us?"

"Yes," He grunts, and promptly buries his face in your cunt.

The disproportion in size is painfully apparent when he realises his whole damned tongue is able to drag a stripe up the entire splay of you with minimal effort.

The pitched gasp he wins out of you is pure sin, and he's on the brink of swooning; but then you're running your trap again.

"Please, d-don't tell me you're one that can spit acid—" you manage to warble, seemingly still stuck on the topic.

Cato sighs as he's forced to pull away from your vulva, "I think you're forgetting I had my tongue on your tonsils in the library."

"Th-that's different," you stammer. "That's not as sensitive."

A long, unimpressed deadpan paints itself on his face.

"So," he starts with a bated hiss, "And let me be perfectly clear in this—you believe your vagina is more susceptible to burns than your mouth?"

Your face transforms into a strange mix of embarrassed and angry.

"I didn't say that—"

"Yes, you did," Cato grumbles.

"Did not," you huff.

"You—you just fucking did," he snaps, frustrated enough that he can feel one of the veins at his temple bulge. "The implication is obvious, you insufferable little whore."

You snort, but stay silent.

The argument appears, for all intents and purposes, to be finished.

"Did not," you say abruptly once more, pouting.

Cato's eyes roll back in his skull as he grits his teeth.

"Throne of Terra, if you don't drop the subject, acid in your cunt will be the least of your worries," he all but snarls, and that apparently quietens you enough that he can get back to lapping at you—the flat of his tongue running over your clit and earning a jolt.

He wraps his lips around the pink little nub and sucks. And that's all it apparently takes to make up for his amateur career in the practice.

You siphon down a sharp breath and let out a garbled cry, hips canting forward into his mouth—to which he obligingly stuffs his tongue into your slick entrance.

There's a satisfaction well beyond simple pleasure that swamps him at the way your thighs shake either side of his head. His own breath is hot about him, stuffy and dizzying; and the skin pressed against his cheeks is warm and smooth.

You're panting when he goes back to lapping over your clit, perching yourself up on a bent elbow and reaching out a hand.

Your fingers card through the messed brown hair atop his head. And he stiffens without realising—but he realises something: like this, the touch is ecstasy—pure, golden ecstasy. Every bit of higher thought in his head evaporates when you stroke him again.

A long, rumbling subvocal moan tears from him.

The infrasound vibration makes you buck weakly into his mouth again, teary eyed afore him as he adjusts his grip on you and crawls closer.

He's suddenly acutely aware that in this new, much more prone position, he's able to grind his body armour into his groin guard pressed on the floor. And as soon as the action bears results—namely a scorching burr of pleasure racing up his spine—he's deadset on rutting against the ground like a slavering beast.

He's frotting himself at a pace so rabid it'd cruel to subject your cunt to. It's brutal, and the harsh scraping sound of plasteel on steel only further proves that. It's just frantic lust—he's desperate.

It's complete insanity how close to finishing he is so quickly.

Not as close as you, though.

He can feel how your legs jump with each pass of his tongue; and then you're unraveling in front of his very eyes.

"I-I can't—I can't, S-Sicarius, I-I—" You ramble, dazed, trying to get away as he works you right through it, sobbing and oversensitive while he's rutting himself closer and closer to his own end.

It all comes to a head when your fingers dig into his hair, tugging—and his brain is overrun with static. A drawn out groan scathes from his maw as any sense of rhythm scatters like light through a prism. For a fraction of a second, the pleasure is serene.

Then it's abject agony, he feels—he feels like Roboute Guilliman himself has just taken a running start and kicked him in the balls.

"F-Fuck–ing—gh—" he chokes, vision swimming, straining against the tide of the torment. His back arches up, and he curls inward on himself; white-hot pain clocking his nervous system into overdrive. Every muscle in his abdomen is doused in acid. He's tolerated being shot, stabbed, burnt without so much as blinking—but this is an entirely new and entirely different sort of wound. It's like he's pissing promethium. It's—it's the catheter, he realises. He'd forgotten about the bloody catheter jammed up his cock.

Through the searing ordeal, he manages to force his armour's facilities to finally abide his impulses and dose him with a pain dampener.

And then everything's fine.

He opens eyes he wasn't aware he'd closed and finds your face has suddenly gotten far closer to his.

"S-Sicarius?" You stammer, and there's an honest panic in your voice. "Sicarius, p-please, please—a-are you okay?"

He realises he's on his back, and you're sitting beside him, half draped on his chestplate, frantically trying to figure out what's wrong with him to no avail.

You've leaned in so close he can feel your rushed breathing.

"I'm fine," Cato groans, and you sputter out a sigh.

"I-I don't know what happened, I-I—" you're still wildly confused and raving, and he inhales deeply; only to be greeted by the sour animal stink of fear practically dripping from you.

Cato rolls his tongue around inside his mouth and cringes knowingly at the foaming side-effect of the chem he'd self-administered, the acrid taste mixed with your slick is certainly not an ideal cocktail.

The sincerity of concern behind your reaction is baffling. He's not made of glass, for fuck sakes—and he's a bit pissy about the fact you'd actually fallen victim to the idea of him suffering some grievous injury so easily. But he supposes where there's a will of baseline overreaction, there's a way.

"You're acting like a child, woman. Pull yourself together," he sighs hoarsely, hoping the comment jars you out of your hysteria—or at the very least scares you off.

It does exactly neither, and you sidle in closer and rest your cheek on his jaw.

It’s an action so overwhelmingly horribly affectionate that it would’ve been a crime to not press into it with a lean of his head. Or, at least, that's the half-assed justification he tells himself.

Because he's loving enduring your attention, not seeking it; and therefore only humouring you when he lifts a hand and settles the wide splay of it on your flank as a comfort.

He shouldn't be, but he is.

[lailawinchesterr]

remedy (vii) — sam winchester

> prev, masterlist

summary: somethings just aren't meant to be, and you can't force them— tags: underage!reader, 22-year-old!sam, med student!fem!reader, cursing, angst, 6k chapter (yeah, it needs a warning), daddy issues I think.

You don’t text back for two days, and he ignores you. All of a sudden, it’s ‘we need to talk’. No way, man; an idiot can see this is a breakup text if they look at it for a second too long. And you’re not stupid enough to end something that means this much to you over the phone. 

If he decides you’re boring, or you’re not it, or whatever, he can say it to your face—

Your phone is ringing.

Worst case scenario, he calls you names, best case, he says it’s not you; it’s him. Maybe switch them around?

Maybe you should change your number.

Maybe you should answer. You answer. “Sam, hey.”

“Hey, you okay? Were you asleep?” Maybe if you say yes, he’ll feel stupid breaking up with you while you are half asleep. 

“No.” You’ve never been good at lying to him. “Do you need anything?”

“Sweetheart, what’s with the silent treatment?” oh, great, now he wants to talk about it? It’s been two days, he didn’t bother then— God, what is happening to you! You’re acting like such a bitch, right now, like all the times you’ve yelled at your friends to stop being so annoying with their boyfriends, and now you’re doing the same. 

“Sorry, uh— yeah, no, I guess I was just being silly because you didn’t call when you said you would.” Your voice is so timid, you wouldn’t believe it if someone said it was you. Sam has responsibilities, such as finding his dad and taking care of Dean, and you are being petty. Fuck this whole thing, this isn't you, why are you suddenly changing around him (without him here).

“It's not silly. I just had something to take care of that night and forgot to tell you.”

“Why'd you pretend? Why not just tell me the next day?”

“I thought you forgot, I didn't wanna remind you; besides, it was one call, I didn't think you’d care.” Where in your exterior of panic did he get ‘wouldn't care’ from? Unlike Sam's tendency to just ooze nonchalance, always seeming uniquely unbothered by this entire thing, he wasn't like this when he was next to you, in fact, he used to care more about your feelings than you did.

Is this what distance is doing to the both of you? Ruining Sam's gentleness and consideration? The things you liked about him from the start? Love about him? God, it's like your parents all over again. You love your father, of course you do, he’s an incredible dad, but he was disappointing as a husband, and you fucking swore that you’d never marry someone like him, even if you’re as physically far away from marriage as possible with Sam, it doesn't mean you’re wrong for thinking of your future with him.

“Baby?”

“Right. Sorry. It isn't a problem, you're right.” You never were as strong as your mother.

“Okay, but I'll text you next time. Promise.” You nod, noticing your nose burning and your vision getting blurry for a second before you breathe. This is not worth crying over. You've always given your entire being into every relationship and lost yourself halfway through, you told Jess that this was different, that Sam was different. But Sam is just like every guy you've ever liked, he's normal, caring, and sure, a little different in the sense that he's not a dick to other people and doesn't curse at you because of how you feel– okay so he's very different, but you aren't. You’re trying so hard to hold yourself back from thinking of those three words, from being all in for once, but you can’t help it, and you’re fucking mad at Jess for being right. Sam lost you. He went to a different state and is staying there for weeks, and it's okay with him. It should be the same way it should be for you, but it isn't. It was never going to be.

Your feelings were never going to be like his, and deep down, you knew that, Jess knew that. And you let it happen.

Fuck you’re crying. Fuck he’s calling out your name. “Sam, I'll call you back, okay?” And you hang up to his protests.

He didn’t cause this, you did by being so fucking careless with the most crucial thing in your life– your heart. And men will always be men. They'll forget to call, or they'll move to another country or state for work, they'll have girl friends that they hang around, and you will never be able to deal with it. 

It's terrifying to think about because you spent your senior year of high school making damn sure something like this would never happen, you didn't breathe near a boy, and you worked your ass off both in school and out of it to have achievements you can add to your transcript. Your first two years in Stanford have been spent right here in your apartment (or the first one was in the dorm), away from anyone who could ruin your progress– then Jess introduced you to him, and so what? She's introduced you to anyone she's ever hung out with. But you knew Sam was different. You knew everything about him was different the second you were both in the car alone, and you let all your nerves go so that you could sit in the passenger's seat and talk to him.

That should've been enough to scare you the hell off. He’s older and more experienced, and you promised you wouldn’t do this– you threw it all out the window the second he asked for your number.

He’s calling, your phone's ringing, and you know it's unfair to him, God, you know it is, but how unfair is it to whatever’s left of you if you answer? 

After an extensive crying session, you pick yourself off your bed and get on the desk for some serious study time. All your best studying has been done with your eyes bloodshot red and your heart broken. It doesn't take a few hours to finish and revise your assignments, and then you make flashcards for the chapter you (daydreamed during) missed last week. It's the most productive you've been this year. You're not complaining— until you are because Jess is barging through the door, and she doesn't yell, ‘honey, I'm home’, which can only mean she spoke to Sam. She knocks on your door twice before slamming it open with a frown. 

“No, because what the actual fuck do you mean you're not answering any of our calls?” Oh, she's worried. You shrug, pointing to the phone that you shut off and abandoned on your bed a few feet away. “How many times have I told you to stop shutting your phone off if you're not going to keep your laptop open? What if your parents call and you don't answer? They can't exactly just knock on your door.”

“I texted them before I shut it off.” She lets out an exasperated breath, walking over to you.

“What about me? Why didn't you text me?”

“I forgot, Jess, I'm sorry, it's no big—” Before you can even finish your sentence, you're hit with an insane case of deja vu, except it's more like your brain stops working. You genuinely did forget. It wasn't like you'd hurt your best friend on purpose, but she doesn't look like she forgives you or, quite frankly, even cares. And you're repeating his words right back at her.

“No big deal? Seriously, what has gotten into you? First, you don't listen to me about Sam– you actually fight me about it, then you ruin it! Sam is racking his brain thinking of what he did wrong, and all he came up with is that he forgot to call once. Tell me you are not being bitch to Sam because he goddman forgot!”

You're not surprised by Jess saying it any more than you were scared when you did. You already knew it was irrational; you're overreacting and rounding up all the bad things happening since you've known him to justify it. But you're not stupid, you know Sam doesn't deserve it, you just– honestly, you didn't think he'd call Jess or care that much. 

“I'll call and apologize—”

“No, God, no, this isn't what this is about,” she sighs, her voice quieter and pensive as she sits on your bed. You turn the chair around to face her. “Babe, talk to me. What is going on with you?”

“You were right.” You can't cry again, and you're not in front of Jess about something you're ruining yourself. “It's too much, I just can't do it, Jess. You were right—”

“Come on, babe, no, you fought for him, you convinced me he's right for you, what is this about?”

“I just can't be okay with it, every time something happens, I just— I'm scared it'll all go to shit, so I can't focus on anything, but the second I closed my phone after I hung up on him, I felt like— it was closure. I'm not scared anymore. I can focus and see everything clearly when I'm not…”

“When you're not in love with him.” You don't meet her eyes, instead, they pan to the floor. Yeah. You were scared to say it, but Jess certainly isn't. She won't shy away from the truth for your benefit; maybe that’s why talking things out with her always works for you. 

“Jess, you were so right, and I'm sorry I didn't—”

“Hey, don't be stupid, no. I didn't mean it— I never wanted you to do this. Sam is good for you, and you are great for him. Me and Gen, we talk about the two of you all the damn time and how incredible Sam treats you, how thankful and accommodating you are to him. I didn't know that that's what you were thinking.”

“I fell in love with him in a month. I can't, I just can't be like this again. I can't keep doing this and–” Yeah, you can feel your tears deep in your chest, and it doesn't matter what Jess hears or sees, you just can't keep going like this, “— I keep losing myself, and I accommodate to him and I want to please him and I shut up when I'm sad because what if he doesn't want to hear it—”

“You know he–”

“I don't care! I don't care how good of a person he is, unless he pulls it out of me, I don't… God, I'm so high maintenance, and he's too comfortin– Jess, I'm done. I can't keep…” She frowns, and you notice her red cheeks as she opens her arms for you. You oblige, moving off your chair and next to her on the bed, your head on her chest while her arms wrap around you. It never hurts less, and the fact it never fucking might scares you more than you thought was possible.

You both fall asleep like that on your bed, your head on her chest and her embrace warming you, it makes you curse yourself for waking up at three. You were in a deep sleep, too. Thankfully, she still is, so you grab your phone and head out of your room, turning off the lights behind you to– oh fucking SHIT.

“Sam!” You scream, a hand on your racing chest. You're already wincing at the thought of waking Jess up, but you don't hear anything except a change of rhythm in her snores. You’re panting as you take a step back from him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“We finished early,” He lies, his eyes on yours. He’s a good liar, you have to admit, even if you can see right through it. He takes a step closer, examines you, and places his hands on your shoulders as he does before pulling you in close. “God, I’ve missed you.” 

That's— what on earth is happening right now? “Were you crying?” He furrows his eyebrows, fingers wiping under your eyes even though your tears dried hours ago. 

“Yeah, but that— Sam, what are you doing here?” You repeat, still starstruck. You like surprises when you know they’re coming. Like not knowing where you're going for dinner or not knowing what type of party someone is planning for your birthday, but this? It's very not cool. Extremely terrifying.

“I just told you we finished the case early.”

“You— what about your dad?”

“Dad left us a clue, well, he left Dean something. We went to find him in Blackwater Ridge, and he left something for Dean there about where to find him next. It's a couple of states over, and when I saw that this isn't a two-week kind of thing, I told Dean to bring me back here.”

