#there is something sharp in his eyes like the mouth of a snake and his shadow is too long and loops oddly into the others' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

beauty-and-passion · 16 hours

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This is going to sound really strange but the most recent GRWM video has. Some of the best Janus characterisation I think we’ve seen in a while?? Also he canonically sheds now, so

You are not wrong, anon: this is the best characterization in a while. It's way better than the last one, in which Janus was mostly a drunk idiot, and it's way worse than SvS. This one sits in the middle: it's not bad, it's not amazing. It's good.

Just like Mr. Sanders' last videos regarding Sanders Sides, this GRWM is okay. Not groundbreaking, not impressive, not deep, not stupid. Just okay.

And trust me, this is the best possible outcome! When I found out Thomas was planning a video with Janus and it was a GRWM and Janus had questions to answer... I wasn't just scared, oh no. I was absolutely terrified. I feared to see the destruction of Janus' character. I feared to see him being all like: "YASSS QUEEN all I love is WINE and nothing else, also being SASSY is my religion BIATCH".

And we got a bit of that, sure. But it was a bit, not the avalanche I expected. I was bearable.

After all, this is just a random video. There's nothing plot-related here. Heck, there's not even too much Sanders Sides stuff, because this GRWM clearly was Thomas' attempts to reconnect with the character. I shouldn't care too much about it. I shouldn't overanalyze it.

But you know me: you know I love to over-analyze. And if you know me, you also know that Remus is my favorite child, but Janus has a special place in my heart and if one little thing about him is off I will start rambling.

Hence why I will overanalyze the shit out of these 9 minutes of a video and I will do what I shouldn't do, i.e. look back into the past's characterization. Not for shaming Mr. Sanders for not remembering it (even if the videos still exist and he can watch them too if he wants), but to remind you all of Janus' personality. The public needs to remember what kind of character he was and who he became.

So I'll over-analyze everything and no, you can't escape. You're stuck with me here, so put your seatbelt on, because you're in for one of the things I love the most: talking about Janus.

The importance of nuance

Let's talk about make-up a little bit. Don't worry, by the end you will understand my point.

The current make-up isn't even comparable to the past one. And if a lot of people complain about it and prefer the old one, it's not because they're all demanding: it's because of nuances.

Let me explain and let's start with the current photo Mr. Sanders showed to promote the GRWM video:

If you look at this make-up, your eyes will inevitably be drawn towards that sharp black line. And as soon as you will look at it, you will immediately register it as a drawn line.

It's so clear and so evident it's a line, I can literally see the black liquid eyeliner, the tip and the hand tracing that line on Thomas' skin.

But this line isn't supposed to be a line: it's supposed to be/resemble a snake's mouth.

Now, look at the past make-up:

The line isn't sharp black: the line is nuanced. You can see a bit of brown and a hint of red/pink to give it depth and emphasize the shadow.

Also, this color is very similar to the little shadow given by Thomas' upper lip on the lower one, so it looks more natural against his skin tone. It doesn't seem like something added on him, but on something that was already part of him. And isn't that the goal of make-up? To add something and disappear, so people won't notice it exists in the first place?

Look at the eye as well: the past one is a softer, more nuanced pink. It looks more natural, against Thomas' skin tone. The present one is so dark, it looks more like a bad bruise.

So the problem with the current make-up isn't just that the colors aren't the same: it's that the current colors are too much. They're too sharp, too saturated and, consequently, too fake. It's clear that Thomas wears make-up, while in the past the blend was softer, the colors closer to Thomas' actual complexion. Consequently, the make-up faded and gave us an illusion of reality.

I know Mr. Sanders had skin conditions and everything, but I'm talking about colors and nuances here. Two things a make-up artist should know better than me, an idiot on the Internet who loves art, color theory and learns from artists on the web. You can obtain these things independently of the used products.

So my opinion on the make-up would be: please Mr. Sanders, switch for softer tones, no sharp black and no coral. Too much. Nuance is the key.

And not just for make-up.

---

The fakeness of reality tv

Janus enjoys reality television because nothing about it is real. His specific words are:

I very much enjoy reality television: the scheming, the plotting, the lying. Every person for himself and even on top of that, all of the production none of reality television is actually real. It's just delightful.

I get the idea behind it and I understand why Thomas thought it was a good choice. On paper, it works: Janus should enjoy this kind of show because it's made of lies and he's Deceit.

But if I follow this line of thought, I inevitably meet with Janus from Into the Unknown:

[Patton]: Well yeah I guess you'd like it, everyone all dressed up, disguised as someone else... [Janus]: How is it we've had so many of these visits and you still know so little about me?

Janus himself said that not everything associated with lies is something he enjoys. And it makes sense, because Logan too said the same thing in the last Aside:

"Is that all I am to you? The reading guy?"

So now I'm asking: why does he like reality tv? Just because it's fake? Then why is he so happy about it being fake? Reality tv should represent reality, it should mirror how society works. And thanks to SvS, we know Janus doesn't hold society into high consideration:

[Deceit]: Society itself is a lie! (...) You get enough people to share a piece of land and breathe the same air and... you've got a society. Why? It's just a bunch of people in the same general area. It's an abstract concept, as real as the monster under your bed! But we obey these rules or get punished for breaking them. All in the name of society. It's absurd and terrifying.

Just like society, reality tv has a group of people put together and they make a society. It's an abstract concept, as real as the monster under your bed. And these people must obey the rules or get punished for breaking them.

And yet, Janus doesn't think reality tv is "absurd and terrifying", but "delightful".

Again: why does he like it? Why does he like something so similar to what he hates most?

Maybe you can live with the "It's fake" explanation and that's good for you. But what if instead of liking reality tv because "it's fake", Janus likes it, because it perfectly mirrors the flaws and the emptiness of society? What if he enjoys it, because he loves the irony of society using its own means to unmask itself and show its real face? What if he watches it, not because "it's delightful", but because it's bittersweet to see such an inability to understand your own flaws?

Which explanation do you think is more fitting for his character?

---

Remus eats glue sticks

Of course he does. His digestive system is probably able to digest molten lava, so glue sticks are a walk in the park for him, bless his chaotic soul <3

(Have I already said Remus is my favorite boi?)

---

The possibilities of shedding

Okay, the "Have you considered not having pores?" is hilarious and I love it on multiple levels.

Well, here we are. Janus sheds, two to four times a year. And I know the fandom went crazy over this and I'm happy for you... but I never really cared too much about it.

I mean: it's fine, but I can't really think of anything truly special to headcanon about it. Snakes shed their skin all the time and they just chill around, while slowly peeling their skin off. It's not dangerous, it doesn't hurt, it's just exfoliation time✨. I mean, does it hurt you, when you remove sunburnt skin? Don't think so. The worst thing for snakes is probably not being able to take the skin off with hands, since they don't have hands.

But hey, this is canon now, so I should probably integrate it in my headcanon. And I can do it in two different ways:

The shedding is just part of Janus' routine: twice a year he gets one day off, takes a reeeeally long bath and slowly peels off his skin until he's done.

I can take inspiration from this fanart and imagine the shedding as a real "leaving your body behind" process, in which Janus slowly gets submerged into his room and re-emerges as a form of pure power and instincts, which then solidifies into a new body. I think I like this idea more, because when I go with Janus, I need something that makes him look either more god-like or more monster-like.

And since we're talking about snake traits, how many more does he have? Because I already added a few on my list, like:

sunbathing

climbing trees

laying everywhere (especially on trees)

taking long relaxing baths

And I'm just waiting for an excuse to add "mating". But I suppose only future will tell.

---

What you don't like

"An important aspect of being oneself, in addition to knowing what you like, is knowing what you don't like and saying to that thing: ew get away from me, I don't like you... Roman"

Okay, that was genuinely funny and it made me smile, so kudos for that, Mr. Sanders. It was a clever move and I enjoyed it.

Also, for more reasons I will explain further down, this makes me want to write a conversation between Janus and Roman, to study how they work together, why they don't like each other and their personalities in general. My only problem would be to put it on a timeline, because I don't like to write things suspended in a temporal vacuum. If inspiration strikes, maybe I'll do it.

---

Religion... and self-preservation

Now, I don't know who made that question about Jesus Christ, but you. You. You gave me real fear... but also indirectly confirmed one of my headcanons, so thank you, I suppose.

I was bracing myself, waiting and hoping Thomas didn't say anything stupid, because Janus and religion have a super tight bond and one misstep can lead to me rambling for the rest of my life, all while throwing canon into the trash because no one can say anything wrong about the relationship Janus has with religion, not even Mr. Sanders.

But the answer was... okay. Harmless. A bit simplistic, maybe, but I can accept Janus saying that Jesus is cool for having followers and turning water into wine.

What really struck me the most was when he said Jesus is his style because "he refuses to die".

For me, that's the most important part of the video. You can take away everything else, because this is the only part that matters for me.

Why? Because this is the essence of self-preservation. Because, as I said in the past, self-preservation is that force that protects you from dangers, threats, even yourself. And it protects you from death. It's part of that intrinsic will to live that defines all living creatures.

So, since Janus encompasses this role too, it has always been implied (at least for me) that he's that force that will fight against death until the end, just to make Thomas live a little longer. In my headcanon, he literally refuses to think Thomas can die before his time, because he's built to not make this happen.

Hence why when I saw Janus putting such emphasis on the idea that Jesus refuses to die made me immensely happy, because it's (implied) canon. Janus refuses to die, because he will never surrender to death. Because it's his nature, to never surrender to it.

---

Deceit or Ego?

The snake telepathy part was fun when mentioned, then it was followed by the "memememe I'm gorgeous" part, which is perfect if you're the representation of Ego, a bit less if you're deceit.

Speaking of that, I think there's a bit of confusion in Thomas' mind regarding these two aspects. And since they're represented by two different Sides, the contrast is even more jarring.

Janus is confident and this is part of his personality. But confidence isn't repeating "me" in your head 400 times and telling yourself that you're gorgeous and handsome even when sitting still. This isn't confidence, this is Ego. This is something Roman could say to himself... and he did it, in the past. He looked at himself all the time, called himself gorgeous, asked if his makeup was okay because the prince's gonna slay, said he dramatically serenaded himself in front of the mirror. All these things are a constant reconfirmation of yourself and this is what the Ego does: it constantly reconfirms you're great and cool and gorgeous.

Confidence, on the other hand, doesn't need constant confirmations. If you're confident, you already know you're great, you don't need to repeat it yourself. You just do your things and if others criticize you, you shrug their reprimands off.

