#or he literally has just the shirt off his back | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mmogurl · 2 days

Text

Daddy Issues Part 4: Comfort

18+ | 3.2k | Homelander X Reader | protective homelander, reader’s back story is a little dark, reader might be a bit of a nympho, mentions of suicide, rape, assault, alcoholism, emotional child abuse. This was supposed to be the last chapter, but the story has officially been extended by at least another chapter or maybe one more if I’m feeling froggy. Enjoy!

Part 1: Savior | Part 2: Baseline | Part 3: Spoiled | Part 4: Comfort

Tags: @screaming-potato

As Homelander busies himself putting out the fire, you attempt to undress for bed, but since the tent is not high enough for you to stand in, you find the task much more complicated than it should be. It’s a strained process of getting on your back and awkwardly pulling your designer jeans off, especially as they get stuck around your calves and you flounder like a fish to get them fully past your ankles. You’ve literally never had to take your pants off like this and you consider it a downside to camping.

Other than the lack of height, the tent is rather spacious, pleasant even. You sit up, sliding your hoodie over your head and fold it briefly before tossing it to the corner. Looking down at your chest, you beam when you see the Journey logo on your t-shirt. You’ve never actually been to one of their shows, but you still really love the band. In fact, it’s one of the few good memories you have of your mother: listening to music together. It’s one thing she had good taste in at least.

In nothing but your shirt, bra, and underwear, you snuggle down into the bed Homelander has prepared that takes up most of the tent’s floor. There’s some kind of padding beneath you that is way more comfortable than it has a right to be considering you’re sleeping on the surface of dirt and grass. He’s lined it with an unraveled sleeping bag, large enough for two to lay on, with another placed on top to use as a blanket. It’s clear he has no intention of sleeping separately from you, even when in the close confines of this shelter.

It’s already quite dark by the time Homelander unzips the outside flap to the tent and comes inside. He drops a few bags of supplies to the side and turns on a solar powered lantern. You squint as your eyes adjust and he begins to disrobe, wondering briefly if he turned the light on just to torture you. He unfastens the bib of his supesuit, pulling it down to the side to reveal the zipper underneath. You can barely concentrate on the small talk he offers as he removes the jacket and places it in a neat pile besides his already folded cape.

“I think our first camping trip was a success, don’t you?”

“Mmhm,” you reply close-mouthed, already biting your lip as he takes off his belt, unbuttoning the top of his tight blue pants.

You can’t take it anymore and turn away from him, trying to calm yourself as you feel the blush rising in your cheeks, your heart pounding. Sure, he slept in those damn red briefs every night, but usually he came into the bedroom already wearing them. You never got to watch him strip though and you can’t help but be overwhelmed by the desire you’re feeling as a result.

It’s not like these thoughts are helpful, since you already tried to broach the topic of your relationship earlier and Homelander dodged you, opting instead to talk about his past. You’re grateful he opened up to you, but still feel tormented by your feelings for him. Considering the two of you are already going through the motions of living as a happy couple, it feels strange to not be romantically involved.

You hear the rustle of sleek fabric as Homelander slides into the makeshift bed, close, but still a too-safe distance away. “Did you have a good time tonight?” he asks, his tone with a hint of worry as though he’s afraid you didn’t.

Braving the vision of his bare body that no doubt awaits, you turn back to face him. He’s propped himself up on his pillow, his weight on his elbow as he looks you over for signs of negativity. Thankfully, he’s mostly covered with just his waist up exposed. It’s still difficult not to gulp as he continues to talk.

“Were the hot dogs too burnt? Maybe I should get a grate for the pit. Make it like a grill…” he’s rambling on about his ideas, looking off to the side as he considers the possibilities.

You can’t help but wonder if he’s as nervous as you are or if he’s just oblivious. It’s sometimes hard to tell with Homelander.

Clearing your throat in an attempt to focus your sex starved brain onto the matter at hand, you interrupt him. “Yeah they were a little burnt, but it’s OK. It’s not like I’ve ever cooked a hot dog over an open fire before. So, I’m not complaining.” You shift between the blankets, rolling onto your back as you cross your hands beneath your head.

Homelander lets out a sigh and your turn your head to see that he’s mimicked your position. He’s looks at the ceiling of the tent, folding one hand under his head and resting the other on his stomach. He glances back at you, giving a small hum in response, as if he were lost in thought for a moment.

“Yeah, it’ll be better next time. We just need a little practice,” he says with an unsure grin, turning his attention back to the ceiling. It’s quiet for several moments and it seems like the conversation is going to die, until he finally adds, “You know. I’m glad you’re here… with me.”

You give him a touched smile, surprised by his direct display of affection. You’re used to reading between the lines with Homelander, judging how he feels mostly by his actions when there is a lack of meaningful words. Even though you know he appreciates your company, especially given he is so desperate for it, it’s a nice change to hear him actually admit it out loud.

“Yeah, me too,” you say feeling at a loss for words. “This was a cool idea.”

His features seem to relax considerably when you return the gesture with gratitude. You can’t help but get distracted by the cold glow of the lantern reflecting in and accentuating his already blue eyes, but you don’t miss when they travel down your form. His glance flicking down your shoulder and to your side, then hanging longer than usual at the tease of your thighs peering out from under the sleeping bag.

When he sees you take notice, he tries to play off his leer with concern. “Are you cold?” he questions, his voice coming off casual.

You raise your brow knowingly, but let is slide. “Nah,” you reply with a smirk. “These bags are surprisingly warm. They’re almost too hot.” You glance down at your legs and decide to kick the blanket off further. “Besides, I always sleep like this.”

His eyes darken as he takes in the expanse of your bare legs. Homelander swallows, trying to keep his cool, but failing miserably as his gaze lingers persistently on your newly exposed skin.

“Always, huh?” He comments absentmindedly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

You had hoped to get his attention, sure, but now you can’t take the oppressive way he is staring at you. You’re not sure if it’s creeping you out or turning you on - it’s probably a combination of both. You try to think of a way to make things feel less awkward and manage to murmur out something anything but.

“Besides, at least I have a shirt on… You’re a pair of briefs away from being completely naked.” It sounds better in your head, than when you actually say it. Shit! Your squirm internally, realizing you’ve just backed yourself further into a corner. If this were any other situation, you’d gladly take the opportunity to jump his bones, but this is different. He is different.

Homelander scoffs with a look of incredulity. “I-I’m never cold,” he tries to assert with false bravado, but his tone falters under your gaze. He stumbles over his next words, trying to maintain his usual cockiness. “I’m a supe… A-and my body generates a lot of heat.” He mutters, trying to excuse his propensity to wear minimal clothing in bed.

“So, that’s why it always gets so damn hot,” you consider openly, distracted momentarily by the revelation. It seemed every night since you started staying with Homelander, you woke up sweating, having to kick the covers off completely from the sweltering heat. “Hmm,” she muses, “Well at least we won’t need a space heater in here.”

“No need for that,” he mutters, his tone lower than before.

The drop in octave is a subtle warning that forces your attention back to him, but not quickly enough. In a flurry of movement, the sleeping bags ruffle loudly as Homelander pounces on top of you. His eyes are wild, almost feral, as they rove over your body, his hands pinning your arms to the ground.

“I can keep you warm, beautiful,” his voice is smooth and strangely confident considering how cringe the line had been. You’re pretty sure from the way he was stammering just moments ago, that it’s an act though. You can’t possibly mind, given the close proximity of his body and how good he feels weighing down on you.

But the reality of what’s happening begins to dawn on you, your eyes growing wide as he traps you beneath him. Why is he making a move now after he’s ignored the temptation of you for so long? And why does it feel so forced and wrong? It should feel perfect given everything else the two of you have shared so far.

You find protest and confusion are the first emotions that war to the surface. “U-Uh… Homelander?” you say stupidly, unable to even focus with the feel of his bare legs against yours and his cock stiffening against your thigh. “W-what are you doing?”

Homelander’s chest rumbles with a low growl when you question him, as if your words pissed him off. “What does it look like?” he snaps back, his voice dripping with annoyance.

He tightens his grip on your forearms, his knees forcing your legs further apart so he can settle his hips against yours. He’s untethered, unlike his usual calculated persona, and there’s an element of desperation marking his features.

His eyes are dark now, the sky blue color drowning in dilated pupils. “I’m doing what I should have done weeks ago.”

“W-wait…” you find yourself babbling. “Shouldn’t we- Shouldn’t we talk about this first?” You gulp, the spit getting stuck in your throat as your try to swallow. You plead with him, your lip trembling slightly with the implications of what this will mean for your fledgling relationship.

He starts lifting up your shirt with a devious grin plastered across his face and you’re instantly torn between so many warring emotions. Lust and the deprivation of release that sex had provided you with is hugely present, but there’s also a remorse, a shame hanging heavy on your conscience. It would be so easy to let go and indulge in what he was offering, but….

“I don’t want to fuck this up!” you bark out suddenly, almost confusing yourself by the sound of it.

Homelander’s smirk falters for a moment, his eyes slightly narrowing in response. His hand pauses in the act of lifting your shirt any further, and he looks positively morose.

He pulls away completely then, retreating back to his own space and leaving you cold in the absence of his heat. Homelander regards you with a cross expression, urging you to clarify.

“What do you even meant by that?” he asks, the lurid aggression now gone from his voice, replaced with sharp accusation. “I thought you wanted this.”

“I do,” you say feeling stupid for sounding so contrary. “But, you haven’t shown any interest in me all month. Then all of a sudden you jump my bones? Why did you change your mind so suddenly about us?”

Homelander lets out a weary sigh, folding his arms against his chest as he looks away. He’s clearly not enjoying this change of mood, but he does offer a response.

“Nothing’s changed suddenly,” he grumbles with bitter emphasis. “I’ve wanted you for weeks now, you have no idea…” he admits sullenly, his eyes shifting back to you.

“It’s just…” he trails off with a groan. “It’s a little harder for me than you might think. And I didn’t want you to think…” He stops himself short, letting a huff through his nose before continuing in a much softer tone. “To think that I just wanted you… for that…”

You stare at him bewildered for a moment, almost amused by his petulant manner. It takes a moment to even understand what he’s getting at, but then you finally grasp what he means.

“Ohhhh,” you say sounding like an astonished stoner. “You mean, you didn’t want me to think you were just interested in sex?”

He is clearly a little embarrassed now, his cheeks flushing and his eyes looking off to the side again in avoidance. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here in this tent, having this conversation with you.

Reluctantly, he mutters out, “Yeah…”

You feel a pang in your heart, trying to hold back the reaction you want to give which undoubtedly would involve tearing up as you let out an ‘Awwww.’ It’s so fucking adorable how impossibly awkward he is, how he’s always trying even when it seems like he’s being shitty and inconsiderate.

Your body acts on its own accord, getting to your knees as you crawl towards him, hesitant if only for the lack of clothes between your bodies. In the past, you’d have been so forward with him, not even hesitating if he came on to you. Now you find yourself afraid to make the wrong move.

You place your hands on each of his knees, looking at him as the memories flood back. The whole point in Homelander taking you in had been to rehabilitate you in a away. ‘You need someone to save you from yourself’ as he had so aptly put it on that life changing night. It was no wonder he was now torn by the idea of fucking you.

“And you don’t want to be a part of the problem?” you ask, feeling like you’ve got a pretty good grasp on the issue at hand now.

Homelander tries poorly to maintain a look of stoicism, glancing almost neurotically at your hands traveling up his thighs. He reaches down to grab your wrists, keeping them from moving any further as though trying to isolate himself from your touch.

“Yeah, something like that,” he replies, trying to brush it off.

You offer him a smile as the warmth of his thoughtfulness fills you with content satisfaction. Never before has anyone been this considerate of your well being and even though you had your doubts about essentially being held hostage by Homelander’s good intentions, you are are now incredibly grateful that he cared enough to try.

Slipping your wrist out from his loose grip, you rear up on your knees, placing a hand tenderly on his cheek. “Thank you,” is all you can even think of to say, because it’s all that keeps running through your head. How appreciative you are for this experience, a connection you didn’t think was possible with another person.

Homelander leans into your touch as though starved for affection, his cheeks hot under your gentle touch. A reverent look settles in his eyes as he processes what you’ve said, and he pulls you onto his lap with an urgent need. His arms wrap around your waist, holding your tightly against him, acting as though he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

You’re startled at first by the closeness and strength of his embrace, but you relax quickly. Cradling his head against your chest, you run your fingers through his hair, soothing him because it just feels like he really needs that right now.

“Look, we don’t have to rush,” you find yourself reassuring him in a calming voice. You can sense his desperation, the need to be held, nurtured, and cared for. They’re not unlike your own cravings. “To be honest… This with you… Feels much better than all of the empty sex I’ve had combined.” You utter a nervous laugh, hoping he gets what you mean and won’t judge you. “Let’s just.. Let it happen naturally. Hm?”

He nods his head slightly, his face nuzzling to the side so he can respond. “Yeah… Just,” he begins to speak in a quiet voice. “Just promise me something.”

You lean back slightly so you can look down at him, “What is it?”

One of his hands roams to your hip, his grip flexing as he pulls you closer. “Don’t go running back to your old life. Don’t leave me.”

You can’t help but melt, grasping his dear face in your hands at the heartbreaking sound of his familiar loneliness. It was an aching sadness you knew all too well. “Oh my sweet boy,” you say without hesitation. “I would never leave you…” Never is a strong word, but you’re pretty sure you actually mean it. After all, nobody has ever taken such good care of you in your entire life. Not your parents, not friends, certainly not boyfriends. There was a pull between you and this man that you felt certain couldn’t be severed.

“Besides,” you add with a sardonically pointed laugh. “You already said the first night you took me in, that you’d hunt me down if I tried to run away.”

Finally, he cheers up when he hears your acceptance of his overzealous behavior. The corners of his mouth ticking up in a smirk as he shifts backwards, making some space between you both. “Damn right I will,” he barks out with a scoff, the scared little boy retreating once more as his prideful counterpart steps forth.

You can’t help but crack up at how quickly he falls back into line with his typical arrogant behavior, but at least now you see it for what it truly is.

“Do you wanna try and get some sleep?” you ask as a small yawn escapes you. Suddenly the thought of finally getting to feel those arms holding you tightly all night, the safety and security of it, sounds really appealing. “We could get some cuddle time in.”

Homelander chuckles when you mention cuddling, his eyebrows rise as he relishes the idea. “I’m down for that, he says with a sly grin on his face. “As long as I get to be the big spoon.”

“Aww, c’mon!” you feign complaint as you drop down from his lap and lay down with your back towards him. “I wanted to be the big spoon!”

“Too bad, princess,” Homelander hums as he crawls up behind you. He drapes himself against you, pulling you closer until your back is pressed flush to his broad chest. You fit nicely against him, like two lost puzzle pieces that have finally come together to complete a full picture.

You make a pouty little sound as you wiggle your back into him, nestling your head into your pillow as you get comfortable. As you settle, he responds with a huff of contentment, his hand snaking around your waist and trapping you in place securely. You feel protected, shielded, from everything bad in his arms. Drifting off, you can’t help but muse, that even though he might not realize it, Homelander really is a hero. Your hero.

Holy shit, guys.. This was officially the fluffiest fluff from the land of fluffington. What the fuck did I just write? I think my Daemon fic has been so raunchy as of late, that I had to make up for it with all of this sweet as apple pie Homelander fluff. Oh well, you guys love it! :)

#homelander fanfiction #homelander x reader #homelander #homelander x you #fanfic #writing prompt #antony starr #daddy issues

44 notes · View notes

catsrwitches · 2 days

Text

I love how clearly in ofmd clothes and identity are closely linked and I’ve been thinking about how so far the only times we see Ed be himself he’s always wearing someone else’s clothes.

And while yes, Stede makes him comfortable enough to let Ed’s true self peek through his mask even when he's still wearing Blackbeard's clothes, there's a limit to how much he can be himself while effectively wearing a costume and impersonating a fictionalized version of himself. Honorable mention to the purple shirt though, the color we know symbolizes his feelings for Stede and possibly the most of Ed we see while he's still somewhat Blackbeard. (By the way, I find it so telling that the first time we see him without his jacket is off the ship and in front of only Stede and Lucius)

The leathers we see him in for almost the entirety of both s1 and s2 are the physical representation of Blackbeard, a persona Ed literally puts on every morning. We even see Ed kill Blackbeard by throwing the clothes overboard when he finally feels safe enough to be only Ed. I feel like it's only at the very end of season 2, after he fishes the clothes back from the sea, that there's a clear distinction between the two identities and he can effectively channel Blackbeard to protect his loved ones without losing Ed in the process.

The first time we see Ed consider the possibility of living as his true self is at the end of season 1 at the privateering academy while wearing clothes that were given to him. And again, back on the ship when he tries to build the confidence to be just Ed before Izzy takes that away from him he's wearing Stede’s red robe.

The same happens in season 2. After throwing Blackbeard overboard we see him briefly in another one of Stede's robes before changing into Buttons' clothes.

That's why one among the many things I’d love to see in s3 is Ed in a bunch of outfits that truly represent him now that he has the liberty to explore what's like to just be Ed. Both because that would allow us to get to know Ed even better and because I just know his fits would go hard.

We know he loves fine fabrics, but the only times we see him wearing fancy clothes is again to put on a persona and perform as someone else (Stede and Jeff). And we know he loves accessories, we see him wearing multiple necklaces in both seasons, he always wears rings, and we even see him in dangly earrings. Not to mention of course the seed pearls necklace he wears throughout s2. Even in the gravy basket his subconscious self dresses up a little during his skit as an innkeeper by pinning his hair up and sticking an improvised boutonnière to his shirt.

tl;dr please let us get a season 3 so we can see Ed rock a bunch of cool outfits

#ofmd #our flag means death #ed teach #edward teach #blackbeard #ofmd meta #ofmd ed teach #ofmd blackbeard #cat.post

19 notes · View notes

deva-arts · 1 year

Note

Seraphina, a bit of a bird , a bit of a human . Maybe. But, my question. When she eats eggs, is it technically cannibalism?

Long answer: no. Short answer, no.

#vincenttag #nathanieltag #soniasanderstag #amontag #let amon be croccy as a treat #Oc rambles in the tags tag #everyone but nate and sera is sitting on the floor. it's cozier in a pile i guess. they do this a lot.#nate is the only one interested in this all because he's a big nerd when it comes to people's inner workings #literally and metaphorically! dude loves biology and psychology. what a nerd. what a goof. someone staple a 'kick me' sign on his sweater.#vincent just eats raw things sometimes. for no reason. he thinks it's a way to quote 'learn food better' but then he does this sh*t #vince also thinks it's cool and edgy. it is not. no one is okay with this. just eat your meals cooked and stay in your lane vincent #sera hates the bird comparisons because she's heard so much of it. puns. jokes. gags. nicknames. getting birdseed for christmas.#Made an entire presentation only to confuse her friends further on the bird situation #sonia's three moods are “flirty” “happy” and “Ick”#Amon likes to nap in his other form since he doesn't use it and it gets uncomfy after a while. Woken up for this... He barely rests as is :#To answer the age old question #no it is not cannibalism. they are not birds and if they still have traces of bird DNA it is definitely not from chicken or fowl #birds eat other birds all the time too. from eating eggs to eating their own eggs to eating smaller birds- they're like fish in that sense.#Sera used to order chicken a lot when with her former partners to try and dispel the 'but bird though' thoughts before they manifested #It did not work.#vince has a tendency of ripping all of his shirt sleeves and backs off instead of. y'know. getting them tailored. Sonia sobs every time #sera gave nate a similar 'watch' to hers. when activated it becomes a handy dandy lethal weapon! he has to wear it to sleep 'just in case.'#sera strapped it to his wrist saying 'don't worry. it isn't dangerous. to us.' and he hasn't slept the same since. yay vigilante waifu!#ARK_SYSTEMA #Seraphinatag #art #artwork #digital art #my art #my artwork

7 notes · View notes

screampied · 3 months

Text

ʚ MILLION DOLLA BABY. ɞ ( n. kento )

ᡴꪫ‎ sum. nanami gets dragged to a nearby strip club by his colleague gojo. he insists it’ll help him stop being so pent up and tense from work. there, he meets you—and for some reason, he just can’t keep his hands off your body. perhaps nanami wanted a bit more than just a dance though.