“Sam it's been five days—”

“I know. I know, but you— trust, right? Technically, I made it back before the end of the week, so even that promise I kept…” and it's a weak attempt to lighten the situation with his hands still lighting your body on fire. You're not angry with Sam, of course you aren't, you never expected that you'd be with him every second of every day, you even knew that in less than a month you'd have to go back home for the summer vacation— it was never Sam's fault to begin with. It's yours. Your heart, your stupid, childish feelings, because despite being emotionally intelligent like almost everyone you've ever known has told you, and a damn hard worker to get into med school a year early, your feelings are where you draw the line.

“Honey, were you crying?” He should probably stash the monikers away for the time being if you're going to be able to do this.

“No— I mean, yes but it's fine I had Jess here.” You don't mean to sound bitter but it seems as if he took it that way because he frowns and nods slowly in a manner that pains you. He doesnt deserve this. He doesnt, hes been so fucking good to you, he cares about you, he—

He’ll never love you the way you love him. If you break it off now it's better for the both of you, he won't have to deal with a crazy girlfriend and you won't feel your heart shatter every time he forgets to call or goes out with Lily. This is good.

This is for the better. You know it's for the better.

“Sam.” You say with a breath, suddenly self conscious of your hair, is it messed up? And the makeup you slept with (though you're not too worried with it being Jess's and all her stuff is waterproof). “I— uh, we should probably go to sleep. I'm still tired and you just came back, right?”

“Yeah, but if you want to talk about something, anything—” Why is he making this so hard?

“No, no, we should just… wait, did Dean bring you here, with your bags? You don't have your car?” He confirms your words and you groan, walking past him to the kitchenette, opening the fridge door to hopefully find the iced tea you hid from Jess. Thank god for blueberry iced teas.

“I can go back to my apartment, it's no problem,” And you freeze your movements as you curse yourself under your breath. That isn't what you meant, you're just very overstimulated and there's too many thoughts going on in your head, you wish you could calm them down, and now sam is staying over, and he’ll probably expect you to crash with him in Jess’s room. 

“Sam, ‘m sorry, it’s just I’m so tired—”

“No, I get it. It’s fine, a cab—”

“What? No, I mean I’m sorry for being bitchy, I just wanna head to bed, that’s all. And I’m not hauling you into a cab, we’ll take Jess’s room… unless you wanna be alone?”

You look up from your drink to gouge his expression and he shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “‘Course not.”

Great. “Okay, you wanna drink something?” 

At his refusal with a short ‘thank you’, you tell him you’ll be in the room in a moment which he takes as the dismissal it is, shutting the door behind him so you’re completely alone in the living room. Kitchen. What the fuck ever this is. 

God, this is— you brush your hands through your hair shutting your eyes aggressively. You’re okay. It’s okay. The earth is still spinning and you haven’t failed any of your classes— and Sam is here and he’s being a loving boyfriend saying he misses you, what is wrong with you?

You decide that enough thinking’s enough as you drown the rest of your drink and enter the room with soft footsteps. Sam’s sprawled out on your best friend's bed and you check yourself out in the mirror quickly to see that, surprisingly, you look somewhat decent. You shut the lights off before you get in the bed, lying on your back just as Sam is. 

Is it rude to sleep on your side? Definitely is. You can’t find it in yourself to care as you do it, moving the covers so they aren’t all on your side, and sing yourself to sleep because what the hell else are you supposed to do after today?

Waking up to the smell of fresh coffee and maybe even food? Yes. Always. Please. 

You don’t waste a second getting off the bed, not like you’re getting any more sleep with the sun filling the room with a warm, golden glow. You shut the blinds off for good measure before freshening up in the bathroom quickly, not wanting to miss whatever was happening in the kitchen outside.

The second you open the door you’re engulfed in the scent, though this time you notice how sweet it is. You smile as you look over and see— oh. Right. You forgot. That’s why you’re in Jess’s room.

Jess is sitting on the counter while Sam cooks, what you assume are pancakes, on the stove. At the sound of the door, they both face you, Jess quickly running off the counter and into your arms. You reciprocate in no time, squeezing her tighter. “You okay?” She whispers in your ear, as good of a friend as ever.

“‘M okay. Please stay today.” When you pull away, she nods at you, like it’s a given then drags you to where she was sitting, right next to Sam. His smile pulls at your heartstrings and he leans down for a kiss that— there’s no way you’re not kissing him back. Your left-hand lands on his bicep as you steady yourself. When he pulls away, he doesn’t go completely, his face inches from yours, and he steals another quick one. 

He’s back to cooking as he mumbles, “Missed you.” 

What’s happening right now?

What on earth is happening right now?

You’ll think about it when you’re more awake. Or at least when you have food in you. 

“Jess, what do you have planned for today?” you ask, your hand still on him as you rub it absentmindedly.

“I have classes— so do you, Sam!” Isn’t Jess a year younger than Sam? you never noticed how much she knows about the graduating class despite not being a part of it. She reads your mind like she's always done, “Gen’s with him, ‘sides most of my friends are from his class.”

Right. Gen. you should probably apologize to her for stealing her girlfriend for an entire night. Only god knows how she’s coping right now. When you glance at Jess you notice her surveying you and Sam, so you quickly take a step back to remove your hand.

“What about you, Sam? Any plans?” She listens, leaning over the island that separates the small kitchen from the living room, “other than class obviously, which you will be attending— by the way, Lily is so fucking pissed at you, dude.”

Sam throws his head back with a groan, “i know. She wont stop texting.”

That’s reassuring. He continues, “But I don't think I’m up for anything today. I’ll go the classes and talk to lily about finishing the project next week. You think she’ll understand?” His eyes catch yours and you feel obligated to answer with a quick nod. 

He’s back to flipping pancakes that look surprisingly delicious considering you’ve never once seen him cook before. Though, in your defense, you’ve usually eaten out for every dinner and breakfast you spent together. Which now that you think of it, isnt cost-effective. Someone should chek on your bank account. Not you, obviously, but someone should.

“It smells really good.” you compliment, gesturing to jess to bring you a brush, which she complies, leaving to find one. “Where’d you learn to make food like that?”

“Oh, it’s nothin’, i used to read lots of books growing up, guess i picked up some cooking ones.”

“Really? That’s nice. Dean mustve been real lucky having you try out recipes.” you joke, dipping a fork into the batter to try it. ‘S horrible, just like you expected. It isnt cake batter, it wont taste good, and you knew that— doesnt mean you wont try it.

“Yeah he didnt really, i mean i never actually cooked or anything, just read them and when i got the apartment with Gen i started cooking more, turns out its something i like.” oh its cute to think that coming to stanford, getting his own place with gen, had opened up this kind of opportunity for him, and it has you wondering what else he did when he was younger. Youd hardly spoke of either of your childhoods— mostly because as much as you love your parents, you dont like thinking too much of how they were when you were younger, and apparently that lead to not asking about sam’s. Hes never talked about his mum, now that you notice it.

Is she out of the picture? Are you even allowed to ask? Did you want to ask considering whats been on your mind since yesterday? God, you dont even know if youre going through with it. Hes here and hes cooking breakfast, kissing you, holding you— why would you want to let that go?

“Here, whore.” jess emerges from her room, throwing the hairbrush.

“Thanks, slut.” she smirks, plopping onto the couch and you catch the look of surprise on sam’s face. “What? Whats wrong? We’re joking its just a thing we do.”

“No, i now, just didn't know you do that. Never heard it before.”

“Yeah, i don't even know how it started but it's cute.” he agrees leaning down for another kiss which you, stupidly, let him do. Your hand comes up to brush against his cheek before you remember the object you’re holding and disconnect, sitting on the counter, brushing your roots so you can tie your hair back with no fly-away strands. “You okay?”

You nod, not quite meeting his eyes as you focus on making sure your hair is perfect without so much as a phone camera. “Really?” He prodes, “you don’t look it. You’ve been weird since yesterday, did I do something?” Oh, did you ever, Winchester . 

“No, Sam, ‘m fine.” He sighs but lets it go. It doesn’t take more than ten minutes for a stack of pancakes to finish cooking and Sam serves it on the counter next to maple syrup and some chocolate sauce he says he found in the fridge (you made it a few days ago but didn’t like it). 

Thankfully, everyone enjoys the food, and Jess seems like she has a lot to say about him skipping out on you, then coming back all of a sudden, for losing communication with her— she doesn’t bring up yesterday at all which helps you relax since you’re not even sure what you’re going to do anymore.

It’s ten by the time you’re all done and the dishes are in the sink, you (like a fucking idiot again) kiss sam’s cheek, thanking him excessively. “I’m glad you liked it, it was my first time, I think.”

“You think?” He takes a step closer, both hands coming to rest on your waist as he nods. Why does he just love talking when you’re close to each other? Don’t people have conversations a few feet away anymore? Not possible?

“Yeah, I’m not sure if the first time counts, ‘nothin like what you had today, I’ll tell you that.”

“Well, I’m proud of you, it was amazing.” You wish you could say you missed the faint blush on his cheeks, but you didn’t, and it did nothing but make you want to kiss him more.  “When do your classes start?”

“Two hours.” You frown, looking behind him at the clock you have hanged up. 

“Seriously?”

“Dead.” You groan, looking around to find his bags on the floor on your front door, “I already packed.”

“I didn’t know you unpacked.”

“I didn’t exactly, just got some stuff out for this morning, but I’m ready to go, I’ll see you later today?” 

You tilt your head after he kisses it, and you watch him walk away. “Today? What’s today?”

He shrugs, carding the duffel, “nothing specific, just thought I’d see you. If you want.”

If you want. Do you want? “Sure, we’ll see.” He nods, uncertain, before he yells out for Jess who rushes out of her room to hug him, muttering about ‘not being sure if she’ll ever see him again considering he likes to disappear’. 

Couldn’t have said it better, Jess. You don’t have any classes today but some studying would do you good so you lock yourself in your room for an hour before Jess barges in and you’re more confused to find she’s not at Sam’s than you are to see her in lace lingerie. Because. What. The. Fuck.

“Jess!”

“Do I look pretty?” She teases, twirling around like a Disney princess, before going for something more R-rated, playing with the waistband of her panties. “Was gonna wear it last night for Gen, so I wanna surprise her but I’m scared black isn't my color.”

“Slut! Absolute slut. You’re showing me your girlfriend’s outfit? Sluttiest whore there ever was.” She giggles, walking over to your desk, “black is definitely your color, babe, you know that, don’t worry about it, Gen’ll love it.”

She still seems hesitant, but because Jess would rather kill herself before ever giving you reason to comfort her, she changes the subject, closing your books, “okay, tell me about Sam.”

“What about him? He’s in class— or has class in an hour, just like you do.”

“You’re breaking up with him?” You shrug, leaning back in your seat, “what do you mean,” she repeats your gesture mockingly, slapping your shoulder, “man up and choose a side.”

“Not a man. And besides, he doesn’t know so—”

“Stop being like this,” she scolds, crossing her arms in front of her chest, though it does nothing for her modesty, not that you care, “I know you and you can’t even fucking focus on anatomy. Come on, you need to do something. Talk with Sam or stop trying at all, there’s no other option and you know it.”

“Yeah well the two options suck.” You groan, slamming your head down on the desk. “I—”

“You love him, yeah.”

“Do you… think he does too?” You mumble against the desk before hearing her sigh. And it fucking breaks your heart to hear it indirectly. She hasn’t said anything even yesterday. She didn’t deny it, but she didn’t confirm that your fears are valid— she is now. She’s telling you again, as if you haven’t repeated it like a prayer in your mind, that you’ve just gone too fast. 

“Sam cares about you, you know that, baby. I mean, he just cooked breakfast after staying the night. You guys shared the bed— he wants you, loves having you around.”

“But doesn’t love me.” You look up at her, already being sure tears will stain your face any moment now. 

“It’s not even about time, it’s just— you’re scared and you’re letting it affect everything else in your life.”

“Isn’t that normal—”

“It isn’t. You know it isn’t. Me and Gen spend almost everyday together, but I know my place in her life, as her friend, girlfriend, lover, that’s all I am. At least for now, till we’re done with college and then me and her will figure it out. You’re different, you’re thinking of the future all the time and you’re overthinking what he says when he’s not here, and Sam's been doing things that don’t sit right with you— I know he has, don’t tell me he hasn’t. The first night you spent at his apartment when we told you about Lily I knew something was off. You don’t deserve to live in fear and anxiety because of a man being in your life. And it isn’t Sam’s fault, maybe— it’s not yours either, but it’s just not the right time.”

What’s worse, hearing what you want to hear or hearing what’s honest?

“Hey, Sam. I know you’re in class right now so just, call me when you’re done, we need to talk.” You wince at the last phrase, regretting it already. You’re about to put the phone down when it starts to vibrate with a call from him. Huh.

“Hey, baby, I’m done with class, I was just speaking with the professor. I haven't listened to your voicemail yet, what's wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shut your eyes at the lie, your breathing heavy, “just need to see you. Or actually,” you can’t bring him in blind, “it is something. Just, when can I see you?”

“Oh. I have a few classes then the project with Lily, so maybe eight?”

“Is there— when’s your next class?”

“Few hours.”

“Can we meet up now?”

“Is it important? because I don’t wanna cut it short and I don’t want to be late for class.”

“It’s important but it won’t take long.” He sighs, probably at your vague answers before deciding to meet up with you in your apartment. Like the gentlemen he is. That you’re leaving. 

You call Jess the entire twenty minutes it takes him to knock on your door and she helps your through it all, the same way she has the second this started.

He greets you with a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, and somehow that eases your worry. At least he knows something is coming. You close the door behind it and gulp before you let go of the knob and lean against it, not sitting down. He’ll probably want to leave anyways. 

“What’s wrong? Is this about why you’ve been acting this way since yesterday?”

Maybe. Why does your mouth stop fucking working the second you actually have to say something? How on earth is that fucking fair. “It’s not fair.” Oh, great. There goes your speech.

“What’s not—”

“It’s not fair to us, what’s happening right now so I think we should just, you know, like not be together.”

Like, not be together? Way to show off how much of a seventeen year old you actually are.

“What?” He— Sam looks genuinely confused and that’s not something you anticipated. 

“Breaking up. I’m breaking off what we’re doing because it’s just not working.” And that seems to register for him, finally and lets out a defeated breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “What?”

“I knew it was coming, I just have no fucking idea why. Why you’ve been so— I just need an explanation.” 

“It’s everything, okay? It’s my fault, I started this knowing I wasn’t ready for a relationship and you’re great, Sam, but it’s not what I need right now.” You’re not sure what you’re saying half way through, this is not the script you rehearsed and he’s furrowing his eyebrows at you, shaking his head as if to say ‘bullshit’. “It’s a lot of things that we just can’t change about you and about me, we’re just not supposed to be together.”

“Don’t give me that crap, what can’t we change? And why can’t we change it?” He’s frustrated, not exactly angry and you wish you could gauge more of his feelings than just that but the truth is you’re radiating fear and anxiety that you can’t focus on anyone else’s emotions. “And why are you so tense?”