One example of confidence from this video? This part:

"What are my guilty pleasures?" Guilty pleasures? Why would a pleasure be guilty? I've got none of those. Indulge in your pleasures guilt-free, people: life is short.

This proves Janus is confident, WAY MORE than him repeating how cool he is. This is the tone he should've had for most of the video, not that "Oh, look at how cool I am".

Also because it may seem a paradox, but the more you repeat how cool you are, the less people will believe you. That's why people who constantly show off are perceived as weak and insecure: because they search for a constant reconfirmation they would probably never need, if they were truly confident.

---

All of the selfcare - and what else?

Aside from the things I already mentioned, the rest of the video is mostly made of advice like "your opinion is the only one that matters/others are less than you/don't give a shit about others".

I don't know if this is Mr. Sanders making a reminder to himself to not indulge in criticism too much, but okay, let's ignore it XD

These pieces of advice can all be traced back to another aspect of Janus' personality: the self-care one. The last canonical one.

And since it's the last, I can understand why Thomas latched onto it and made it be like 60% of the video. It's probably the part of Janus' character he remembers the most.

And it's the easiest too, along with the "sassy" aspect. Put them together and you get the sassy queen who tells you to relax dear, don't give a fuck about the rest of the world.

So I understand you, anon, when you say this is the best characterization in a while: it is, because it's based on the last canonical piece of Janus' character, mixed with the "sassy" aspect that developed more recently. Of course it seems more coherent with Janus' character, compared to him being drunk for an entire video.

But even if canonical, self-care is just an aspect of Janus' personality and it makes most of the video. The remaining part is a huge amount of Ego, which shouldn't even be here, because it's Roman's trait.

And the other aspects? Nowhere to be seen. No distaste for society, no cryptic language, no wittiness, barely any lie, barely any real confidence, barely any body language and zero foreseeing ability.

I know what you're thinking and yes, I said at the beginning that this video is clearly just a way for Mr. Sanders to reconnect with the character. So I understand why Janus' personality is like that and that there are mistakes or incomplete things. I am not blaming Thomas for trying.

I am writing this post, to remind you Janus' full personality. To remind you that he's not just "sassy wine aunt/self-care queen".

On the contrary, I think present Janus is exactly like his make-up: the traits are similar to the original one, but the aspects are too sharp. They should be here, they are part of him, but they're not in the exact shade or nuance to be him. They are similar, but off, because something is missing. And that something is nuance.

In the end, that's what this post is all about: nuance. Past Janus was more nuanced, because he was more than one aspect. Present Janus is less nuanced, because he's stuck between two aspects - which is a truly cruel irony, considering his entire thing is being a gray, multifaceted character.

My only hope is that, just like with the make-up, Mr. Sanders will find a way to bring nuances back into Janus' character and make him at least similar to who he used to be.

#sanders sides #ask #thomas sanders #janus sanders #I just love this character a lot #he has a ton to offer #and he has such a gray multifaceted personality #he doesn't deserve to become a one-dimensional cardboard

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polyboros · 2 years

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i need to pick up xbc3 again soon to get back in the groove but my halloween ouroboros fic idea is "what if interlinking and being ouroboros made you share traits with your interlink partner outside of it and also Changed You" aka this is the fic where i catboyify noah

#kbitycus talks #less (body) horror more comedy but still very present ''my body is growing new appendages'' emotion #taion gets wings lanz gets fire. & everybodys Deal is sort of amplified and messy and the lines between interlink partners are blurred #(sena gets mio's cat-eye flashing. this does not bode well. taion vc if i get cat ears too i will lose my mind)#also playing around w concept of moebius physically changing you outside of the interlink #aka what if EVERYONE looked like they were cracking into pieces #my other current xbc3 fic idea is a v simple ''many interlinks one ouroboros'' type au where they all can fuse w each other #mio/sena & lanz/eunie interlinks live rent free in my head especially #but also noah/taion interlink i think would be the starting point there. i'd have to give myself a little refresher on the timeline #& of course necessary scene where all six of them fuse into one guy and it is Fucking Terrifying #the original halloween au also plays into ouroboros becoming inhuman in subtler ways that arent just what they originally had #something something they arent shadowy monsters but there is something off about them still even when moebius' illusion fades #that is still your comrade that is still your friend that is still the boy you saved terms ago but now he is Changed.#there is something sharp in his eyes like the mouth of a snake and his shadow is too long and loops oddly into the others'#etc etc you know how it goes!!!

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screampied · 13 days

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whiny toji was something i did know i needed till now🧍🏼‍♀️

now what about whiny sukuna👀👀 in his domain👀👀

-👁️

riding sukuna until he whines ★

warnings. fem! reader, unprotected, whiney sukuna, brief choking, praise, dirty talk, premature ejaculation, mdni.

“oh, fine. do your worst, brat,” the curse would snicker with a sly grin stretching against the very curvature of his crimson pink lips. he’s not taking you serious.

then again, it’s rare for the sukuna ryomen to ever take you, his precious favorite human serious. you enlighten him so to speak, he cherishes the time he spends with you . . including the moments where you’re entrapped with him in his own domain. you’ve never had the patience though, as you’re straddling his lap— you’re hovering over his leaky tip and his fangs poke out into a mere, wicked smile. “givin’ up now? what’s with the hesitation, little one?” and a hand of his runs down the sides of your waist, a smirk pulling against his lips once he hums in amusement. “scared ‘m gonna stretch you out like last time?”

“no one’s scared,” you reply with an eye roll, pressing a chaste kiss against his mouth. sukuna hums, multiple eyes flickering at you, taking in your beauty. a broad hand of his slings around your waist before giving it a tight squeeze. “just shut up ‘n lie back, ‘kuna.”

“not likin�� that attitude,” he grumps—crossing the upper part of his two arms before parting his legs. he was very beefy, the size difference between the two of you was almost adorable. another broad hand of his brings you closer, a hiss snakes from his lips as he feels your folds gradually swallow his frenulum. “but like i said, do your worst. i’ll be nice ‘n try not to fall asleep, heh.”

you were always annoyed with the smug, complacent smile that’s forevermore printed onto the curses lips. as you’re taking him down, it feels warm. he groans at the way your gummy walls easily clamp down against him.

easy, two of his hands grab onto your waist before he leans back against his throne. “you’re too cocky for your own good sometimes, ‘kuna,” and his eyes flicker at you. the nerve, he’d let you get away with saying almost anything to him.

the only reason why—simply because you were known as his favorite,

“and you’re too bratty for your own good,” he replies back with wit, the roughness in his tone making you throb. sukuna was so close to your ear, you inch closer until you’re met with his chest. perfectly toned pecs—soft toned pecs rubbing against your own, you can feel how perky his nipples were, brushing against the fabric of his cottony made kimono. inside his domain— it was dark, a mere scary glimpse of his own perfect little world. and yet, here he was sharing it with you. he sucks his teeth, your cunt holds him tight, refusing to let go and his head goes back. “my, perhaps you’ve missed me a lot more than you let on.”

so cocky,

with an eye roll, you lean in for a kiss— the demon returns it, a free hand of his wrapping around your throat whilst you’re taking him fully.

your hips start to sway, picking up a decent rhythm before you moan in his mouth. he skims a thumb down the aisle of your throat, feeling the vibrations that’s continuously flees from your voice. so harmonic, the sweet sounds you always made for him was a song he’d constantly listen to if he could.

“ugh,” he grunts, pulling away—a glimmering mixture of his own saliva departs away from your lips as he stares at you blankly. he’s almost in disbelief. with your arched hips in mere constant rotation, a raw groan rips from his lips. he finds it cute. the small prints of your fingers wrap around his throat, never once leaving eye contact. “you’re a kinky little girl today, huh. got no right choking m-me.”

sukuna’s voice falters all of sudden, he lets off a sharp gasp. the plump tip of his dick abruptly thumping against a specific spot deep inside of your swollen cunt. it hits it again, and again, and again,

he’s getting a bit sensitive. sukuna’s caught off guard—especially with how not only you’re choking him gingerly, but resuming to grind your sweet hips against him. so warm, you ride his lap like it’s your own personal throne. the middle parts of his back slumps against his royal seat as he gnaws on his lip. his breaths become significantly heavy and he already sounds like he’s running out of breath.

languidly,

your hips stutter against him—the hefty size of his cock rummages all through your pussy before you conceal yet another moan.

sukuna groans, feeling you lean up close to pierce the crowns of your teeth into the depths of his skin. lolling out your damp tongue, you savor the curses taste. he tastes sweet, almost salty but of course candied. a hand of his reaches near the outer cusps of your ass before a long nail of his carved light against your skin. moaning yourself, you seep your tongue canines into his neck to leave a mark and he grunts— yet this time, instead of his usual gruff tone that booms throughout his infamous, blood-curdling domain, for the first time in centuries or ever, sukuna ryomen whimpers.

it slips out of him easily, and oh is he embarrassed once he sees the dumbfounded expression of yours turn into straight smugness.

the whine spews from his ancient lips and he’s not fond of this feeling at all— he’s so deep into the very pits of your lower abdomen, making you feel every staggering inch of his cock and he sucks his teeth in desperation. a finger of yours slips through his kimono, trailing against his sculpted abs before you lean up close to him to whisper.

“aw,” you giggle with a hum shortly following, the rupture his dick makes within you almost gives your legs a good enough excuse to give up. running a finger down his undercut, you’re met with the meanest glare. “all that sass and you’re a whiny baby, sukuna,” and you thrust your hips against him further. the massive weight of his balls slapping back against your skin and he tenses up. broad shoulders raise before he whines again, although this time— it’s from feeling you kiss near the neglected corner of his lips. “who knew the king of curses could be a cute whiner.”

“s-shut up, mortal,” he groans, the sensitivity of his cock repeatedly thrashes against your g-spot. sukuna’s too caught off guard that he doesn’t even realize he ends up finishing early.. too early,

thick stringy ropes end up shooting into you, it’s warm and sticky. you pause your hips—relishing in the hotness of his spurts of seed that trickles its way into you. sukuna’s spasming out underneath you, it’s so cute to see. his jaw hangs open, the most lewdest whimpers leaving out of his throat before the veins that run within his bulky arms pulse. he’s seeing everything but the vision; the vision of you straddling his lap, staring into his eyes with that cheeky grin.

submissive sukuna,

you lean in to kiss him whilst he’s still dumping an entire gluey load of cum into you. such satiny ropes, he sloppily returns the favor, breath heavy and sheets of sweat pouring down the sides of his face. “goodness,” and his voice— it’s not as confident as it was, you hear a slight tremor in it and it’s cute. he’s still heaving, clingy walls continue to grip around him before his fangs nip at your bottom lip. “a-ah, got me soundin’ like a worthless p—”

“shh, baby,” you purr, and he’s like puffy folding in your hands. once cruel and sadistic eyes—now all droopy and full of heart eyes at your very expense. he calms down from the strokes of your hand against his face and he shudders, trying to pull into another kiss but you stop him. he whines again. “oh, does the demon want another kiss?”

he nods, that same cute grump of a scowl returning to his lips before he sighs. “give me a kiss.”