── ◜ ❦◞ wc. 6.0k

── ◜ ❦◞ cw. fem! reader, reader is a stripper, modern au, unprotected, semi-public, ōral (f! receiving), brief gojo cameo, vīrgin nanami, dry humping, lap dance, lots of praise, premature ejaculatıon, size kink, overstim, impact play, breedıng, whiny nanami, teaching him how to touch you, pet names.

you were the star girl,

and the moment nanami had his eyes laid on you it was all over. with his hands buried into his work slacks, his eyes scan around the erotic club. the music blared an unfamiliar tune with salaciously explicit lyrics. he has a look of deadpan as he stands beside his eager colleague, satoru gojo. “c’monn. why so serious, loosen up, nanamin,” he jibes, slinging an arm around the blond. the entire club had pretty luminescence lights flashing in each area. his eyes dart toward the bar before back at gojo who had a scheming grin. “you work too hard, ‘s time you had a little fun, huh.”

“maybe,” he utters, bringing a hand toward his back to scratch near his faint undercut. part of that was true. nanami basically lives in the workplace. overtime was his best friend, and it was the only source of entertainment he had. until now. with a sigh, he skims around the venue full of women. “i’ve never been to these … things before, how do i even—”

gojo hums. “oh, what a coincidence,” and the white-haired male does a subtle waving gesture at a pretty dancer that was currently unoccupied, you. “excuse me angel. yeah, c’mere,” and you sashay toward him with a gentle smile. nanami eyes land toward you and you were so pretty. compared to the other dancers, your outfit wasn’t as revealing. it showed a bit of skin but had just the right amount, perfectly bedazzled and all. your heels clank and clank against the carpet floor before you peer at the revisiting customer. “would you be a doll ‘n take him near the back?”

“right this way sir,” you reply in a sweet coo, and it was a split second of eye contact. nanami felt a hitch in his breath. he’s never been one to be nervous, but it was something about your laid back aura. it was captivating. as you led him toward the secluded vip room, his eyes peek at your back. straps of your lingerie decorate against your skin before he turns away once you face him. “kentooo nanami,” you read his name tag that stuck against his shirt. once he sits down—you notice how stiff he was. with a sly smile, you strut a bit towards him. “is this your first lap dance?”

“is it that obvious?” he murmurs with a timid hum, an attempt to be playful back.

“to me,” you purr, and the locked eye contact makes him realize — you were definitely gonna be his favorite girl for tonight.

the air grew substantially thick, it was so thick that you could cut the invisible tension with a knife.

nanami laid back against the velour cushioned sofa, bringing his hands toward his thighs to allow them to rest on his clenched muscles. his eyes remain on you the entire time, your body and the way your hips slowly sashay and roll toward him.

your cobweb designed fishnets wrap and snake around your thighs like ribbon before you teasingly make him spread his legs a bit more.

“ease up, nanami,” you whisper, the thundering music in the room almost talking over you.

“kento,” he corrects you in a low husky tone, feeling himself get a bit turned on from your touch - your demeanor.

nanami couldn’t keep his eyes off you at all. you toyed with his tie that was neatly tucked into his shirt, literally wrapping it around your finger, wrapping him around your finger. after a second passes, he sighs. “you can call me kento, sweetheart.”

“okay, kento,” and the way you repeated his name back to him did something to him. your words, the undertone of it all - the smoothness. your delivery was as sweet as honey.

leisurely, you make your way onto his lap before you straddle him. his breath hitches immensely, feeling your silk woven attire grind itself against him. your arms wrap around his neck, teasingly moving up and down as you start up your regular routine.

your body, it moves with the constant repetitive beats of the loud pop track playing in the background. you’ve probably heard that same song for about ten times this entire night.

nanami grows quiet, gentle fawn eyes never leaving yours. you were so enticing, hitting every beat with your body as if it was nothing.

the man struggles to contain himself, tips of his stubby fingers desperately fighting the urge to touch you. he knows the policy, gojo rambled to him all about it and how the dancers weren’t supposed to be touched but you made it hard.

so fucking hard—

actually, you made him hard.

that was the point though, as tempting as you were. nanami ogles at your hips and the way it does a few simple twists and jerks. he grunts, and already, you could feel a bit of a hardened bulge.

the warm friction that clings from his pants to your lingerie feels like shocking static. it makes him hurl his head back slightly. you spot his adam’s apple bobbling in rapture before he bawls his fist. “good … god,” he grumbles in a gruff hiss.

the more you move against him, the more he gets a few sweet wafts of your scent. you smelled so good. so sweet, it’s almost peachy. as if your touch wasn’t enough, your aroma had him going crazy. driving him to the first street of absolute insanity. nanami has a nervous grin, eyeing you finally. “forgive me, sweetheart—but i can’t touch you .. like at all?”

you pause with a cunning smile, leaning up close to where you can spot his blond stubble through your peripherals. “hmm, well no. but i wouldn’t mind if you hold my hips, kento.”

you got a smell of his own cologne, it was strong and definitely not the cheap kind. the rich pricey kind that gives you a headache after a while. nanami gifts you a look of what seems to be lust. hesitating, he utters in a soft voice. “can i?”

“go ahead, ‘ken,” and you were just a tease, shortening his name like that. gradually, his hands grab ahold of your waist. you’re still rocking to the steady, booming beats of the song’s chorus before he huffs. you start to pant a little yourself, feeling the tepid heat of his fingertips ghost against your skin. with a playful simper, you lean into his neck, whispering into his collarbone. “that’s it, touch me more. don’t be shy, ‘s good.”

nanami was sober but he felt like his head was spinning. he’s never participated in something so erotic, so … lewd.

it was just a simple lap dance.

he was addicted to the way your hips gracefully went against him. you made sure to rub yourself against his obvious growing bulge, feeling him harden right underneath you. “f- fuck,” he swallows, making sure to not hold onto your skin too tight. he was gentle, a pure gentleman. you’re still moving swiftly before you turn around, having your back face him. he watches with bronze dilated pupils, feeling your rear bump and bump against his zipped fly. “mhm,” he takes a peak at your back again, the moving muscles so pretty that they could be easily painted into a sculpture. you had him enticed, the way you moved was just pushing him further and further toward the edge. “you’re s- so pretty,” he murmurs, his voice low but still had a bit of cute awkwardness underneath. you could tell this entire thing was new to him. nanami’s never had a girl straddle against his lap—let alone dance on him.

not in the way you do.

“touch me,” you mumble, grabbing his idle hands. he gasps, watching as you guide them toward your chest. you’re grinding against his lap with an impish closed-eye smile. he’s gingerly feeling you up, thumbs bristling against the glittery fabric that stuck on your skin like glue. “like that, yeah.”

still,

nanami kento was a gentleman.

he made sure not to touch your breasts until you made a gesture that it was okay. he was respectful—something you weren’t that used to. it was a nice new touch. he was savoring your beauty right in front of him. you grabbed both of his broad hands, making him gently feel against your tits and he grunts. you weren’t making this easy, not with those hips.

it seemed as if it was only you and him in the entire world. as his fingers dance near your skin, he feels a faint sharp edge of dollar bills sticking out of your top piece. “so gorgeous,” he says hoarsely, and you found it cute how he didn’t know what else to say except to compliment you. “your curves are so mesmerizing.”

your breath gets caught in the back of your throat for a moment— feeling his warm breath tickle against your right earlobe. nanami was easing up a bit, though he was still a bit nervous. you heard a tiny tremor in his voice, his hands still roaming everywhere on your body from your guiding.

the lap dance lasts for a good ten minutes, though it’s as if time barely passed. it’s as if it was hours,

and as you’re finishing up, you feel a sudden wetness prod underneath your panties. glancing down, you stare at his pants and you hold back a smile. oh, perhaps you were a bit too good. nanami groaned, appearing worn out with blond strands all ruffled. “did you just … cum?”

“i— fuckk,” he swallows a lump in his throat, feeling the embarrassment take over.

nanami definitely came right through his pants. you saw the grey dampening mark - cute. looking at the man, he tried to hide his discomfiture by flashing a smile but it’s just adorable. “no,” he tries to play it off, but not even seconds later, throwing his shoulders down, he sighs with an almost pout. “yeah, i .. did. i came.”

“don’t be ashamed.” you sweetly reassure him, still taking a seat on his lap. you gently brush a thumb alongside his undercut, feeling the stain paint against the outer part of your panties.

nanami stares back at you, and for a moment, his eyes dart toward your lips. they looked so kissable,

he saw the crooked smile on your mouth about to form before you inch closer and closer. teasingly, you finally speak again and your breath fans against his lips. “do you want a kiss, ‘ken?”

you were gonna be the death of him,

he’s already panting. his eyes, mousy brown eyes were all shot and blown—never once leaving your tantalizing hips. “y- yeah, if that’s alright,” he swallows, and you hum. he was covered in nervousness. as if it was an attempt to stop the sudden heat in the room, nanami yanks his tie back and forth. you’re still straddling him, feeling against his prodding boner before strumming a thumb against his lip. “you .. won’t charge me extra for a kiss, right? not that i’d mind, hah.”

“don’t worry, this one’s on me, ‘ken.” you mutter in a sweet voice.

he grunts, the staticky friction scooting against his slacks was almost too much to bare. you felt the outline of his cock and it’s big. with a quick glance, he stares at your lips - shimmery.

the gloss that smothers against your mouth made him want to get a taste. just a tiny taste.

not now but right now.

you were slow, making sure to purposely drag every second. the music continues to blast loudly in the background before you finally close the aching gap between you and the businessman.

nanami groans, his hands having a mind of its own—grabbing and feeling all down your body. you rocked your hips in a playful rotation, swerving all against his lap as your lips crash onto his.

sweet,

you tasted the sweetest you’ve ever been. his heart was racing as his tongue gently glissades near yours, creating a sloppy sultry slope. “mhm.” a raspy grunt escapes out of him, wanting more of you each second. you were a tease, shaking your body against him in such a coy manner.

his boner only grew and you felt it - all of it.

with his eyes flickering, you gingerly ghost a finger down his undercut to hear him moan gravelly into your mouth. it was as if just a little touch from you had him forming into putty.

nanami could taste the brief tang of what tasted like tequila roaming on your buds. so sweet, his head reclines back and you grab a fistful of his collar.

each sway had him lusting for you harder — you peep nanami reaching into his suit pocket, pulling out a fifty dollar bill before sticking it right between your pristine-colored straps. “damn, you’re so pretty,” he grunts, feeling the bulging sensation intensify. and yet, as he’s speaking between hot, wet kisses, he feels you run a finger down his chest. “i want a better taste, sweetheart,” and his hands trace down the curvature of your curves, stopping near your ass.

he wanted that kind of taste,

the taste where you’d be bent over the sofa gasping for air at the sloppy stripes of his tongue work.

nanami didn’t know what he was doing but one thing was for certain—he knew how to make you whine.

he’s never had a taste of something so sweet before. especially nothing a sweet as you,

just a few kitten licks and he was whipped. strands of satiny saliva dribbles past the naturally crooked corners of his lips and onto your cunt. you’re throbbing, failing to keep your legs open as he’s dug face first between you. the noises that echo out of his mouth had you feral — you moan, your own sobbing cries for more being tuned out by the screaming erotic lyrics. “k- kenn,” you huff, using two hands to grab onto his fawn strands.

you’re met with the kindest eyes but oh, the most pussy drunken expression imaginable.

it’s as if he’s been waiting for this day.

his tongue glides against your clit before it turns into quick succulent sucks. it’s loud, you’re panting heavily in irregular breaths before your head tosses itself back. nanami’s on his knees and you bite your lip at the expense of feeling such ecstasy. you’re met with delicate, mahogany eyes which were full of nothing but lust and desire.

usually, you weren’t one to just have a client propped up between your thighs, but if you were being completely honest, nanami was quite easy on the eyes. not only that, but he was patiently tender. his awkwardness only made him ten times more attractive if anything.

it seemed you were his first lap dance and it also seemed that you were his first taste of pussy.

“t- that’s it, ‘ken,” you puff out a single breath, both hands digging into the thin roots of his scalp. he groans, leaning forward as he allows his tongue to do all the talking. nanami slurps against your swollen cunt, adding suction onto your sensitive nub. you’re a whiny mess, seconds barely pass and you’re already rutting your jagged hips against his face.

by now, it’s a shimmery snail trail of your sweetened slick racing down the chiseled areas of his chin. right near the bottom, he made sure to go slow because he wanted to savor your taste.

perhaps maybe this was what he was missing.

you,

his nose gently thrashes against your folds, taking a brief whiff of your scent. your glacé-like scent drove him crazy. nanami grouses a tiny pout, he can’t help but slither a free hand down his beige slacks. you glance down, watching and the thought of him attempting to get off to your pleasure makes you throb. “f- fuckkk.” he grumbles, blond brows contorting together into a slight curve.

nanami was so pent up, his tongue plays with you for a bit, licking against your halfway torn fishnets. they were designed to make it look like it was a spider web . .

soooo pretty, tangled and all.

speaking of tangled,

that was the entire definition of your fingers. you comb each digit swiftly through his strands, yanking his face closer against your dribbling slick.

nanami’s tongue was fragile yet rough - once he started, it was no stopping.

you’re whining over and over until your voice was a broken record. your body slumps back against the fat cushion before you feel your tummy start to heave.

“mhm, look at me, kento. eyes up here baby,” and you’re staring face first with most sweetest eyes.

brown and full of care. a dirty kind of care though.

you continue to massage a hand through his scalp before positioning his head a certain way. “hah, stick out your tongue more. lay it a little flat,” and once he does what you say, twitching muscle collapsing onto your cunt, you moan. “good fuckin’ boy. suck it there, yeah.”

and he groans. lowly, it’s so low that it’s almost a snarling growl.

he didn’t expect for his dick to twitch again. this time it’s not from your taste or even your touch but your words. nanami’s stroking himself, fisting his fat cock with his bare hand before you could almost make out a whine from him.

“say it again,” he murmurs, nose deep into your pussy. and even still, his breath fans against your folds and you were already so so close. you were reaching the breaking point - it was inevitable.

nanami’s staring at you as if he’s pleading for you to repeat your words. pleading for you to praise him once more. “call me that again, sweetheart.”

with a sly smile tugging right onto your lips, you cup his face, giving him a teasing expression. squeezing his pink lips together for a moment, you hum. “oh, you like that?”

“a bit, yeah,” he sighs, feeling the strain in his pants tighten. you had him so hard, so fucking hard. nanami could have came just from the sound of your voice. once you drag his face away from your cunt, a bunch of saliva starts to trickle from the sides of his mouth. it pours out slowly in such a way, it’s as if he forgot what manners were. there was no manners when he was slobbering down your folds with your own slick following from his spit-slick lips. nanami leans into your touch, watching through his peripherals at how you strum a bit of spit away from his mouth before making him nod up and down. “your voice turns me on, pretty.”

“bet it does,” you play along, breath hitching from the rigorously circular rotations of his tongue. he’s so nasty, flicking and sliding it, allowing it to roam through the opening of your slit before sucking mercilessly. you whine, leaning back until you’re all spread with your thighs being pried open from his hands. “good boy, ‘s good. make me cum, ‘ken. can you be a good boy ‘n do that for me?” and you peer down at him, ruffling his already ruffled strands. “y- your tongue can be my tip if you want.”

with a dry chortle, he laughs against your cunt, sucking against your pulsating nub until you’re almost wailing out desperate cries. cool breath fans against your entrance and you swallow, looking down at him. “you’re too kind my love,” and his words were so smooth.

you’re haphazardly jolting and rutting back against the cushioned sofa and pretty much fucking yourself against his face as he’s slurping you clean. dragging his head against your wet cunt with your mouth open, dangling like an earring.

a strong ripple of waves surge out of you before you’re creaming. you’re laid back against the sofa, legs all sprawled open and he’s eating up your expressions everytime. he has a flustered look, tasting a nice amount of even more slick trail down your folds. nanami gulps, pretty long lashes fluttering as he’s relishing in the aftertaste of your candied juices.

your legs felt like they were about to fall off. your orgasm was loud, incredibly falling on deaf ears as the music remains to drown out your lewd sorrows in the background.

“f- fuck, fuckkk,” you drag out in a cute elongated syllable, so dramatic.

the air feels feverishly hot again and you start to fan yourself, glancing down to see a pussy drunk nanami right between your thighs. yet, you’re still riding out your release and he starts sucking your pulsing cunt again. you gasp, squirming with a hand gripping his strands, giving it a solid yank before you moan out his name in pleasure. “ken, oh my g- goddd,” and he’s making out with your pussy. a simple french kiss, tickling the slit open area with the pointed tip of his buttoned nose. “s- sensitive, ‘m sensitive.”

“so good,” he groans and you had to physically pry him face off of your pussy. his tongue, you could still feel it. as you’re looking down, he shoots you a sleazy grin, and removes his hand from his pants. “c’mere.” he huffs through full lungs. a sheet of your tasty arousal drips down his chin, coating his stubble before he leans into you. with your legs still wide and dangling over the cushioned furniture, you feel him go between your legs, softly cupping your chin.

out of breath and out of mind, your eyes become significantly half-lidded.

you moan, feeling his warm plushed lips make haste against yours. it’s sweet, bittersweet.

lazily parting your lips for him to gain access, he slides his own into your mouth, one hand gently caressing every part of your body. he feels against your attire, your skin. the plethora of goosebumps that sets against you, you whine into his mouth before feeling his bare cock rub against your soddened entrance.

it’s hard,

he grunts once you feel it because he feels it too.

again, his cologne gets louder and so does your own aroma. nanami’s session ended a long time ago, but no one could even care about the time limit. already, he started to gain a liking to you. perhaps strip clubs weren’t so bad, not if you were here.

your hand playfully runs down his buttoned up shirt, tugging him closer and you taste yourself on his tongue. for a concise second, it’s a bit sour but it turns …. sweet.

your brows furrow as you lock your legs around him, feeling his mushroom tip prod against your opening. he was growing impatient, so so impatient.

“god, i want you so bad,” he speaks between kisses. nanami’s voice was a low gruff. almost dangerous with how much baritone lingers on his voice. dangerously sexy,

he felt the familiar lump in his throat arise again. it’s as big as a saucer, making him find it hard to swallow down for a second. with your hands running down his chest, he felt a pang of chills surge all down his body. your fingers knew what they were doing, dancing against his body. with rough breaths mashing against each other, he finally breaks away and his forehead touches onto yours. “i need you.”

“what’s stopping you?” you reply breathlessly, and his jaw clenches at the slight tease in your tone.

a tease until the very end,

nanami’s now back to his current position, sat on the squashy cushioned material—once he falls back in defeated surrender, it slouches inward from the weight. all eyes were on you,

he could see a bit of shine glisten near your thighs. nanami’s entire mouth from the chin down was covered. he didn’t even care nor bother to wipe his mouth either, he licks it clean with his tongue, luxuriating in your candied taste. his new favorite treat.

the taste was just a reminder of how good he was devouring you earlier. right near the crevices of your legs, your fishnets were practically torn and he goes manspread. “don’t make me wait, princess,” he grumbles with a cute pout, already developing some kind of attachment to you. this entire thing was new, he’s never tasted something as sweet let alone run his fingers down someone’s pretty cunt that was even sweeter.

with arched brows, you watch as he wraps a hand around his fat base. “want another lap dance.”