“Because I’m—”

“Breaking it off doesn’t mean you have to be shaking.” His voice is slightly raised so he cuts himself off, taking a breath before taking a step towards you, “You shouldn’t be shaking, okay? It’s fine, I respect your decision, but talking about this is also important.”

“But it’s over, right?” He tilts his head in confusion. “I mean, because, you’re not trying to convince me or anything, you’re just asking.”

“I’m not, what does that even mean? Do you not want me to fight for us?”

“Fighting for us would entitle fighting me, so I don’t think so. I’m sure this is the right thing to do, Sam. I’m very sure—.”

“Why?”

“Because of a—”

“Real fucking answers.” You flinch at his tone, supporting your weight on the other leg.. 

“A lot of what you think is okay and normal just isn’t with me. Like hanging out with Lily or leaving out of nowhere with Dean—”

“We talked about both of these things before I decided on them! Do you just keep a list of all the things I’m doing that you slightly disapprove of?”

“No, but it’s still early and this just shows we’re not for each other.”

“What about the things that show that we are? Studying at the apartment, the dinners, what was all of that? If you’re gonna make a list at least make it fair.”

“This isn’t a list!” You huff, angry at this point and you move away from the door so you’re not standing face to face, “it’s what I think is right. And I can’t live like this if I’m going to have to be okay with all of these things.”

“Live like this? You’re making thsi sound like—”

“—that’s just the way I see it, Sam.” You’re not sure what you would do if you hear him mock your overthinking. Mock marriage and your future.

“Well it’s wrong. I think we’re good for each other when you aren’t getting in your head about everything. You don’t have to think about things so intensely, and I’m not brushing your feelings aside, I get that they’re there, but if you keep giving them more than they deserve they’ll eat at you.” 

“So will being with you.”

You’re a lot of things, but weak isn’t one of them. You’re starting to think that just isn’t true. And it’s starting to sink in as you watch Sam scoff out a breath, his hands covering his eyes as if he’s willing the entire conversation away.

And you’re starting to think it’s not true when he makes a move to leave the door.

And you’re sure it’s not true when you let him leave without a word.

part eight (epilogue); honey, you're familiar.  

title: all my habits came back around (calgary by tate mcrae)

as we near the end of this thing I made that you guys decided to care about, I want to say thank you. I wrote the first chapter as a one-shot, and here we are over thirty thousand words later. I'm so grateful to this fic for how much it has allowed me to interact with the fandom and the amazing people in it.

on another note, this is not the end— don't worry— though this is exactly how I wanted the fic to go because when I wrote this, I had a very specific character in mind: one who is self-sabotaging and constantly struggling with an internal battle, she's complicated. While, of course, she will figure that out, it won't be now, and it won't be with Sam.

this doesn't spoil anything for the last and final chapter, but I did want to give some of my thoughts + I'm a sucker for reusing the first words of the first chapter in the end if you guys noticed + swear this series is a happy ending just wait!!

tag list:

@angzls @chxrrybomb22 @pinkpantheris @ang3ldool @iloveragdollcats 

@oohjana18294 @user-2538484747490203746579403 @wattpaduser200 @s0urw00lf @ashlynyyyyy

@strabarrybat @anu-piyakya97 @tranquilitybasegrunge

[bmpmp3]

and of course here's the drawing from my recent voicevox cover~

[akimojo]

Just finished my first playthrough of type 0

[teobug]

hey wtf is pomade and why does it make my hair do magic actually

[volivolition]

Idk if you saw or not but a new chapter of the fury of a shattered mirror dropped last night! I haven’t read it yet but I thought I should let you know 😎👍

awughgh HELL YEAH!! ive been away from my laptop for a while so i didnt see, thank you birdy!! :] this is the best news ive had all day hkjgh <33 excited very excited going to read it now <33

[theladyyavilee]

.

[chuluoyi]

✎ the babysitters' club

- gojo satoru x reader

in which yuji, megumi and nobara are tasked with the most important mission ever by their teacher—watching over his baby son!

genre: total crack, first years are trying their best to babysit your son to save their grades, an attempt at humor, gojo is irritating as always, fluff, fluff, fluff

note: this is sooo incredibly silly :') some inspiration are taken from the baby starfish onesie, this ask, and this illustration -> if you're wondering how gojo dressed his baby, he's looks just like that :)) tagging @3zae-zae3 <3

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

"Gojo-sensei... what is that wiggling starfish!?"

On one sunny day in jujutsu school... trouble is once again brewing in the form of Gojo Satoru bringing his baby son to the class.

"Starfish? No, no," Gojo retorted with a displeased expression, directing his gaze towards Yuji and clicking his tongue as he patted his squirming baby, which was still hidden from their view. "He's my pride and joy! Don't refer to him as starfish!"

"But you've got him dressed up as one..." Nobara pointed out, her tone flat and unimpressed.

"That's his kid," Megumi provided, wearily sighing. God, he knew already today was going to be a long day.

No one from school had seen your seven-month old baby son yet, and Gojo was determined to make it an occasion to remember.

Beaming with pride, he gently removed his baby from the starfish-themed onesie, revealing him in a tiny black jujutsu outfit specially tailored for him, complete with miniature black glasses. He held him up, presenting him for everyone to see.

"Behold, everyone... my son! Isn't he just adorable?!"

. . . a momentary silence before—

"Oh my goodness, he is!" Nobara cooed, forgetting her earlier sentiment, immediately approaching the baby with shining eyes. "Sensei, how could you manage to have a baby this cute!?"

"Heh! Only the finest technique utilized to create him—"

"Complete bullshit—"

"Hush, Megumi! No cussing in front of my baby! I'll deduct your marks!"

"Seriously...?"

"Now, class, today I have a very, very important task for you..." Gojo said, his voice dripping with mischief as he sported a broad grin. "If you succeed, I'll personally draft a recommendation letter for each of you to Yaga. But if you don't..." he paused for the suspense, scanning his three students' curious faces.

"Then I'm failing you in my class!" Gojo continued with a grin, prompting immediate reactions from his students.

“What! Why?!”

“That's not fair!”

“Sigh.”

“All you have to do was to watch over him until I come back. Everything you need is here— in this bag!”

Megumi rolled his eyes. Nobara raised an eyebrow. Only Yuji who seemed to be genuinely interested.

"Isn't that easy?" Gojo tilted his head playfully, looking absolutely stupid with his blindfold. "There are three of you here. If you can't even manage to look after one baby, then you should not even think about romance and dating."

"Nonsen—"

"Quiet, Megumi!"

And so began the day's mission: looking after Baby Gojo until his father's return.

“Lalala~ look you’re flying!”

“Fwa...”

“Kugisaki, don’t hold him like that! You’re making him cry!”

“No, I’m not— Itadori! Don’t smush his face—!”

“WAAA!”

“You idiot!” Megumi hissed, plucking the poor baby from his clueless friends and immediately soothed him, pulling him close and patting his back. He even gently shushed him, “There, there...”

And Yuji and Nobara could only look at him in awe as the baby's wails turned into soft sniffles, peaceful in his embrace.

"Whoa... Fushiguro, so babies like you, huh..."

"Unfair!" Nobara clicked his tongue, before fixing a wide smile and waved at the baby in Megumi's arms. "Hi baby~ don't you want to held by big sister—"

"He doesn't like you, Kugisaki."

And so, that was how the three of them spent half the day—constantly watching over Baby Gojo, with Megumi supervising both the baby and his two friends.

"Sometimes, I wonder what she sees in him..." Megumi grumbled sullenly, resigned to his fate, his gaze fixed on the crawling baby while he sat on the floor and threw his little sunglasses.

For all the sighs he exuded, Megumi undeniably had a soft spot for the baby. Prior today, he had held him several times, and he'd never admit it, but he'd protect him to the best of his ability, if anything, because you had done so much for him.

“Gojo-sensei is cool!” Yuji remarked. “Of course Y/N-sensei is happy with him.”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “Only you would say that.”

"Hey, don't you think he wants his milk?" Yuji suddenly pointed out, as the baby became fussy. Megumi nodded and Yuji immediately reached for the bag Gojo left. He pulled out a bottle and handed it to his friend, but in the process, he accidentally knocked the bag over, spilling its contents onto the floor.

"Ahh, my bad," the boy sighed, collecting the diapers and washcloth, until he realized that there were some more—

"What's that? Photographs?" Nobara picked one of them up, and immediately gasped. "Oh my! Look at this!"

On the picture was the same baby, but much more smaller and swaddled in baby blue blanket and tiny blue beanie. Most likely taken when he was a newborn.

"Whoa, wait, there's something written behind the photo..."

When she flipped it over, both she and Yuji studied the messy handwriting, instantly recognizing it as their teacher's.

Yaaay! ♡ Baby is here! I'm sooo happy you made it! But mama went through a lot to bring you here... so don't ever forget that she loves you very, very much, okay?

"This is sweet." Nobara looked at the picture with a genuine smile, until she realized that there were some more scattered on the floor.

The other picture was of the blue-eyed baby on his arms and knees, wrapped in an orange and black bee onesie, complete with little wings, and behind it was written:

Aren't you just the cutest bee?! And what's more, you've started crawling! Aw, papa is so proud! In no time at all, you're going to be as strong as me!

"What are you two doing over there?" Megumi asked, still feeding the baby with the milk bottle. Nobara beckoned him over.

The third photo was of you smiling so prettily while holding your baby, still in his bee suit, and Gojo also in the frame, wrapping his arm around you, clearly the one holding the camera to take the selfie.

Two my most precious treasures ♡ Sweetheart, I love you. And baby too!

Yuji smiled, as he felt warmth spreading in his chest. "Gojo-sensei really treasures his family, huh?"

"He is," Megumi agreed, because he had seen it all throughout his life.

"Well, no wonder..." Nobara giggled. "Any woman showered with this much love would be happy."

And that day, the trio also uncovered another side of their teacher, that his deepest affection was reserved exclusively for his wife and child.

Well, the sentimental feeling didn't last long though...

"This is our chance!" Nobara said in a hushed whisper. "When else are we going to get an extra family discount!?"

Megumi was so ready to burst a blood vessel as he held the baby—given that he had forbidden his two friends to lay a finger on him. "We are meeting Gojo-sensei here, not to—!"

"Hush! Itadori, don't you agree with me?!"

Yuji nudged his cross friend, trying to appease him. "Lighten up, Fushiguro! We can have more meat!"

At the last minute, Gojo suddenly told the three of them to bring his baby and meet him at the shopping center as he didn't want to waste energy to go back to the school. And like broke students Nobara and Yuji were, they decided to use Baby Gojo to snag an extra plate in a yakiniku place.

Megumi's eyes twitched. "This is not making sense at all, they won't believe—!"

"Shut up, you! Waiter~ here! We have a baby! So we're eligible for the family package!"

The judging stare of the waiter was enough to make Megumi combust on the spot, and yet somehow he passed the four of them as family eligible for the extra plate.

It was later, after they had their lunch that Megumi suddenly had an upset stomach and left the baby momentarily in his two friends' care.

And under less-than-watchful eyes...

"Hey, Kugisaki, meat on this side is the juiciest! Try it!"

"Ooh, you're right!"

The baby only blinked at them in wonder as he stayed in his spot. Not for long though... and it didn't help that they forgot his existence after they went to the cashier and headed out.

"Oi, Itadori! Don't forget to split the bill!"

"Oh yeah! Anyway, why is Fushiguro taking so long?"

Megumi got back right afterwards, and he frowned. "You done already? I haven't even gotten my ocha refill—" and it dawned to him when he saw both Yuji and Nobara with empty hands.

"Wait... where's the baby?"

"—! Oh my god!"

And when the three of them rushed back to the yakiniku place and approached their table earlier, Nobara almost screamed at the empty chairs, "He is gone!"

"You left the baby with the kids and told them to come here?!"

You were positively fuming as you scolded your stupid husband in the bustling mall.

"Well, we haven't gotten much time to spend together, just the two of us!" Satoru retorted, his tone sulky as he pouted. "And besides, Megumi is there. I'm sure they'll do just fine~"

You let out a sigh. True enough, being parents is no joke. Aside from stay-at-home dates, the frequency of the two of you going out had dwindled exponentially since having your baby.

"Technically, you are still on the clock though." You threw him a glare. "You're being a very irresponsible teacher."

Satoru smirked. "Heh, spare me. But I'm being a very good teacher to you in our—"

"One more word and I'm locking you out—!"

Just as you were about to give him your (empty) threat, the building suddenly boomed with an announcement from the mall's broadcast speaker.

"Attention, shoppers. We've received a report from three teenagers that they've lost a baby. He is seven-month old, wears black shirt, has white hair and blue eyes. He is last seen at Yakiniku Q—"

"Satoru..." your voice trembled, dread settling in the pit of your stomach. The baby described by the speaker was unmistakably your son, and the realization of him being missing sent you spiraling into panic.

"Hey, calm down." Satoru gripped your hand tightly, his voice steady as he faced you. "We're going to find him, alright? I'm here. Don't worry."

And after taking off his glasses, in a matter of seconds, Satoru figured out where he was.

Nobara's eyes welled up with tears, frustrated. "What do I do, Gojo-sensei will fail us now..." she muttered, biting her lip.

"That's what you're worried about?" Megumi replied, turning to her with a clear glare.

"He's going to be fine! He is!" Yuji interjected, trying to reassure his two friends despite his own rising anxiety. "He’s not just any random baby—who knows, maybe he can shoot cursed energy to protect himself!"

Megumi and Nobara leveled their annoyed stares on him and Yuji immediately regretted his attempt to lighten the mood.

"I still think he can't get far from the yakiniku place." Megumi was too panicked to check with the staff earlier and just went with Yuji's suggestion to report it to be announced, but now that he thought about it— "I think we should go back."

And thank goodness the three of them returned for the second time because, this time, they finally saw the baby safely cradled in your arms, with Gojo speaking to the waitresses nearby.

"Oh?! Gojo-sensei is here!"

But as soon as the three of them came into view, Gojo immediately fixed them with his unamused gaze.

"You three..." his voice was lower and it made the three kids shudder. "What did I tell you about failing this mission, huh?"

Yuji, Nobara and Megumi were visibly spooked, immediately bowing their heads in unison as they chorused—

"Gojo-sensei, we're so sorry!"

Nobara then pointed an accusing finger at Yuji. "But it was his fault! He kept eating away and didn't even oversee the baby anymore!"

"Wha!?" Yuji glared back at her. "No! You too! You kept eating my meat too!"

"Whatever it is, I'm not a part of this—" Megumi cut in boldly. "My stomach hurt so I had to go for a bit, and they couldn't even keep an eye on him—"

You soothed your squirming son as the first years were throwing blame at each other. Gaping in confusion, you couldn't help but wonder how such a simple task had turned into this incident.

"Tsk." Gojo crossed his arms dramatically, and you knew he was just messing with them, as he suddenly turned to you with a grin.

"Nah, as both a teacher and the victim's mother— Sensei~ who do you think is responsible for this? Or should I punish all three of them?"

The three kids before you were quaking in their boots, and you really didn't have time for this right now. Honestly, if if you had to quickly pinpoint the source of this chaos...

You directed your most irked glare at your husband. "You."

“Huh?!”

“You’re the one staging this by threatening their grades, and it results in our baby being missing!”