“not when you ask like that, ‘kuna,” you tease and his eye twitches, again— the nerve..

he feels the way his cum starts to ooze out between your thighs and he glowers at you. such a baby, you lean in to kiss his pout away and his arms go back to being crossed. “say pretty please.”

“perish.”

“fine kiss yourself,” you roll your eyes with a sly smile, preparing to make your way off the demons lap until he holds you tight. two strong arms grabbing you,

so clingy . .

with a scoff, he looks away—a cute tint rising to his face before he mumbles. “give me a kiss, pretty please.”

“that’s a good demon,” you giggle, slinging your arms around him before pressing him a soft, wet kiss. he whines at your taste, wanting nothing more than to savor it. his tongue curls against yours before he feels your hips start to pick up again. he moans, his left thigh twitching before your bouncing accelerates. he was still so sensitive, and yet here he was, like dough mending underneath you.

a while after, you pull away and he pouts— hiding his face into the very crook of your neck. sukuna snarls, nibbling against your skin before whining out a low, raspy, “i- i need a minute,” and he hides more of his sweetened whimpers into your neck. “don’t move. we’re gonna stay like this, f-fuck.”

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froggibus · 8 months

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Not Done Yet - Wriothesley

Pairing: Wriothesley x f! reader (reader has a pussy + uses fem pronouns)

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: your boyfriend will do anything to keep you from moving to the Overworld

CW: dubcon, breeding, unprotected sex, multiple creampies, overstimulation, fingering, wall sex, dry humping, doggystyle, mating press, lots of dirty talk, praise + degradation, use of ‘good girl’, dom! Wriothesley, semi feral wriothesley , possessiveness, arguing

hello welcome to this episode of kinktober where the Wriothesley brainrot continues. the minute I met this man in game it was just absolutely over for me and I had SO many thoughts of him and ugh. hope you guys like it <3

Kinktober Masterlist

“You want to do what?”

It’s hard not to cower under your boyfriend’s gaze when his eyes have become so chilly. His voice has taken on an angry edge, a ball of electricity forming in your tummy.

You swallow hard and point your chin. “I want to move.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, taking a step closer. It’s times like these that you realize how much bigger he is than you, how much more powerful he is than you. The air takes on a bitter cold.

“Away from here, I mean,” you add, turning your gaze to the dangling chandelier of his office and the warm light it emits.

“To the Overworld. You want to move to the Overworld and abandon the life you have here.” His voice booms, “you have a home here, y/n. You have me here. And you want to throw it all away so you can work like a dog until the day you die?”

You scoff. “So I can have a real life, Wriothesley. A chance at some normalcy. To get a normal job and have normal food and—and have a family.”

He looks taken aback at your final sentence. The gears in his head turn, slowly processing this. You’ve never talked about having kids before, not with him. Sure, you’re not always the most careful about using protection, but he never thought that would be something that you want.

He steps forward again, backing you up only inches from the wall. He grabs your chin and forces you to look at him, “you’re not leaving me. You can’t.”

You shiver, though you’re not sure if it’s from the cold air or from the dark look in his eyes. You stare at him defiantly, though every instinct tells you to look away from him.

You can see your breath when you speak. “I can and I will.”

Wrong answer.

In an instant, he has you pinned against the wall, one hand with a bruising grip on your hip, the other snaking around your throat.

His eyes darken as he smashes his lips against yours. He catches your bottom lip between his teeth, the sudden pain making you gasp. He slips his tongue between your lips and you suck instinctually.

He slides his hand down from your hip and under your thigh, lifting it up to his side. He thrusts you against the wall, groaning into your mouth. You whine against him, raising your leg higher to give the growing bulge in his pants easier access to your aching core.

“Why would you ever wanna leave this, hm?”

His words snap you out of your trance, your hands trailing up to his chest to shove him off of you. Heat surges through your body, your head spinning as if the world is rocking beneath you.

You take a deep breath and gather your bearings. “We’re not done arguing, Wriothesley.”

“I am,” he pushes you against the wall, using his size to his advantage. He presses himself against your back so that you can feel every twitch of his muscles, every rise and fall of his chest.

His hands go to your hips, fingertips digging into the soft flesh. He grinds himself against you, hard bulge nestling between your legs.

He digs his teeth into your neck, sharp canines grazing the sensitive skin. He gives a rough, playful thrust, and a moan slips out between your lips. You squeeze your eyes shut, the heat of embarrassment taking over.

He gently sucks at the spot he just bit. “That’s what I thought,” he says in that familiar, commanding voice—the one he uses to break up prison riots, or convince you to let him chain you to the bed.

He slips a hand between your legs to cup your throbbing core, feeling the heat overflowing from your pussy. Another whine slips out, your knees shaking in anticipation, threatening to give out.

He tightens his grip on your hip to hold you still, his other hand furiously rubbing your clit through the fabric of your pants. You arch your back, letting your knees spread apart to give him easier access. He pulls his hand away and smacks your ass, laughing at the soft moan it elicits.

He wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you back to rub against his cock. You brace yourself against the wall with your hands, leaning forwards with your hand down. He thrusts against you, hard cock grinding against the fabric of his own jeans.

His other hand slips into the waistband of your pants, trailing down to your soaking panties. He runs a finger along your slit, “god, you’re absolutely dripping.”

You hide your face in your arm against the wall, shaking your head in shame. Wriothesley laughs, pushing his hand into your panties and running it between your lips. You look so cute when you’re writhing beneath him and hiding your face. He can’t wait to see how cute you’ll look when he has your eyes rolling back.

He rubs steady circles on your clit, your pussy only gushing with more slick as he touches you. You push back against him with every moan, rubbing your ass onto his aching hard on.

He leans over you, pressing himself against you completely. His lips hover just below your ear, “hm, pretty girl. So nice and wet.”

He dips a finger inside of you, just barely prodding your entrance with the thick tip. Shockwaves rush through you, your hips jutting out with a mind of their own, your pussy clamping down around him. He pushes it in up to the hilt, your gummy walls clamping around his thick finger.

He curls it inside of you and watches you fall apart around him, a slutty mess just from one of his fingers. He pushes another inside, working you open. Your arms shake against the wall, threatening to give in and make you face plant against it.

There’s a hot pressure building in your stomach, heating up more and more by the second. Your thighs quiver on either side of his arm, your arms bend inwards, and suddenly you pitch forwards.

Wriothesley anticipates your fall, keeping his arm tightly around your waist. He holds you up with one arm while finger fucking you with the other. He continues pumping his fingers inside of you, warm juices dripping out of you and coating his knuckles. He can feel you open up around him, the vice grip you had around his digits finally loosening.

He curls his fingers inside of you one final time, hitting that soft spot within your walls. You cum violently, muscles spasming against your will. Your whole body shudders and you collapse completely into his arms. You keep your eyes closed, trying to regain control of your senses as the waves of your orgasm crash over you.

When you finally open your eyes, you’re laying on his bed with your clothes off. Wriothesley stands at the end of the bed, also naked and stroking his hard cock. The dark lighting of the bedroom only makes him look more defined, the contours of his abs and arms making you drool.

He kneels on the bed in front of you, fisting his cock. You find yourself staring at the bulge of his biceps, the contour of his abs, the precum dripping down the tip of his cock. You’re barely aware that he’s propping you up on your knees, running his hands over the swell of your ass.

He dips a finger into your puffy pussy. You shudder from the sensitivity, your walls fluttering around his finger.

He squeezes your ass and pulls his finger out. “Hm, I think you’re ready.”

“Ready?” You ask weakly, your face pressed into his pillows.

He rubs his cock through your folds, collecting all of your slick onto his tip. “Ready for me to fuck you,” he says, lining his tip up with your entrance. “Ready for me to ruin you.”

His words send a chill up your spine, the undertone of his voice something entirely foreign to you. You have no time to ponder what it means before he’s pushing his cock inside of you.

No matter how many times he fucks you, no matter how long he prepares you for, it’s always a stretch. He’s so big that he fills you completely, the head of his cock pressing against that spot inside of you perfectly. He parts your walls around him, an almost painful stretch.

He keeps a hand on your hip, using it as leverage as he pulls out and drives himself into you. He keeps a desperate, brutal pace, bottoming out with every thrust. The curve of his cock has him rubbing against your walls, pressing into your g-spot with every shift of his hips. His balls smack against your pussy, shining with your juices.

His hand digs in hard enough to bruise, the other reaching around to rub your clit. “So tight,” he groans, “ ‘s like your pussy never wants me to leave.”

You whine, bending your back and allowing him a better angle. He slams into you roughly, knocking all of the breath out of your lungs with the impact of his hips against yours.

His thrusts start to get sloppier, his orgasm building right along with yours. He pulls you up so that your back is flush with his, his cock getting dangerously close to your cervix.

“Fuck,” he grunts, kissing at your neck, “fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“M-me too!”

He pounds into you at a desperate pace. “G-gonna cum inside you,” he groans. “Gonna fuckin’ cum in you, cum right inside that little womb of yours.”

“Wrio~”

He shoved you forwards. “Gonna breed this pussy, hm? Then you’ll have to stay with me—fuck.”

His cock twitches inside of you as he bottoms out for the last time, holding you flush to his thighs as hot ropes of cum fill you up. He sucks and bites at your neck as he finishes cumming inside of you, letting you fall onto your face against the bed.

He keeps his cock inside of you, effectively plugging you with his cum. He gives you no time to recover before he’s flipping you into your back, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

“Wrio—it’s too much!”

He smirks at you, something feral behind those crystalline eyes. “You’re not going anywhere,” he grunts, thrusting into you. “Not until you’re nice and full.”

You’re surprised that he manages to keep the pace he does, fucking his cum back into you with renewed vigour. He leans over you, giving himself better access to slam into your pussy. You cry out with every thrust, raking your nails down his back.