“do you want a lap dance or do you want me to give you a ride, ‘ken?” you tease, slowly working your hips toward him. he gulps, the bratiness hiding underneath your tone turning him on ten times more.

you knew what he wanted,

nanami’s dick was pretty. a mushroom tip with a bit of loose foreskin that peels from each stroke of his hand. his cock was hefty too — it had a bit of a downward curve, hanging just from how fat it was alone. you spot a few slanting veins that run down his shaft, decorating his cock and you couldn’t help but lick your lips. rolling your hips to where you’re doing an appetizing belly roll. your rhythm was hypnotic, he studies the way your abdomen curls in such a hot manner. and just like that, he’s hard … again.

as he’s deep in thought, having a little fantasm about you, you gradually take your seat on his lap.

he strums a finger against the beads that wrap around your waist, giving them a playful tug as they lightly thwack against your skin. the beads he didn’t even notice because he was too busy being enthralled by your beauty. “i… need to feel you.” he grunts, hearing the shudder in his voice.

pathetic, maybe,

but he desperately wanted to feel your warmth. his earns burn with torridity before you hover your entrance over his tip.

another song starts up in the background again and it’s loud. the same casual beats of some random tune playing, raunchy explicit lyrics from the singer’s voice. “you want me, baby. you don’t need me,” you purr, and you’re holding back a bundle of your own moans. his tip, it’s sweltering hot, a few splotches of pre-cum coating the top. you grind your hips slowly and he’s already about to lose it. nanami’s head was tilted back to a sexy degree angle and you fiddle with his loose tie some more. “mhm, you’re so tense, ‘ken. relax,” and almost instantly, his dick twitches.

it was barely even movement - barely any friction and yet, just your sloppy cunt was enough to make him cream. and surprisingly, it does.

he doesn’t even go in yet and he’s cumming. nanami groans, pulling you into his chest, hot breaths burying into your neck as he’s painting your entrance with a few spurts of pre. “f- fuck. ‘m sorry. didn’t know i was s- so turned on,” and it’s cute. whilst he’s babbling his sorries into the corner of your neck, you jerk your hips forward into his. slowly, your chaotic rhythm was doing nothing by driving him mad. “god, i- i— i want it. ride me, sweetheart.”

judging from his body language alone, you could tell he’s probably never done this before, experience this.

already, he’s came twice and he’s breathing heavy as if he’d ran a marathon. swiping a thumb over his undercut, you meet his lust-driven gaze. “you sure?”

“m sure,” he nods, entirely breathless. nanami’s unkempt strands of hair ran down his face, making him more attractive, more needy. his lips were glossed and sheeny, covered in your own natural gloss from earlier. his hands wrap around your waist, guiding you to feel him more from the inside. “take my stress away, baby. do your dance on me some more, p- please.”

“lie back ‘n relax, kento.” you whisper against his ear, teasingly licking near his lobe. your hands playfully shove him back. he groans, feeling his body collapse into pleasure against the sofa. it’s a long pause before he feels you starting to make your way onto him. his jaw tightens and he tries to relaxes, he tries but he can’t help but grunts.

it’s so warm inside, parched and hot. your walls were so welcoming, having him on a leash. your pussy gets ahold of him tightly and you’re only just a few inches in. your lips spread open from the stretch, it’s so big and wide that it’s literally hard to miss.

just a few,

inhaling a single three second breath, your arms toss over his broad shoulders and you moan.

nanami was a packer, it was really no secret. he had some girth along with the sides of staggering tall inches. you never give any other customers this kind of treatment so you wondered what made him so different.

nanami’s charm for one, and his adorable awkwardness drew you closer to him … teaching him how to touch you, how to feel you up in all the right ways made you throb regardless.

he sucks his teeth at the curt tightness that made an appearance. you’re getting a front row view of his russet blown irises rolling alllll the way back.

just a few solid inches and he was already drunk from your cunt. a hand trails its way toward the center of your ass - tenderly caressing it from top to bottom as if it was heart shaped.

“ugh, s- so goooood.” he drags out his words, delving his cock more into you. you’re slow, making sure he feels every part. the music grows louder, but even still, it’s like it was just you and him in the room.

the saturated squelches rang and reverb through the thin walls of the vip room - flashing flashy lights creating a type of pearly flash against the rhinestones that stuck against your half-on outfit. nanami’s hands resume to roam and wander everywhere, not missing a single spot of your curves. he was a thorough man.

a very thorough man,

once he’s fully in though, you hear a raspy pant get snatched out of his throat. nanami was finished, you defeated him with ease as if your cunt was the opponent. the second your hips start to rock against him, he’s already groaning. it felt too good. your pussy .. the insides, the heat.

if you squint enough, you could see a bit of drool pouring out of his mouth. “you’re messy,” you tease, leaning in to kiss the side of his lip. he grunts from the simple touch, feeling you dig your knees into his thighs for support. “does it feel good, ‘ken?”

“y- yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs in a husky tone, eyes half open and a crooked pussy-drunken grin. again, his adam’s apple bobs and you shiver from a brief sensation of frigidness. the cold band of his pricey watch brushes up against your waist. you’re rutting your hips further into him, grinding slowly. nanami’s already feral - and for whatever reason, every time he addresses you as his ‘sweetheart’ it makes you pulsate. “so good, make me feel so mhm, good.”

“touch me more, ‘s okay,” you whisper, hearing his breathing pick up from your words. he was already sensitive and the sweet melodies of your voice was just enough to send him over.

nanami’s hesitant but you reassure him you want to feel his big hands slide down your luscious hips. you want him to guide your hips, you want nanami kento just as much as he wanted you.

maybe this was unprofessional and maybe, just maybe your boss would kill you, but you could honestly care less.

all you cared about was fact you were about to cream all down his thickset cock. your legs zealously rattle against his the more your body rocked. your hips fully matched the beats of the blaring song that played on the broken speakers. and god, you looked so pretty like this. hovering over him, a bill sticking out of your bedazzled bra.

nanami gruffly grunts, feeling his hefty base stick and smack against your ass. each thrust into you was so sloppy, so nasty, he was about to get milked. strands of cum stuck against your ass, occasionally departing as you lift yourself up and down, bounce after bounce.

he licks his lips at the thought, the thought of pumping his entire load into you raw.

“should have came here a l- long time ago,” he confessed, starting to come to the sheer realization that maybe satoru did him a favor. recommending him to one of the top strip clubs in the city. if it wasn’t for him, he wouldn’t be here right now. he wouldn’t be inside, inside of you, stirring and churning up your insides like butter. “fuck, ‘m gonna c- cum, baby. think ‘m gonna cum.”

leaning up against his ear, you slowly lick a stripe near his neck. “it’s okay, you can shoot inside.”

your words made him hard - harder than he already was.

you felt the sporadic twitch of his cock inside of your goopy cunt the moment you whine your last pre-orgasm words. nanami’s panting heavily, two bare hands gripped onto your waist like velcro. the room started to get cooler and he sighs deeply. “r- really?” he huffs, taken aback. he leaned into your touch, feeling your ass continue to throw itself back forward into him.

each time, every single time,

it makes his ears ring, his teeth shatter, his mouth growing ajar.

nodding, you kiss near his chin, a few blond strands from his stubble gliding against your lips. “yeah, give it to me kento. don’t miss, ‘s okay, promise.”

“o- okay, ‘m not gonna miss, princess,” he swallows thickly. his thighs ached from underneath you. nanami literally couldn’t keep his hands off you. with the stumpy tips of his fingers gently digging into your waist, he groans.

it’s raspy, sloppy thrusts rut back onto him, ricocheting against his skin before within seconds, he came.

nanami’s brain short circuits as he’s emitting another thick load - this time, inside of you.

it’s gooey, sticky and hot, oozing into the very depths of your cunt, dribbling all from the inside. it shoots way up into your womb and you moan, gently biting into his neck. your teeth pierce into him skin softly and he grunts. “good girl, g-good,” he croaks, feeling your body weakly judder into him at full force. he’s short circuiting, feeling such amounts trickle into your sopping pussy. it’s so much that a few of it starts to pour near the sides of your thighs. plugged enough as you were, you suck against his neck in an attempt to suppress your whiney moans. “goddamn, ‘s much. saved so much for you.”

you were so close to him that you felt the numerous beats of his heart pulse against you.

his warmth, nanami wraps a beefy arm around you, pulling you close. still, he’s got his cock buried into your cunt as if it was a coffin, the stretchy clingy grip you’ve got on him has him in a chokehold. a single hand of nanami’s grabs the fat of your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before spanking it.

“you’re getting handsy,” you tease him, peppering a few kisses near the bridge of his nose. if you screw your eyes close enough, you could make out a few tiny freckles scattered across his face. “i think we’re gonna close soon, though.”

“oh r- right,” he swallows, glancing down at his designer quartz watch. in a deep voice, he lets off a throaty chortle and a cheeky expression. “ah, it’s almost midnight,” and he knows he has to pay you. he’d never forget. the man reaches into his dress shirt, pulling out his wallet before letting off a shaky sigh. “how much are your usual dances, princess?”

with a sly expression, you stroke a thumb against his chin, taking in his naturally pretty features. nanami was so handsome, especially up close.

he keeps eye contact with you, still having you stuffed full of inches. “i usually charge around twenty.”

quickly, his voice softens. you gasp once he picks you up bridal style, and he pulls out three sets of hundred dollar bills. the most expensive thing though was his smile, because he was whipped out of his mind. you could tell he wanted more.

“how much to take you home with me then?” and you hear a shuffle, he brings his pants back up to his waistline with one hand before pressing a kiss near your forehead. “i can treat you right. besides, i wanna .. spoil you after tonight,” and his voice remained smooth. “i’ll even give you a nice massage,” and he sticks more money right between your bra, still a jittery shake in his tone.

you watch as nanami still has you in his arms, bringing a thumb toward your shimmery cum-filled cunt before swabbing a nice amount of it onto his finger. with hazed eyes, he licks his thumb right off, savoring the taste before speaking in a seemingly teasing tone, still panting. “i’ve always been pretty good with my hands, sweetheart.”

6K notes · View notes

fingertipsmp3 · 9 months

Text

Does anyone else have a friend who will panic and call you if they don’t receive a response to their message within 15 minutes, but will regularly leave you on read or delivered or go fully MIA for days

#that’s my best friend and also my granddad #she calls me i’m like ‘fuck that i’ll call back; i’m not talking to her while i’m in a towel it feels weird’ (just got out of the shower)#2 mins later she calls again. i have a shirt on & a towel over my bottom half. i answer like ‘what? what’s the emergency?’#why does this woman say ‘you weren’t responding to my messages :(‘ i check and i’m like ‘you mean the message you sent 12 minutes ago?#i was in the shower’ ‘oh’ ‘so what’s up’ ‘do you want to go to the shop with me?’ ‘ma’am it’s 8:15pm on a sunday in december and i am mostly #wearing my pyjamas. what do you think’#i love her but she tests me every day #my granddad is so much worse actually. he’ll text me or my mom (he gets us mixed up in his messenger app. sometimes he even messages #my stepdad something that’s meant for one of us. or presumably his bowling friends as well. i think sometimes he can’t be bothered to put #his glasses on and just clicks into the most recent conversation and hopes his message will find its way to the relevant person)#then if they don’t read it & respond within… about 1-5 minutes. he calls my mom; then her landline; then me; then my stepdad #and repeats ad nauseam until someone answers their phone. he does this faster and with more dedication and urgency if it’s NOT an emergency #the most fun part of this is when i see a call come in from him; don’t manage to answer it in time; call him back and he literally doesn’t #answer because he’s either already calling someone else OR he’s abandoned his phone and walked off #and he never puts his hearing aids in and also leaves his phone on vibrate so it doesn’t ring anywhere near as loud as he needs it to #he’s also constantly leaving his phone at home. i’m like JOHN. it’s a mobile.#if i need my grandparents i literally just call their landline because if no one answers that tells me everything i need to know #which is that they are out which means my granddad either doesn’t have his phone; or has it but won’t answer it #my grandma’s hearing is fine but she has a visceral hatred of phones (she doesn’t own one) so she won’t answer it or tell him it’s ringing #so yeah. my granddad expects everyone else on the planet to be available 24/7 but refuses to make himself available an equal amount #like if you want time away from your phone just say that. i love time away from my phone #but in that same vein you also cannot get mad when i don’t answer my phone if YOU don’t answer your phone. lol #personal

0 notes

wolviensabes · 2 months

Text

NSFW Alphabet: Wolverine

a/n: I was excited to write a nsfw version of this because his character was surprisingly fun and easy to write for this. I like Logan because you can really be flexible with how he is in bed. It all depends on preference and writer ofc, but still it was fun to write. Wrote mostly gender neutral, on parts where body is described, I wrote for afab and amab. Not edited please ignore mistakes ty <3

18+ under the cut. MDNI.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex):

Aftercare king.

He knows just what to do, especially since sex with him is normally pretty rough and crazy. He leaves you a mess under him and you're barely able to walk. "Atta girl/boy, princess/prince, up you come." he grabs hold of you and lifts you up, carrying you to the bathroom to get you all clean.

He's a messy partner so you need a shower to get all the sex off you. He leaves you alone to do anything you need privately, but otherwise he's helping you maintain your balance in the shower and drying off.

You're in such a dazed state, you feel dizzy and lightheaded, still a little loopy. He will get you back to bed and lay you down, feeling pride and satisfaction within himself at how he could bring you to such a state. Only he could do that to you.

He will hold you close to him, you feel cold now, his body will warm you up. He likes skin to skin, so unless you want a shirt, he won't dress you so he can feel your softer skin against his own.

The praise he gives you makes you feel so special and worth so much, it helps when you come down from your high, knowing he was satisfied and loved every moment of the act.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s):

I don't think he really has a favorite part of his partner, but I will die on the hill that he likes his partners a little chunky. He loves to grab onto you, he likes how he can manhandle you without worry of hurting you.

Those plush hips and belly drive him insane. If you are afab, your ass draws his hand in every single time and he loves to smack and grab it. If you are amab, he will grab onto your thighs or soft, relaxed chest muscles and squeeze them. Both afab and amab, his hands come around from behind and gently knead your belly.

Logan is a dude so on himself...he holds his manhood very high, and for good reason.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically):

Filthy.

He gets that shit all over the place and he loves it.

He loves marking you inside and out. He loves shooting his spunk on your body just as much but something about releasing inside you makes him somehow cum harder and with more.

He's not that bad taste wise, I mean cum doesn't taste great, but he's not bad. Not too bitter, not too salty, but his cum is thick. And when he does climax, he cums a LOT.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

Logan, being a primal mutant, loves scents. It's one of the things that he relies on a lot, and your scent is intoxicating. He steals some of your clothes and smells them, or sometimes he will dive into your crotch and inhale you.

Not exactly dirty, but Logan secretly likes when you scratch his head or mess with his hair after sex. He likes to keep himself up as a tough guy most of the time but when you wind down, even if he's the one holding you, he sometimes scoots down enough to let you play with his hair.

He will move his head where he wants your hand to scratch and leans into it when you reach that sweet spot.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?):

He's over 200 years old, he's got experience.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying):

Literally anything where he can watch you mewl and moan for him.

He also likes from behind or positions where he can watch his cock sink into you with each thrust.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.):

Logan isn't goofy but he also isn't serious. He's open to messing around and with tossing, turning, all sorts of play, it's not going to be serious 100% of the time.

He will chuckle and tease, sometimes funny noises are made, that's just how it is, and you both will laugh a little...but then you get back to it because who can resist?

Sometimes he will play fight you, wrestle you down to the bed and hold you there, with ease, and he smirks down at you trying to overpower him. It's a fun way to rile him up for sex and he enjoys it quite a bit.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.):

Logan is hairy, but not insanely so. I think below he is pretty crazy but he trims it down enough once you two get more intimate. Though he thought it was funny watching you spit out his pubes.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect):

He can be romantic but he is more passionate than anything. He likes to make sure you feel good, and he loves doing it. Once he gets you feeling good, he gets a little more rough and tells you what he likes without shame.

He's very forward, and his communication in the bedroom is immaculate. You wished he were like that outside of the bedroom sometimes, because there's no hesitation, no secrets, he's fully confident and tells you exactly what he wants.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

Sometimes he masturbates, sometimes he doesn't. It all depends on how horny he is in the moment.

He'll fist his cock to the thought of you, or since he likes your scent a lot, he will practically inhale your underwear and jerk himself until he cums all over his hand.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks):

Logan...he's kinky as hell.

Dom/sub dynamics drive him up the wall. He loves being in control, manhandling you, having you listen to what he says without fail.

Slight primal play would be up his alley. The playful wrestling and fighting gets him going and he likes to bite and mark you up during sex. Almost looking like an animal attacked you, but no, it was just Logan marking you as his.

Dirty talk king. He is so brazen with his language, whispering it into your ear as he pounds your poor, swollen hole full of another load.

Praise, praise, praise! He loves to praise you and how good you take his thick cock inside you.

Overstimulation/denial, he loves the control. He often makes you cum multiple times before even penetrating you just to hear you cry and whimper for him.

Maybe a slight breeding kink, since he loves the idea of filling you up to the brim with his thick cum, (this goes regardless of afab or amab), he's going to fill you up regardless if it's biologically possible to impregnate you or not. It's just for fantasy anyway.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do):

He will do it anywhere he feels like. He doesn't care who sees. You're his and he likes everyone around you to know it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going):

I love that most everyone agrees that wearing his clothes makes him fucking feral. He would lose it seeing you in a shirt of his...or maybe even naked and only wearing a flannel. Slowly unclasping each button to make him growl and almost rip the damn thing off you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs):

He'd never want to hurt you. There are things he likes that might harm you but he doesn't actually want to cause you harm.

He can be rough and he doesn't want to actually hurt you. A spank or choking just enough to get you dizzy is about as far as he would go. Logan would never intentionally try to harm you, especially during something as intimate as sex.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.):

He has a hard time picking what he likes better. He loves diving between your legs and lapping you. But he also loves to see you choke around his thick cock.

Logan loves the dirtiness of it, his dick in your throat and watching you try your best to please him. He loves seeing you choke and gag on him, your face gets so sloppy with spit and cum, it makes him more crazy in bed when he's fucking you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.):

With Logan it can be 50/50. He can be rough and hard, or slower and passionate. Most of the time he is ensuring you cum multiple times, and then he fucks you into the bed while you cry around his cock. Then, he gives you another orgasm, he cums, and the cycle repeats until you literally can't take it anymore.

Then he cleans you up and makes sure you know how good you were for him. You'll have trouble walking for a few days.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.):

He's down for a quickie, he can make you cum fast when he wants to. However he does prefer to make you whine and beg instead of giving you a solid, quick orgasm unless you really need it.

Sometimes he needs a quick one too, so a fast blowjob helps. But again, he likes to take his time rather than rush it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.):

He takes plenty of risks. He loves to test the waters with you and experiment with all sorts of things. He's down to try almost anything.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?):

His mutation allows him to have enhanced stamina so be prepared for that.

He can go for literal hours and not be tired at all. His mutation also allows his refectory period to be very short. So...you will be filled to the brim.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?):

I don't think he would have any for himself, but he would start to grow a collection if you had any or showed interest in some. He'd keep them under his bed in his room whenever you wanted to spice things up.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

Logan is the king of teasing you. He loves to tease until you can't take it and tears are rolling down your cheeks.

He always gives you what you want in the end, but not without that asshole making you beg.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.):

He doesn't give two shits who hears him, or you, he is loud. He grunts, groans, snarls. Not to mention the insane level of dirty talk he does, and he loves to make you scream out his name.