Now you were bickering with your husband and putting him in his rightful place. Nobara and Yuji gaped, while Megumi heaved a sigh of relief.

"Does this mean... our grades are saved?"

Epilogue

"They said he fell..." You pat your baby's head worriedly as he babbled happily in his crib, your expression darkening into a frown.

You didn't really blame the first years for their lack of experience, but as his mother, the news from the restaurant staff that they had found your son falling from the chair made you extremely uneasy.

Seeing your distress, Satoru’s natural response was to comfort you until you were back to smiles again. He gently tickled his boy's tummy, prompting him to squeal in absolute joy. "Look, he's perfectly fine. You don't need to worry so much, yeah?"

"But it's strange... I'm happy he's fine, but how? Most babies will get hurt or at least be inconsolable after falling. But he was totally okay..."

Satoru shifted his gaze to his son, as now his round, crystal blue eyes that mirrored his blinked back at him with such innocence and trust that even melted his heart.

"Ah, I see." Suddenly he smiled as if he had figured something out. "This is just my guess, but you know my guesses have like... 90% of probability of being correct—"

"Hmm...?"

"He might have activated Infinity by instinct. Heh."

[sttoru]

‘i told you once, that only two things will have me; you and death.’

☀︎｜tags. gojo satoru x female reader. fluff, angst, comfort. themes of insecurity: trust issues kinda (by reader). reader gets called ‘baby, princess, angel’. self indulgent. proof read? whats that

“aww, there’s my hardworking girl,” satoru coos whilst his arms move to hold your body captive against his chest in a much needed hug, “and she’s still lookin’ as pretty as ever! my god — c’mere.”

your over-excited lover cups your face in his hands and holds it like that for a second to admire. his thumb slides from your cheekbone to your lips, gently parting them before pressing a deep kiss to your mouth. of course, he doesn’t leave it by that. satoru never does.

“pretty,” a kiss on your right cheek — “beautiful,” a kiss on your left one — “gorgeous,” a kiss on the tip of your nose — “amazing”, a kiss on your forehead — “sweetest,” a kiss on your chin — “lovely”, a kiss on the top of your head;

maybe it was the stress of the previous days that made you tear up. satoru has made it a daily routine: you come home, he welcomes you with open arms, showers you with his unending love and attention until you physically have to pull him away from your body. you sometimes ask yourself what you did to deserve someone so loving.

if satoru had heard you say the latter out loud, he would have kissed your mouth again to shut the thought down instantly. ‘you deserve everything and more’, you silently recall him saying once.

“stop that.” you mutter. the ‘that’ referring to the butterfly kisses and tight hugs he’s giving you. you tried not to seem in the mood for receiving his affection today. the muffled giggles leaving through your gritted teeth tell another story however.

“nu-uh,” satoru lets out a low chuckle, going right back to giving you what you deserve, “it’s like you’re askin’ me to stop breathing, baby. i can’t just not do this.”

satoru lifts you up into his strong arms and brings you over to the kitchen counter, settling you there - somewhere away from all that he had been cooking since the morning. he’s grinning from ear to ear, glancing from the covered plates near the stove and back to you.

you tilt your head curiously as you watch satoru grab one plate and uncover it, revealing the content like it was a big surprise—

“open up f’me, my princess.” your lover hums as he’s already guiding a piece of cake to your lips. your favorite cake which he had oh-so-obviously cooked himself judging by the messy look of it. your gaze lingers on the piece for a second to appreciate the gesture.

when you look back up at satoru, his eyes are already on yours — patiently waiting for you to let him feed you. his blue eyes are sparkling with a sense of pure excitement; one he only has around you. his love for you was almost overwhelming at times like these.

“why?”

the simple, one word question made the white sorcerer stop in his tracks. his head cocks to the side, eyelashes fluttering lightly in confusion, though the handsome smile on his face remains. ‘why’ could mean a lot of things in this context; why do you want to feed me? why do you want me to eat this? why should or even would i?

out of all the possible interpretations, satoru knew the exact one you had meant the moment he saw the tears that welled up at the corners of your eyes; ‘why do you care so much?’

“do i need a reason to?” his voice was smooth and soft. almost way too soft now that he’s realised just how vulnerable you were in front of him. satoru’s smile only widens, however — the sight of his girlfriend being overwhelmed by his affection was one he couldn’t resist.

it’s part of your charm. the charm you don’t know about; the charm that made the gojo satoru fall head over heels for you. your lover shakes his head with a light-hearted laugh, putting the slice of cake back down on the plate so he could hold your hands in his.

“i love you, yeah?” he kisses the back of your hands with utmost care before planting another one on your forehead again. satoru cradles your head against his chest afterwards, making you rest your weary body against his for as long as you needed it; his warmth and comfort, “it’s because i love you. that’s the only reason why, angel.”

you just nod in response — needing a moment of silence to recover, which satoru grants you without it having to be asked verbally. it’s like he knows just what goes on in your little head and is always updated about your changing feelings.

that’s what surprises you most. satoru’s super attentive to every single detail about you. from your unnoticeable habits to the big facts. that is what love truly is. that is how it feels like to have a man love you unconditionally—without any underlying or ulterior motives. without expecting anything back.

“i love you too, ‘toru. forever.” you reply eventually in a hushed whisper. the sorcerer only tightens his grip around your body, hugging you closer to his chest like his personal plushie. he nuzzles his nose into your hair — your scent both relaxing yet addicting.

“yeah,” satoru sighs in content and closes his eyes—allowing them to rest. all his senses are focused on making you feel better. he won’t let go of you until he’s sure you understand that you’re deserving of it all; his loving hugs, kisses, words of affirmation, gifts, comfort, cuddles and support.

“forever and beyond that.”

satoru doesn’t mind reminding you how much he cherishes you. even if he has to remind you every day until the day he succumbs. you’re his number one priority; he’ll even make sure to tell you he loves you with his dying breath when the time comes.

he’ll make sure of it.

[fillinforlater]

On her jeans (Part 3 of 3)

Male Reader x Kim Minji, Hanni Pham, Danielle Marsh

Length: 4606 words

Tags: Daddy kink, anal galore, blowjob, face fuck, blindfolded, 4some, pearly gates, spitting, spanking, cursing, humiliation, missionary anal, analpie, ass eating, rimming

TW: kinda rough, pure, stupid smut, ass eating, eating cum out of ass

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 3-

(A/N: the most likely final part of the On her series. This fic is very mindless lmao. Important announcement at the end.)

“Yes, Daddy, that feels so good!”

Hanni’s enthusiasm is almost limitless. No matter how often you’ve ordered her to your office or your apartment or some secluded bed and breakfast, she never let you down. No, the only thing ‘down’ is the momentum of her hips whenever she rides you on the couch, her beautiful ass turned towards you. She loves to make it wiggle when your cock fills her cunt.

You take delight in such a sight and give her the good-girl-spanks she deserves. Hanni craves them as much as she craves your eyes, seeing nothing but love in hers. There is nothing stopping her from leaving, you never demanded the same things from her then you did from Minji. But where Minji lacks endless love and desire for you, Hanni fills these gaps and then some. 

“Oh my God, Daddy, you-you’re gonna make me cum again!” Hanni’s throat is sore from her moans and screams (and the rough face fuck you gave her earlier). “I-I can’t hold it!”

“Why would you hold it?” you ask her and pull her back against your bare chest. “Ruin yourself all over me, you slut.”

You give her thrusts, quick, not too strong and that is all she needs. Her effort was remarkable but in the end she wants you to fuck her over the edge. Hanni’s pussy convulses around your cock, tries to milk it and you are about to give in when your cell phone rings. 

“Fuck,” you curse and pick it up while dropping a powerless Hanni to the carpet floor. “Who is this?”

“Yo, have you turned on the TV?” the person on the other end, some former manager of a group you were interested in, asks. “Today are the MAMA awards.”

“And? They’ve been the same for basically forever. And you know I don’t have any control over—”

“Oh no, another group has won.” You can hear the smirk on his lips. “I bet you’ve heard the song and the group—some of them are under your wings, I assume?”

For a moment you are confused, then it dawns on you brightly. “You could say that,” you respond calmly and look at one of those who are under your wings—though under your cock fits better. “Let me be honest, I did not think that they would make it this far.”

“Their success is unheard of, they must have paid you really well,” he continues knowingly. The kind of business you do is in a paradoxical state of infamously known and also a dark secret in the industry. It’s a tightly knit conspiracy where every wrong step, every wrong turn can cost you basically everything. 

“Maybe they have to offer me something new, a MAMA win does not come around very often.”

#

“Congratulations on your win. I bet this is part of every trainee's dream” Sent by you

“Thank you, Daddy~ It definitely is, but I’m certain we couldn’t have done it without you “ Sent by Hanni

You smirk and scroll through your gallery. There is a picture you’ve saved, a picture of something you want. Some people screenshot what they want from social media apps or shopping sites—you will do the same right now, though your picture does not include a product one can buy. 

“I found this picture of you and one of your friends. She is very attractive.” Sent by you

“I know, Danielle ist so damn pretty <3” Sent by Hanni

“Her prettiness equals probably two MAMA awards…” Sent by you

That should do it. Hanni is probably stunned right now. If Danielle is next to her, she probably looks at her—your terrible influence deeply rooted in Hanni’s mind—and she will see what you see: another object for your desire, another girl you can train to make your personal fuck doll, another idol sold by her bandmate. Unlike Minji, Hanni might actually like the idea. 

You wait patiently as she ponders, typing, then deleting message after message until she settles for a simple text that makes this unhinged, lustful being inside you lose any and all control.

“Daddy deserves his reward as soon as possible. We need just 20 to 30 minutes~” Sent by Hanni

With a victorious sigh, you throw away your smartphone. It audibly cracks on the floor, but you don’t give a fuck. Phones can be bought again, but what you will get, no one can buy. These next twenty minutes will feel like hours and every second beyond that will make you lose your mind. Atleast, that is what you would have to assume if it weren’t for someone suddenly sneaking into your apartment. 

Timid, quiet steps. The person is not wearing shoes. You hear the door fall shut, gently and suddenly, she stands in your doorframe. As if your life was a script, written by a higher being which, for some reason, likes your story to be filled with as much sexual fulfillment as possible, Minji has decided to come visit you. 

“Hello, Daddy,” she coos, catching your gaze with the way she presses her frame against the door frame. Her two piece outfit with all its white frays perfectly merges with said door frame, the warm light making it look like she could disappear in your walls. “I’m sorry for not announcing myself, but may I come in?”

“That depends,” you say, trying to act not-too-happy about her convenient timing. “It’s nice to see you barefooted and in this pretty outfit—but you need to approach the right way.”

“Of course, Daddy.”

Minji gets on her knees. She begins to crawl over your wooden floor and seeing her eager eyes has you riled up. Instead of waiting for her to unbuckle your belt, you open it on your own and let your pants drop when her face reaches your crotch. Minji moans gently and presses her face against the massive bulge in your boxers. She’s not really teasing you. It’s more of a ceremony, because Minji quickly proceeds to pull down your boxers with nothing but her teeth.

“Daddy, it’s so big and beautiful,” Minji says in all honesty, her idol persona washed away by her own horniness. “May I service you with my mouth?”

“Stick out your tongue,” you order and Minji follows. You slap your tip on the exposed wet muscle and watch her faintly smile at how excited you seem. “Looks really good, how could I say no?”

No warning and just a moment later, you are buried to the hilt in Minji’s throat. She gags violently, her head tilted backwards and her wide eyes quickly release a torrent of tears. You don’t comment on it, watch on with a cold, resting bitch face and begin to fuck her face roughly. It’s hard thrust after hard thrust; not too fast though, because you want to see the submission steadily grow in her eyes.

“Fucking good, so much better since you started taking my cock like a premium whore,” you hiss and reach for the sides of her head. She locks eyes with you and through a sea of tears, you can see that she is happy. Still happy. “But it won’t be enough. I need more, another hole, and I’m not talking about your pussy. I know that you are dripping from there, but I’m going to split you open somewhere else.”

You pull out and watch Minji try to catch her breath, shocked, weak; she gets no time to recover however. You grab her hair and slide back into her not-awaiting, but slave-like throat. She takes your pounding even as it forcefully removes her faint mascara and leaves her a drooling mess. It’s Minji’s masterclass in deepthroats—a fitting end, because you will fuck something else today.

After many harsh thrusts, too many to count, but enough to have Minji at your complete mercy, you pull out. She bends over, tries to keep her composure and breathe, but you won’t allow this. She has to look at you and understand what you desire. You slap her face and spit at it. “Don’t avoid me, look at me!” you shout and Minji is tiny. A kneeling tiny bitch who follows your commands. “I will fuck your ass, do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” Minji cries and puts her forehead to the floor. “Tha-Thank you for the award, Ma-Master. Please, a-abuse my ass.”

Not that it tugs at your heartstrings or anything—but instead of just fucking her in this state of complete devastation, you help her up, to her feet and cup her cheek firmly… almost gently. Minji still sobs, barely able to look up at you.

“You are here to thank me with your ass? That is actually adorable and very thoughtful of you.”

“I-I thought, because Master hasn’t fucked me th-there yet, and because he probably did with Hanni already, I—”

“Oh, I understand, but Minji—” You lean down to her ear and whisper, while your hand travels down her bare midriff into the dress and finds her folds, soaked in arousal. “—we are already past the Master stage. And you underestimate my greed, my desire for more, infinitely more. Don’t worry about that though. Get on the couch and show me your cute little asshole.”

“O-okay. Thank you, Daddy.”

As Minji lays down and wiggles off the bottom part of her dress, you get a bottle of water-like lube from a drawer in the living room table. These bottles are always nearby because situations like this have occurred quite a few times in your life. More than you can count, enough to make you the biggest villain for every girl group fan.

When you pour the lube on your cock, you inspect Minji and her cute posture. She is on her back, legs spread and in the air, while her fingers keep her butt cheeks apart. Her ring twitches and it twitches more when you rub lube all over it. Minji mewls, and mewls some more when you push a finger past the first tightness to lube the inside as well.

“You are a bit stiff, you need to loosen up or else it will hurt.”

“Isn’t it supposed to hurt?” Minji asks in all honesty. “I’m okay with Daddy hurting me, as long as he feels good.”

You have to hold back or else you would’ve laughed at her innocent expression and the confused fear in her orbs. You align your cock with her ass, not to immediately force yourself inside that hot, tight hole, but to teach Minji how to take you well.

“If you relax, Minji, I promise it will feel good. Weird at first, probably too big, but the more you loosen up and let your asshole become a source for pleasure, it will feel great.”

“Hanni probably already knows this,” Minji mumbles in shame. You quickly reach for her jaw and put a chaste kiss on her lips.

“To be honest, I haven’t even fucked her ass before, so stop worrying. Take deep breaths and stay re-laxed.” With those final words, you wait for Minji to follow your instructions—breathe in; breathe out—before you push your cock into her brown hole.

“Oh Daddy, fuck,” Minji groans, right into your face and you love how her hands start to hold onto your back, your arms as you push more cock into her. “You are so, so big!”

“There is still more, but you are doing a great job, Minji,” you respond calmly, lifting up her ass a bit to penetrate her deeper. “Soon, you’ll love this more than anything.”