It’s so sensitive, it’s too much, but fuck, does it feel so good. “T-too deep,” you whine, your own words sounding foreign and far away to you. “Too big.”

He laughs, “but you’re taking it so well, sweetheart. And doesn’t it feel so good?”

You nod, babbling incoherently into his ear. Sweat beads down your temples, tears coat your lashes. Your skin takes on a feverish sheen, but you don’t care. All you care about is the feeling of his cock slamming into you and how his arms flex with every thrust.

His thrusts start to get sloppy, his pace slowing down to a steady rhythm. He lets himself collapse on top of you, effectively folding you in half.

“Gonna fill you up,” he groans. “Gonna fucking breed you and keep you nice and full. Make you my little whore and keep you here with me.”

You whine, black spots starting to crowd your vision. His thrusts are slow and deep now, his hips moving into you brutally.

“You’d like that, hm? You said you wanted a family,” he bottoms out inside of you, his cum flooding your pussy. “I’m just giving you what you asked for.”

The combination of his cum and his cock inside of you has you feeling so full it almost hurts. Your senses have dulled, all of your thoughts of leaving having been fucked away.

Wriothesley lays on top of you, bowing his head into your shoulder. His dark hair tickles your collar bone, his lips pressing against the flushed skin of your chest.

“Did so well for me,” he mumbles into your skin, “such a good girl.”

You can only nod, running your fingers through his hair to try and ground yourself. You lay there in silence for a while—just him breathing into your chest and you stroking his hair.

After a while, he props himself up. That same soft look has returned to his eyes, “you’re not really going to leave, right?”

It’s posed like a question but sounds more like a plea. His cock is still inside of you, more and more cum running out as it’s softened. You still feel dizzy from the overstimulation, but looking at him now, you don’t see how you could possibly leave.

“No,” you say quietly. “I’m not going to leave.”

#wriothesley #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley x you #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact #wriothesley smut #genshin smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #smut #wriothesley genshin smut

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sparklingchim · 7 months

Text

you're losing me; m | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 3.2k

rating: 18+

genre: angst, married couple, age gap, ceo jk, nepo baby oc, second chance romance

warnings: thigh riding, liddol hickey, spittt, groping, dirty talk, name calling, only one spank!!, arguments 🙄, mentions of smoking?, daddy kink, fake sympathy, creampie, little cum play,

summary: jungkook is late from work yet again. but he shows you just how much he missed you.

a/n: this is for us angst girlies 🫂

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Something is not right.

Your nose picks up on the unfamiliar scent on Jungkook as you bury your face into his chest. He squeezes you tightly, big arms embracing you with a warm hug.

“Hi, love,” he softly whispers. Jungkook cradles your head and you melt into his hand. He is bent down to your position on the bed, his loose tie hanging from his neck.

“Missed you.” Your voice gets buried in the kiss Jungkook presses on your lips. You catch his tie and pull him closer.

“I told you not to stay up.” He leans back. Accusatory eyes peering down at you.

Your nose scrunches when he steps away, the pungent waft snaking up your nostrils.

“Did you smoke?”

His round eyes widen at the question, but he denies it with a firm shake of his head. His neatly styled hair doesn’t move – except the short, wispy flyaways on his forehead. Jungkook’s lips pucker the slightest bit. He appears innocent and you believe him if he tells you so.

“I was with Mingyu a lot,” he explains. He places his folded suit jacket on the dresser and begins to loosen the sleeve of his shirt. “You know how he is when he’s stressed.”

You lean against the headboard. “I don’t like the smell.”

“I know.” He starts unbuttoning the front of his shirt. “I’m sorry.” He walks over to his nightstand and exchanges his Rolex for his smart watch. You watch him with knitted eyebrows. “I’m gonna head down to the gym – do a quick workout session.”

“Jungkook it’s late. You just got home from work.” You reach for his arm.

He turns to you, chiselled chest peeking out from underneath his unbuttoned shirt. “It’s fine. I’m not tired.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Then let me watch you work out.”

Jungkook sniffs a laugh. “You stay here.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Get some sleep for me, yeah? I know you have an appointment tomorrow morning.” His knuckles trace the outline of your jawline.

You sigh and draw back.

“Hey – don’t be upset.” He catches your chin with his fingers. “I told you I was gonna work out today.”

A harsh glower settles on your face. “Well, I thought that meant you’d come home earlier.”

“I tried to, love. I really tried.” His worried eyes search for understanding in yours. “I don’t want you upset. I never want you upset.”

He tilts your chin, so you meet his eyes. Jungkook’s gaze is soft. The amount of softness you’d have if you were staring at a delicate, precious thing. He always looks at you like this.

“I only ever want to make you happy. Nothing else.” His eyebrows raise to stress the tender words he whispered into the room. “Just want to make my wife happy.”

Warmth spreads in your chest. “I know that,” you answer meekly.

Deep down, there’s an overwhelming desire to pour your heart out to him, to express the multitude of things that have been gnawing at your soul, each one a sharp thorn in your side, leaving you utterly upset. But considering how late it is you don’t think it’s the right moment to unleash this torrent of pent-up frustration.

You’re both tired from the useless arguments. You don’t want to make this day any more exhausting for him.

“If you want to make me a happy wife then finish off that workout quickly and join me in bed,” you say. “I need cuddles.”

His eyes crease before a gentle smile sweeps over his mouth. “Good night, love.” He catches your lips in a swift, tender good-night-kiss. “You should shut that thing off. It’s too late for that.” Jungkook regards your iPad with a disgruntling scrunch of his nose. He hates screen time before bed. But you just love drawing on it.

You’d tease Jungkook with it sometimes. Annoy the hell out of him until he’d see no other choice but to put you to sleep his way.

But now Jungkook tucks you under the bed, makes sure to grab his number one enemy when it comes to having you to himself at night and hides in his nightstand.

You watch him slip off his shirt as he crosses the room. You get a glimpse of his broad shoulders and unfairly teeny tiny waist before he leaves the bedroom.

You turn to your side. A tiring sigh flies past your lips.

With two gentle claps of your hands the dim lights in the room shut off.

The spot next to you is empty. Cold.

It’s unsettling how quickly you’ve gotten used to the feeling.

The mattress dips beside you.

“Hmm?” You stir awake, emitting confused murmurs.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook hushes from behind you. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Your head turns in his direction. “Jungkook.” You bury your face into the crook of his neck. He is a magnet, always pulling you in. Even when you are sleepy and can barely force your eyes open.

His fingers find their way to your hair and in slow patterns he strokes over the length of it.

“What time is it?” you mutter the question into his skin.

“Just past midnight.”

“Two hours?” Your peeved grumble prompts him to peck your bare shoulder. “You said quick workout.”

“I didn’t work out the entire week, babe.”

You rest your head on his arm, glaring up at him. “It’s just Wednesday.”

Jungkook shushes you with a firm squeeze on your hips. “I’m here now. Done with everything.”

When you hear him emit a tiny, exhausted blow through his nose – barely audible in the quiet room, but you notice because you notice every little detail about him – your eyes turn worried.

“You okay?”

Jungkook lets the questions linger in the air before he nods firmly, uttering a, “Yeah. I’m fine.”

You tentatively sweep his short hair from his forehead. It’s a little damp from the shower.

“The day was filled with lots of important meetings. It was a lot today.” Before you can place your hand back on his chest, he catches your wrist and adds a small kiss to the back of your hand.

You figured as much. Jungkook barely texted you back today. Needed hours to respond.

“Was at least the food that I ordered for you good?”

“Fuck – don’t remind me.” He bites his bottom lip, pleasure spreading over his face. “The food was incredible. Have you eaten there before?”

A smile curves your lips. “Uh-huh. Went there with Namjoon last week. I didn’t know when you’d have time to have dinner there with me, so I got my favourite from the menu for you.”

Jungkook has been coming late from work for over two weeks now. You barely had cute dates anymore.

“We can go there.” His tatted fingers toy with the hem of your lacy nightgown. “You wanna go there tomorrow? I’ll finish work earlier.”

Your eyes sparkle. “I’d love to.”

Jungkook’s dimple appear at your beaming face. He drags your thigh over his abdomen, the silky fabric of your nightgown riding up the curve of your butt. His palm rests on the exposed skin.

“Why didn’t you blow dry your hair?” you ask. You tug at some damp strands.

“Didn’t want to wake you.” Jungkook cranes his neck down to gently kiss your forehead. “We should sleep now. It’s late.”

Your brows furrow in exaggerated displeasure. “Not yet.”

“What’s wrong, love?” He cups your cheek worriedly.

“Wanna hang out more.”

Jungkook chuckles lightly. “You wanna hang out?”

“You’ve been making me feel really lonely,” you say in a pout.

“Love, fuck.” His hand on the swell of your ass squeezes your flesh. “Don’t say that.”

“You’re barely home.” You get closer to him, if even possible, knee skimming past the front of his grey sweatpants. The pads of his fingers dig into your skin at that motion.

“You really don’t wanna sleep, huh?”

“Nuh-uh.”

You slowly start to grind your hips against him.

“Then let me make up for all the time I’ve been away from my wife.”

You giggle when he draws you on top of him. You straddle his thigh as Jungkook leads your face down to his mouth. It’s an impatient and longing kiss, the type that has your mind bewitched, compelling you into chanting his name in a never-ending rhythm.

Jungkook rids himself of his sweatpants, tossing them to the ground with his feet.

Your hips continue to move on his now bare thighs, moving your kisses from his lips to his neck. He doesn’t like having marks on his neck, but you can’t help but feel a little selfish when you start sucking on his skin. Just merely a second after, Jungkook pulls at your hair.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he questions with a sharp gaze.

“Having fun?” Your desire to leave a little hickey might also stem from media outlets starting to question why Jungkook and you haven’t been spotted together recently, but you’d rather not admit that. You don’t want him to think that you care about public perception, even though Jungkook is very well aware of it all. You just like to pretend it doesn’t affect you.

You just can’t wait for the photos tomorrow when you will show up in a cute outfit with Jungkook holding your hand, a small love bite adorning his neck after not making a public appearance with him for a couple weeks.

He sniffs a laugh. “Just can’t help it, can you?”

“Never.” You bat your eye lashes.

His hands are on your waist, encouraging your slow movements. He bunches the soft material of your baby blue nightgown in his palms, staring at your clothed pussy.