By the time you're done, you swear half the mansion heard you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character):

He dirty talks like crazy.

Sometimes he will fuck you when you're wearing his clothes, or when he comes back from a mission, he doesn't bother cleaning up before he storms up to your shared room and he fucks you.

Angry sexxx

He lets out his frustrations from missions as he pounds into you.

"Goddamn slim, stupid fuckin' self-designated leader thinks he can boss me around like I'm nothin' but a loyal scout to 'em." he grunts and snarls with each plap of his hips into you, his cock driving against you. You have no idea what happened on the mission but can you complain? No.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes):

Logan's dick is huge let's get that out of the way.

He's thick, it feels like he rips you open each time he penetrates you and it feels fucking incredible. That also means lots of foreplay~

He's veiny, his cock throbs as he stands erect, and his balls are heavy.

He's a good 8 to 8.5 inches fully erect, the damn thing leaks precum constantly when he's horny.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?):

Insanely high. He will fuck you every single day if he could.

He is down to fuck all the time, anytime. You just have to say the word and he's on top of you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

Logan makes sure you're comfortable before he even attempts to sleep. He stays awake, letting you curl into him and he watches you, making sure nothing he did was too much or causing pain.

Once you seem okay and have fallen asleep, he will allow himself to relax and fall asleep beside you.

Thanks for reading.

*SNIKT*

Tag list: @strawberryshortcake20

Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list by leaving a 🧡.

dividers by @/strangergraphics

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine #wolverine xmen #wolverine smut #wolverine x reader #x men #xmen #x men smut #🎠my works #deadpool and wolverine

3K notes · View notes

titaswrld · 2 months

Text

deadpool!

….as your boyfriend.

description: deadpool as your boyfriend!

pairing: deadpool x you!

contains: 18+, mentions of sex!

|an: just saw deadpool & wolverine.. couldn’t help myself.

- awful with emotions but always finds a way to make up for things whether through humor or sex.

- speaking of humor you’re never not laughing with him, or bickering, or fucking

- you’re the only person he can actually feel vulnerable and comfortable with, he cherishes that and he loves you so much for that.

- you’re his person, he would genuinely kill for you if it meant he would lose someone so important in his life.

- if someone makes you sad, mad or uncomfortable ooo…not his babygirl.

- he usually doesn’t keep people or friends in his loop often, they could find him annoying or over the top but not you.

- you love absolutely everything about him, his outlandish humor, his extroverted personality, his big ol’ mouth. you think it’s so hot.

- so hot when he’s mean to you so hot when he’s soft with you

- you literally bicker like two teenage girls all the time and he always somehow clocks your tea it’s ridiculous but you also find it impressive that he always has something to say that you cannot come back from😭

- god you need to pray that no man ever even has the thought of coming on to you… he’ll experience some banter with your boyfriend before it’s lights out.

- not only are you his but he’s yours! he’s super loyal and if he can’t get someone to back off , you sure will!

- you’re always having fun with him date nights are some of the best times of your life, he always finds a way to entertain you no matter what you’re doing.

- always gotta hand somewhere, your ass, a singular cheek, a titty, somewhere. how could you expect him not to! you’re all his.

- you literally have him wrapped around your finger, he’d do absolutely anything for you.

- also always bullying you he is so straightforward😭

“hon that has got to be the ugliest shirt i’ve ever seen on you”

“wade-“

“i know you got better in that closet that i snoop through and try on all your clothes when you aren’t home now go!”

- he’s so tall so if you’re short oh wow…you’re never catching a break

“soooo how’s the weather down there.” wade said, placing his elbow on the crown of your head.

“prick…”

…

“yeah that’s enough of that dirty mouth!” your boyfriend had announced before bending down and wrapping an arm around your behind, throwing you over his shoulder and positioning his palm on your ass.

“god, wade put me down!” you’d laughed playfully hitting his back.

“don’t make me have to spank you!” he said, lighting pinching your ass.

- do not get an animal bc it will quickly become his center of attention and he will defend it over you.

“wade, we’re having my mom over please put it in the room”

“ugh…she’s so mean isn’t she sugar?” he’d said stroking your pet, followed by a “yes she is yes she is!” as the animal licked his face.

sigh.

- good lord we got a cuddle monster on our hands!

- absolutely adores any type of affection and practically begs you for it 24/7. he loves being little spoon specifically. also loves it when u scratch or message his back, bc that also gets him going..

- speaking of, you got this guy rock solid 24/7

“hungry for seconds?” he joked, hugging you from behind and pressing his hardened cock against your ass.

“we literally jus-“ you’d started just to be interrupted mid sentence.

“so! cmon baby throw a dog a bone.” he muttered, hand already gripping your inner thigh.

you’d sighed, god you can’t resist him.

- it doesn’t matter what you’re doing he finds anything you do hot i stg

- a M-U-N-C-H! for life, literally came in his pants from eating you out once! he loves making you feel good.

- a goofball during sex he cannot do shit seriously😭 he be talking you and your pussy thru it!

- again, if you’re petite god help you bc he is large.

- babe, you better match his freak because yall doing anything.

- trying a new thing every night multiple times bc that sex is never vanilla and that dick is never tired! at some point he’s just making positions up😭

#deadpool x reader #deadpool #wade wilson #deadpool and wolverine #ryan reynolds #deadpool x you #marvel #mcu #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson x you #deadpool headcanons

3K notes · View notes

gojonanami · 2 months

Text

❝ 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 ! ❞

❝ SATORU GOJO KNOWS JUST HOW TO KEEP YOU COOL DURING A HEATWAVE - WITH HIS D!CK !! ❞

✧ pairing: satoru gojo x reader

✧ summary: it’s a heatwave in tokyo and who better to spend it with than satoru, who has an interesting idea of how to pass the time — fucking the heat away.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, porn some plot, best friends to lovers, tiny bit of angst about suguru, inappropriate uses of popsicles, fucking in the heat, ice play, sex (p in v), oral (f!receiving), fingering (f! receiving), cum eating, cum fucking, pussy drunk satoru, implied multiple rounds, fanart by @ / umbra3terna on twt / tumblr (pls go follow htem, they are so talented)

✧ w/c: 7,161

“It’s so fucking hot,”

“Then let’s fuck to cool off.”

What?

You stared at the strongest sorcerer, his face flushed red, heat clinging to his cheeks, white locks blowing in the cool breeze of the fan, his shirt lifted up to cool him or maybe to tempt you, his melting popsicle dripping onto his burning skin — and your eyes flicked to the blue liquid slipping down his abs, then back to his face.

The low buzz of the fan filled the silence between the two of you as you stared at him, “what?” The question slipping from your mind out your lips.

Satoru Gojo had far too many outrageous things leave his mouth — he was insolent, arrogant, and even mildly violent (mostly towards Ijichi) — but you didn’t know if it was him or the heat — but you were considering it.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

(Him. It was him that was wrong with you.)

It was a heatwave in Tokyo. The one rare time you hadn’t been sent away on a mission, and you couldn’t even leave your apartment with the heat warning issued. Not to mention your central air breaks down, with a repairman nowhere in sight.

It was just your luck.

You rub at your eyes — and you weren’t sure if they were burning from your sweat or your lack of sleep last night. You’re blasting your fans around your apartment, stripped down to your shortest shorts and lightest tank top. You’re walking around your kitchen, using a takeout menu to fan yourself as you watch your order drive towards your place. There was no fucking way you were cooking in this weather.

And you see a phone call come through — Gojo Satoru’s name flashing across the top of the screen. You sigh, contemplating ignoring the phone call, but you know he would only call a million times more, and you pick up.

“Why did it take you so long to pick up my phone call?” and you shake your head, placing the call on speaker as you watch your takeout arrive at your place.

“It literally rang twice,” Satoru’s patience had not changed since your time Jujutsu Tech — as you glance at your contact photo, a picture of him dressed in Shoko’s skirt from your school days, with Geto snickering in the background — though a lot of things had.

“Two times too many,” you knew he was pouting.

“Satoru, unless the next words out of your mouth is an offer is to fly me to a place where the weather is better, I’m gonna hang up on you,” you sigh, making your way to the door, opening the door to find Satoru standing there, looking far too stylish in a white t-shirt, his blue shorts hanging low on his waist, and sunglasses perched precariously on his head, your takeout in hand, “what are you doing here?”

“Well I thought you wouldn’t want to take a beach day with me unless I showed up to your place. Ta-da!” he lifts up a duffel bag, seemingly stuffed to the brim.

“Satoru, there’s a weather advisory out. I’m pretty sure all the beaches are closed, and even if you’re immune to heatstroke, I’m not,” you step aside to pull him inside, the humidity sucking the little cool air you have in your apartment, “why did you think going to the beach in this heat was a good idea?”

He shrugs, “An excuse to get out of the house, plus, my apartment’s cooling is out—“

“So you thought even if you couldn’t go to the beach, you could steal my A.C.?” you sigh, collapsing on the couch, “well too bad because mine’s busted too,” you glance over, but your gaze doesn’t find Satoru, seeing his paintbrush head stuck in your freezer, “you’re going to melt—“ he turns around to have a blue popsicle stuck in his mouth and you almost snort at the sight, “bring me one too.”

“What should we do?” you murmur, sticking the popsicle in your mouth, as you laid back on the couch, sucking on the end of it, “watch a movie?”

“It feels too hot to do anything but lay here,” Satoru sighed, the crinkle of his second popsicle white noise as you scroll through possible movie options on your phone, until you toss it away, metal overheating just as you were.

“Well, we have to fucking do something other than just burn,” and you glance over, his white tee rolled up to expose his stomach as he ate his popsicle, and you raise an eyebrow, “what the hell are you doing?”

“What’s it look like? Enjoying my popsicle,” he half mumbles as he continues to suck on the colored ice, “it’s better than it getting on my shirt,” You watch the popsicle drip onto his exposed abs, liquid pooling in the crevices of his toned muscles, you lick at your own popsicle, catching the drops off the melting ice with your tongue, wondering how much sweeter it would taste to lick it off his abs, “see something you like sweetheart?”

His teasing words and wide grin pry you from your reverie with the subtlety of a crowbar, and your cheeks burn, as you roll your eyes, “You’re a dumbass,” you mutter, and he snickers at you, as you avert your gaze from him, and go back to eating your popsicle.

You don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you as you slide the popsicle into your mouth, and you definitely don’t miss the way he eyes you as you suck at the fruity ice, before letting it slip from your lips, leaving only the tip of it pressed against your lips.

“See something you like, Satoru?” and he has no reaction, shamelessly staring still, as he tilts his head.

“I do,” he says without missing a beat, lifting his gaze to meet your own, “are you offering?” and you blink, before looking away — why was everything with Satoru a game of chicken? A bull’s rush to the line the two of you refused to cross, but did everything to pull the other over it. But neither of you had faltered, not in all these years.

Not since the very last summer just like this.

The sun had sunk past the horizon line, the summer night only predicated by the harmony of cicadas and the humidity that still stubbornly clung to the air, despite the sun being long gone. And that’s when Satoru had knocked on your door to tell you — tell you what had happened with Geto.

He was gone. He had left. And he wasn’t coming back.

And why was it that the signs were all there, laid out before you like directions to where he was going — and you didn’t see them, obscured by his empty reassurances and your own selfishness.

You didn’t blame Suguru. Not after everything that had happened with Riko, Haibara, and everything else. But when you saw Satoru before you, despondent and broken — not a single inch of his usual flippant humor present, not a bit of his joy that he always had. But a part of you wanted to blame him — blame him for hurting Satoru, for hurting you, so prolifically.

But you couldn’t blame him all the same.

Satoru had spent the next few nights in your place, even sharing your bed at time, waking up with his long limbs tangled with your own, his face often buried in the crook of your neck, and you could see the evidence of dried tears on his face, despite his best efforts to cover his own tear tracks.

“Do you think I could have stopped him?” he had asked you that night, his head laid in your lap as you flipped through the channels of the shitty TV you had brought from home and refused to replace, “do you think he would have listened?”

“I think Suguru is even more stubborn as you are — because you were stubborn enough not to listen to your best friends,” your fingers cupped the bottom of his chin, “there wasn’t anything you could do — you can’t help someone who wasn’t willing to accept it,”

“I could have made him,” and his skies contained in his eyes were infinite — just as he thought of himself — but he wasn’t. Because unlike the sky, he was human.

“No, you couldn’t have,” you flick his forehead, and he pouts up at you, “and sitting here and wondering what ifs will do nothing for you — except drive you and your very excellent best friend crazy,”

“Lucky for me she loves me even when I drive her crazy,” and you roll your eyes, a smile pulling on your lips, as he stares up at you, your fingers mindlessly tracing the length of his jaw, feeling the quake of his body as he shivered under your touch.

“Very lucky,” and you could feel the pull between your bodies, the ever so slight way you leaned, willing for once to cross that line for him, for you — but he turned on his side, facing the TV instead of you.

“What should we watch?”

And you had promised yourself that night, you wouldn’t let your feelings get in the way of your friendship, you wouldn’t do that to him — because you knew he had already lost too much.

But now—he was the one trying to cross the line.

You stared at him, before scoffing, “Shut up,” but you were too afraid to let him. Your eyes drift back to the TV, leaning back against the couch — it was for the best this way, “think the heat’s getting to you more than you admit,”

“Maybe,” he hums, as you finish your popsicle and sigh, leaning back on the couch again, with a groan.

“It’s so fucking hot,” you sighed, leaning back on the couch, head hanging over the armrest.

And you could feel his gaze on you, undeterred from before, “Then let’s fuck to cool off.”

You almost think you heard him wrong, as you slowly lift your head to look at him. You must have heard him wrong. Satoru was known to make bad jokes or say ridiculous things — but not like this. And you find a smirk across his lips, but the heat in his gaze had not a hint of humor in it — burning hotter than the sun taunting all of Tokyo.

“What?” You don’t know what you want him to say — say that it was a joke, say that you heard him wrong, or just say it again. But your eyes can’t pull away from his, the blue of his eyes pulling you close instead of pushing you away unlike his technique by the same name.

“You heard me, sweetheart,” he tilts his head, biting into his popsicle, letting the tip slip into his mouth, “we could fuck the heat away,” the idea slips so casually from his lips, as if he was recommending a movie or a book, and not fucking you here and now.

“Satoru—“ your voice is chiding, you’re shaking your head, but the couch creaks as he leans forward, the remnants of his popsicle slipping down his abs and through his happy trail and seeping into his shorts, “don’t fuck around—“

“Do you think I’d say that to you of all people just to fuck around?” he raises his eyebrows, and your words flee your mind just as you wish to, but you sit, wondering if this is a literal fever dream from the heat, “you don’t have to think about it so much,”

“Don’t I?” you scoff, shaking your head, as you get to your feet, wiping the sweat from your forehead, “Satoru, why—“

And he’s getting to his feet, wiping the melted popsicle on his stomach with his white shirt, no longer caring as much as he said he did. And you can feel the heat radiate from his body, all consuming just as this heatwave was — clinging to you even as you tried to keep cool, sweat dripping off your flesh like the pleas that left your lips.

“I’ve thought about this for too long, too many times,” he murmurs, fingers brushing against your cheek, featherlight as if you’d break apart under his touch, “we’re sitting in your place — it’s just you and me. You’re asking why, and I’m asking why not?”’

“I don’t want to sleep with you just like that, I can’t. I want it—“ you cut off, but he doesn’t let you turn your head, hand cupping your cheek now.

“You want what, sweetheart?” Your mouth was impossibly dry, the words unable to force their way from your throat, “tell me, please,” and the pleading in his voice breaks you.

“I want it to mean something,” and his gaze softens, as your eyes meet his again, a ghost of a chuckle on his lips, “it’s not funny—“ and he’s daring even closer, a hand sliding down your side.

“It’s funny because you could think I would ever want anything that’s to do with you to be only meaningless,” he murmurs, words fanning your skin, and god it was so fucking hot. Between the temperature, his closeness, and his words, you were sure you’d pass out, “do you know how many times I wanted to do this? So many times during the days and nights we’d spent together, I wanted to just reach over and pull you into a kiss,”

“Then why didn’t you?” your brow furrows, “and why now?”

“Because I’m tired of waiting for a sign, for something in my head to tell me it’s safe, that you won’t disappear,” his thumb rubs back and forth, “just like every good thing in my life,”

“I’m pretty sure you’re stuck with me at this point,” and his lips curl, a breath away, “Toru—“

“Can I kiss you?” and you almost laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but you can’t, the heat so thick it feels as if every molecule of your body was on fire, and the only thing that could quench the flames was his lips. So you just nod wordlessly.

His lips find yours. It was chaste, a brush of his lips against yours, the lingering sweetness of the popsicle dancing on your tongue. It’s too soon that he’s pulling away, your lips mourning the absence of his touch already.

“Feeling cooler?” his words warm your lips, but even so you’re pulling him back into another kiss, lips sliding against his firmly, his fingers tangling in his hair, wanting nothing more than to melt into his grasp.

And you part your lips from his for a moment,” Not at all,” and your eyes flicker to your refrigerator, “but maybe we can cool down.”

“Fuck,” Satoru shivered, and he wasn’t sure if it was your lips against his pulse, or from the drag of the quickly melting popsicle against his burning skin. But neither of those compared to the soft groan ripped from his lips as your tongue dragged up his side, following the sticky, sweet trail of melted ice, mixing with his sweat, “well, am I sweeter than ice cream?”

He’s too sweet.

He’s certainly sweet like this, laid out on your bed for you, his shirt long discarded, his shorts about to join them. Soft pants made his chest rise and fall, slowing and quickening with your touch — his pulse thrumming under your touch.

But he’s also sweet with the way he looks up at you, soft eyes to match his smile, as if he was made to look at you like this. And a part of you wanted to believe he was — even if most of you couldn’t quite believe it.

Your lips curl, humming as you press a wet kiss to his sticky skin, “i don’t know, I need more time to make my final decision,” you lick up the length of the rapidly melting sweet, droplets of sweet sugar water dissolving on your tongue, but you knew it really was nothing compared to the taste of his lips.

But you weren’t going to tell him that.

You take a bite of the popsicle, before leaning down to kiss him, letting the ice melt between your tongues, as his fingers tangled in your locks, and soon enough he’s rolling you onto your back, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs.

And he leans forward, eating the last bit of the popsicle from the stick, “Well it’s my turn to taste now,”

“You can’t even wait your turn for this, huh—“ the last word is a squeal as his fingers slide into the waistband of your shorts, snapping it against your heated skin, flames licking everywhere he touches.

The melted popsicle runs down his muscles, rivulets running down the contours of his body, before dripping onto your burning skin, nipples pulling taut from the sticky sugar. He leans down to tease one nipple, sucking the melted liquid off, before doing the same to the other.

“I’ve waited long enough, sweetheart,” and he’s dragging your shorts off, thighs crying out in relief as the cool air of the fan did it’s job to ebb away the heat ever so slightly, drying the layer of sweat, “I don’t want to wait another minute,”

“So impatient,” you chide teasingly, voice lilting and yet he looks at you with a half lidded gaze, sending a wave of heat right to your core. And the way your thighs press together doesn’t go unnoticed, fingers splayed against the plushness of your thighs, forcing them gently apart. Your cheeks burned, and this time not from the weather, “Toru—“

His cerulean eyes find the wet patch of your panties, a smirk pulling at the corners of his pretty lips, “Don’t think this is sweat, baby,” he teases, fingers skimming over the damp spot, “or should I make sure?”