“Daddy!” Your cock is fully inside her and Minji seems to go crazy, her head thrown back into the couch, her mouth releasing loud moans rapidly. Her anal cavity squeezes you tightly, tries to wring you and it’s insanely impressive. She takes you fully on the first go and slowly catches herself. “I-it feels weird but soooo—”

“Good, right? I can feel you relax, so I will start to fuck you for real now. Congratulations, you’re not a butt virgin anymore!”

Minji weakly laughs and then gasps when you drag your cock mostly out of her ass just to push it back in, deep, to the fucking hilt. You watch as her eyes open wide, then narrow, then close, all in the rhythm of your pumps. Her cunt drips more juice too, she cannot deny the pleasure.

“Daddy, why, why do you feel so good?” Minji screams. “Why, your cock—you made me your butt slut!”

“You’re a natural at this, most of your kind quickly become addicted.”

“Make me addicted, Daddy! Please, use this hole and make me—”

You reach underneath her frayed top and pinch a hard nipple, while your teeth go for her lower lip. You can feel her insides combust, her ass clenching around your cock, her pussy convulsing around nothing, yet it is enough to make her cum. Minji is orgasming from just her ass, but she tries to hide it. 

“There is nothing to be embarrassed about,” you laugh and begin to fuck Minji harder, her ankles in your firm hands. “Cum with your ass and be mine forever. You cannot escape anyways, so why would you want to? Don’t run from the pleasure, because I won’t stop fucking you until—”

Suddenly, you hear a key in the lock of your front door and someone whispering. Then quiet steps. Minji grows tense but you just smile at her, reassure her that there is nothing to be scared off. “Oh, you know these two, don’t worry~” 

“Huh?”

You look up and spot the first girl, Hanni, who smirks when she sees you. She puts a finger to her luscious lips and winks. You get her idea and press your palm on Minji’s mouth to keep her quiet while you slowly thrust into her tight ass. The young girl is visibly shocked that you just continue, but her shock grows even more when she spots the second girl.

“Unnie, this is weird. How long do I have to wear this blindfold?”

“Just a little bit longer~ We are almost there, just a few more steps.”

Hanni guides the blind Danielle, a beautiful, skinny girl dressed in what you assume is a stage or award show outfit. Either way you love how exposed her midriff and collarbone are. Danielle’s skin is flawless and her face looks even better than in pictures or videos.

The two get closer. Hanni is now behind the taller girl and guides her by holding her hips. The two seem familiar with this kind of intimacy. You quietly pull out of Minji’s butt and luckily, she stays quiet in this tense situation. 

“Dani, we have arrived,” Hanni giggles and wraps her hands around her friends’ tiny waist. “I have a present for you, but you have to get on your knees and guess what it is~”

“Unnie, if it’s your pussy again—we already did that! And if you want to fuck, you can just ask!”

You raise an eyebrow at Hanni who is clearly nervous and sweating. She got caught fucking with a second member of her group without your permission. You can’t really blame her. You can’t wait to stick your cock into that tight body and fuck Danielle’s mouth with your fingers. But for now, you let Hanni finish her game.

“This time,” she continues and kisses Danielle’s shoulder. “It’s something different. I have found the biggest, most beautiful cock because I know you would want to suck one of those someday.”

Danielle’s pale skin starts to burn with a deep red. All of her blood seems to go to her face. She starts to lose focus and whimpers a bit, especially because Hanni becomes more touchy, hands on her chest, her tummy, her ass.

“H-how did you know, Unnie?”

“You are really, really bad at hiding your dildo’s, Dani. I found like four of them. One still had your saliva around it~”

Danielle puts both hands to her face and lowers it in shame. Everyone in the room can still feel the glow of her blush through her fingers. You stroke your cock once, amused at the situation, but also tired of waiting. Hanni notices and continues her plan quickly.

“Look, Dani, I’ll show you how to do it.” Hanni lowers herself in between your legs. For the first time, you check out her outfit. Odd, you remember it from some performances a few months ago—does it really matter when she immediately goes to suck you, throat you even? “Oh my, it tastes so good! I wonder why that is?”

You point to Minji’s still exposed asshole and Hanni smirks knowingly. Poor Minji did not dare to move a single inch this entire time but now with Hanni’s loud gagging filling the room, she can stop being quiet and move her hands to cover up.

“U-unnie, are you really sucking it?” Danielle asks the obvious, still in disbelief. “Is it a real one, like, are you sucking a boy?”

Hanni pops you free from her perfect lips and makes sure to taste all of the lube and Minji’s ass from your manhood with her tongue. She cleans you passionately, from sac to tip until you finally give her a bit of precum. 

“Dani, he is a man, a Daddy. Trust me, he is very good looking and his cock is even better~” Hanni’s voice is so lewd, it feels cursed with her adorable visuals. You relish in her compliments and brush her black strands back behind her ear. “Kneel next to me and I show you.”

Danielle kneels down, her small frame taking the spot in between your legs next to Hanni. She is still confused though. “But Unnie, how can you show me if I’m not allowed to remove the blindfold?”

Hanni rolls her eyes and without warning, grabs Danielle’s face and pulls her into a kiss. The younger girl flails in surprise, finds hold on your thigh, but somehow she can’t hold onto it for long. Maybe the thought of a stranger really seeing her like this makes her lose grip on the situation—a good thing in your book.

“Ha-Hanni-unnie!” Danielle shrieks when their lips disconnect. “Why, why did that taste so good?” 

“If you want more, you need to suck and clean his cock like I did. Here, open your pretty mouth and be a good girl for Daddy~”

“You say weird stuff—ugh, hng!”

You groan softly when Hanni not-so-softly pushes Danielle’s face down your cock. A new, sensational throat engulfs you. Of course you expected violent gags and tears coming from behind the blindfold, how could you not. Hanni is literally forcing Danielle to deepthroat you for the first time. Her dildo training seems to have paid off however: Danielle is a lot more composed, measured even and makes sure to keep her teeth off of you. 

Soon, she finds her own pace and bops up and down your shaft, using her tongue from time to time without yet knowing where it actually feels good for you. It’s hard for her to learn when she can’t read your facial expression, so she just guesses and sucks and bops her head. It makes it all the more impressive how she can keep up with you and do a better job than Minji did on her first try.

“Hanni-unnie,” Danielle immediately shouts after getting her mouth off of your dick. “That was very mean of you, like, what the—”

You interrupt the young, angry girl by giving her blindfold a tug and watching it fall off of her dazzling, still flushed features. You smirk down at her as she watches up in awe, her eyes inspecting you like you did to her earlier.

“Oh, he-hello, sir,” Danielle says and tries to be formal while your cock is still on her lips. “I’m sorry we just walked into here and… about this.” She points at your hard shaft which you take in your hand and poke against her soft cheek.

“Don’t worry about it, you beautiful thing. In fact, I should be sorry about this right here.” You point next to you, where Minji tries to cover up her pussy. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“You, you had sex with Minji-unnie? Like, i-in her vagina?”

“Oh Dani,” Hanni coos and puts a hand into Danielle’s red top. “You don’t know how good a real cock feels in your pussy. Way better than a dildo.”

“Stop being so lewd, Unnie!”

“But you two are wrong,” you interrupt them and look at Minji, who valiantly fights through her embarrassment. There is nothing to be embarrassed about though; she did great taking your cock in her ass. “We had anal sex just now, and I think I speak for us both when I say that it was awesome.”

Hanni pouts at the thought of not yet having you in her ass while Danielle is both struck by horror and thrill when she cross-eyes your cock and then switches to look at Minji’s butt, which you uncover for her.

“Minji-unnie, was it really that good?” Danielle asks with wide open eyes.

“Yeah, how was it?” Hanni adds and involuntarily adds pressure for the leader to answer.

“I-it was… the best.”

A moment of silence and awkwardness for Minji until Danielle jumps up and pulls down her black skirt. Another unexpected turn, she seems to be ready to go asap. “Sir, can you—would you have sex with my butt too?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you try to play it cool and reach for the bottle of lube. “Turn around, we need to get you ready.”

“Here, let me help you, Daddy.” Hanni gets a hold of Dani’s ass as soon as she spins around and spreads the cheeks apart. Dani gasps at first, but then giggles when she finds her Unnie to be already naked. She starts to kiss Hanni’s skin while you put the nozzle to her beautiful, clean ring and push lube inside. Danielle shudders while Hanni looks on with jealousy. It will be her turn soon enough though. 

“You have a gorgeous body, Dani,” you compliment her before grabbing her waist and pulling her onto you. “You are so light, I think I need to try a new position with you. Are you down for that?”

“Sir, I—if it’s not too crazy, I think I can do it. But remember, this is my first time.”

“You have to be relaxed, Dani,” Minji suddenly adds and stands next to her, not covering her private parts anymore. “If you are tense, it’s going to hurt—when you are loose however, Daddy can fuck you so good, it will feel like heaven.”

“O-okay then, I think I’m ready.”

You nod and lay down on the couch, Danielle on top of you. She rests her back on your strong chest and your hard cock searches for her tight asshole. Luckily, Hanni is there to help align your tip with it (not before sucking it of course). Dani takes deep breaths instinctively and with your primal instinct to fuck, your cockhead disappears in her ass.

“Oh fuck, that looks so hot!” Hanni coos.

“Stop staring, please,” Danielle whimpers and you feel her incredible texture convulse around your aroused phallus. No, she definitely gets turned on by this, so you’ll make it even better.

“Hanni, keep staring,” you order. “Oh, and make your mouth useful on my ass. See it as punishment for having sex with Dani without my permission.”

“Yes, Daddy, I’m sorry Daddy.”

“Sir, isn’t this too lewd?” Dani asks while you begin to rock her thin body up and down your cock like it’s a fleshlight. 

“Minji, how about you lick Danielle’s pussy. Make yourself familiar with it.”

“Yes, Daddy, she tastes really sweet and is quite… wet.” Minji smiles and you get what she means. Her mouth is promptly on Dani’s clit and now the two are moaning in unison. Your thrusts into Dani’s ass become harder.

“Oh dang, so much in my a-a—, I mean butt,” she whispers and you look at her face. “Sir, you are one lewd bast— person. Making young girls do this stuff. Aren’t you a bit too old for us?”

“Maybe that is why they call me Daddy,” you respond, the humor lost because your expression remains stern even through the pleasure. “Don’t hold back, curse as much as you want. This is no tv show or live stage. Get used to this cock, because I won’t stop after this one time.”

“I won’t either, you fucking bastard.”

Your lips meet in a haze, then you decide to give it your all. You fuck Dani hard, force more and more curse words out of her good-girl-mouth. Her cunt is forced against Minji’s eager lips, while you make sure Hanni is covered in your musk—though she kinda seems to enjoy serving your ass. Even after all this, she might still be the best baby girl out of this trio.

“Yes, fuck, yes, you fill my tiny ass so good! Fuck me with your big fat cock, give me that cock, open me so wide until I—”

“You horny bitch.” You yank down her top to reveal tiny tits, jiggling a little at your every thrust. Her skin is glowing, she is in complete heat. Danielle is a nymph with a tight ass and a pussy so wet, she can save someone from dehydration. You want to test your theory, if her orgasm is as explosive as you want it to be.

“My Lord, I’m so going to fucking cum, I will cum! Make me squirt, make me fucking, ahh!”

Like a fountain, Danielle’s juices paint Minji’s face, cover her hair and even Hanni below. She also doesn’t stop, not with your endless thrust into her ass. She is like an infinite source, eventually filling Minji’s mouth and marking Hanni as a dirty, rimming whore covered in girl cum.

“That was so good, Sir—”

“We are not yet done!” You squeeze Dani to your chest so she cannot escape and start to violate her ass some more, to the point your entire cock stretches her in all directions. For some reason, you feel like you could breed this hole for two eternities, but for now, one massive load has to be enough. 

With your final, deepest of thrusts, you force all of your seed into Danielle’s tight ass-pussy, fill it up and make sure she is tight enough to keep it inside for now. Pulling out is hard but rewarding, and hearing, feeling her pant on top of you is heavenly. 

“It’s so deep in me, fuck,” she moans and you bite her cheek. 

“Push it out of your slutty hole, you naughty bitch. 

“Hanni, Minji! Get ready for your daily load!”

The two girls are under our spell, not questioning anything you say and stick out their tongue underneath Danielle’s butthole. You pull back her heels to give them more space and with an blissful, erotic expression, Dani lets her ass be gaped. Your creamy white cum oozes out of her and Minji and Hanni greedily eat it all up, even getting their tongues into the completely overstimulated girl and cleaning her butthole.

“Shit, this is so lewd,” Dani whimpers and you put a hand around her throat.

“After I fuck Hanni’s ass in a rough Doggy, my heel on her face because I know she loves that, you will eat my cum out of her ass too. And don’t lie; I know you will like it.”

Danielle grins, licking her lips in excitement. “You are such a nasty bastard, Daddy.”

(A/N2: here is the very short version, I'll release a longer announcement later this week probably. I have decided to quit for a while, maybe forever but that is still in the stars. I can still write and I kinda like it, but this endless cycle of horniness and unhinged smut is killing me. I also need to focus on life/studies. More on that later this week. Love you all, peace out.)

[tiza0925]

Pretty Little Thing | 18+

Warnings/Tags: nsfw, afab/female!reader, kissing, soft!dom Hinata, pet names, teasing, sitting on his lap, vaginal fingering, grinding, praise kink, implied multiple orgasms, it gets wet and messy ♡ SET IN A TIMELINE WHERE ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED-UP AND OVER 18

Pairing: Hinata Shouyou x Female Reader

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

It should be embarrassing how easy it is for you to get this aroused. 

All it takes is for you to sit on his lap—his muscled thighs keeping your legs spread apart—while he murmurs such soft demands to kiss him with light touches all over your body—

And you’re already heated just by that alone—your pussy leaking in your panties, clit all puffy and sensitive, and your nipples feel so heavy that the slightest brush over them can set you off. 

“Shouyou—”

But it’s mostly the way Hinata kisses you as he holds your hips in place—lips slotting between yours and suckling on your plush lips like he wants to taste you—while parting your mouth open with his to let his tongue slide against yours so sinfully—

That’s what has you melting into a puddle of honey and heat as you make a small sound at the back of your throat—and your fingers in his hair dig in a little more to scratch against his scalp. 

“Hm?” Hinata hums, sounding dazed, still kissing you senselessly as his hands—so big and calloused—move behind you to give your ass an indulgent squeeze. “You okay?” 

He asks while nipping your lower lip, pulling out a whimper from you, and you force yourself to relax in a shuddering breath as you pull back a little. “Y-yeah, I just—”

You suck in a sharp breath as he kisses you again, and your eyelashes flutter as they grow half-lidded. 

You need more.

Making out with him on this couch in his apartment is great—one of your favourite ways to pass the time with Hinata but—

But god—there’s this needy ache between your thighs that you can’t ignore, and it’s getting at you with every slick slide of his mouth against yours. 

“You need something, baby?” He asks, causing you to look down at him and—

Your eyes widen at the grin you’re met with in return—as if he already knows without needing to hear you say it—and you swallow hard, nodding slowly as you wet your swollen lips, your voice coming out breathy, “Yes.” 