“I can feel how wet you are for me.” His eyes move with the motions of your hips, a gentle smirk capturing his lips. “What’s gotten you so worked up, babe?” He flexes his thigh, coaxing a gasp from you.

“You.” You’re already a little breathless, his heartbreakingly handsome face fuelling the deep desire of needing more.

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Have I not been taking care of my love? Hm?” Jungkook asks you in mock sympathy.

You nod, pressing your palms against his ripped chest while your hips grind a bit rougher on his thigh.

“I’m sorry.” He traces your bottom lip, gentleness coating his words. He pops his finger into your mouth, making you suck on it. You swirl your tongue around it until he withdraws his finger, sneaking it in your panties and pressing it against your sensitive clit.

A whine flies past your lips at his touch, moving even faster.

“You’re gonna cum for me like this?” He starts circling the pad of his thumb on your clit.

Arching your back, you lean in for a kiss, uttering little moans of his name against his lips. You can feel the smug smirk on his mouth, can feel his possessiveness in the way he squeezes your ass and hear it in the loud smack that echoes through the room after his palm collided with your butt.

When you feel the pleasure exploding within you, you bury your face into Jungkook’s neck. Your body trembles. Jungkook tilts his head and gingerly pecks your temple, hands skimming over your back.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

Jungkook puts you on your back, tugging off your panties and carelessly throws them away. He does the same to his pair of black briefs.

You watch him spit on his dick and stroke his hard cock while you get comfy on the pillows. Jungkook rubs his tip over your soaked pussy, leisurely pressing his dick inside when his head is against your entrance.

“Fuck, I missed your pussy.” He wraps your legs around his waist, staring at how your pussy takes his entire length.

As he moves his cock, his hand raises to your head to tame your chaotic hair. You pucker your lips a little and he instantly answers your silent request with a smooth press of his mouth against yours.

“Want your vibrator?” he asks.

“Too sensitive.” Your nails graze his back, your feet keeping him close to you.

Jungkook pushes your silky nightgown past your tummy and over your tits. He loves watching them bounce as he thrusts his cock into your pussy. He gropes them, toying a little with your nipple as he swipes his spit over your nub. His eyes are practically glued to the supple swells on your chest.

Until he finds something prettier than your tits. Your face.

He wears a boyish smile on his face when you meet his gaze. You bite your lip, pleasure and giddiness swirling through you.

“Taking my cock so well,” he praises. “Such a good slut for daddy.”

You gulp, teeth sinking further into your lip.

He lowers his head, pulling your earlobe between his lips before he whispers, “Right? You love being a good slut for daddy.”

Chills spreads over your neck and you manage a meek nod as loud whines escape your throat.

“Use your big girl words,” Jungkook demands. “Tell me whose girl you are. You can do that, can’t you?” His voice turns sweet again, though the taunting glint remains in his eyes. Your pussy foolishly clenches.

“I’m daddy’s girl,” you utter with bright eyes.

Jungkook flashes you his dimples. Excitement spreads in your tummy at his approval.

“Open,” he instructs and you part your mouth. He drops a tiny bead of saliva in your mouth. With one hand around your throat, he feels you swallowing it. “Good girl.”

He pushes the back of your thighs towards your body, picking up on his speed.

“Jungkook,” you moan weakly.

“Gonna fill this pussy with my cum.”

He pounds you faster, harder, filling the room with filthy sounds.

“I’m close,” you mumble, fingers clawing at the bed.

“Cum with me,” he rasps.

Jungkook grunts your name and you feel yourself topple over the edge as his tip kisses the sweet spot inside you, repeatedly hitting it until your hands fly up to his shoulders and nails dig into his skin.

His hips still, painting your pussy white. Jungkook plants slow kisses on your collarbone, trying to catch his breath.

When he pulls out, his cum follows, but he pushes your mixed juices back inside. You moan lightly, tapping your feet against his back to tell him to get you something to clean you up.

But Jungkook remains on top of you just a little longer. “You did so good,” he whispers. He catches your left hand and pecks the ring that adorns your finger. “I love you.”

“Love you,” you mutter back, a tiny, exhausted smile curving your mouth.

“Forever.” With a doting kiss he conceals the promise he has been making to you for four years.

Getting off the bed, he puts on his briefs and disappears into the bathroom to fetch a warm cloth. When he returns to clean you up, he is gentle with you, peppering kisses on your tummy and thighs and flashing cute smiles your way as he does it.

With his sweatpants and now dirty cloth he walks back into the bathroom.

“Have you thought about costumes for the Halloween party?” you ask him.

“Halloween party?” His voice ricochets through the bathroom.

“Chanyeol’s Halloween party,” you remind him as he saunters back into the bedroom. The grey sweatpants hang dangerously low on his hips. “Wanna go through my Pinterest board? I collected some cute ideas.”

He grabs white lacy panties from the dresser. “It’s in two weeks?” Jungkook helps you slip on the new panties, ducking down to press a light peck on the little bow sitting on the centre of it. “I’ll see if I can find the time.”

You look at him puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Jungkook rakes his hand through his messy hair. “You know I’m extremely busy at the moment.”

“But we always go to Chanyeol’s party.” You reach for his hand, tugging him closer to the bed. Disappointment pulls your lips into a pout.

Chanyeol’s Halloween party is always big, extravagant and ridiculously dramatic, but that is exactly what makes it fun. You love extravagance. Love dressing up.

Jungkook’s finger brusher over your dainty ring. “You can still go. You don’t need me to go with you.”

You drop his hand with a frustrated huff. It’s not the response you wanted to hear. “Missing out on Jimin’s birthday last week wasn’t enough?” you ask disdainfully. A bit mean. You don’t care.

“I’m not doing it purposefully.” He levels you with reproving eyes. “I wish I could’ve come.”

You tuck your feet back underneath the blanket, pulling it up to your lap. “Just squeeze in a little time for the party.” You almost add a “please?”, but you’re feeling terribly annoyed; the kind that makes you unconsciously clench your jaw and pull your brows so tightly, they practically touch.

“I’m not going to schedule around a silly Halloween party, ___.” His tone drips with irritation.

“Fine,” you reply, scooching back on the bed. “Don’t know why I even bothered.”

“Love.” It’s a futile attempt at taming the sudden raging anger that crawled up your neck.

“You’ve been doing this constantly, Jungkook.”

He still stands in front of the bed. Tongue poking his cheek as he debates his next words. He swipes his hand over his face, sighing into his palm.

“You don’t understand,” he grumbles annoyed.

“I know you don’t.”

Jungkook scoffs at your reply – even wears a crooked, ridiculing smile. An angry flush appears on his cheeks.

“Let’s not do this before bed,” he suggests. Tiredness is written all over him.

We’re already in the middle of it. But you keep that to yourself. You don’t have the energy for a bigger fight. He’s drained it from you from all the fights the nights before this.

“I don’t care anymore,” you say. “Shouldn’t have asked you anyway.”

Jungkook turns off the little lamp on his bedside table before he gets into bed. You turn your back to him.

Your heart is heavy with confusing emotions as you lie there in silence. You almost feel your eyes well up with tears, but you blink them away as soon as you feel them.

“Want me to accompany you to your appointment?” Jungkook asks suddenly.

“No.” Yes.

“I’ll start work a little later.” Jungkook’s hand sweeps across your tense shoulders. You must’ve unintentionally stiffened at the mention of your gynaecologist appointment. “I know you’re a little anxious.”

As sleep gradually embraces you a little later, you try to pull back every time invisible strings tug you closer towards Jungkook. You don’t want to sleep in his arms this night, but your heart stubbornly ignores what your mind wants.

Your silent resistance eventually ends, surrendering to the inevitability of your limbs becoming entwined with his. Your cheek is pressed against his chest and his nose is buried in your hair while the soft cadence of his heartbeat finally lulls you into a deep slumber.

This is just the way Jungkook and you function.

Yet, despite your efforts, small seeds of doubt continue to sprout up in your mind, making you question just how much longer you can tolerate this.

#yup yupp it's me again starting a new jk series in the middle of the night !#jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook drabble #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts smut #bts fanfic

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bunny584 · 2 months

Text

A Girl with No Name

A/N: This one shot POURED out of me. All because of this incredible art by @chu-cho Thank you for creating this masterpiece. Hope I can do your art justice.

Ok, let me set the scene. Euphoria, SKINS, and Degrassi procreated in the basement of Kappa Alpha. Keg to the right. A designer tray of substances to the left. The boys in the middle. And you…you crack the whi— what? Who said that?

CW: Frat AU, implied substance use, mature 18+, MDNI

‘Ain’t a pill that I didn’t take’

Lyrics that feel too familiar tread water between Suguru’s ears. They glide along his skin. Which feels like silk, by the way.

Silk.

Who ever made that is a Nobel laureate.

‘Cause Imma sleep when I R.I.P.’

Euphoria.

Who chose the lights?

They’re vivid. Swarming. Like the walls are a tile dance floor. Yeah. Light picker deserves a Nobel too.

“You are so fucked right now.” His best friend’s sharp ass voice dices his lucid thoughts to smithereens.

“Shut up, Satoru.” He’s not wrong.

“We took the same shit.” Suguru perches on the solo cup ridden kitchen island. Sitting is good.

“Plus, I’m bigger than you.”

“If you wanna compare dicks just say so.” Satoru sneers, he’s cockier when inebriated.

In any other instance when Suguru is of sound mind, Satoru would’ve caught a jab to the chest. But two reasons why that can’t happen.

One, he’s currently tripping balls.

Two, you just walked in.

Like you own the house.

Maneuvering your body around the active pong table. Slipping past the chatty women gawking in their direction. Gearing for attack. Shifty and nervous, but the vodka cranberry is courage elixir.

The boys have about 45 seconds to engage with said women or divert.

But you are currently leaning over the counter reaching for a shot glass well out of your zip code. A little red dress on. All curves, no brakes. With an ass that could make anyone believe in God.

Sorry, girls. Tonight, they are going to divert.

Suguru catches Satoru’s heady gaze. No words needed. They share instincts. The boys have been in stride since the day they met.

They saunter over to the counter you’re mounting. An easy reach for them both.

“Didn’t realize your name was on the lease, princess.”

Satoru plucks the double shot glass down from Mount Everest. Handing it over between two fingers.

Still propped up on the counter with one knee, you peer down at them both. Letting the white noise of utter disinhibition drape the space between you.

Suguru planned on softening Satoru’s blow, but then you smile.

Cavalier and gorgeous.

Like it’s a golden ticket into spaces you don’t belong in.