“Satoru—“ and your chiding is cut off by the sinful press of his fingers to your clothed cunt, his dark eyes lidded as they watch your slick soak through the ruined panties already. And you can’t help the way your hips buck against his hand, “you motherfucker—“

“Funny coming from the one humping my hand,” he grins, and his thumb grinds down against your clit, his other slipping under your ass to knead the soft flesh, “maybe it is sweat and I should just leave you to cool off,” his fingers slipping away, delicious friction that your cunt was already spread open, wet, and willing for—

A whine leaves your throat, an all too pretty noise, “Toru, please, I—“ and his fingers are hooking in the fabric of your panties before ripping them off, quite literally, the sound of tearing fabric making you gape at him, “what the fuck—“

“It’s too hot for these anyway,” Satoru pockets the panties in his shorts, “look at this, you’re burning up,” he stares at your leaking pussy shamelessly — because shame was a word that Satoru Gojo did not know, “and I think I know just what to do to cool you down,” his head leans down, blowing softly at your inner thighs, over the sweat mixed your pre that coated your skin, your folds twitching, just as the corners his lips did, “so needy,”

“You’re the fucking worst,” your words a mutter unfolding into a gasp as he drags a single finger up your leaking folds, gathering your slick on the tip of his index, and then he’s tracing a slow circle around your clit, “Toru,” your words are half pleading, half pouting. It’s so hot, his touch only serving to make you sweat — literally and metaphorically. You were sure your sheets would be ruined after this — and not just from your sweat.

“Lemme savor this, you kept me waiting so long, Princess,” his reverent words pressed against your inner thigh, teasing butterfly kisses that make you squirm, a flick of his sharp tongue that tastes the sweat against your skin, “how’re you this sweet? S’perfect,” his words are seemingly more for him than you, pussy drunk without even taking a single sip.

But not for long.

His nose bumps against your clit, tongue flicking against the seam of your messy cunt, eager fingers pulling the sticky, sweaty skin apart, and your cheeks burn with how exposed you feel—and how self conscious you were.

“M-maybe this isn’t a good idea. I’m really sweaty—“ and the flat of his tongue drags up your sopping pussy, and fuck, good wasn’t enough to describe it.

“Then I better clean my nasty girl up, right?” he cools your sticky skin with another soft puff of air blown between lips glossy with your precum, making you whimper as he pulls away, “one sec, sweetheart, think I need reinforcements,”

The creak of the bed as he scurried off for a moment making you lift your head, an embarrassingly strong ache between your legs making you whine, legs closing, as you bit your lip, “Toru, what the fuck—“