“Yeah?” Hinata has one eyebrow raised, and his grin grows as his voice lowers, tilting his head to kiss the underside of your jaw, murmuring, “Was kissing too much for you, sweetheart?” 

Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his warm lips kiss your jaw, below it, then slide his mouth down the side of your neck, teasing that sensitive spot in the crook of your neck. 

Fuck—

It has your head going hazy, and your cheeks grow hot as he sucks on that delicate piece of skin, seemingly intent on leaving a small mark. 

Not that you mind. 

You’re always proud to show off whatever mark Hinata leaves on your body—whether it be a small bruise from his mouth or a red spot from where his hand would meet your skin with harsh slaps—you wanted everyone to know. 

Your fingers curl into his hair as Hinata continues to lick and suck at your neck, and your mouth parts with heavy breaths swooshing out of you as you nod wordlessly—your tongue feeling too thick to move at the moment. 

You hear Hinata chuckle—you even feel how it rumbles against you with how close your bodies are pressed against one another—and then he pulls back to tilt his chin up at you, his eyes so murky with desire. “Then show me.” 

You blink, confused for a moment with a frown burrowing on your lips, and Hinata kisses your small pout as he mumbles against your mouth. “Lift your skirt for me, baby.” 

Oh. 

You shake as he kisses you gently, slowly, and so softly before you pull back to do just as you were told—your hands a little shaky with just how affected you are—as you tug at the bottom hem of your skirt to bring it up and over your waist, revealing pink panties that are already a little soaked. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Hinata groans, low, as his eyes take in the small damp spot seeping from the center of your panties, and he runs the pad of his thumb from your covered clit and down your slit, feeling just how hot and wet you are through the thin fabric. 

Then he brings his eyes back up with a small, teasing smile, and your stomach flutters. “I haven’t even done anything to you yet.” 

You huff out a breath, clearly a little embarrassed of how obviously affected you are. “Shut up.” 

But that just makes him snort softly, and he hooks two fingers to pull your panties to the side, revealing your bare pussy that’s all sticky and shiny from your arousal. 

“Look how pretty you are,” Hinata drawls, almost entrapped with the way his eyes are admiring your pussy, and his other hand comes to run his middle finger—that’s long and thick—through your pillowy folds, gathering your fluids towards your little clit, while the excess of your juices leaks onto yours and his thighs. “Such a messy pussy too.” 

Who would’ve thought that the Hinata Shouyou would have a mouth like that? 

Because you certainly didn’t when you first met him in Brazil. 

He seemed nice—innocent, actually. 

It’s why you felt so safe and carefree around him when you two talked. 

It’s also why you agreed to come back to his place for the night—only your perceptions of him to be completely turned a whole 180 when you realize that he’s a different person in bed. 

Still sweet and caring, yes, but god—he knew how to make you feel so heated and exposed with such simple words. 

And that was months ago.

Now look at where you guys are. 

You whine as you try closing your legs—but that’s futile when he’s got you all spread out from the strength of his thighs—and he laughs quietly at your embarrassment as you rest your forehead on his shoulder. 

“Don’t be shy,” Hinata cups you over your cunt, feeling just how soft your pussy is, and he puts pressure against your clit with the palm of his hand. “I like it when it’s all wet, sweetheart.” 

He kisses the side of your head, almost soothingly, and he grinds his palm up to rub it against your engorged clit, his voice a throaty whisper against your ear. “You feel so good like this, you know.” 

You shudder, electric sparks of heat shooting up your spine as he continues to grind his palm against your pussy, getting it soaked and drooling all over his hand and fingers, and it has your eyes rolling back as you let out small moans. 

“Can you cum like this?” He asks that, all sweet yet there’s a hint of a demand in there, as he kisses your ear. “Get my hand all messy for me, baby?” 

You let out a shaky groan, and your hips begin to move in sync with his hand, bringing that tight coil in your belly to grow more and more until it’s so close to exploding—

And Hinata gets your cunt all drenched as his palm spreads your juices everywhere—making your pussy all sloppy as he brings you to your first orgasm—

“Shit—” You gasp, all wet and needy, when you feel one of his fingers dip inside you, and Hinata is so damn quick to curl his finger to rub your g-spot, causing stars to shoot behind your eyes and liquid fire bursts from your clit—

“There you go,” Hinata coos, strumming the inside of your walls as he gropes your pussy, sounding throaty as his lips brush against your ear. “You’ve always been good at listening to me.”

God—

Your mouth opens with a silent moan as your orgasm ripples through you—suddenly and harshly—and you cum on his hand, fluids leaking everywhere that you get all slippery with how wet you are.

And Hinata works you through it, his free hand coming to hold your hip—his fingers dig into your flesh—just mesmerized at how pretty you sound at the moment. 

It’s when he feels you grunt from overstimulation that he pulls his hand away, and you let out a huge breath as your body goes limp against him and—

And then you hear him hum as something close to the sound of sucking catches your ears—and your turn your head to watch with wide eyes as he licks his hand, groaning at the taste of you. 

“Get up.” 

You blink dazedly at him, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm with your cunt still throbbing, and he must’ve noticed the confusion on your face as he chuckles breathlessly, giving you a chaste kiss—and fuck, you can faintly taste yourself on his lips. 

“Don’t look so confused, now, baby,” Hinata smirks against you, and your heart makes a small leap as he kisses you again. Slowly. “I’m not done with you yet.” 

That’s another thing about Hinata that surprised you—

Is that all of his passion and eagerness you’ve seen on the court as he plays volleyball—

That all translates well into how he is with you in bed—because he never just stops at one orgasm. 

And tonight is no different. 

End. 

Masterpost

[kaciidubs]

Pearl Necklace

❣ Summary: In which Chris gives you a personally made pearl necklace. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 1.2k ❣ Warnings: Smut, no plot, blowjob, cum play ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Chris, Baby, Channie, Lover Boy, Reader is referred to as Baby, Pretty, Princess, unedited, ive been so busy with life and stuck in a writing rut so please take this as an unnecessary apology ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

“Baby…” 

Your dramatic drawl came with the equally dramatic act of draping yourself over Chris’s body, effectively gaining his attention from whatever video he was watching on his phone as he happily welcomed your weight sinking him further into the couch. 

“Can I ask you something?”

He laughed, tilting his head, “I’d be surprised if you did all that with the intention of not trying to get my attention - what’s up, baby?”

“Can you give me a pearl necklace?”

The twinkle in your eyes did nothing to explain away your sudden request - you weren’t the type to usually wear accessories as it was already, so the desire for a pearl necklace out of any other form of jewelry had him raising an eyebrow.

“Pearls? Like, pearl beads? I mean…” Glancing at his phone, he swiped at the screen to pull up Google, “We can look up some places that sell them if you really want it, I think I can find a few stores that-”

Your hand swiftly slipped his phone from his hold before locking it and stashing it near the couch pillow underneath his head, dismissing his growing confusion with a charming smile.

“Actually, I was thinking that we could make it together.”

“Oh?” 

Do-it-yourself, of course - he loved when you had little projects you wanted to include him in, even if the outcome sometimes didn’t go to plan, it was the quality time that mattered the most.

“Sure, I’m down for that,” he sat up while you rose to sit in his lap properly, his hands resting on your bare thighs, “did you buy the stuff already? Do we need to go shopping?”

You shook your head, pink tongue peeking out to wet your lips, “Nope, everything we’d need is right here.”

A devilish swivel of your hips, loose pajama shorts almost becoming an invisible barrier against his worn basketball shorts, and his confusion spiked up once again.

“Pretty, what- Wait a second-” Hands gripping the width of your hips, he tried to will away the near instant reaction his body always had when it came to you, “What’s going on? I thought you wanted to make a necklace-”

“I do.”

Normally, your nod of agreement would’ve been enough to clear the air, but when you pulled your oversized t-shirt up and off of your body, the layers only deepened.

“So why are you taking off your clothes? Not- Not that I’m complaining, I just…” His train of thought began to trail off with the drifting of his eyes down your neck, following the contours of your collarbones to the swells of your chest he’d been acquainted with time and time again. “Are we actually making a necklace here or…?”

“We are,” leaning forward, you placed a featherlight kiss to his pouty lips, “we just need to do a few extra steps first.”

Chris designed a few pieces of jewelry in his lifetime, and though he wouldn’t say he’s an expert when it came to the actual crafting of the pieces, he’d be inclined to assume that the process of making a necklace didn’t involve his girlfriend on her knees, giving him the best head of his life - granted, he always considered everything she did for him as the best in his life, but his point still stood.

“Fuck… Just like that, baby- Oh, god-” His head fell against the back of the couch, a shiver running down his spine when he felt the tip press against the back of your throat again. “‘S so good, baby - you’re so fucking good, pretty girl.”

You hummed around his length, hollowing your cheeks as you slowly pulled off of him with a wet pop - lips glistening in a mixture of saliva and precum that put any form of lipgloss to shame.

“Just ‘good’, Channie?” Voice laced with teasing allure, you held the base of his cock as you laved your tongue along one of his balls, sucking at the skin and smirking at the kick of his leg in response.

He choked on a moan, one hand gripping the edge of the couch cushion while the other ran through his hair “Baby, please - I can’t- fuck- can’t really think while you’re doing this!”

Giving his other ball the similar treatment, you littered open mouthed kisses along the underside of his cock, “Mm… Can you look at me then, lover boy?”

To be honest, he wasn’t even sure when he had closed his eyes to begin with, but lifting his head and directing his full attention to you made him realize why keeping them closed was working in his favor.

Hypnotizing sultry gaze behind lidded eyes, your lips resting perfectly against his shaft as your hand gripped the base of his dick with practiced perfection - if he even dared to look any further then he’d see the utterly filthy line of saliva coating your chin, or the way your free hand was making itself busy between your legs.

The twitch of his dick was all you needed to feel to know that you had him right where you wanted him, a satisfied smile curving the corners of your lips as you pumped your fist.

“Ready to make that necklace for me?”

His breath hitched, lips parting to let out a shivering moan as he frantically nodded, “Y-Yeah- Shit, yeah - gonna make you look so pretty, princess.”

Your eyes sparkled, a giddy expression almost overtaking the utter lust exuding from you as you doubled your efforts with your hand - the wet, slick sound floating through the air while you jerked him off.

Chris fought the roll of his eyes as he focused on your goal-driven face, bucking into the drag of your palm as if he were truly fucking you, until the pressure in his abdomen became too much to bear.

“I’m gonna come, baby- Oh, god, yes- Y-Yeah, yeah-” His hand flew from the couch and wrapped around your own, angling his dick toward your chest with panted breaths, “I-I’m coming - I’m coming, f-fuck-”

The first splatter of cum landed directly on your neck, dripping its way toward your clavicle and between your breasts. Tilting your head back just a bit, you felt the warmth of his cum land around the curve of your neck, painting a shaky line of white against your skin with each shivering pass of your combined hands.

He let out a strained grunt as the last few drops dotted your cleavage, using your hand to thoroughly milk himself of the final remains before effectively melting into the couch with a worn sigh.

“So…” Giggling, you dropped your chin to get a better look at your exhausted boyfriend, “How do I look?”

Looking down, he noted the way his release seemed to follow the downward curve before either spilling down your collarbones or further filling out the line down your clavicle, adding a sort of teardrop design to your necklace.

“Honestly?” A breathless giggle escaped him as he reached his non-soiled hand out toward his phone, “How about I take a picture to show you, then we can work on adding some accessories to go with it.”

Safe to say, this wouldn’t be the last pearl necklace you’d receive from him.

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @ivyisnotokay, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @softkissfelix, @luvyev, @luminouskalopsia, @kpopsstuffs, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @zaethefangirl, @chxnb97, @4-chan-inpadella

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

[thedevilspearl]

prone to bone — all brothers

author’s note ʚɞ i’ve been seeing prone bone floating around recently and also can’t get the brothers out of my head so here is my take on how the brothers feel about the position. spoiler alert: they fucking love it.

tags ʚɞ female reader x lucifer, mammon (filming during the act), leviathan, satan (power play), asmodeus (crying), beelzebub (size kink) + belphegor. explicit smut, minors do not interact!

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑 feels an immense surge of control when he towers over you, his thighs on either side of you resting just enough weight on you to trap you underneath him, but not enough to hurt you. he doesn’t need to trap you; he knows you’d never try to move away from him when his cock is filling you up so well. but there’s something about you not having the choice to that adds to his total control over you. his hands rub up and down your back, taking a moment to grope your ass while he slowly drives his cock in and out of your pussy, grinding his cock to the hilt and ascending to a higher realm when he hears your lustful cries muffled by pillows. “my sweet darling,” he pulls away the pillows with a deep rut, causing you to yelp. “don’t hide your voice. i want to hear how dirty you are.”

𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐍 one hundred per cent records you in this position every single time. it’s the same position but each occasion that calls for it is a whole new experience. he just loves when the base of his cock presses against your perky ass. he loves the way your ass cheeks jiggle when he speeds up his pace, when they mould into his hands while he grabs them roughly. but most of all, he loves the strangled cries sounding from the body beneath him. oh, he knows he’s fucking you good; so deep and intimate is the way his cock buries itself in your pussy, dragging against all the right places. he can go round after round in this position, filming it on his ddd so he can watch it on repeat when you’re not around. “fucking hell,” he grunts, chuckling while holding handfuls of your ass. “ya look so pretty for me, don’t think i’m stopping any time soon.”

𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 loves the prone bone. it’s one of the positions where his confidence and self–esteem rockets sky high. he usually gets a bit shy being on top but he appreciates having your face hidden in the cushions while he does all the work, blushing the entire time; and it’s a relatively easy position, not too strenuous for him and his debatably poor stamina. but god, he just loves when you wear his shirt in this position, completely naked underneath but every thrust has him losing himself in the sight of your body as his shirt inches its way up your back. and along with his fingers interlacing with yours as they push down into the mattress and your ass bouncing up into him as he fucks you deep, it’s enough to make him finish in seconds. “i’m cumming!” levi cries, body collapsing on yours but he doesn’t stop fucking you with his twitching cock. “holy shit, it feels so good.”

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐍 leans over you with his hands latched on each of your wrists, burying them in the bed sheets and with his thighs holding your lower body in place, there’s no way you can move. you desperately want to writhe and twitch in pleasure but he holds you perfectly still. your body shakes in the ripples of pleasure shooting through your body, a bliss only satan can bring to you as every grind of his hips is precise and perfect hitting your sweet spots again and again. it’s almost torture when he treats you like a toy, putting you in the perfect position for his greedy cock to fuck. you lay flat but your ass tilts upwards just the slightest bit, giving him the perfect angle to drive you both to insanity. “fuck! shit!” satan growls, so close to cumming but you defiantly fidgeted and disrupted his rhythm. “stay fucking still if you want to cum.”

𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐒 has a particular taking to this position because it’s so easy to fuck you into oblivion and back without draining too much stamina from either of you. but that doesn’t mean you won’t end up with tears dripping down your face and drool spilling from your lips. it’s the way you scream his name extra loud as he ploughs into you from behind. his hands grip your ass tight while your head hangs off the bed, bouncing with each thrust. asmo loves fucking you in the collapsed doggy style, and as you squeeze the bed sheets for dear life while your body lays flat and twitching, asmo continues fucking you from behind and he can’t find it in him to stop. the position turns him into an insatiable devil “aww sweetie, i know you’re tired,” he whispers gently in your ears as your body wracks with sobs. “but you can take a little more, can’t you?”

𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐙𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐁 loves putting his big body to the test, especially when he’s fucking you dumb on his huge cock. every position is a reminder of how huge he is compared to you, so it would be blasphemy to talk about beelzebub and the prone bone without mentioning his raging size kink. his fat balls rub against the back of your thighs while his thick cock stretches you open. it lays heavy in your pussy as he slowly grinds it back and forth, grunting each and every time. the way your pussy engulfs a beast like him, coating his cock in your arousal, it’s a marvel to him. his breath is hot and heavy, a signal that he’s extremely turned on. whether he’s towering above you or leaning over your shaking frame, he feels so fucking huge and that’s enough for him to want to fuck you in the position forever. “fuck, mc....you’re so tight, ‘s driving me crazy.”

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑 is a lazy git who prefers positions where you do most of the work. however, prone boning you is a compromise. he’ll put in the work while you melt into the bedsheets, but it’s also a relatively low effort position that doesn’t tire him out, and that means he can last longer. and he loves lasting long in this position because the view of your ass between his thighs and the expanse of your back on display for him is addictive. for once, he loves that you’re the one squirming underneath him, crying out his name only to be muffled by the blanket tugged between your teeth because his cock is fucking you so deeply. “fuck baby,” he grunts rutting his hips quicker and harder as the minutes pass. belphie loses his mind when you quivers around his cock. “gonna make me cum so hard.”

[whiskeyghoul]

She blinded me with science || [Spencer Reid X Goth!reader]

A/N: self indulgent little fic here. I have been in a writing slump for a few weeks and needed to do something just a little self indulgent. So we have this which has been on my mind for ever. I love Abby Sciuto from NCIS and thought how fun it would be to see our little nerd fall in love with the alternative lab rat of the FBI. This is not proof read or anything so it might not be the absolute best but I just wanted to put something out here again.

WC: 1737

Tags: fluff, crush, first meeting, love at first sight possibly, multiple parts, opposites attract, self indulgent fic, reader is described as female, reader is alternative

Warnings: Mention of human remains.

Read part 2 here, read part 3 here

The music coming from the lab was muffled. Even through the closed door Spencer could hear the barely legible lyrics as he got closer and closer. As he reached the door and knocked there seemed to be no answer. Certain his knocking wouldn’t be heard over the noise that he now recognized as Siouxsie and the banshees. He opened the door. As soon as the barrier between him and the music was lifted it sounded so clear. It was turned up to 11 and he wondered how anyone could even focus with music that loud.

That was until he saw you, swaying along to the music, the white coat exaggerated the movements. Swishing from side to side as you reach for a pasteur pipette while bobbing your head along to the music. You seemed absorbed in the music, focussed on your work leaning over the bench and carefully dripping a clear substance on a piece of paper while still perfectly on beat with the music. Spencer cleared his throat loudly, hoping to make himself known before he interrupted you in whatever you seemed to be doing. Though it didn’t quite reach the decibel level to alert you. “L/N” he called out your last name but once again no response. So he took a few steps closer. Once Spencer was close enough he reached out and softly tapped your shoulder. You jumped in response, whirling around in shock with the pipette in your hands raised like a weapon. Like somehow you would be able to defend yourself with the lab instrument. A yelp falling from your lips. 

“Oh my god! Can’t you knock!” You accused, eyes wide as you placed your free hand on the top of your chest, taking a deep breath. “I did. I also tried to clear my throat to not scare you.” Spencer retorted, his voice raised a little louder so you could hear him over the music. You twirled around, placing the pipette in the holder. “I’m Doctor Reid, from the BAU.” He continued loudly. You turned, holding your left hand up to shush him. Your right fishing the remote from your coat pocket. It gave Spencer some time to look you over. 

Your lab coat was about the only light thing you wore. The outfit underneath was black on black on black. A band tee with illegible writing that peeked over a corset, layered with a ripped fishnet top underneath. The abundance of necklaces of all different lengths, cascading down your neck like silver waterfalls. Ripped jeans he wasn’t quite sure were safe for the lab environment, but the skin of your thigh caught his attention. Something inside of him stirring. He fidgeted with his hands in front of his body.

“So… you were saying?” You spoke. Spencer’s eyes snapped back to your face. You looked up at him with big eyes, a small smile accompanying them. The music was turned down now giving him room to think. Though your eyes still made it difficult to really focus. “Oh, I am Doctor Reid, from the BAU.”  He answered after swallowing for a moment. “Ah! You are here for the clothing analysis, right? Penelope mentioned one of the team would come pick it up. Normally it's her or Derek, though I think Derek has complained about hearing loss.” You whirled around while rambling on, pony tail waving behind as you turned, bounding over to a table with scattered papers. Spencer followed close behind, not focussing on the words rather just the tone of your voice, a slight intrigue towards you. He didn’t even know your first name, yet somehow your mannerisms, your unconventional style, it made him want to know more. “Right.” He said, realizing he hadn’t technically answered your questions. 

Spencer looked over your shoulder as you picked up a stack of papers neatly stapled together. He thought he might be a bit too close as he could smell the subtle perfume wafting off of you. Though he also strangely enjoyed it. It was sweet but not overly so. A hint of cherry that was fitting in his eyes. The color of the fruit matching that of your lipstick. As you looked over the paper and began to talk again, “So, the substance that was on the clothes seems to be turpentine. Commonly used in oil painting. The vapors can already cause irritation to the eyes, skin, and airways if exposed to them for longer periods of time.” you rambled off the words as you read them. “There were some other things found on the clothes that coincide with the oil painting. Different pigments and paint residue.” You turned, eyes still on the paper nearly bumping into Spencer as he had been standing so close. When you looked up at him surprised he could feel a tightening in his chest. “Oops, sorry.” You apologized, a small smile on your lips.

You apologized to him while he was the one in your way. “Oh it was my fault. Shouldn’t have stood so close. Sorry.” He muttered. The words falling from his lips unceremoniously. He felt like half of his intelligence had up and left his brain as he talked to you. Not really knowing what to say at that moment. His hands fidgeted at his sides again. His left hand playing with the hem of his cardigan sleeve. He cursed himself internally for being reduced to a stumbling mess in front of you. You kept standing there though. Clearly you had turned around to go somewhere and Spencer had been in your way. Yet he was nailed in place and so, it seemed to him, were you. “Did you know they used to make oil paints with human remains?” You spoke excitedly. Like you had been waiting to tell someone, anyone, that little fact. He knew that. He knew that for a long time yet seeing you, tell him a fact with such delight, made him want to lie. “Now I do.” He answered, his smile matching yours.

“It was called mummy brown. They ground up mummies, both human and animal, and put it in the paint.” You continued. Your voice trailing off slightly after the word animal. You held up the stack of papers to him. “Everything you need is in there. If you need me to clarify something just give me a call. Or stop by whenever you want.” Spencer nods after your sentence. Taking the papers from you his hand touched yours ever so slightly. His brain short circuited for a moment before the neurons started firing accordingly again. “I eh- I don’t have your number.” he stumbled over the words.

As if you realized that in that moment you took a step aside and walked past him. Walking over to a desk and rummaging through a drawer. Spencer walked a bit closer to your desk. No longer being nailed in place by some unspeakable force. You pulled out a thin sharpie, and Spencer raised a brow ever so slightly at that. You walked back over, holding out your hand to grasp his. Spencer placed his hand in yours. His mouth felt incredibly dry for a moment. His tongue was uncomfortable in his mouth. His heartbeat raced faster. Nothing like he had ever really felt before. You could have done it on the papers, or maybe even a sticky note. Yet you decided that his hand would be the perfect place to write down your number. He thought about it for a moment, your hand was soft and warm. You twisted his hand, writing down your phone number along with your name. Once you finished you let go off his hand. Spencer looked at the black numbers, committing them to memory, and your name. God your name would be bouncing around his head for days. “Y/N.” He said, testing the name. It felt right.

“That’s me, you better put that in your phone. These markers are not nearly as permanent on skin. It’s the oils.” You went on, capping the marker as you spoke. “I will. Thank you.” Spencer said and smiled. He stayed standing in place for another moment. Trying to commit you to memory just in case his eidetic memory failed him. He realized he was staring a little and cleared his throat. “I eh… I have to go.” pointing his thumb to the door. You giggled a little, a sound that made Spencer’s cheek heat up a little. “Right, pretty boy, head on out. I need to get back to work too.” You smiled casually. Spencer’s face was only heating up more. He swallowed. The nickname the others used for him sounded so much better when it came from you. He turned around to hide his ever heating face from your sight, walking over to the door quickly. Once in the opening he quickly looked back, giving an awkward wave that you returned with a smile. 

When Spencer entered the bullpen his face had calmed down a little. Not feeling nearly as hot as before. He was able to think clearly again, but when he looked at your number and name on his hand he felt giddy inside. Reaching his desk he sat down, placing the analysis file on his desk. “That took you long enough, pretty boy.” Derek called out from his desk, humor in his voice. The nickname had no effect when he said it. “Sorry, the lab tech… she was explaining some things to me.” Spencer quickly lied. “Alright, can I get the file?” Derek had his hand already out. Spencer gave him the file and Derek’s brows raised at the number scribbled on his hand. “You got her number?” He smirked. Spencer pulled his hand back covering the numbers and your name with his other hand. “If something needed more clearing up.” He retorted. Derek merely chuckled at his awkwardness, “She’s friends with Garcia, you wouldn’t have needed her phone number.” He added with a smirk. Spencer felt his face heat up a little again, embarrassed. He knew that. He knew that he had known that. But in that moment he couldn’t think.

He looked back at his hand. Your name on his skin. A little flutter in his chest kicked up when he did. Derek cleared his throat, making Spencer look up again. Derek pointed at him with his pen, before opening his mouth. “You better call her soon.”

[satoruhour]

thinking of full nelson with geto right in front of a mirror while he plays your pussy and then decides to bring in his favourite vibrator and overstimulate you while praising you for taking him and the vibe so well OH MY GOD 😣😣

a/n: WOAAAHH im back ??!! this was so hot and im on my second day of my period and i am HORNY!!!!!! also technically over 2k but im lazy to make it a fic bc fics need LORE and i hardly did anything with this / tagging @na-t0 @crysugu @shotorus @slttygeto @suguruplsr ♱

warnings: non-curse au but geto still adopts miminana, feelings of insecurity from reader, soft dom! geto, fem!reader, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, fingering, clit stimulation, multiple rounds, unprotected sex, use of toys (specifically a vibrator), praise, pet names, creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut

you always knew geto liked to decorate — whether it’s your room after you moved in with him or the girls’ playroom after he took them in. he knew a lot of differences between marble and parquet, or whether you guys would use a bathtub or a cubicle more. geto liked you to accompany each time he planned to upgrade the girls’ room, which turned into rooms, after mimiko complained her sister kept messing up her books and nanako only commented on how ‘mimiko’s depressing state made the whole room look like a confessional booth’.

you both laughed and kissed their foreheads after because you know they’ll make up in no time, and you know that you wouldn’t have this life any other way — geto, a high-school sweetheart who’s now a teacher, taking care of your girls who you both took in willingly at a young age.

but you’ve always wondered why he liked having mirrors on his ceiling — whether it was his questionable design tastes or whether it was a dare from satoru, you never understood why he’d want to have him staring back at himself whenever he woke up or went to sleep. you should’ve known geto would want to use it for this.

“su—” your eyes are scrunched close, not bearing to look at your nude body from above you. he swore it was everything he ever loved, from your pretty tits to the way you stomach heaves at his hands and it was perfect timing for him to make you appreciate yourself in all your glory as he eats you out—

“aht, no, baby,” his tongue on your clit halts, your hole clenching around his fingers for more stimulation again, “eyes up at yourself.”

“but . .” you prop yourself up on your elbows and pout down at him and you think the mirror should be used for your lover instead; hair tousled, fringe falling all over his face, bottom half of his face soaked with your cum, the smile he gives you makes you clench again and his smile is so teasing you feel embarrassed again.

“but what, baby?” geto moves his fingers slowly, pumping them into you as they reach deep in you and your argument fades from your mind and lips, words descending into moans as your hips move against him. “weren’t you the one telling yourself you weren’t beautiful?”

he doesn’t wait for your answer, latching his mouth back on your puffy clit and sucks and sucks, loving the way you lose all strength and fall back onto your upper back. your whines reverberate throughout the room, one hand tangled in suguru’s long hair while the other holds onto the sheets and you feel so lightheaded. your pussy’s squelching so much and the way he eats you out is just filthy, slobbering over your juices while his fingers stretch you out.

“mhm— sweet fuckin’ pussy,” he moans into your cunt, feeling the bed move beneath you and you just know he’s grinding into the bed from how much he loves your pussy, “look at yourself, princess.”

“i— i am,” you whine softly, looking at your body writhe under geto and your mouth opened in sensuality. you’re still on the fence about it, “i am.”

geto hums into your folds, eyes closing once knowing you were obeying him, continuing his assault on you with a relentless tongue and even faster fingers. by now you can feel yourself getting close, as with geto since he knows your body so well that praises fall from his lips and you only tug harder on his hair.

“close?” it’s quick, the question, because he can never get enough of you and your sweetness and just has to get back to it right away, cracking open an eye just for a moment to see your pleading eyes. he knew you’d be looking at him, a cute little pout on your face and big doe eyes, begging.

“y—yeah, suguru . .” you mumble, other hand finding his hair, too, before grinding your hips into his mouth. a distorted moan leaves your lips when you feel him curl his fingers in you, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you struggle to get a grip on reality. “f-fuck, su— w’nna cum, pleasepleaseplease!”

“gettin’ to it,” he’s mumbling now, words muffled by your pussy as his tongue and fingers increases in speed, the noises of your cum adding so much to the experience that you’re endlessly whimpering, mantras of his name added to the echo of the room, “cum for me, baby, you can do it.”

“fuuuck, suguru—” your moans reach the heavens, mind spiralling with the way geto was making you feel. his jaw hurts, your legs tremble, your head spins and you’re cumming into his hands, reflections of your pleasure reflected back at you from above. your back arches off the bed as you coat his fingers with your juices, tongue licking and flicking your clit through the mind-blowing orgasm, and all your boyfriend does is smile at your sensitive state once you come down.

“noisy little girl,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh.

you frown in faux sadness, “’cause of you.”

geto only hums, trailing up your body and catching you in his embrace, easily helping you atop him. from there his head pokes out from behind your head and you give a small smile through the ceiling mirrors.

“hi.” you say softly, shy at how exposed your body was and how shameless he seemed to love it.

“hi, baby.” your chest still breathes hard, body heating up from the way geto treats you, “you still think you’re unattractive?”

it was a trick question; it was the thing that got you here in the first place, or even the first thing that inspired geto to install mirrors — and you’re confident you’re in for a long ride no matter what your answer may be. but the one thing you both established was to always be honest, and you’re not too fond of yourself today. you’d take your chances and lie, but geto would see right through your lies, hesitance and flustered demeanour and all that.