The answer to questions people don’t realize need asking.

The cure for everything.

And right now? It is. The cure.

Suguru stands stupefied as you brace yourself on his shoulders. Thank God his hands still know what to do. They snake around your tapered waist and pull you to solid ground.

Speak, dumbass.

“You didn’t? It’s in the fine print.” Your voice beats him to it. And is fucking dessert.

Bad for you. Horrible for you. But good in the way self-indulgence is.

You take your shot glass (really, anything in the house is yours if you want it). And steer away to the refrigerator.

Your absence jumpstarts Suguru’s out-of-commission brain.

“Excuse him, he was raised by monkeys. Can I help you find something?”

Suguru and Satoru reposition themselves behind you while you rummage. Bent over at the waist. Head nearly submerged in the pull out freezer.

Are you doing this on purpose?

Are you trying to be a cocktease?

Satoru isn’t even attempting to stop eye-fucking you.

Suguru pulls his tongue ring in and out of his teeth. Anything to stop ruminating on the melody of sounds that’ll fill the room when his hips slam into your ass repeatedly.

“There it is,” you stand back to your full height. Triumphant. Jack Daniels in hand.

Your eyes are pools of quicksand. Why else would Suguru’s mouth feel more stuck than his feet?

“You’re a whiskey, kind of girl?” Satoru smirks, amused at your vice choice.

Again, the boys follow your movements like two expertly trained German Shepards. Flanking you when you settle at the corner of the island. Meticulously over-pouring your first double shot.

“I’m a good time kind of girl.” The way your slender neck tilts back is immoral. Throating the dark liquid like water.

…what else can that throat handle?

“Okay, good time girl wh—“

“Listen.” You snip Satoru’s snide remark at its base. Leaving both of them silent. Watching. Waiting.

“Brad,” you pointedly look at Suguru.

“And Chad,” eyes dagger into Satoru.

“Thank you for the warm welcome but I’m not interested in talking.”

The back of your hand swipes against your full lips. And Suguru can’t seem to pull his eyes off of them.

Satoru, after a moment of stunned silence, lets out his laugh. The one that means you’ve won his undivided attention for the night.

“Close, but no cigar baby. Try again.” Satoru leans onto his forearms. Tilting his intoxicated gaze up at you.

“Right idea, though.” Suguru chimes in. Tongue finally deciding to work.

“Ahh, I hear you loud and clear.” You retort, golden-ticket smile back on your face.

Your nose wrinkles in feigned concentration and Suguru nearly passes out.

Are you really this hot? Or is he just that blasted?

“Preppy,” your hand cups Satoru’s face. And his Adam’s Apple bobs deeply.

Good, Satoru is feeling this as hard as he is.

“And Edgy.” Suguru gawks at the way your lips hang open after your snarky guess at his name leaves your mouth.

Satoru’s wolfish chuckle is what re-tethers Suguru to this dimension. How the fuck is he keeping up with you right now?

“No, no. I got it.” You pipe up.

Placing one hand over each of theirs. Suguru greedily intertwines his long fingers between your petite ones.

“Thunder.” You squeeze Suguru’s hand and his soul nearly leaks out of his dick.

“And Lightening.”

Cotton candy dusts Satoru’s nose to his ears when you look up at him. Suguru can see the vulgar scenarios on cinematic repeat in his best friend’s mind.

And it’s tame compared to the ways Suguru wants to disrespect you.

“We can work with that.” Suguru flashes a smile of his own. Purposefully keeping his tongue ring out of your view.

“And what can we call you?” Satoru probes. Zeroed in because no one else in the room exists.

Your hands return back to your side, and Suguru misses your warmth immediately.

“No name.”

Flippant. Lighthearted like what you said was normal.

“What was that?” Satoru spurts out. Saliva bubbling in his half open mouth.

You glide away from the kitchen. Into the den with bodies colliding. Walls thrumming. Lights strobing.

Delicate hands cup around your mouth. Turning back to face your new guard dogs.

“Not here to talk, boys!”

The three of you are interwined at the center of the crowded room in seconds.

But time is warped.

Because Suguru is traversing Death Zone altitude on the mountain. And Satoru is swimming at Abyssal Zone depth in the ocean.

You are the 8th cardinal sin.

You writhe and undulate your curves in and out of their grasp. Gripping onto Satoru’s neck, strumming his undercut when he’s facing you. Winding your hips against Suguru’s crotch when he’s behind you.

Suguru’s cock has never been this hard, he’s half worried it could snap in half. Hissing against your neck. Groaning behind your ear. So goddamn grateful for the music drowning out his desperation.

But his skin is on fire. He can feel every vessel pulsate.

You are not a want.

You are a need.

“Need you.” Suguru gruffs in your ear. Flickering up to Satoru, who is mirroring his hooded gaze.

Suguru watches your pretty hand trail down Satoru’s chest. Satoru rolls his bottom lip under his teeth. Apt nickname you chose for him, because there are lightening bolts in his eyes.

“Take me upstairs,” you whisper back, tilting up to capture Suguru in your web.

And he is so captured. So entangled.

The boys lead you to Suguru’s bedroom in the frat house. Even though the walk felt like miles, exactly no time passes when you three close the door behind you.

Suguru’s lips magnet to yours. Insatiable in the way he sucks and pulls on your lips. Tongue tasting every corner of your sweet mouth.

Satoru drops his head to the crook of your neck. Sucking bruises. Tracing his large grasp up and underneath your dress. No time or room for manners with how his cock is tenting against its weak restraints.

“So eager, boys.” You giggle in between their hungry kisses.

And you’re right.

It’s embarrassing, their display right now.

But neither one of them have the capacity to stop.

And hold it together.

And lead. Like they both are used to.

“Sorry,” Satoru grunts into the feminine slope of your neck. You let out an airy laugh when he starts to dry hump you. Tickling both of their incapable brains.

You know Satoru is so far gone.

And Suguru is trying to hold on to some semblance of dignity but his cock simply won’t let him. Not the way it’s drenching his sweats with need.

“Take these off.” Melodic instructions fill Satoru and Suguru’s ears the minute you pull away from Suguru’s kiss. Your index finger hooked on both hems.

As if your voice is a Pavlovian trigger, the boys step out of their pants and boxers.

Rock hard. Desperate. Leaking.

Your personal drones.

Suguru can’t swallow the whimper that collides with Satoru’s whine when your hands drop to stroke both of them at the same time. Flickering your eyes between your two toys. Proud of the way their cocks are twitching and pumping beads of precum into your hands.

“God, pretty girl.”

“Fuck, princess.”

Satoru and Suguru are dizzy with heat.

Just in time for you to drop to your knees. Dragging your closed, lipsticked lips along Suguru’s up curve.

“Please,” Suguru whispers.

You’re evil.

And you ignore him. Dragging your soft, warm hand up the length of his shaft. Interjecting butterfly kisses in between. Working Satoru’s length in your other hand. Drawing punched out moans from the boys. Chests heaving. Clipped breaths. Pitiful.

“On your knees, Lightning.” You beckon Satoru, while teasing his counterpart.

Satoru doesn’t hesitate for a second. He couldn’t if he wanted to. Propped on his knees, he stares into the side of your face. Awaiting further instruction.

“Kiss me,” you demand, circling your lips around Suguru’s sensitive tip for the first time. Evoking a loud hiss.

Satoru’s eyes widen. Your words startle the breath out of him.

The lights are dim but Suguru doesn’t miss the blossoming cherry red flush. Spreading along his toned shoulders.

Your wet lips dragging along his swollen cockhead pulls Suguru’s eyes away from his celestial best friend.

“Mmmgh f..fuck baby,” Suguru chokes out at your slow, mean ministrations.

“Don’t be shy, Lightening.” Your tongue tickles his lead pipe with every spoken word around his girth.

Suguru’s eyes fall to your hand. Now working its way up Satoru’s length. His core involuntarily curls into your sudden touch. Gossamer thin whine tumbling out of his lips. Suguru catches the way Satoru digs his fingernails into his milky skin.

And his cock twitches against your lips at the sight.

“Kiss me,” You beckon Satoru again, dragging your tongue up Suguru’s length.

“I—I…“ Satoru stammers. Hips stuttering against your fist. Static fills Suguru’s head.

He’s never seen him this docile. This pliant. It’s a mind fuck.

No, no.

The way Satoru pulls his eyes up to meet his gaze in that moment is a mind fuck.

Is he hallucinating?

It’s like Suguru is seeing Satoru for the first time.

Instead of being side by side, he’s across the street. Catching a glimpse of a God. Walking amongst men.

Satoru’s expression has earned permanence in his brain. Snowy halo of hair. Long, palatial lashes fanning the Aegean Sea in his eyes. A mosaic of lust, desire, a little shame.

Seeking permission.

Seeking approval.

He is otherworldly.

Vulnerable and soft. On his knees. Needy. It makes Suguru want to ram his cock past those pouty, swollen lips.

But..but that’s wrong. Right?

They’re best friends. Fucking soulmates. They don’t..they don’t do that.

But the way he’s pouting.

God.

Glassy eyed and helplessly turned on. Rutting his hips into your hand.

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Suguru mutters. A surge of his arousal landing on your tongue. Eliciting a breathy giggle in response.

Followed by an out of body experience for the next few minutes.

Suguru’s hand wires into Satoru’s cloud soft locks. Gentle grasp between the slender webspaces.

“So pretty.” He rasps through the nails in his throat.

Satoru’s pupils blow out at the praise. All but purring into his touch. Suguru barely applies any force and Satoru crashes his lips onto yours with Suguru’s thick head in between.

Filthy.

Nasty dirty vulgar sounds fill the room. Suguru’s constant stream of precum dripping onto your tongue, Satoru’s tongue. Raining down on your puffy, full tits.

You two exploring each other’s lips.

Satoru’s angry length, squelching against your hand.

It’s too much. It’s too fucking much.

“Such a good boy.”

Your dulcet voice is a tornado decimating Suguru’s brain. He has to blink a few times to realize that the praise wasn’t meant for him.

It was directed at Satoru.

Who is desperately — eagerly — throating Suguru’s dick. Nose flaring. Diamond tears rolling down his blushing cheeks. Unintelligible garbles dribbling out the corners of his mouth.

“Sa—Satoru, mmgh, god shit, shit.” Suguru’s hips take a cruel pace down his Person’s throat.

“Mmm, Satoru.” You murmur into his ear. Tasting your new discovery.

“Look how much Thunder likes fucking that mouth of yours.”