And he’s back, but not empty handed — a glass filled to the brim with ice, a grin on his lips, “ready to cool off, Princess?”

~~~

“A-ah, too cold,” you whine, and Satoru can’t help but disagree it’s far too hot — and it wasn’t the weather. It was you.

You were always hot. You always had been — otherwise how else did you melt his icy demeanor from the moment you met? Too big of a chip on his shoulder from all those years spent at the lonely top of his clan, and you had no problem keeping company up there while kicking off his pedestal.

Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. Gasps pulled from spit soaked lips, chest rising up and down, and your legs spread open just for him. You shivered as he dragged a half melted ice cube along your collarbone, water trailing behind that he was more than dragging his tongue along, the sweetness of your skin mixed with the tang of your sticky sweat.

How had he resisted for so long?

It had been years and years of pining. Of late night spent watching movies, of days spent fighting alongside each other, and even more days spent trying to get home to the other. And all that time, he still had stayed at the same distance.

Because it was safer. It was easier. But he wasn’t know what it was — the heat, patience wearing thin, the fucking sight of your smile even in this fucked world — but he couldn’t stand it anymore.

Not without you by his side.

“Think the ice would beg to differ, sweetheart,” he hums, as he presses a kiss over the pooling ice as it melts right above the swell of your breast, “I’d say it’s much too hot,” your nipples grow hard under his treatment, a hiss leaving your lips, as he sucks the ice water from one nipple while rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger.

“Toru, fuck, please—“ your words cut off with another gasp as he buries his face in the swell of your breasts, licking up the valley, before his lips find your pert nipples, lips closing around, sucking and licking, before nibbling at the skin.

“You always this needy, pretty? Or is it just for me?” his words are said teasingly, but his eyes are just as desperate as yours, fingers dragging down your sides now, “better be just for me,” he mutters more to himself than you, as you gasp, ice cold fingers prying your thighs apart, “heh, what a mess you’ve made,” his fingers skim your dripping cunt, and he lifts his fingers to spread them in front of your face, your pre strung like spider webs between them, “don’t think sweat’s does this, does it?”

And he turns his head, pressing kisses to your thighs, a glorified slip and slide from your sweat and pre alike, but how was it that you still tasted so sweet? A whimper escapes your bitten lips, his breath warming your pussy, a puff of air blowing over your twitching entrance, eyes sliding to the glass of melting ice.

“You put a fucking ice cube in me and I’ll—“ he snorts, but grabs an ice cube all the same.

“Only I belong inside you, baby, nothing else,” and he presses the ice cube to his lips, your eyes hypnotized as you watch him drag it back and forth, until he lets it slip into his lips, melting as he leans down, “now let me cool you off,” he presses his lips to your clit, a short kiss that has him melting all the same.

You jerk. Cold. His lips tingled as his lips enveloped your clit, and his tongue was no better. Fucking freezing, a yelp that he rips from your body, as you can’t help but squirm. But he doesn’t let you get away that easily. Because nothing about the two of you was ever easy.

His fingers press into your hips, arms pinning your body to the mussed sheets of your bed, as his tongue circles your clit, cold ebbing away with each stroke, until he’s lost in the warmth of your pussy.

And Satoru only could wish he set up a camera — so he can watch you again and again with your gaze hazy with lust, tears welling like the condensation on the glass on making your eyes just as glassy, but you stared at him all the same.

So he might as well give you a show.

“Fuck, could live in this tight cunt, you’re gonna be the only sweet thing I drink all summer,” the only summer drink he will settle for — the only thing sweeter than sugar itself — and he only one he wants. His tongue parts your folds, sinking deeper past your entrance, until he’s practically tongue fucking you, face buried in your cunt.

“T-Toru, ngh, too much,” and it was all too much for him — your soft moans, the lewd squelch of your pussy, the tremble of your thighs as he ate you out, and his tongue pulls back a moment, choosing to focus on your clit, as he sinks a cold finger inside, “fuck!”

“Now you’re getting it, Princess,” he coos, and your scowl only lasts a second as his thick finger fucks you open, “gotta make sure I fit don’t I?”

“You’re so fucking full of it—how about less talk and more—“ and he presses his erection against your leg, letting you feel how hard you’ve gotten him, and how fucking much he could cum in his boxers here and now. And you whimper, pussy clenching at the sight of him, “Toru, how will you—how—“

He’s so fucking big.

“Don’t worry about that, sweetheart,” and he’s slipping in a second finger, as his tongue laps at your clit, “I’ll make myself fit,” and he would be the only one who would fit, the only one that could fuck your cunt, have his fingers curling deep, the only one making your head loll back against the pillow, “she’ll let me in, fuck you right, make sure I can carve out a nice place for myself — when I fuck every inch of her,”

And his fingers piston into you, surely pruning with how your pre slips down his wrists and the wet sounds of your sloppy cunt grow louder, almost louder than the moans you make.

Almost.

“Said I’m the fucking worst, but it sounds like I’m the best, huh?” and you’re too far lost in the pleasure, nodding your head, as he’s fucked all the logic from your mind — leaving only want behind. And it seems like you both were on the same page now.

It was nasty, the way his tongue took turns lapping at your walls, before teasing them open with his fingers. The way his sweat dripped down his face and mixed with your pre as he glued himself to your pretty pussy — and he was sure he could die of heatstroke with how fucking warm your pussy was.

And he would die happy.

But he knew you were close — with the way your hips were nearly grinding against his face and fingers, spit mixing with pre as he pulled away a moment, continuing to hit every spot that drove you to the edge closer and closer, “G’nna cum already, baby?” His taunting lilt makes you scowl, even with how far gone you were, “s’cute, is it that easy?”

“T-toru, I swear—“ and his lips latch to your clit, sucking hard, right as his fingers find that spot—and he swears your soul leaves your body, your body tenses under his touch, lovely lips falling open with his name on it as you cum.

Well, more like squirt, your release making even more of a mess of yourself, the sheets, and him. It splatters across his face and hands, and he’s groaning, vibrating against your cunt, as he fucks you through your orgasm, sucking and slurping every drop you gave him. And it’s a feat as you absolutely drench his mouth, slick, sweat, and spit, dripping down his jaw.

And he’s a fucking vision, once you get it back, far gone in the pleasure, as he continued to lap at you, until he finally pulls his fingers from you, and your eyes flutter open, chest rising and falling as you watch him lick each one of his digits clean, sliding him into his mouth, “what? Y’know i love my sweets,” his tongue then darts out to clean your slick from his face, before wiping the rest off.

You’re reaching for him, eager fingers finding his shoulder, as you tug him on top of you, before flipping him with ease, so his back hits the mattress. He stares up at you — and god, did he always look at you like this? And how did you never see it — and how would you ever stop?

“Princess—” but you don’t let him protest, lips meeting his, a soft groan as you taste yourself on his lips, palms sliding down his sticky chest, and your lips journey downwards, ghosting down his body. Your lips linger over his raised nipples, tonguing and teasing them, a hint of sweetness that lingers from his popsicle undoubtedly.

“And you said I was sweet, you’re the one covered in melted popsicle,” you mumble, and he smirks, but his reply melts into a groan as the tip of your tongue traces the ridges of his abs, “can’t take it, Toru?”

“F-fuck, can you blame me, sweetheart? Been thinking about this for too long. Wanted nothing more, nothing more than you,” and your lips graze down his happy trail, a sharp inhale as he shudders as your fingers dip into the elastic of his boxers, tugging it down.

He’s perfect — just like every part of him, almost annoyingly so, if you weren’t too busy drooling over it. Swollen tip flushed a deep red, while the rest was a perfect blush pink that you wanted to paint your cheeks with, glossy with precum and sweat, begging to be touched.

And you were more than happy to oblige.

He nearly cums then and there when his cock grazes your cheek, smearing his pearly precum across your face. You turn your head, letting his tip drag over your lips, painting your lips with his pre.

“Shit—“ he sucks air between his teeth, fingers digging into the sheets of the mattress, “not gonna last long at this rate—“

“I’ve barely started, surprised the honored one hasn’t cummed in his boxers yet,” he pouts, before he’s hissing as your lips press teasing kisses to your inner thighs, “can’t handle the heat?” And the tip of your tongue licks at the pubes above his cock, the melted sugar water clinging to the skin there, leaning down to kiss the tip of his cock— “then maybe you shouldn’t have started this—-“

And his fingers sink into your flesh, and now you’re on your back, sweat making you nearly stick to the sheets but you could care less with the sight above you. His cheeks flushed as he looks at down at you, but his lips curled in the same grin he always had, “oh, I’m going to be the one end it,”

“End it? Don’t tell me this is the last I’m seeing of you,” vulnerability creeps back in a moment, and his fingers traces the curve of your cheek and down to your lips — “didn’t take you the type to hit it and quit it,”

And he snorts, “I didn’t take you as the type to know what that means,” but his thumb rubs back and forth across your bottom lip, “but do you think after all this time I could ever quit you?”

His fingers grasp at the base of his weeping cock, groaning as he teases your entrance with his tip, marking you with his precum, your gasp making his dick twitch, as if it’s begging to be inside you. “All of this is for you,” he grunts, guiding your hand to his chest, feeling his heart thus underneath your palm, “it’s always been for you,”

“I’m starting to think you didn’t wanna just fuck the heat away,” and he laughs, his tip kissing your entrance, just as he brushed his lips against yours.

“Well, who said that was the only reason?” And he’s sinking inside you, inch by inch. And there far too many fucking inches. He groans at the sight of your folds, swallowing his cock whole, walls stretching around his length, “look how good you take me — this perfect pussy was made for me, isn’t that right?” and you’re nodding wordlessly, lips parted in a silent moan, as your walls pulled him deeper and deeper, “not g’nna be able to control myself, shit, feels too good, princess,”

“Feels too good to be like this,” you’re panting as the words leave your lips, your eyes glassy with lust — Satoru swears you could look at him, and it would be enough for him to fuck you all over again, “too big, Toru — you gonna fuck me stupid,” and you can feel his dick grow, pushing against your walls as he bottoms out, and you whine in return, “hngh, I wasn’t being serious—”

“So tight,” An almost guttural hiss pulled from the back of his throat, and he’s smug as he looks down at you, mouth fallen open, “I’m always serious about fucking you stupid, sweetheart,” as he lifts your legs, pressing them to your chest, your ankles dangling next to his head, as he kisses the soft skin there, a wicked grin, despite the sweat trickling down his face, “it’s the one time I can be smarter than you,”

He’s torturing you. Torturing you as he grinds his hips roughly against you, the lewd noises of your sloppy cunt and the sticky perspiration between your bodies deafening, yet still won’t give you what you want. More than that, the heat between your bodies was too much — flames engulfed every muscle with every brush of his body against yours, every twitch of his dick inside you, and veins full of fire rather than blood. And you were sure you’d spontaneously combust in this heat, and he’d still fuck you all the same — letting himself be swallowed up by the fire just as well.

Your moan was almost unrecognizable to you, the pleading in your voice bone deep, just as the heat was, “Please, Toru, move,” and he’s grunting, and you know he wants you — has wanted you all these years, and he only smiles at your words, a short laugh on his lips.

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” and his fingers dig into your hips as he begins to fuck you, hard and fast. His balls slap against your skin, the noise ringing in your ears, and your cunt resists every time he pulls out — as if you never want him to go. And he never will. He can’t stand the thought of anyone else seeing you like this — see the way your lips part in moans; the way your eyes glaze over in pleasure; the way sweat drips down your face, running down into the divot between your tits; the way your tight cunt bulges at the sides as you take his dick so well — no, this is a sight just for him, “s’pretty, and all for me,”

You’re already s’close after all the teasing all night, the sounds of his grunts and groans doing nothing to help as his tip rams against your cervix, and you’re sure his dick is fucking places you only dreamed of reaching, but still you can’t help but want more—so much so that the word slips from your mouth.

He laughs, fingers pushing on the slight bulge in your stomach making you gasp, the sweat of his palm mixing with your own that gathered on your stomach, “Even when you’re getting your guts fucked, you want more, sweetheart?” and his fingers rub meanly at your clit, pinching and pulling at the sensitive spot as his tip hits that spot that has your vision blurring again and again, “I’ll give you anything you want, because you’re mine,”

And you’re surprised the bed frame doesn’t break as he begins to slam into you, but it does creak, begging for a break, just as you had begged for this dick. Your eyes water as he rams into you, rutting like a dog in heat, and maybe he was — maybe you both were.

“Toru, Toru, I’m close, s’close, I can’t—“ and you’re so cute, like this, whining and begging for him, for the thing only he can give you — and he’s twitching inside you, and he knows he’s not far behind.

“Cum for me,” he nearly orders, and his words are the thing that makes the ribbon of heat in your cunt snap. Your toes curl, as you cum hard around his cock, walls squeezing and shuddering around him as he only pistons into you harder and deeper, intent on making you feel pleasure in every inch of your body, and he’s shifting your legs, hands helping you wrap them around his waist, as he ruts into you, chasing his own high.

You’re boneless and long gone, as your chest bumps against his as he fucks you, but you still manage to find words to push him over the edge, goad him as you always did, because you know right where to touch (especially now).

“G’nna cum inside me, Toru? Fill me up with your release?” and he swore he lost the ability to breathe, heat and your words stealing the breath from his lungs, as he ruts into you, mix of sweat and sex making his head spin, but not as much as your sweet cunt does.

He’s close, he knows he is, especially when he looks to see the ring of cum and sweat around the base of his cock, and when your fingers thread through his white locks, thumb rubbing against his undercut, to pull him back into a bruising kiss, right as his cock hits your deepest part again—

“Cum for me, Toru,” and he does, uncoiling at your command, spurting thick ropes of cum inside your walls, painting your insides, as he fucks it deeper into you with every roll of his hips. Debauched groans leaving his lips as he murmurs how perfect you are, because you are — even more than he could have ever imagined. His thrusts slow, the sticky sweat and cum drenching both of you and the sheets alike. He pulls himself gently from inside, groaning at the loss of your warmth, but also wondering if your cunt doubled as an oven — the cool air of the fan sliding over his bare skin a relief.

He eases onto your side, pressing sweet kisses all over your face, before you bury it in the crook of his neck for a moment, before pulling away, “You’re all sticky,” you wrinkle your nose, with a whine, and he laughs, a shit eating grin on his lips — more euphoric than sarcastic.

“Well, who’s fault is that?” and you’re pouting, brow furrowed.

“The same guy’s bright idea it was to fuck in the middle of a fucking heatwave,” and he props himself up, the sheets nearly glued to him as he took in the damage, mussed and ruined with the mess of cum, sweat, and spit all over, “you’re buying me new sheets,” and he chuckles, leaning over to peck your lips.

“I’ll buy you a new bed if you ever let me do that again,” and you shake your head, eyes fluttering open and then closed, as he nosed as the column of your neck, completely fascinated with the way your skin was glowing still after all of that, “you just gonna doze off after all of that? Such a nasty girl, we gotta clean up after all that, don’t we?”

“Don’t wanna get up,” and he chuckles, pressing a sweet kiss to the top of your head, but the touch seems to make you whine, “fuck, but its so hot,”

“And yet I didn’t hear you complaining when I was fucking you,” he tilts your chin up, glazed over eyes fluttering open to meet his, and how was it that your gaze alone was enough to want him to pin you down and fuck you all over again? “Told ya it was a good idea to fuck the heat away,”

“Except when it ends up like this,” and he sighs, the creak of the mattress underneath, as he gets to his feet, “what are you—ah!” he’s lifted you into his arms, sweat soaked bodies sticking together nearly as he carries you through the living room, making a small pit stop to grab two ice cold water bottles, sounds of the TV still floating through the apartment, towards your shower.

“Who said this heatwave was over yet?”

A weather report was playing, a snippet Satoru caught before he shut the door. Reports say the heatwave is going to continue for the rest of the week. Residents are advised to stay inside until things finally cool down!

“You hear that, sweetheart?” as he sets you down, turning on the water of the shower, letting the cold water soak you both, as he loomed over you, pinning you against the shower wall, “guess it’s just you and me for a week,” and he opens the water bottle, taking a sip before pressing his lips to yours, forcing you swallow the water, tongue seeking after it.

His fingers rest below your chin, as his lips ghost over the curve of your jaw and the slope of your neck, before his teeth graze the hollow of your throat, as his fingers sneak down to tease at your aching cunt, sinking in to stuff his cum dripping down your thighs back inside, “lucky I know just how to keep you cool, right?”

✧ a/n: its been super hot here where i live and i'm dying so i want gojo to come fuck the heat away.

✧ taglist: @mysticaltigersorceress, @kentocalls, @biblioth-que, @dreamtardisspace, @augustwinesworld, @totallytatum, @hanxyy, @sxnkuna, @spindyl, @rosiesroseas, @kxouri, @elisaj313-blog, @theelegantpotato, @peppertoastuniverse, @alwaysfreakingout, @being-me-is-not-a-sin, @pompompurin-rambles, @catsgomurp, @admirxation, @ninikrumbs, @equanimoushuman, @mysticaltigersorceress, @eightantseatingapplesss, @notgoodforlife, @satowooo, @gojo-gets-me-wetter, @ivypinsss, @fayyyrieee, @hcn-eyes, @designerpvssy, @mua-for-now, @sukunabish, @fushitoru, @spider-fan72, @suguwife, @forest-fruits-jam, @pinkyvomit, @ranatherealestsigma, @gojosbrat, @megumibrainrot, @pxppygirl

#sab [mlist]#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru fanfiction #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen

7K notes · View notes

st4rbwrry · 3 months

Text

𝒟𝑅𝐼𝐹𝒯𝐼𝒩’ 𝒩 𝒦𝐼𝒮𝒮𝐼𝒩’.

✧｡˚ eren’s over just being your best friend.

𝒲𝒜𝑅𝒩𝐼𝒩𝒢𝒮 𓇼 8.7k fem!reader, lowercase intended, girly girl reader, friends who rlly like each other, smoking, drifting, fluffy scenes, eren is super soft for reader, dirty talk, unprotected sex, car festivities, kissing, neck biting, bits of roughness, multiple orgasms + overstimulation, choking, ass hits, cunnilingus, daddy kink, pet names ex. ꒰ baby, pretty, luv. ꒱ , praise, sub/dom, thicq!reader, goofy loving cutesy shit, minors do not interact! comments & reblogs are appreciated.

"i'm outside."

why is that text always terrifying to receive? it's the quickest way to make your heart fall to your ass in milliseconds. you can't help but roll your eyes and suck your teeth because he's too early, or maybe you were too late. it's only nine thirty so you're confused why he's here already. dropping the puffy makeup brush in your hand, you stand up from your brightly lit royal vanity with intricate carvings in the pearl-toned wood. slipping your painted white toes into a pair of hot pink teddy bear slides to make your way out of your bedroom and towards the front door for this asshole.

eren gets smacked in the face with your prettiness the minute you open your door, smelling like marshmallows and looking like a fucking bratz doll. your beauty stuns him every time. the six-foot-three man before you rests his weight against the wall on the outside, one arm stretched above as he leans over you with a wicked smile on his deadly gorgeous face. he's wearing a white graphic tee with pink graffiti spray painted on reading killer alongside a lavender nissan 350z. it's old merch connie was testing for his line. he also makes eren's shirts for his auto shop.

eren's also attired in black slim jeans and beat up 550 new balances, his signature racing shoes. his silver chain on his neck dangling as he kisses your forehead, the move so slick. you've noticed he liked to touch you a lot, give little indications of affection. kissing your hand, your cheek, your face overall. he grabbed your ass a lot, and it's so excessive you have to give him a hard swat and a death glare to actually make him stop.

"hello, eren," the way you say it has annoyance laced in it. turning away from him and walking away with that salacious sway your hips have. eren tongues his inner cheek, chuckling as he enters your home and shuts the door. he forgets how quick you walk, literally speed walking to your room since by the time he gets there you're already back on your powdered white tufted ottoman doing your makeup. riiverdance by beyoncé plays softly from the small speaker you kept on your windowsill so the music travels better.

"damn, i can't get no kiss? you fussy with me already." eren remarks, looking below him to see the fluffy black cat brushing up against his leg, scooping her up with one hand and petting her as he takes a seat on your bed.

"no. . aht aht! outside clothes, off the bed!" you're snapping your fingers at him as if he's your cat, eren swiftly raising his ass off your bed, blinking slow.

"where am i supposed to sit, woman?"

"the floor like always."

"tryna get cat hair on my shit," eren sucks his teeth, sinking down to the ground and groaning when your cat scrambles to get out of his hold, never liked being touched for long periods of time.

"you literally decided to pick her up knowing you're wearing white. that's your fault."

you were right but he couldn't resist holding her. that's his daughter. he's not giving you the satisfaction of being right though. manspreading, eren cocks his head to the side to watch you closely. you can see his entire reflection in your mirror, quickly glancing his way and ignoring the way he slowly licks his lips and knocks his legs in and out, unbeknownst to you, to chill his dick.

"so fuckin' gorgeous," eren smiles, those bright white teeth making you wanna fold immediately. eren loved watching you do your makeup. eyes softening for you. he found it so mesmerizing. you surely didn't need it but it made you happy so it makes him happy. "you wearin' that white on your waterline like i like. that jus' f'me?"

you pucker your lips. "mhm, nah. i just like it. i do nothing for your gratification."

"ouch," eren holds his tatted hand to his chest, shock overcoming his features. "keep hurtin' my feelings like that 'n your ass won't have a ride tonight. or no food."

that last line alarms you more than anything. one thing you didn't play about, and he knows this especially. . . is your hunger. you honestly haven't eaten much all day. working a shift at the hospital and only having a salad on your break wasn't filling at all. you all talked in your group chat about how saturday's the perfect day to go drifting tonight and grab some chinese at your favorite restaurant in town. your check hadn't hit yet but eren being him since he likes you so damn much offered to pay for you. you declined, as usual, but he didn't give a fuck about what you said, you were coming either way. to be honest, he missed your little sweet ass. a lot. you've been working mostly overnight shifts, being a SPT wasn't for the weak. and he's been busy at the shop fixing and selling cars. your days apart, aside from texting and facetiming made him want to be in your presence. he felt complete with you. you had to know that.

"if you gonna play with me about my food then ima just head to bed right now and starve," you basically threaten him. eren hated when you don't eat enough, makes dumb jokes about how you'll 'lose those thick ass hips of yours.' the boy will make it his mission to grab you something quick. he's your food and weed dealer. also your personal chauffeur, absolutely loving when you're his passenger princess.

"don't be fuckin’ dramatic, brat. i'm playin'. you know i got you," he stands back to his feet to come by you, pressing his midsection to your backside, where you can also feel the outline of his dick, trying your best to ignore the way it makes your face heat up. teasingly, he starts sliding his warm hands over your shoulders and down to your waist. cautiously, you eye him, having a hot wave of panic hit you when he begins tickling your left side. your most sensitive side, mind you. you screech and twist your body into a curling position trying to escape his attack.

"eren! get the fuck off me, bro!" he's laughing hard at your attempt to twist and yank away from his grasp, screeching and biting his arm which he flinches from and moves away.

“oww, fuckin’ gremlin,” he hisses dramatically, as if you’d stabbed him. “next time smile when you see me at that fuckin' door. gimme a 'hey, daddy' with it, too. it'll make my dick jump."

"your dick jumps for me enough."

eren’s eyes meets yours in the reflection of your vanity mirror. he shrugs nonchalantly, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

“well,” he begins, dragging the word out as he takes a step closer to you again. “you wanna see it?”

you roll your eyes, his voice dropping lower, becoming more intense as he continues. “know you wanna see it again.”

“says who?” you raise your brow, testing him.

by again, he means accidentally when he was showering at your place and forgot to grab his boxers before he went inside your bathroom, thinking you were sleep when you were in fact up reading on your phone. wanting to laugh at the memory of him turning red in the face and trying his best to shield his dick with his hands. making a snide comment about how badly you wanted to stare at it.

“you heard me,” he states simply, his gaze never leaving yours in the mirror. he's leaning directly over you, forehead nearly touching yours. his presence is overwhelming, filling the small room with his raw masculinity. this is a regular thing by the way. his constant teasing. waiting for you to let up.

“okay, daddy,” you grin mischievously.

“mhm,” he kisses his teeth, and at the same moment his phone vibrates in his pocket. eren fishes for it, checking a text from connie.

"connie’s outside, you done?”

“you rushing me now? i don’t like this rennie tonight,” you tsk, shaking your finger like a disappointment mother. standing to your feet, you brush out the curls in your head by running your fingertips through them.

you do look so pretty tonight. wearing an oversized pink greenbay packers jersey with a flowy white mini skirt, eren watching as you enter your walk in closet to fish for some white socks to scrunch at your ankle, and the same pair of sneakers he currently wore. my little twin.

“sorry, i’ll be on my best behavior.”

you smile, standing on your tiptoes and pinching his cheek, eren liking the view a bit too much, trying to fight the urge to grab your hips and pull you close. “such a good boy. now, let’s go!”

“wait, i want a kiss, wife,” eren smiled, trying to lean in before you pull away and shove your hand in his face.

“leave me alone, pervert!”

connie’s goal tonight was to show off the enhancements he added to his neon green scion frs, the car humming outside of your house when you go to say hello to him. he mentions that he’s going to swing by to pick up his girlfriend before he meets the two of you there. she didn’t live too far so he was able to make it before you two did, eren always having to make a mental note not to drive like a dickhead when you’re in the car. knowing your nerves are bad. they’ve gotten slightly better though since you’re with him all the time.

you loved drift meet up’s because it was a free car show to see all the cool ass cars, most of the models popular in japan. men and women in groups drinking and bumping music as they interact. it’s illegal as hell where you live but sometimes everyone’s able to get away with it if they don’t act too much like jackasses. this spot was mostly secluded from open roads or police.

eren walks alongside you, his arm loosely draped around your shoulders as you both make your way to the forefront where cars currently span in action. his car wasn’t parked too far, planning on performing a show himself in a little. the adrenaline pumping through the crowd as drivers send their vehicles skidding around corners and spinning donuts in the dirt your favorite, and his. connie arrives not too long after, eren going up to talk to him before you’re locked in, excited for him.