“a little, su—” you frown at him through the mirror, and you find that what they say is true. saying it is equal to internalising it and you find now that your body looks a little weird and your hair frames your face in an unnatural way; geto stops your thoughts from worsening almost immediately.

“look at me,” you think he’s referring to his reflection but he turns your head towards him easily with a small chuckle, “no, the real me.”

“you’re the prettiest little sweetheart i’ve laid my eyes upon, ever.”

you blow a raspberry, “you’re lying.”

“i’m not!” geto laughs again, letting you turn your upper body toward him, “being as truthful as a boys’ scout, cross my heart.”

you hum, letting your boyfriend take you into a sweet, slow kiss to calm you down. before long you can already feel his pulsing bulge below you, begging to be let out of his constraints.

“i’ll trust you.” a little grin shows on his face at your words, pressing one last kiss to your turning face and looking at you through the mirror.

“i want you to.” he mumbles, distracting you with feather-like kisses on your neck as he uses his hands to pull down his underwear. he lifts both his hips and you easily, strong like that before you feel the slap of his cock along your legs and a soft apology. “i want you to trust me with every fibre of your being when i tell you you’re the one i want for the rest of my life, when i tell you you’re the most stunning. do you trust me?”

“i trust you, suguru,” you swallow when you feel him drag your tip along your folds, collecting your slick with mouth opening in a silent moan. geto takes that opportunity to crash his lips into yours, nudging his tip just past your tight pussy and you just need to do something, clutch onto something, fingers tightening around his forearms.

“feel that?” suguru breathlessly asks, short breaths leaving his mouth and warming your neck, “feel how your pussy was made for me?”

“y—yeah,” you mumble and whine, head tipped up against his neck before his hands naturally go under your knees, spreading you so he’d go deeper, “s’full . .”

inch by inch, he eases his cock in you, so wet that he doesn’t need to prep you again and he groans continually at your walls snugly hugging him, “i know you know the feeling, baby, but now i want you to look.”

you reluctantly turn your head from the safeness of his neck, looking towards your reflection and then where you two was connected, to his cock buried deep in you. he‘s not even fully in, finding that he was staring at you from below you.

“prettiest girl with the prettiest cunt, hm?” his talk is dirty always, letting his hips grind into yours from below. geto likes dirty, just as he brings your legs closer and closer to your chest and hears you moan out his name. he looks drunk off your pussy, hooded lids and parted lips and all, whispering, “i hope you know that.”

your lover doesn’t give you time to breathe, making your jaw drop open when he thrusts up into you from below and loving the way your eyes widen in your reflection. geto does not know where to stare more: your pussy sucking him in so well or your expressions, switching between the both as he makes you sob and cry on his cock.

“sugu— s-shit . .” you’re lightheaded already, knowing he‘d want you to keep your eyes locked on the mirror as you get fucked senseless, cock driving into you so violently with every snap of his hips. they set an animalistic pace, spurts of your cum spraying everywhere.

“doing so well,” he swears under his breath, before he’s pulling your legs towards him even more, “bend a little more for me— yesss . . that’s it, sweetheart.”

your mewls reach an all time high once he’s got one hand secured on your nape, pulling you into a full nelson that your head even struggles to look at your connected bodies in the mirror, but you can just almost see your face morphed into pleasure: tongue out and cunt so pliant for your boyfriend, until you’re spotting geto’s other hand moving to your clit. he knows you’re close already, driven to the brink of sensitivity once he rubs at your bundle of nerves, and your right thigh starts to shake.

“clenching around me s’hard i can hardly move, f-fuck—” he laughs softly, hips still pistoning in you, hand rubbing violently along your clit over and over and—

“suguru— cum— cumming, cumming—!” you clench the hardest you’ve ever done, orgasm hitting you like a freight train until you’re shivering in his hold, neck hurting from being in full nelson but your boyfriend doesn’t stop his thrusts, not when you’re moaning so nicely for him. your mind’s blank except for suguru, countless whines of his name escaping your lips.

“there we go . .” he hums, focused on your pussy twitching as he rubs you through your orgasm where your entrances stretches to accommodate his fat cock — all he does is give you a little of a break and slows down, releasing you from the position briefly. until you can hear the drag of the bedside drawer; with his hands he takes out a vibrator, the one thing you simultaneously love and hate.

you know with how much you beg with your eyes, geto will still eventually use it on you, but you’re always tempted by his words.

“i’ll be gentle, i promise.” “just relax, baby.” “i’ll try not to overstim you.” he’s said all these before with a sly grin and you know he just can’t control himself when it comes to you.

“hold your legs for me, my darling.” he whispers and you obey his rasp, exchanging glances through the mirror when he starts it up and the buzz gives you an initial shock — geto laughs, you pout.

“why’d you laugh,” you huff, momentarily forgetting he has his whole cock in you.

with one arm, he wraps it around your middle while the other just presses the vibrator dangerously close to your puffy, aching clit, and he starts his hips again, bullying his throbbing dick into you with little effort.

“su . . do we really gotta?”

“’course,” geto grins, pressing a kiss to your neck, “wanna see you absolutely ruined because of me.”

“yeah, but you can do it without the vibe.”

your boyfriend only hums, “nah.”

geto liked teasing, way too much, giving you a brief warning of keeping your legs spread for him before he slams into you, hand pressing the vibrator into you and you sob out his name. the fast buzz of the toy has you squirming around on his front, arms already losing the strength to hold your legs up.

“suguru—!” you’re moaning loudly, your cum making the scene even more lewd with how wet you were. “s-sensiti—”

you can feel him grin into your neck, pressing the strong vibrator deeper into your clit which is starting to turn numb, mind muddled with the thickness of his length stretching and spreading you. every slap of his balls upon your ass is noisy and loud but your moans are even louder.

“sloppy fuckin’ pussy,” he rasps out, eyes trained on the way you limply hold up your legs like a good girl and let him use you like a ragdoll, “so goddamn wet for me.”

geto increases the speed of the vibrator and you jolt in surprise, mouth dropping open in surprise. he smiles at you through the mirror, admiring your body on display as you take him well time and time again, so satisfied with his investment in mirrors on the ceiling.

“cream on my cock, baby,” geto mumbles into your ear and you whine, fingernails digging into your own skin they might as well bruise and create marks, but you need suguru in some way — you let go one of your legs, blindly finding his fingers with yours and twining them.

“c’mon, c’mon, i’ve got you,” he reassures you from below, creating hickeys in the safety of your neck while his hips do the sinful opposite, thrusting into you in an unforgiving speed. “want to feel you cum all over me, pretty girl.”

the praise is through the roof, making you writhe in his hold just to get away from the ruthlessness of the toy and his dick, too sensitive from all the sensations. but you love it all the more, wanting to do everything geto says just so you’d hear your name from his lips over and over.

“i’m cumming— haaah . . ” you’re jerking in his hold, “su— su, i’m c—” but you’re already orgasming, legs not even able to be held up that you let go of them so they can freely tremble and you can squeeze your eyes shut. you’re clamping down so hard around suguru that he has to moan too, holding one leg for you while the vibrator still goes on, sending you into overstimulation quickly. “suguruuu . .”

little short pants leave you, rendered utterly speechless as you ride out your orgasm, although your boyfriend doesn’t stop. his thrusts turn sloppy, now, hips fatigued and brain turned to mush by your gummy walls.

“cumming— g’nna give you a big load, baby—” geto grunts out, tossing the vibrator to the side and grabbing both your legs to fold you deeper, tip brushing up against your sweet spot that you whine lewdly again, and that’s all it takes before he’s shooting his cum deep in you, painting your insides white. it’s so hot and heavy, paired with the deepness of his voice rumbling beside your ear that it makes you moan softly, feeling fuller and fuller by the second. “oh . . fuuuck—”

“t-take me so well, don’t you?” suguru murmurs, purposely propping his hips a little higher, “watch my cum drip out of you.”

he was disgusting, and yet you turn your eyes towards the mirrors, hearing and seeing the soft shlick! that sounds out when he removes his cock before white spills out and you bite your lip at the sight.

“she likes to be bred, huh?” you hum softly at the question, drunken expression taken in by the other as he also gives you a slightly tipsy smile.

“shut up— shit’s embarrassing.”

geto grabs your chin, squishing your cheeks together and whispering against your lips, “then i’ll fuck you full of my cum until it’s not, until you know you’re the most beautiful in my eyes, yeah?”

yeah, you could do that.

[rileyslibrary]

pretty pretty please 🩶

imagine ghost is forced to speak at a school’s career fair because he’s out on medical, and reader gets sent with him to chaperone. (i.e. make sure he doesn’t scare any kids to 💀. and also maybe to feed him some slightly manipulative praises so he stays in a good mood lmao)

———————————————————————

You’re both standing in the principal’s office. The school was kind enough to offer you a private room since kids are a little rowdy today, and Ghost isn’t very fond of tiny hands tagging at his uniform and asking him “how many people he has killed”.

You’re holding two balaclavas; one is black, while the other is a deep shade of army green.

“It’s either this one or that one.” You say while raising both to his eye level.

He pushes your hands down and points to his skull mask. “No.” He states. “I’ll stick with the one I’m wearing.”

You frustratedly shake the balaclavas to your sides. “Come on, Lieutenant,” you plead, “you’ll scare the kids.”

“Have you seen kids these days?” he asks, raising his hands. “These fuckers��are not afraid of anything!”

“Oh god,” You wince and toss the balaclavas on the principal’s desk. You shake your index finger at his face like a teacher disciplining a misbehaving student. “Don’t you dare to swear in front of them!”

“Have you heard, kids—”

“—these days.” You cut him off with a flick of the wrist. “Yes, but there’s no need to reinforce bad behaviour.”

He lets out a long exhale and places his hands on his waist. He begins pacing around the principal’s office, swearing under his breath. You’re trying to figure out whether he needs to let it all out before his big speech or if he’s cursing the moment he has agreed to do this.

He pauses in front of a painting hanging next to a window overlooking the school’s playground. He slouches and places one hand on his lower back, rubbing his injury.

You approach him from behind and gently grasp his forearm.

“Hey,” you whisper, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replies sternly. “Never mind.”

“Are you in pain? Please talk to me.”

“I’m not in pain!” He protests. “In fact, I wasn’t in pain to begin with, when the medics decided that I was,” he makes air quotes with his fingers, “temporarily unfit for duty.”

You place a palm on his lower back and begin rubbing it. He relaxes at your touch and puts one hand on the wall to support his weight.

“You talk about not reinforcing bad behaviour,” he murmurs, “but I’m not the best role model either.”

“Bullshit!” You scowl.

“Seriously,” he insists, “I highly doubt I’d be here talking to kids about their future if I hadn’t been injured.”

He’s correct, but he doesn’t need to know that, especially now, as you wait to enter a classroom full of kids. Any other team member would be far more qualified for this role. Gaz is such a cool guy that most kids would deem him a god. Price feels like the father you wish you had when he talks, and Soap can adapt to anyone he speaks to. Even you would be a better fit for this year’s career fair. But, Ghost? No, not at all.

“Come on, Simon,” you say as you continue rubbing his back. “It’s less about ‘being a role model’ and more about relating to them.”

“How am I supposed to relate to them?” He wonders, “My childhood was nothing like theirs.”

“How do you know?”

He looks at you and motions towards the window. “Look at them,” he says, “they’re full of life.”

“Not all of them are like that, Ghost; some are putting on a show.” You explain, and he turns to look at you again. “They look all jolly, but they might struggle at home or school. Worse, they can’t admit what’s happening behind closed doors because they’re either ordered to remain silent or not understand it themselves.”

He huffs and shakes his head. “Now I can relate to that.” He murmurs.

“See? You need to spot these kids and indirectly talk to them.”

“Spot?” He asks. “How do I spot them?”

“You mean to tell me you’re trained to spot targets from miles away but can’t see when a child suffers in silence?” You ask back. “Plus, it takes one to know one.”

He nods. “And what should I communicate to these kids?” He asks. “How do I help them?”

“By showing them that there’s something better waiting for them out there.”

“Don’t be naive, Y/N. How is what we do better than what they’re going through right now?”

“It’s not about the military, Simon.” You elaborate. “It’s about giving them another chance. They deserve to know there are options other than turning into their drug-addicted mother or alcoholic father.” You lean forward so he can meet your gaze. “Someone gave you a second chance, right?”

He closes his eyes and ponders your words. You tilt your head at him, trying to predict what he’ll say next so you can respond quickly.

But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he straightens up and takes a deep breath. “You know,” he begins, “I gave one of those speeches to a school a few years ago.”

“Oh!” You cheer and pat him on the back twice. “Did you, now?”

“Lysychansk, Ukraine.” He recalls, “I was being held hostage with a bunch of kids.”

“Tell me more about it,” you say, sitting on the principal’s desk and playing with a pink highlighter. He begins narrating his story, and you can tell he’s becoming more confident as he realises he’s spoken to children before, albeit in a very different context, but who cares? What matters is that he is becoming more at ease with his “previous experience.”

You, in turn, try to give him your full attention, but now that his doubts have subsided, your primary concern is that mask of his. He needs to take it off.

“See? You’re far more experienced than any of us!” you shout. “And in that setting? My god! None of us would have been able to do such a thing!”

He chuckles and looks proudly out the window at the children playing in the school’s playground. He seems to be looking forward to it now.

“Hey, um, sir?”

He shifts his focus to you.

“Your mask, sir; It’s dirty,” you say as you point to his cheek.

He puts his hands on his mask. “Where?” He yells.

“It’s right….” You get up from the desk and take a step closer to him, inspecting his mask. You raise the marker and draw a bright pink line across his cheek, “...there.”

He immediately places his hand on his cheek, looks at the highlighter in your hand, and then back at you.

“You... motherfucker...” he murmurs.

You move away from him and stand behind the desk.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you go out with that mask on; the parents will be furious.” You point to the balaclavas on the principal’s desk. “You do, however, have two other options! Take your pick, and I’ll see you in class in 5 minutes!” And with that, you rush out of the principal’s office and into the school’s corridor.

You enter the classroom and greet the kids with a smile, trying to hide your nervousness. Walking towards the back where the parents are seated, your mind starts racing; Is he trying to choose a mask, or is he cleaning up your mess? What if he’s so furious that he doesn’t show up, leaving you to give the speech? Worse, what if he enters the classroom and takes his anger out on you?

But, the door opens, and Ghost walks in. Your eyes widen, and your jaw drops. He’s not wearing any mask. Not the black one, not the green one, not the skull—with the pink streak—mask on. Nothing.

You observe him moving around; despite his lack of disguise, he maintains his composure. He greets everyone in the room, smiles, waves back at the kids and stands next to the teacher. You let out a relieved exhale through pierced lips. This is going well, thank god.

As the teacher introduces Ghost to the class, you turn to give him a thumbs up, and his eyes lock with yours. There’s a faint smirk playing on his lips, and your heart skips a beat as he silently mouths something in your direction: “You’ll pay for this.”

———————————————————————

A/N: YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS, ANON! I was forcing myself to take a break from writing, only to be slapped by an inspiration wave. Hope you liked it, though; I had fun making it.