Satoru’s tears splash against Suguru’s sex. But he opens his throat anyway. Swallowing his rod. Filthy bulge in the column of his throat.

“Ahh, god..baby..” Suguru huffs when your devilish little hands tug at a palm full of his hair.

When did you get next to him?

Doesn’t matter.

Yet another natural disaster destroys Suguru’s brain when you push your tongue back into his mouth. While he violates Satoru’s mouth.

The wire in Suguru’s stomach coils. Lava surges through every vessel in his body. Groin welling with a deep, carnal pressure. Everything feels too fucking good.

“Fuck, oh god fuck. I’m I—g—“

“Cum for me, baby.”

You kiss your hushed command into Suguru’s mouth. His hips come to a screeching halt. Both hands down in Satoru’s hair, grazing along his undercut.

Suguru tilts his chin to the ceiling. Thick loose mane tickling his mid back. Vision completely dark. He has no idea if he’s still in Satoru’s mouth. Or where his cum is landing. All he knows is death by pleasure right now.

You press your moist lips into Suguru’s neck.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” Sweet words reverberate against Suguru’s skin.

His head slowly comes back to earth. And just as his eyes pull back open — a shudder and blinding light assaults his vision. Up close.

“Woah, what the hell?”

Suguru is met with a Polaroid camera. Printing evidence of his nirvana. His brows crawl together defensively.

“What do you—“

“Relax, thunder.” You coo with that smile that’s decadent, beautiful poison.

You step over a dazed Satoru. Still on his knees. Lazily stroking up his neglected hard cock.

Suguru’s eyes track you to his bed. You place the developing film on the nightstand.

“These are for your eyes only.”

“I don’t mind.” Satoru huffs. Rising to his feet. Deep within your trance. You could’ve asked him to cut off an arm and he’d offer you both.

Satoru would follow you into Hell if you demanded it.

Suguru would too.

“Boys, come.” You curl your finger at them. And pairs of feet move.

“Thunder, why don’t you put that tongue ring to good use. While I take care of pretty little Satoru.”

His name on your lips snaps something buried in his soul. Satoru steps to the head of the bed. Leaning against the wall. Cock heavy with his seed. A string of arousal hanging low from his tip.

You make a dramatic show to catch Satoru’s leaking string of cum before it wastes on Suguru’s sheets.

“You’re fucking filthy, princess.” Satoru hisses. He can’t remember the last time he’s blinked the whole night.

You smile around his bulbous tip, then pull him into your warm heat in one go.

And fuck, Satoru can feel you sucking through to his throat.

His whimpers sound so pathetic in his ears. But he is so lust-drunk he couldn’t care less.

One look down and he sees his best friend whining underneath your precious cunt. As you circle your hips around Suguru’s metal-clad tongue. Taking your pleasure directly from his mouth.

Suguru’s half hard sex pulsates against his perfectly toned abs. Satoru has to look away. His orgasm threatening to come too soon.

“Mmmnggh, so good with your tongue, Thunder.” You gurgle around Satoru’s length.

Arousal flavored saliva driveling down your chin. The sensation drives Satoru to piston his hips until his tip abuses the limit of your dainty throat.

You shouldn’t have any space to breathe, much less talk.

“Pl-please. Suguru. Name’s Suguru.”

“Say his name baby.” Satoru’s order is low. Raptorial. Hips bucking wildly into your mouth. Heat crashing into his groin.

He’s so close. He’s—

“S-Suguru.”

And Satoru dives off your cliff edge. Hearing his Person’s name tumble out of your mouth and around his cock snapped his self-control in half.

Ropes off thick, warm heat spill out the side of your mouth. Staining your bunched up dress, the sheets and everything in between.

“S-so close,” you huff, humping Suguru’s tongue more aggressively.

A familiar camera shudder and solar bright light fans your outstretched neck. Capturing your cum-stained ascension.

You flash Satoru a knowing smirk. Another beam of light aimed in his face before he tosses your camera off to the side.

Satoru crashes his lips into yours. Eager to taste himself off your mouth.

Your bodies move in perfect tandem. Satoru kisses your peak from your lips while Suguru coaxes your wet orgasm onto his tongue. Your high drenches Suguru and the sheets around him.

The three of you piece yourselves together. Completely plaited within each other’s warm, moist limbs. Basking in the serotonin showers misting you three in post-coital bliss.

No one remembers, but you wish each other sweet dreams before the fog settles. And the night re-claims you to sleep.

——

Sunlight is downright offensive.

Suguru forces his heavy lids open.

7: 43 AM

Fucking, hell.

A freight train is currently doing laps in Suguru’s mind. He flickers around the room. Haphazard clothes. Strewn socks. Satoru in Suguru’s 06 hockey jersey. Long limbs nearly dangling off the other side of his bed.

Suguru glances down, somehow dressed only in Satoru’s black sweats

There’s a tiny sliver of space between their sodden bodies. Where you must’ve slept.

Right.

You.

Heaven’s fallen angel.

You used to be God’s favorite. No way you still are.

Not with how fucking sinful you looked in that red dress.

Snapping polaroids.

Taking their souls for play.

Then having the audacity to leave them on the nightstand when you were through.

Suguru met The Devil last night.

And she was…exquisite.

“Fuck, my head.” Satoru groans, rolling over to face his dark-haired soulmate.

Suguru watches his eyes flutter open. And something within him catches.

How has he not noticed how beautiful this boy is before?

“Here,” A glass of ice water, still sweating from condensation is waiting on Suguru’s nightstand. He takes a long sip before passing the lifeblood to Satoru.

Satoru briefly meets Suguru’s gaze. Before averting, pretty mulberry blush flooding his face.

“Was last night…real?” Satoru asks after an extended sip.

Suguru meets his question with silence. Preoccupied with picture proof.

Three polaroids neatly arranged on the nightstand.

The first one is of Suguru. Hair moused, framing his intoxicated gaze. Remnants of his orgasm oozing from the still shot. Lips puffy and abused. Cheeks flushed. Suguru can barely recognize the man in the photo.

His eyes dance to the cursive label at the bottom:

Thunder

Alias: “Suguru”

A wry chuckle escapes his lips. He passes his photo to Satoru.

The next polaroid is of his Person. Post orgasm haze heavy in his eyes. He managed to get his 10,000-kilowatt smile perfectly in the selfie. Also flushed. Also completely debauched. The blue in his eyes reflected nearly translucent.

He’s a fucking masterpiece, that boy.

Suguru knows what to expect at the bottom of Satoru’s polaroid:

Lightening

Alias: “Satoru”

“Shit man, these are amazing.” Satoru murmurs, intently studying Suguru’s polaroid. Absentmindedly accepting his.

“They are.” Suguru agrees, unknowingly holding his breath while pulling your polaroid into view.

And of course.

It’s blurry.

The only thing in focus is your graceful, arched neck, specks of Satoru’s finish glistening on your skin. Merlot red dress, pulled far below your breasts. Only thing pictured is the apex of your cleavage. Leaving Suguru’s mind to spiral into lucid memory of the rest of your silhouette.

“Who…was that?” Satoru muses. Eyes now on the ceiling. Undoubtedly having the exact same swarm of flashbacks flood his mind.

Suguru rolls your Polaroid between his index and long finger. The bottom of the photo reading:

No Name

A lazy smile tugs on the corner of his lips.

You are something else.

Supernatural, almost.

“She’s a girl with no name.”

1K notes · View notes

ashtavula · 3 months

Note

Hello could I maybe request the overbloters having accidentally hurt their S/o during their overblot? If not that’s fine I just wanted to ask.

cw: descriptions of injuries and blood, spoilers for the overblots

The overblotters accidentally hurt their s/o

Riddle:

-You try to avoid the massive rose tree that Riddle hurls your way, but you're just a bit too slow. The tree hits you, and you cry out as the thorns slice you open. Ace and Deuce try to help you out, and they manage to yank you out from underneath the sharp limbs. Blood drips from the cuts on your limbs, and you collapse as Riddle's overblot comes to an end.

-As soon as Riddle sees you, his tears intensify, and he begs for people to help you. In the days after that, Riddle insists on tending to your injuries. He looks guilty as he helps change your bandages, and he's insistent that you take your painkillers on time. It'll take him a long time to forgive himself for hurting you, even if it was an accident.

Leona:

-The sand being whipped around by the wind makes it difficult to see, and you get a little too close to Leona. He grabs your arm, and you yelp as his claws dig into your skin. Jack is able to distract Leona, and you break away, cradling your bleeding arm.

-Once it's all over, Leona's sharp nose picks up on the smell of blood. He storms over to you, and he tears a strip of fabric from his shirt. He presses it to your skin, trying to stop the bleeding as he barks for the others to find a medic. While you recover, Leona looks irritated by the sight of the bandages, but you know that he's just angry at himself for hurting you. And when you settle down next to him for your daily cuddles, he'll treat you like you're made of glass.

Azul:

-You knew Azul was stronger than he looked, but you never thought that you'd be on the receiving end of his tentacles. He effortlessly swats you aside, and you slam against a wall. Your head spins, and you can already tell that you've broken your arm. You curl up into a ball, choking back sobs as Leona and the others get Azul to stop his rampage.

-Azul is horrified when he realizes what happened. You see the color drain out of his face, and he lifts you up to carry you to the infirmary himself. For the next few weeks, Azul is your personal servant. Simply tell him what you want, and he's scrambling to get it for you. He feels awful about hurting you, and he's always fretting over your cast.

Jamil:

Vil:

-You gasp as you see Jamil approaching you and Kalim with a murderous look in his eyes. You quickly shove Kalim away, hoping to get him out of range of Jamil. The snakes that have replaced his hair dart towards you, and their fangs sink into your arm. Almost instantly, a blinding surge of agony shoots up your arm. You collapse to your knees, and pass out from the pain.

-You awaken a few hours later, dizzy and nauseated. You vaguely realize that you're laying down in Jamil's bed, and that he's laying down beside you. You squirm, and Jamil lifts his head. He immediately scolds you for getting too close to him during his overblot. Yet, as he lectures you, his hands check you for a fever, and he gives you medicine to help with the effects of the snake venom that's wreaking havoc on your body. As you close your eyes, still exhausted, you feel his lips press against your forehead, and he mumbles out an apology against your skin.

-Your eyes water as you accidentally breathe in some of Vil's poison. Your nose and throat start to burn, and you start tasting something metallic. Within a few moments, you're coughing up blood and struggling to get enough oxygen. You have to lean against Epel as you gasp for air, blood starting to drip from your nose.