“i need to teach you how to drift one of these days. i gotta see your pretty ass behind a nissan 240sx or sum,” he says, pulling you closer into his side so you can hear him over the noise.

“that’s specific,” you laugh, looking up at him while chewing your gum, rocking with him.

eren grins down at you, his hand tightening slightly around your shoulder as he pulls you closer to him. “what can i say? i have a type.”

“you sure do,” your voice trails off, focused on connie’s loud car screeching and swinging before the crowd around you. cheers vibrating your ears like a concert. the feeling like a movie. you don’t notice that eren keeps his eyes on you the whole time, admiring you as you jump, clap, and scream from excitement. pulling your phone out to record your friend.

removing yourself from his arm, you notice the cars currently in the circle beginning to depart and make way for others. “con’s!”

eren shakes his head as he watches you bolt towards connie’s car, jumping up and down like a kid, bending low to give him a high five. “that was fucking awesome!”

“yeah, fuck with me!” he continues to slap his palm with yours. you look over to his girlfriend in the passenger seat, reaching over to twinkle fingers.

“hey girly!” luna smiles, tucking her long dark hair behind her ear since it blew everywhere from the wind.

“hiii!” you giggle.

“shit was good, i taught you well,” eren approaches, their heavy hands interacting, shaking before snapping their fingers.

“yea, whatever. you always want full credit, asshole,” connie sucks his teeth.

“oh my god, we should totally drift each other!” luna suggests. connie whips his head in her direction.

“wha—who said you driving my car?” connie blinks, flabbergasted.

luna goes to hit his arm playfully. “cabrona, i meant she can get in the car with eren and yall do yall lil’ thingy thing.”

“oooo, yayyy!” you approve instantly, clapping your hands together and turning to eren with puppy eyes. “oh, please?! i wanna shotgun!”

“be my guest, sweetheart. but don’t try to hang your head out the window again like a damn dog, or else,” his voice drops low, a warning lacing his words as he gives you a knowing look.

“mhm, i make no promises,” you wink, racing towards his car.

connie laughs at eren’s strained face, his friend knowing deep down he loved it. connie knew a lot you didn’t know. like the fact that eren’s madly in love with you, and has been ever since freshman year of high school. it’s not secret to anyone, really. as eren approaches his parked car you bounced impatiently beside, he opens the passenger door for you, gesturing for you to climb in before walking over to the driver's seat. the interior of his black r34 gtr is pristine, everything from the leather seats to the carbon fiber accents shining under the sunlight. you loved when he picked you up just to take you for a ride. he works on cars practically all day given he owns an auto shop, detailing and adding enhancements being his daily thing.

he’s getting his hands dirty and his mind fried from mechanical work. he customized this car to make it his own, his name written in japanese on the right corner of front window, a front spoiler splitter, apexi gt specthe which makes his exhaust sound like fucking gunshots, which terrifies you. on top of detailing the body of the car with giant dragons painted silver on either side of the vehicle. standing out to the crowd uniquely.

eren makes his way inside of the vehicle, big hands gripping the steering wheel as he adjusts his legs in his seat, your eyes locking there momentarily before he inserts his key into the ignition, firing up the extremely loud engine. an anxious smile shows on your face once you see everyone yelling over the power of his car, having been in it a million times, you still hated the sound, triggering your sensory overload. but, you loved the thrill. swallowing, you turn to him, balling up his shirt on his hip to grab his attention.

“promise me you’ll be safe,” you look up at him, worried.

a soft smile tugs at his lips as he sees the concern in your eyes. he reaches out, brushing a stray curl of hair from your face with his thumb. “don't worry, princess. i'll take care of both you and my baby here.”

“i’m trusting you,” you whisper, biting your lip. “don’t hit anybody, i don’t need you going to jail. and please don’t hit connie, because he will kill you if you fuck up his car.”

eren smirks, his hand dropping from your face to gently cradle the back of your neck. his grip is firm yet tender. “now why’d i risk traumatizing my girl like that?”

you suck your teeth and pull away from him, crossing your arms. he only sets his hand on your thigh now, and you let him. “aren’t you going to start driving?”

eren laughs heartily, his hand tightening around your thigh as he does. he revs the engine, feeling the power beneath them rumble in anticipation. his eyes flash dangerously in the dim light of the cars. “promise me something, too?”

“what?”

“we’ll finish playing mommy and daddy when we get home?” he grins.

“oh please, you know you can’t handle me,” you tease. such a bad habit you two have. joking too damn much. but by this point, from his end especially, you’re aware none of it is a joke.

eren raised a brow, feeling threatened. “oh, i can’t?”

“nope. and you’re too scared to admit it,” you taunt, fluttering a kiss in his direction.

“mhm,” eren kisses his teeth, he gives a curt nod, as if making a mental note. “ima hold you to that.”

“drive the damn car, eren.”

ignoring the warmth in your chest from his flirting, he finally shifts the car into gear. with a roar of the engine, he accelerates onto the street, leaving behind a cloud of smoke. malice at the palace by BONES is bumping through the stereo system as eren expertly maneuvers his car around the road, each turn and drift executed with precision. the sound of the engine reverberating through the car sends a rush of adrenaline through him. you hated to admit how fucking good he looked right now, your hand gripping onto his bicep as you giggle each time he executes a perfect drift, tires screeching, watching connie’s car across from his spin around each other. part of him hopes to impress you. and clearly he has by the huge smile on your face. you’re like a kid in a candy shop, eyes lit up.

“i’m doing it!” you yell, eren watching as you climb up on your seat, skirt rising from the wind blowing, your ass hanging out making his eyes go wide.

“꒰♡꒱, sit your ass down.”

“woo!” it’s too late, now you’re banging the palm of your hand on the outside of the door, staring at others who hollered back at you, your curls flying in the wind. the people screaming and cheering louder the more you raised your upper body outside of the window, being sure to secure yourself. eren’s hand instinctively clutch onto your ankle.

“goddamit,” he groans, but couldn’t help the feeling in his heart from your pure laughter. you’re enjoying yourself, that makes him happy. but your safety is important. given that, he slows down just enough so that it feels safe for you not to jolt and fall out of the car. despite your reckless act, he couldn’t help but marvel at how fearless you truly are.

connie’s car slides vertically next to eren’s, taking your chance to reach out and graze your fingers with luna’s as she leans her body outside of the window like you do, the two of you screaming like fans of your favorite superstar. the adrenaline pumping through your veins is exhilarating.

eren’s hitting on the brakes, causing the tires to yell and the car to skid sideways. with a swift move of his foot on the gas pedal, eren launches his car into a perfect 360-degree spin. the car gracefully arcs around its axis before smoothly coming back onto its original trajectory, all done. the world outside blurs into a whirlwind of colors and shapes as you scream into the wind, lowering your body to take your seat in your original position.

“that was sooo fun!” the sound you make is the cutest, giggling and bouncing your legs, full of energy now. he adores the glint in your eyes, but he also couldn’t hide the upset on his face.

“i’m sure. next time, listen to me when i say don’t hang your body halfway out the fucking car. you’ve never done that before, what if you flew out?” the sudden change in his tone takes you aback.

“i can take care of myself,” you retort, your defiant words making him clench his jaw.

“not saying you can’t. i’m telling you don’t be so fuckin’ reckless,” his hand moves from the steering wheel to smooth down his face, keeping himself calm, despite the current situation being anything but serene. he doesn’t mean to ruin your mood. surely didn’t want to cause an argument. he just needed you to understand where he was coming from. “don’t die trying to show off.”

“don’t die trying to protect me.”

“꒰♡꒱ . . cut that big girl shit, seriously.”

“aren’t we meeting our friends to get food? let’s go.”

connie did mention they’d be grabbing food right after, eren clenching his jaw and pulling his attention away from you. he tries not to keep you at these events for too long, sometimes things get rowdy and guns are drawn and he wouldn’t allow either of you to be around that. shifting his car back into drive, he pulls away from the scene to trail behind connie. you hated the current silence of the car, picking up your phone to distract yourself from any conversation. as you pull up next to your group, onyankopon popping up a minute after, eren kills the engine and opens his door with ease. he rounds the car, opening the door for you. you give a quiet ‘thanks’ before speed walking away to luna. eren sighs deeply, sucking his teeth and locking his car, pulling a puff bar from his pocket and leaning against his vehicle to calm himself for a minute.

“you okay? you look sad?” luna frowns as she holds your hand, ready to cross the street to enter the chinese restaurant.

you make an awkward expression, not really wanting to make it a big deal. “nothing, i’m just hungry! also kind of have a headache from the whiplash.”

glancing beside you, you see eren approaching onyankopon, shoving his keys into his pocket while simultaneously colliding their hands for a handshake, hearing the small ‘yo, wassup’ from the pair before you turn your head away, luna pulling you along with her. the five of you find a booth inside of the almost empty restaurant given its close to closing, being one o’clock in the morning and all. you take the time to catch up with luna since she’s been busy with esthetician classes and try your best to avoid eren . . even if he’s sitting directly next to you. this act can only go for so long before the two of you catch glances repeatedly, still making little interactions with the group together if you had to. you didn’t want everyone knowing that you two had a small fight. was it really a fight? you were fine, at least that’s what you liked to tell yourself.

time passes and onyankopon is the first to leave, mentioning he has to get up early for work and saying his goodbyes. that leaves luna and connie to cuddle up next to one another in the booth, your eyes studying the way his arm is draped around her shoulder while he listens intently on everything she says, bopping her nose with his finger as she giggles cutely. you smile faintly, looking down at the food you’re playing with at this point with your chopsticks.

eren glances at you as he finishes his plate, a finger pressed to his temple as he leans his elbow on the table. you feel his glare, turning his way to see what he wanted. his eyes holding a certain intensity that only you seem to understand. “come take a ride with me.”

you continue to fiddle with your chopsticks, swallowing air. “where are we going?”

“i need to talk to you about something.”

you’ve dreaded this. unsure of what was going to come from him when you two were alone. you’re not sure if he’s still mad about earlier, his reaction when luna brought up your car moment laced with irritation, like he wanted nothing to do with it. honestly, there was nothing more to talk about. he knows you don’t like confrontation, so you hoped he wouldn’t make an entire conversation about why he feels the way he does. a simple apology should’ve sufficed. the anxiety is pumping through you now, wanting to groan from his seriousness. one thing you’ve learned about eren was that he was big on communication. if something bothered him or he felt like certain things needed to be talked about, he’d take that chance to fix it. when he’s serious about something, it gave you goosebumps.

his gaze lingers on yours, the flickering candlelight on the table casting an enchanting glow on his features. you swallow, nodding. “okay.”

“we’re gonna go,” you grab the couples attention across the booth, connie and luna sitting up the moment you and eren stand.

“awe, okay boo! it was nice seeing y’all,” luna waves to both of you. eren’s patting his pocket for his keys, pulling out his wallet to set cash on the table for the both of you.

eren smiles. “you too, love. i’ll see you tomorrow, con.”

“bet, see you. y’all be safe.”

the car shifts into gear and pulls out onto the quiet street, the sound of heavy wind encasing the vehicle the only thing you could hear, blurring out the world. eren drove possibly fifteen minutes to a spot only the two of you go to. it’s secluded, parked under a giant tree in a grass field high on a hill that overlooked the city night. it’s surely a romantic destination. the two of you go here whenever you need to rant about life or just escape. it’s been your spot since high school. the slow melody of rnb fills the interior, creating an intimate atmosphere. the two of you sit for a moment, eren fishing for his puff bar to take a few passes before you finally say something.

“can i?” you ask, voice an almost hushed whisper. gesturing towards the object.

“yeah,” he’s handing it your way, clearing his throat before leaning back into his seat, smoothing both hands down his thighs before adjusting comfortably, closing his eyes momentarily.

eren takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair. “lemme start by saying i’m not mad at you.”

you blink, shifting your body so all of your attention is on him so he feels important. you tend to stare off into nothingness during these moments.

“yes, are you stubborn as fuck and it pisses me off at times? absolutely. you know when it comes to you, shit like that makes me anxious. i have that urge to protect you, and it’s always been like that. so don’t think i’m being immature by wanting to care for your safety. i know you’re grown, and you carry yourself well. but sometimes i need for you to just listen when i get gut feelings about shit.”

“i know, and i apologize,” you reply almost instantly, the thought being on your mind the entire dinner, but unable to let the words pass. “i do appreciate how you care for me. i was just having fun and didn’t want my mood to be ruined. it was dangerous, anything could’ve happened.”

despite his uncertainty, there's no denying the sincerity in his gaze; a raw vulnerability that contrasts sharply against his usual confident demeanor. struggling to say what’s really on his mind at the moment. “you still have that bad habit of never wanting to be corrected.”

“yeah,” you lower your head to your thighs, fiddling with the fabric of your skirt. “still working on it. i tend to be too aggressive when i want to be right.”

“i’m glad you understand. but, that’s not what i wanted to talk to you about.”

you look up. “what is it? did something happen?”

eren takes another deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to reveal. his gaze never leaving yours as he prepares to lay his heart bare. “look . . i’m g’na be straightforward with you. i don’t need you to take this as something that has to be figured out immediately. i’ll give you the time and space you need to think on it if you’re feeling the opposite. but. .”

his cheeks flush slightly under your scrutinizing stare. it’s clear that whatever he's about to say is far from easy for him. he’s scaring you. “me and you, we been close since kids. i have love for you for life, but i need you to know that it’s been hard just being your friend. my emotions are consuming me, and being around you all the time is only making it more difficult. i see myself being with you, being in love with you. . for a long time now.”

the confession hangs heavy in the air between you both; raw and vulnerable, yet undeniably true. his heart pounds loudly in his chest as he waits for your reaction, bracing himself for either acceptance or rejection. either way, he’d stand by what he felt. and if you didn’t feel the same, it would hurt, but he would respect your boundaries. you’re unsure why you’re not . . surprised? he’s always been extremely affectionate with you, much more than a best friend should be. wasn’t necessarily fond of seeing you with other men or hearing about who you slept with. you told each other everything. had sleepovers. shared beds, and at times when you fell asleep before him, he’d brush a finger along your cheek and admired your beauty.

"my dream is to get you that big ass loft you want with the tall glass windows that overlook the city. decorate it how you want, be my pretty fuckin housewife that gets to stay home and do whatever you want. shit, start your own business. i'll pay for it all. i'll take care of you. i want you to myself, always. never wanna leave you. wanna get your name tatted on me. kiss you all day. cuddle, watch your favorite movies and shitty supernatural tv shows. run you bubble baths 'n fuck you real good every time i come home. buy you that wolf gray kia k5 with pink interior you've been wantin'. send you on vacations. buy you all the sanrio plushies in the fuckin' world. want you to be mine, ꒰♡꒱."

" eren. . . "

"i'll even learn how to cook for you, princess. 'n you know i'm bad as fuck at that shit," eren chuckles, raking his fingers through your hair. you laugh with him, tears in your eyes. "but i'll learn for you so i can always make you some authentic udon ramen or birria tacos, all that good shit you love. cause you're my girl 'n you deserve it all."

eren's hands move to rest on your hips, pulling you closer to him. his fingers trace small circles on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. his touch is gentle yet possessive. a tangible manifestation of the love he's been harboring for you. each stroke of his fingertips against your body feels like an exploration, a journey into the depths of your being that only he has access to.

“talk to me,” he bites his lip, lips nearly brushing your own, unable to help the pure attraction towards you. it’s stronger than ever right now.

“i feel the same way,” you lean in, moaning from his touch, his hands on you all the time, though somehow now they make you weaker. “i just didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

eren’s breath hitches, a combination of shock and relief consuming him. “why the fuck would you think that?”

your shoulders shrug shyly. “i don’t know,” your voice drags quietly. “sometimes shit like that doesn’t work for everybody. and we have a great friendship. i didn’t want us being together to fuck up the vibe.”

“we not everyone,” he states, brushing a curl from your pretty face. “and we act like we date anyways. wouldn’t be no different.”

you recepriocate the act, brushing a few brown strands of hair that fell in front of his face, locking eyes before your lips press against his in feverish kiss. his tongue parts your lips, exploring the warm cavern of your mouth with a passionate intensity. his hands roam freely over your body now, one tracing delicate patterns on your lower back while the other slips beneath your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin underneath. every touch is filled with desire and longing, a testament to the depth of his feelings for you. the heat in your face blows higher, as if the ache to kiss him was a distant dream. to finally taste him was something you hadn’t known you needed. both of your hearts are pounding in your chests, every beat echoing the intensity of your feelings for each other.

“you have no idea,” he whispers huskily, pecking your lips. you moan, body melting into his touch. you could slip through his fingers like puddy, this center console blocking you. “how much i want you.”

“show me then.”

eren’s eyes darken with desire. his hands slide down to grip your ass, climbing over the console to reach for the recliner on your seat, your flushed face heating up from the close proximity, his hair brush along the apples of your cheek, his smell intoxicating. you giggle when he goes to remove the headrest of the chair, banging his hand into the seat so it’s completely flat and you’re resting on your back. eren hovers completely over you, bringing his body to the passenger side, squeaking when you feel his hardness brush against your clit, a clear indication of just how much he wants you. taking your lip between his teeth, he gives it a playful nip before trailing hot kisses down your neck, going to capture your lips in another hot kiss, rolling his hips into yours making you gasp. you trail your hands underneath his black shirt, hands sliding up his broad backside.

“i need you,” you whimper, knees disconnecting to spread yourself for him, scooting higher up the seat. your desperation makes his control slip further.

“fuck,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire, tracing along the curve of your waist before dipping lower to tease at the hemline of your skirt. “you’re making it hard for me to keep my shit together.”

“lick me up,” you whimper, pushing your hips down so your core presses against the bulge in his jeans, eren keeping down the moan in his throat, studying you. your thumbs slip into the band of your skirt, trying to indicate that you wanted them off. “please, m’dripping.”

“fuck,” he whispers again, this newfound sense of lust you had enrapturing him. “anything for you, baby.”

his hands slip beneath your skirt to explore the softness of your thighs, smoothing over your ass as you raise your hips so it’s easier for him to pull off your skirt, his mouth watering at the bare sight of you wearing no panties. you’d slipped off your sneakers, the balls of your feet digging into his shoulder blades as he pushes you further up the chair for both of your comfortability, craning his neck between the plush of your heated thighs. he breathes in your scent, moaning into a kiss he places on your inner thigh.

“c’mon—ah!” your breath is taken from you for your impatience, eren’s mouth circling around your clit for a quick feel before he’s lowering his tongue to taste all of you. locking his eyes with yours as you thread your fingers through his hair to push away, deciding to remove the hair tie from around your wrist to tie his hair onto the back of his head.

the taste of you on his lips drives him wild, craving this for years on end. eren groans from the sweet taste you leave on his fat tongue, his breath fanning over your sensitive flesh sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. eren growls in approval at your submission, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you closer to his mouth, swallowing down your clit, sucking on your pussy to hear you make those pretty noises he’s only heard once in his life. accidentally, of course. maybe catching you fucking yourself coming up the stairs without your knowledge, wanting to surprise you with food while the two of you studied for finals. he’s always kept that to himself, knowing you’d be extremely embarrassed by it. of course, he didn’t know it’s because you couldn’t stop thinking about what he wore in p.e; a black deftones muscle tank he cut as a crop top with gray sweatpants, his hair pulled into a manbun with his skin glistening in sweat from the insane weather out. dark ink around his skin making your mind run rapid.

he releases his mouth momentarily, popping off your clit lewdly to murmur, “you are fuckin’ drippin’.”

your back arches into his embrace, craning your neck as you rock against his face, eren grinning wickedly at your muffled sound, his tongue delving deeper into your folds. he laps at your entrance, thriving for every drop. his hands move to spread your legs wider apart, giving him better access to feast on your needy cunt. you hum in ecstasy, the sensation from the metal ball of his tongue piercing flicking your clit, using it to tease and torment you. his dark eyes watching you like prey, squirming and gasping from every suck.

“fuck, baby,” he moans. “you’re so sensitive.”

his hands move to cradle your ass cheeks as he pushes your ass up to fuck his face better, pussy glistening under the moonlight. his tongue continues it’s relentless assault, curling and connecting his tongue with your aching cunt feverishly while suctioning his lips around your swollen clit. your hands stretch to grip onto the door handle, moaning when his hand goes to smack the back of your thigh. eren growls at your helpless moans, his tongue delving deeper into your slick folds, slithering inside of you to prep you. his hands pinning your legs wide allows him unrestricted access to your throbbing cunt.

“wet n’ pretty ass pussy, baby. so, so pretty. jus’ like you, right?” he groans against you, increasing the pressure on his tongue, thrusting it in and out of you rhythmically. his free hand moves to play with your clit, rolling the sensitive nub under his thumb as he devours your pussy.

without waiting for a response, he resumes his ministrations, his tongue plunging back into your dripping cunny while one hand continues to toy with your clit. his actions intensify as he listens to your desperate whimpers. his tongue laps at your slit greedily, drinking down every drop of your sweetness, thumb working overtime on your clit, rubbing up and down mercilessly.

“stick your fingers in me,” you whine, the brokenness in your tone only making his dick harder. he’d rather shove his dick in you, but he wouldn’t deny what you pleaded for.

eren chuckles darkly at your plea, and within a second, his ring and index fingers are slipping inside of you, eren curling them upwards, searching for that sweet spot deep within your pussy.

“like this?” he sputters against your clit, your juices encapsulating him. your inner thighs tremble from the switch up, biting your lip and nodding. “fuck you up real good? ‘till you cream on me?”

“y-yesss, f-fuck,” your sobs overtake you, his tongue continuing it’s relentless assault on your sensitive bud, licking and sucking it into oblivion. eren hums in agreement, his fingers pumping in and out of your soaked cunt. he watches his fingers pump harder into your quivering cunt with furrowed brows, mumbling expletives to himself in fascination, your cunny squelching and sinking them in each time they threatened to pull out.

“ima sink my dick in your shit, fuck. i’m too fucking hard for you,” he groans against your clit, pace quickening, the combination of his fingers fucking into you while his tongue circles around your clit pushing you closer to the edge.

“keep fucking me, baby. fuckin’ love your tongue.”

eren loves your cries so much it’s hurting his dick bad, his fingers pumping harder into your twitching cunt, begging for you to cum. you’re drenching his fingers. he removes them when he notices your hand is cupping underneath his jaw, pulling his face in deeper and swaying your hips, the balled up expression on your face reading all he needed to know. you stretch your legs high, clamping your thighs shut and wrapping your arms underneath the curve of your knees to angle them towards your chest. eren licks his lips before sinking his tongue deep into you, thrusting his tongue like he’d use his dick.

making a noise of approval, you grip onto his hair while maintaining your position, yanking his head back and forth, screaming as his face clashes with your pussy, tongue fucking you open until you finally cum. your tummy caves in, lifting your head to press into your knees as you catch your breath, streaming out praises of ‘yes, yes yes, baby,’ as he continues to fuck you on his tongue, uncaring of you drenching his nose and chin.

while you take time to recuperate, eren’s leaning his head up to clean his face with the back of his hand, licking off the remainder as he reaches down to unbutton his jeans, slipping them down to his thighs and giving his dick a few slow strokes, the sight of it, thick and long, glistening with precum is enough to make anyone drool. eren holds onto it teasingly, keeping it just out of reach as he watches your reaction. “knew you wanted to see it again.”

you cover your face. “shut up.”

with a lustful gleam in his eyes, he lines the throbbing tip against your wet slit, sliding it up and down to gather your arousal before he’s grabbing the back of your neck to look into your eyes, heavy body hovering over yours, trying his best not to lean all of his weight onto you. granted, that’s exactly what you wanted, to be suffocated under him. feel weak, submissive.

“tell me you’re okay.”

you nod, eyes slowly closing, unable to keep focus. “yes, m’okay. it’s okay.”

the feeling of being sheathed within your tight pussy makes him shudder, removing his hand from your neck to balance his body by gripping onto either side of the leather seat after locking your legs flat. you reach for the recliner to level the seat up a little more, eren kissing your forehead. you drag your body lower so it’s easier for him to move, shivering from the full feeling he gives you, and that’s only half of him.

“fuck,” he gasps, grinding into you slowly so you’ll adjust. you swivel your hips, teeth biting into your lip as you stare at the sharp cut of his jawline, emerald eyes clamped shut. “that’s it.”

with each heavy thrust, eren can’t help the animalistic groans emitting from him, the deep baritone of his voice making your clit pulsate harder as he fucks himself deeper into you. your skin clapping as he pounds into you hard, hitting your spot and making you cry for him. he wheezes within the crevice of your neck, both of your moans colliding within the small enclosure, vibrating over the music flowing from his speakers. he’s fucking you faster with each thrust.

“s’so good, f-fuck,” the wind gets taken from you with every harsh pound, grunting beneath him and taking it all. he felt so fucking good, you couldn’t believe you waited this long just to let him fuck you. too many opportunities missed. for good and wrongs reasons though.

“that’s it, you’re such a good girl,” his mouth gives you a chaste, sloppy kiss to your pouty lips. everything he does makes you want to cum. heavier and stronger than the last. he’s a fucking trip.

“i’m your good girl?” your bottom lip is pulled into your mouth, teeth baring as you smile drunkenly.

“ ‘course you are,” he kisses you again, prolonging it this time, your body slipping lower giving him the chance to fuck you even deeper, stretching you open and stuffing you full. you can feel him all in your tummy, your brows furrowed. “better than that. you’re my baby.”

“i’m your baby?” the drag out of a whiny tone as you grip onto his chin to keep his eyes on yours has the man before you crumbling.

eren practically whines from the way you speak to him, molding your frame into his seat from the strength he fucked you with, listening to your pussy cry for him. “you’re my baby.”

“my pussy loves you,” you move with him, your tight cunt squeezing him, feeling that warmth build up in your stomach.

“it does, huh. tell me how much, love.”

“loves it so fucking much, daddy.”

“that’s what i wanted to hear,” he hisses, groaning and fucking you faster, straightening his legs so he gets a get angle, hitting into you with all his weight. “oh god, baby. you feel so fuckin’ good.”

“yeah, daddy?” you whimper, biting your lip.

“yes, babydoll,” eren groans in agreement, cursing to himself as he slips his dick out, the two of you gasping from the disconnect, eren lifting himself from you. “bend over.”

you use the seat to turn yourself around, hiking yourself further up to give his big body space to settle behind you. you keep your thighs pressed together, shifting your ass back against him and arching your back low. you jump when he lands a heavy swat to your ass, hissing as his fingertips grip your flesh and bounce your ass back, mesmerized by how it moves. he draws his hips back, flexing his dick to make it jump into the right position to easily slide within your wet opening, the angle allowing him to hit deeper within your pussy than before.

“unh, sshit,” eren moans, hands grabbing either side of your hips and tugs you back, your ass clapping amongst his toned abdomen. your forehead is connected with the seat, mouth agape as you feel the swell of him slip in and out of you, eyes scrolling to the back of your skull.

“sshit, you’re so deep, ah!”

his thrusts become more forceful, hitting even deeper within your pussy. with every stroke, he feels himself getting closer to release. eren growls, his canines grazing your skin as he leans in to bite your neck, your filthy whine only serving to heighten his arousal. he continues to thrust hard into you, each movement sending you both closer to breakage.

“g’na cum, baby,” eren whimpers, rolling his waist into you, that pressure in his lower abdomen threatening to break.

“noo, don’t cum yet,” you whine, shaking your head pleadingly. “n-not there yet.”

“i won’t. won’t cum yet, baby,” he hisses in response. “wanna wait for daddy? so we can cum together?”

“mmnh, wanna cum with you, baby,” your head nods drunkenly, sightly blurry. your body aches from the lack of space in the car, but it felt so good to be overpowered by him. drilling his dick into you harder.

“take it f’me, ꒰♡꒱.”

“i’m taking it, baby. for you.”

“moan f’me,” his lips get closer to your ear, eren’s eyes squeezing tight, jaw wide as he fucks your pussy open.

“m-moaning for you, babyy-ah!”

“fuck it back f’me, act like you wanna get fucked,” eren growls in pleasure, his thrusts continuing.

“i’ll fuck it for you, fuck it for you,” you’re straight up sobbing now, rolling your ass back to meet his rough strokes, dripping down your inner thighs. you’d never been fucked this good before in your life. could have possibly been the chemistry, or the longing for him. “ooo-mnmg, i feel it.”

eren smirks, his hands moving to encircle your throat. his grip tightens slightly, cutting off your air supply, his clothed chest on your back and the coldness from his silver chain tickling your flesh. “eren, ima cum again. k-keep it there.”

your body shudders beneath him, waves of pleasure crashing as you feel your orgasm breaks through you, pussy clenching tightly around his cock and whimpering vehemently in his face, sobbing from your inability to withhold your orgasm as well as the overwhelming way he fucked you.

“ren,” you weep, reaching your hand behind yourself to try to push his hips away. but he doesn’t budge. eren grips your wrist to bend it still behind your back, slowing his movements the last motive.

“you came without me, baby. bad girl,” he tightens his grip on your wrist, giving an open mouthed kissed over the side of your face.

a small cry fell from your lips. "s-sorry. fuck, rennie . . please.”

"please, what?” he grits his teeth, the shortest hairs in front sticking to his forehead while the others threaten to fall loose from the small bun on the back of his head. the silver bracelets on his wrist clanking as he yanks you back to meet his aggressive thrusts.

"please, eren—s-slow. i’m sensitive.”

"that's not my name. what's my fuckin’ my name, ꒰♡꒱?" he grunts dominantly, pressing a harsh kiss to your temple, knowing what he needs.

"s-shit—daddy, please!”

despite your pleas, he keeps fucking you mercilessly, his cock sliding in and out of your wet pussy with ease. the sensation of being buried within you is too intoxicating for him to stop.

“jus’ a little more, baby. please take it a lil more,” his hand lands heavily on your ass, slowing his thrusts a bit for your sake and to feel your pussy constrict and beg to swallow him deeper as he shifts his hips slightly back, the tip of his dick kissing your entrance before he’s shoving it back in. circling his hips, ass flexing and becoming apart of you, pushing him towards another climax.

“ooo, you fuckin’ me so good.”

“ ‘cause it’s you, ‘cause i love you.”

with a final powerful thrust, eren buries himself deep inside you. his cock twitches within your pussy, reaching in between to pull his dick out just in time, spurting his cum directly on your backside. your scream is deafening, covering your mouth and grinding your ass back as you cum again, unsure how that’s fucking possible. your body betrayed you, acting as if you’ve never been fucked in your whole life. but, truth be told, you’ve never gotten fucked that deep, or that good.

“fuck!” eren’s tone is deep, stroking his dick while his other hand held your ass, thrusting into his hand to draw out every ounce of cum you wanted out of him. eren nearly collapses onto you, panting heavily as he recovers from his orgasm, slowly softening but knowing he can go another round. maybe at your house this time.

he kisses your neck softly. “are you okay, love?”

you nod, heaving, mouth dry. trying to regain your vision. “y-yeah. m’good.”

before rolling off of you, he gives you another kiss before he’s climbing back into the drivers seat to pull his pants back up, fishing for a wipe inside of his center console.

you’re laying on your stomach now, cheek resting on your arms as you catch your breath, eren smiling down at you, kissing your spine as he wipes up his mess. “so pretty, baby.”

that makes you weaker than anything he’d just done to you, hiding your face within your arms, still looking at his gorgeous face. he loves you so much, it’s always been clear. you hate how long it’s taken you to realize that.

“i don’t have to think on it,” you suddenly say, eren staring intensely. your lips curve into a smile. “i know i love you too. for a while now.”

the sparkle in his eyes makes your heart absolutely melt. “for real?”

you nod. “yeah. my dream is to get you that big ass loft you want with the tall glass windows that overlook the city. decorate it how you want, be my pretty fuckin housewif—”

“shut. the. fuck. up,” eren sounds out, smushing your lips together so you wouldn’t see the redness in his face. of course you’d mock him. you giggle into his mouth, squeaking when he goes to tickle your hip, eren laughing when you turn to hit his arm.

“seriously, eren, i hate that shit!”

“blah, blah, blah. love you too.”

4K notes · View notes

sttoru · 3 months

Note

OKAY IK YOU JUST DID SATORU BUT BOOBOBSESSED!TOJI PLEASE !!

𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. husband!toji fushiguro x wife!female reader. smut, pwp. mention of bôōb job, m. māsturbation. brēast play. reader gets called ‘doll, girl’ not proofread

“tojiiii, i just came home,” you whine as the black-haired man lifts you up and brings you over to the couch the second you step into your shared apartment.

it’s become a part of your daily routine at this point. every time you come home, you’re put on the couch or bed and your clothes come off. it doesn’t necessarily have to lead to sex—sometimes your husband does it to comfort you and relieve your stress (and his).

“yeah, i know, doll,” toji responds in a gruff voice. he lifts your shirt up over your head and leaves chaste kisses on your shoulders and collarbone, “jus’ let me take care of you, ‘kay?” you can feel his stubble, making you realise that he did not shave. not that you’re complaining.

in fact, you’re the one who told him that you prefer it when he has a little stubble. it’s so sexy on toji—especially during the early mornings, when you wake up next to him, his muscular body on full display with that lazy look in his eyes. it makes you drool every time.

you hum shortly in agreement. toji licks a strip over your collarbone before swiftly undoing your bra. he watches your tits bounce free from their confines and he groans, feeling his cock swell in his boxer shorts already.

“been needing to suck on those,” he sighs. he shamelessly attaches his lips to your nipple, tongue flicking out to taste your plump flesh. it’s an addiction at this point. not a day goes by where toji doesn’t leave your breasts alone.

he either has to knead them while he watches a show or lazily suck on them while you cuddle. he can’t help it—your tits are just a delicious treat he wishes to indulge in every second of the day. even when toji is out of the house, images of your perfectly round chest keep him from focusing on the road ahead.

hell; one time toji even had to pull his car to the side so he could quickly palm himself through his boxers, simply because of your tits. he had one of his hands under his pants and the other held his phone, scrolling through pictures that captured your bust well.

“fuck,” toji curses under his breath. he groans with nearly every suckle, his eyes closed like he’s experiencing euphoria. you run your fingers through his hair, your back arching off the couch a little. your husband massages your other breast, his tongue quickly circling your swollen nipple like a touch starved man, “mh, can’t stop. fuckin’ delicious. wanna keep on suckin’ em.”

toji pinches your other nipple which causes you to moan loudly. it’s like your stress is quite literally being sucked out of your body. every suckle motion makes you relax even more in his embrace.

“babe, i need t’ make dinner,” you mutter between soft whimpers. you know it’s futile saying that—toji is not going to let you go. once he’s got you, he’s keeping you for the rest of the day.

the black-haired man rolls his eyes at your words while he’s actively sucking on your tit. he looks up at you before detaching his lips from your hardened nipple. there’s a wet spot of his saliva left over your chest.

“no need,” toji rasps, kissing the valley of your breasts. his dick twitches at the thought of being sunk between your tits, his cum shooting from the tip and coating your breasts and face white. “got my dinner right here,” he sighs and wraps his lips around your other nipple.

you moan at the stimulation. you tug at toji’s hair from the pleasure, your hips bucking up to grind against that hard bulge that’s been pressed between your thighs since the beginning. your husband hisses at the contact and bites on the sensitive nub.

“easy, girl,” toji growls, his eyes darkening with lust, “just a little more, mhm? i’ll give it to ya real good after.” he’s nearly going insane from the sensations. his hips grind back slowly against your core while his face is buried against your tits. the pair is getting equal attention, either from his lips and tongue or skilled fingers.

the pleasure is unending. you want nothing more than to return the favor to your lover, but with how things are going, that’s going to take a while. you’re going to need to pry toji away from your tits; he won’t leave them on his own free will.

if it was up to him, he’d live there forever, right between your tits.

#sttoru writes.#jjk smut #toji smut #jjk x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk x you #toji x you #toji x y/n #jjk x y/n #jjk x female reader

8K notes · View notes

artdcnaldson · 3 months

Note

NEED art and patrick to find out I'm a virgin and offer to teach me how to kiss and how to fuck and use eachother as examples and guide me and tell me I'm doing a good job and reward me for being such a good student and come back later and quiz me to see if I remember everything they taught me ugh obsessed with them individually and as a unit

This has lived rent free in my mind for literally forever. I can’t stop thinking about it, it haunts my every waking moment.

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: Making out, Handjob lessons, guys being pervs, not a love triangle they just all want to fuck each other

A/N: unedited bc I wrote this while on the clock okay whatever. Enjoyyyy and if u want me to continue this lmk >:)

“I think it’s sweet,” Patrick said, and you could hear the amusement in his voice, practically dripping from every syllable. “The last American virgin. You belong in a museum.”

You rolled your eyes and tossed your empty Taco Bell cup at him— the ice rattled and it leaked a puddle of condensation onto the ground. “You could try not to be a dick about it.”

Art’s dorm room was hot and sticky thanks to a faulty AC, which meant the three of you lounging on the floor by his open window, sucking down soda watered down by melted ice cubes. You were down to a T-shirt and shorts, they were down to their boxers. It wasn’t lost on you that it was an intimate situation to be in— barely dressed, crammed into the shoebox of a dorm. And of course Patrick had dug his fingers in until you admitted your secret— you had made it all the way to college totally unfucked.

Patrick leaned forward, smiling the smarmy smile that tended to wear at your last nerve. “So you’re a virgin, but like,” he leaned in, so close you could feel body heat radiating from him. He dropped his voice, just above a whisper. “How much of a virgin, really? You’ve at least gone to third, right?” You glared, but shook your head.

“Second?” Art supplied, suddenly jumping in with an eager sort of curiosity.

“What? No, I don’t even know what that means,” you admitted. You sighed before you spoke up. “I’ve only ever kissed one guy and one girl, and it was during a game of spin the bottle, like, junior year.”

“How?” Patrick asked.

Your brows furrowed. “How? I spun the bottle, it landed on the person, I leaned in, put my lips against theirs, and that was it.”

Patrick sighed. “Just fucking show me how.” He looked at you expectantly, inching even closer.

With an annoyed sigh, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his— mouth closed, lips firm. When you sat back, Patrick and Art were both grinning.

“What?” You asked with a frown.

“That’s how you kiss on the playground in elementary school,” Art said, unable to contain his laughter. “C’mere.”

You crawled forward, stopping in front of the blond. His hand settled on your jaw, coaxing you forward.

His lips met yours softly, sweetly. It was easy to lose yourself in the feeling of Art’s mouth, in the gentle brushes of his lips against yours and the way he held your face so tenderly.

The feeling of his tongue pressing against the seam of your lips was strange, but you welcomed it, letting him lick into your mouth.

Each pass of his tongue against yours drew you deeper and deeper into it, into him. You moved into his lap without realizing it, kissing him with sweet, timid laps of your tongue.

Art pulled back first, his cheeks soft and pink and so pretty. “See? That’s how you’re supposed to kiss someone. That was really good.”

You laughed softly, and moved off of his lap sheepishly. Patrick leaned forward, brushing your hair back, holding your face in his hand.

“Okay, show me what Art showed you,” he instructed, then leaned in.

Kissing Patrick was different than kissing Art. He was hungrier, more insistent. His tongue pressed into your mouth like he wanted to chart every inch. You did your best to match what he offered, to kiss the way Art had just shown you, sweetly, like you really meant it.

And you did mean it. Patrick’s hands moved along your side, up until they cupped your tits through your shirt. You moaned softly into his mouth— the sound was muffled, met with a moan of his own. He gave an experimental squeeze of your tits and you whined softly. So he did it again, amused by the pretty, sweet noises you mewled out.

Patrick was getting hard, pressing against your thigh. It was a new sensation that you were hyper aware of as you unconsciously ground yourself against him.

You pulled back first, cheeks burning hot after you remembered Art was right beside you. You tucked unkempt hair behind your ear, smiled bashfully. “How was I?”

“Good,” Patrick said.

At the same time Art supplied, “So good.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Okay. Cool.”

Art was squirming, fidgeting, holding a pillow over his lap. Patrick was less covert— opting to openly adjust himself, drawing more attention to the fact that he was hard. You rolled your eyes and stole the nearest cup you could find, sipping at watered down Mountain Dew.

“Do you want me to leave?” You teased, raising an eyebrow. Your teeth dug into the plastic straw as you looked between the two of them.

Art stammered, mortified, but Patrick just smiled dizzyingly over at you. “I can teach you something else. You got to first base, so why don’t you steal second?”

You rolled your eyes, but heat flared behind your cheeks. Jesus Christ, he was such a smug asshole. “I still don’t know what that means,” you said, feeling a little embarrassed.

He grinned and mimed jerking off. Your eyes widened, and you laughed softly. “That would be weird,” you said, half-believing it. “Like, if I did jerk one of you off, that leaves one of you just watching.”

You glanced at Art, who looked just as interested as Patrick did, and your heart stammered nervously. “What if I show you how you do it on Art? Look at him— he’s the perfect little practice dummy.” Patrick reached over, pinching at Art’s cheek until the blond kicked his shin.

“Show me?” You echoed. “Like… you’re going to do it to him, and I do it to you?”

Patrick nodded, leaning into Art’s side, his smarmy smile dissolved into something needier. Art swallowed hard, lips parted slightly as he looked over at Patrick.

Patrick’s lips met his slowly, hungrily. You watched wide eyed as Patrick deepened the kiss, as Art eagerly accepted the other boy’s tongue into his mouth.

Patrick threw the pillow out of Art’s lap and sent it careening into the desk on the opposite side of the room. Your eyes widened at the sight of Art, hard and tenting his boxers. Patrick palmed him in his large hands making the blonde whimper into his mouth and buck up, seeking friction.

You swallowed hard, biting down on the straw as you watched Patrick tug at the elastic of Art’s boxers. Art lifted his hips to allow Patrick to tug them down his thighs, just enough to expose his cock to both of you.

“See,” Patrick gasped, leaning back from their kiss. Art chased his lips fruitlessly, mouth ajar, waiting for more. “He’s so fucking easy. Come feel.”

You moved closer, looking at Art for permission. When he nodded, you reached out, letting your fingertips graze the soft skin of his shaft. He exhaled a shuddery breath, eyes fluttering shut. Patrick’s hand covered yours, guiding you to squeeze around his length.

He was warm under your touch, silky soft, pulsing in your grip. Your heart hammered just at that— at the feel of him in your hand. “Feels nice, huh? Knowing how much he wants you.” You nodded, then slid your fist up, testing the waters. Art moaned softly, throbbed in your grip, aching for more. Patrick smiled like the cat who got the cream. “Hands off, just watch me.”

Patrick spat into his hand and replaced your hand with his own. The second Patrick curled his fingers around Art and started stroking him slowly, the blond was mewling for more. “Fuck,” he moaned, his forehead knocking against Patrick’s, mouth open, panting. “That’s good, feels good.”

You watched Patrick rub his thumb over Art’s tip, eyes widening as Art really whimpered for it, hips thrusting up into Patrick’s fist, chasing more of the pleasure the brunet offered.

“You get it now?” Patrick asked. You nodded quickly, and he tugged down his own boxers. “Fuck, okay— fucking show me.”

Your heart hammered with nerves, but you nodded. You held your hand out and spit into it, mimicking what Patrick had done before you wrapped your hand around his cock.

He felt bigger in your hands, but you didn’t say that. One, you worried it might piss Art off, and two, he didn’t need the ego boost. And he was slick, beading precum at his tip so each pass of your hands felt slicker and slicker.

And you couldn’t help but want to be an asshole. “You’re wet like a girl,” you said with a smirk, gliding your thumb over his tip.

And he was shameless, nodding with a sly grin. “That means I like you.” He panted, moaning softly. “Besides, I bet your fucking panties aren’t dry right now.”

Well, fuck. You tried to ignore the rush of heat in your belly that those words caused, to focus only on the glide of your hand on Patrick’s cock— up and down, copying his pace on Art, copying the ways he’d squeeze and twist his hand.

Art was moaning, rutting up into the tight sheath of Patrick’s fist, the muscles of his abdomen tensing and relaxing in unsteady jerks beneath his soft skin.

“Fuck— switch, switch,” Patrick said quickly. Art whined when Patrick stopped touching him, but it was ignored. “Want you to feel it when he comes.”

He guided your hand back onto Art’s cock and nodded for you to move. “Fuck, your hand’s so soft,” Art groaned. “Faster, faster, fuck—“ He was practically begging. You swallowed, increased the pace, squeezed him a little tighter.

Art was touching Patrick— jerking him off while you brought him closer and closer to finishing. Patrick leaned in, kissed you deeply, pulled Art in too until the three of you were a mess of tongues and lips and spit and hands.

Art came first— coating your hand in warm, slick cum, throbbing in your grip. He was panting into your and Patrick’s mouths, moaning softly as you continued to slowly work him through it. Patrick came next, once Art redoubled his effort, focused on making Patrick add to the mess covering your hands.

Patrick was loud, pornographic, messy. Art brought a cum covered hand between his lips, cleaning it up. Your eyes widened.

“Art, c’mon, you’re scandalizing her,” Patrick said, like you weren’t even there.

“Shut up,” you said, shoving him. He laughed and pulled his boxers back up. Art followed suit, and the three of you were left gross and sweating in the heat. You wiped your hand off on one of their discarded shirts and gave a sheepish smile.

They sat there, expectantly. Waiting for you to make the next call. There was a level of want in you, need, but the thought of asking for them to take care of it was mortifying. “Do you want to watch a movie or something now?”

#and when they bring Tashi in to teach her to ask for what she wants then what????#if u want me to continue this……. please god please keep sending me reqs for this au #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #my writing #art donaldson #patrick zweig #challengers fanfic #challengers x reader

3K notes · View notes

augustinewrites · 11 months

Text

“sunflowers or peonies?”

“awe, nanami! i’m flattered—”

“they’re not for you,” nanami says flatly. “you can buy your own.”

shoko squints down at the man lying on her exam table, arm held up and behind his head. “i’m quite literally stitching you back together, you know.”

the blond thinks bitterly on what had landed him in her infirmary in the first place, injured and likely having to reschedule dinner tonight. it’s already well past the time he’d planned on picking you up, and the table he’d reserved at the new restaurant in roppongi has likely been given away.

he’s dreading calling to tell you, his heart already twinging at the idea of letting you down.

shoko stitches him up neatly, cleaning and covering it up with a layer of bandages. she offers him a hand to help him sit up, but he bypasses it to plant his palm against the cot, pushing himself up with a groan.

she rolls her eyes, peeling her gloves off and pulling her mask down, tossing them both into the trash. “clean and dress it at least twice a day. no sudden movements of strenuous activity for at least a week. if you ruin my work, i’ll put you on bedrest.”

she digs through her cabinets as he awkwardly pulls his shirt back on. his mind drifts to you as he does so. he’d lost his phone in the fight, so he hadn’t been able to tell you about cancelling.

he wonders if the pout on your lips is painted your lips that shade of red you’d been wearing when he’d first met you. wonders if you’re waiting wearing the dress he’d gifted you last week.

he’d really wanted to see you in that dress.

nanami sighs heavily as he does up the buttons, prompting shoko to glance over her shoulder at him.

“what’s wrong with you?” she asks, setting a small bottle of painkillers on the tray table next to him.

“i’m missing an important dinner,” he grumbles, wondering if just a bundle sunflowers or peonies from the small stall outside is enough. he should order you a proper bouquet from a shop. perhaps he can also book you a massage or—

a knock at the door interrupts his spiralling.

“oh!” shoko suddenly gasps. she reaches up, brushing a few stray hairs from his forehead and fixing it as best she can.

“what are you doing?” he asks, genuinely confused in this moment.

“you’ll see,” she simply grins, sending him a wink. then, “come in!”

the door to the infirmary opens to reveal…you.

“kento,” you breathe, the quiet click of your heels echoing through the empty room as you quickly walk towards him.

he’s shocked, but lets you carefully wrap your arms around him, cradling his head against your chest.

but before he knows it he’s holding onto you too, breathing in the deep, sweet scent of your perfume and focusing on the steady beat of your heart.

“what are you doing here?” he asks once you finally release him, taking your hands in his.

“shoko called me,” you tell him. “apparently…apparently i’m your emergency contact.”

his face is suddenly hot with embarrassment. he’d honestly forgotten about that. he hadn’t even realized he’d done it when yaga had asked him to update his information with the school. your name had been the first and only name to pop into his mind.

“sorry,” he apologizes quickly, dropping your hands. he jumped the gun, didn’t he? you’ve only been dating for six months… “i should have asked you first but—”

but no one knows me better than you.

a soft sigh slips from your lips as you sit next to him, with a gaze so reverent that it strips him to the bone. “i love you, kento. i will be your emergency contact as long as you want me to be.”

he whispers the words back to you, suddenly shy.

sometimes nanami lets himself slip a little too far into his own head, overthinking and a little insecure. but you’re always there, ready to coax him back into the light.

“you look beautiful,” he murmurs, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. he’s seen you in a lot of dresses, each one making him weak in the knees. but this dress…this one makes it a little hard for him to breathe.

“well, you still owe me a date,” you tell him, helping him up off the cot. “we could go to the ramen place across from my apartment.”

he wraps an arm around your shoulders, and you reach up to intertwine your fingers with his. “i’d go anywhere with you.”

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk x reader #nanami fluff #jjk fluff

13K notes · View notes

nereidprinc3ss · 5 months

Note

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied.

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details.

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name.

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror.

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause.

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it.

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort.

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is.

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably.

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing.

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—”

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face.

Oh. He was fucking with you.

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer.

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you.

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies.

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly.

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic.

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you.

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room.

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder.

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back.

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately.

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin.

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are.

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer.

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach.

Something resembling jealousy.

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid.

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you.

You swallow and try to act like yourself.

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see.

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in.

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively.

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place.

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable.

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job.

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it.

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown.

She makes a good point.

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail.

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut.

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer.

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl.

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen.

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny.

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic

5K notes · View notes