-You faint as Vil stops overblotting, but you awaken a few minutes later to see Malleus staring down at you with his brows furrowed. You barely get the chance to open your mouth before Vil is yanking you into a tight embrace. You can feel his hands shake as he mumbles out apologies and promises to never hurt you again. Malleus may have helped you overcome the effects of the poison, but that doesn't stop Vil from fussing over you. As he insists on checking your throat for the fourth time that day, just remind yourself that he's doing it because he loves you.

Idia:

-The ground shakes, and you fail to see the piece of debris that falls from the ceiling. It hits your shoulder, and you scream as the joint is dislocated. Rook is able to quickly knot the Pomefiore uniform's long sleeves around you to form a makeshift sling, but it's a struggle to hold back the tears of pain.

-It takes a moment for Idia to realize what's wrong, but he nearly has a meltdown when he does. He's immediately rushing you off to Styx's medical professionals, leaving everyone else in the dust. He's trying to apologize to you the entire time as the doctors put your arm in a splint, but he's stuttering over his words so badly that you can barely understand them. Once you're back at NRC, Idia keeps you practically locked up in his room as you recover. Despite keeping you with him, Idia is even more hesitant to touch you, out of fear of hurting you further.

Malleus:

-Malleus' magic washes over you, and your eyes slide closed as you're forced into a dream. Unfortunately, you hit your head on the edge of a table as you fall over, and Malleus doesn't notice. While traversing the dream worlds, you keep feeling this faint ache in your head, but you brush it off.

-However, you immediately groan in pain, and cradle your head in your hands when you wake up. The distant ache in the dreams blossoms into a stabbing migraine, and the world spins around you. Malleus quickly takes notice, and he cradles you in his embrace as he worriedly asks you what's wrong. You feel the brief pull of his magic, and the agony subsides. His lips press against the side of your head, and he croons out apologies for not keeping a better eye on you. For the next few days, you have a draconic shadow that refuses to leave you alone, and thinks that copious amounts of ice cream will make you feel better after your "terrible injury."

#riddle rosehearts #riddle x reader #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul x reader #jamil viper #jamil x reader #vil schoenheit #vil x reader #idia shroud #idia x reader #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #twisted wonderland #twst reader insert #twst x reader #twst

2K notes · View notes

kissitbttr · 6 months

Text

miguel with a jealous fiance

“stare a little longer and you might actually kill her, y/n” jess chuckles as she follows your eyesight, spotting miguel being flirted by a woman whom you’ve never seen before.

you and miguel are attending a gala fundraiser. run by some rich bastard named ‘bruce wayne’. he didn’t want to go at first, but because mr. wayne had sent the invitations to you both himself, it would be rude not to attend. plus, it’s best if he’s out and try to socialize, make some new friends instead.

but now you’re starting to regret the decision when you see some red haired getting cozy with your man. she keeps touching his arm, giggling obnoxiously at something he said. which pisses you off because your fiancé is not that funny.

Ignoring jess’s comment, you twirl the wine glass softly, emerald green manicured nails clicking against it. you bite the inside of your cheek with cold eyes dead set on the girl. you wanted to laugh at how that woman had been trying too hard to catch his attention.

miguel isn’t doing anything rather than answering without holding an eye contact, casually sipping his whiskey on rock as he searches through the crowd. you could tell he’s annoyed. but it wouldn’t be polite for him to tell her to fuck off, would it?

god, you wish he had the balls to actually do it.

“you know he wouldn’t do such thing right?”

scoffing as if it’s the most stupid question ever, you nod. of course he wouldn’t. he’s too damn crazy about you.

“i know. it’s her i don’t trust” you mutter, almost growling. “that bitch could clearly see he has a ring on his finger. she fucking blind or something?!”

jess could only laugh while shaking her head. she thinks you and miguel are too much alike. a perfect pair. “then show her who’s the boss.”

“oh i will” you respond with hesitation, gulping down every last drop of your drink before setting the glass down on the table. “be right back”

with that, you flick your hair over your shoulder, adjusting the straps of your silky emerald green dress and begin walking towards your fiancé’. jess’s commentary about ‘try not to kill her’ from behind fall deaf upon your ears.

sorry, jess. no promises.

you could feel all eyes on you as you walk. it’s hard not to. men and women craning their shoulders to get a better look at the beautiful woman who looks like she’s invented class and beauty herself. the world completely stop when you walk through the crowd.

and not to be cocky or anything, but you’re fully aware of how gorgeous you are. with curves that look like built by the gods themselves, full plump soft lips and long, beautiful thick hair that cascade down to your back and eyes sharp enough to draw sailors if you were ever a siren.

it’s like looking at freyja the goddess whom paid a visit on earth.

as miguel’s eyes continues to scan through the busy evening filled with mindless chatters, his dark red irises then stop at you. a small grin creeps to his face when he sees you walking towards him with your head held up high.

but your eyes aren’t on him, it’s on the woman.

“i just think, that you are sooo-“

“so what?” you cut her off with a fake smile and arms crossed over your chest. standing beside your soon to be husband, you watch how the woman’s eyes then flicker to your figure. “making friends without me, my love? how impolite”

miguel shakes his head, his hand quick enough to snake around your waist pulling you close. “of course not, mi vida. this is—“

“not interested. so, you wanna fuck my husband?” your voice coming off venomous, glaring at the woman who seems to be shocked at your question.

a sigh escape from miguel’s mouth, one that implies ‘this is not going to be good’

the woman has her mouth hang wide open as she struggles to respond. she can’t exactly decide whether she’s intimidated by you or attracted to you.

“i—i’m so sorry… I didn’t know he had a wife—“

with a scoff, you roll your eyes. “you’ve been eyeing and talking to my man for at least twenty minutes. you’re saying that your eyesight is so fucking jacked you couldn’t even see the ring on his finger?!”

miguel could only stand there and listening to you scold the woman. because if there’s one thing he learned being with you? is that to not meddle or interrupt.

she shakes her head rapidly, stuttering out a nervous response, “n-no! i—i—I did see it, i j-just thought—“

“oh you did see it!” you exhale a sarcastic laugh. “and what, you think it’s okay to flirt with someone else’s husband when clearly he has no interest?! you really think he’s gonna go for you, sweetheart?”

the tone of your voice is far from polite. miguel could sense that, and he squeezes your waist in attempt for you to take it easy on the girl but you only shrug it off and pay no mind to it.

the woman look like she’s about to cry by how you’re scolding her. shaking quiet a bit and embarrassed that her flirty gesture had failed to steal someone else’s man.

“i’m s-sorry… I’m—i—“

“you” your raise your finger at her face. “need to get the fuck out of my sight before i drag you by the hair and beat your ass hard that no one will ever recognize that pretty face of yours again.”

she nods quickly at that, taking her champagne flute before walking away quickly. you’re still fuming on the inside. glaring at the back of that girl’s head until she’s fully disappears.

“damn, mami” miguel lowly whistles, a dark chuckle follows after as he moves to stand in front of you. hand around your waist still attached, pulling you close to him. “you’re so sexy when you get jealous.”

jealous. you hate that word.

everyone needs to know that you don’t take it lightly when it comes to miguel. he belongs to you and vice versa. and if you have to beat a bitch up to get your point across, then so be it.

“let’s get one thing straight, miguel. I don’t get jealous” You emphasize the word as you turn your focus on Miguel, giving him a stern look. “I get territorial. they need to know that you’re my man. I see a girl trying to take over my territory, then consider her fucking finished. you got that?”

miguel can’t argue with the fact that you just turned him on just by saying that. especially when you come off as demanding like this. It’s one of the reason why he fell in love with you.

bossy. ambitious. confident. and Independent. traits that miguel loves in a woman.

he smirks, looking down at you as he clicks his tongue against his bottom teeth. “yes, ma’am” he replies with a nod.

you nod back, crossing your arms. “good.”

“and just when i thought you couldn’t get any sexier” he shakes his head, squeezing your ass before leaning down a bit to give you a kiss on your cheek. “you do”

rolling your eyes, you lightly shove his shoulder. yet you can’t help but blush at the gesture. “easy there… we’re in public.”

he cocks an eyebrow, palm not leaving your ass. “and when has that ever stopped you before, mi amor?”

you bite your lower lip softly, remembering the times when you and miguel had done it over and over outside the comfort of your home.

yeah, both of you are pretty experimental.

“bathroom in 5. don’t keep me waiting”

#miguel o’hara blurbs #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara

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jyoongim · 3 months

Note

I love your stories, they are fantastic and feed my daydreams to a intensely gratifying degree.

I am curious if you would entertain the idea of writing an Alastor and fem reader as battle partners and occasional lovers. She’s a fox demon that has been around for centuries and is very powerful. She is indispensable to him in battle but she helps him take care of his baser urges especially during his rut.

I beg you!

Thank youuuuuu

note: i kept this rather suggestive hehe.

Alastor x Kitsune! Fem Reader

“So what’s with the fox? Didn’t take smiles to be much of a dog person” Angel said to Husker as the black fox trotted past him, walking towards said demon sitting on the sofa, rubbing against his legs before jumping up and curling up in his lap.

Husker shook his head, grumbling “Listen, that’s one thing you don’t want to know about. Trust me” he chugged at his bourbon.

Angel rolled his eyes at the cat demon, “Oh c’mon! Tell me! What do Mr. Fancytalk need with a pet? ” He whined. Husker ignored him, thinking sooner or later the spider will figure it out.

Charlie and Vaggie entered the lobby, overhearing the conversation. Angel turned his sight to Vaggie “Hey Vagina do you know the deal with the strawberry pimp’s pet?”

Vaggie sighed ”When Alastor manifested in this realm it was absolute chaos! some have speculated what unimaginable forces enabled him to rival our worlds most ancient and destructive evils. But one thing for sure, he holds an unpredictable source of danger, the kind we shouldn’t risk getting involved with unless we want to end up erased!” Angel deadpanned “that’s doesn’t really answer my questions toots”

Vaggie pointed towards the red demon, at the black fox “rumor has it the fox is the reason he’s so powerful”

Angel sucked his teeth “Ill believe when I see it”

———————————————————————————-

You napped on the bed of your shared room as Alastor sat out on the balcony enjoying the view of Pentagram City.

A loud BANG! Was heard and suddenly there was a massive hole knocked into the hotel.

A giant blimp was outside the hotel and a snake demon was declaring a fight against Alastor.

Alastor joined Charlie and the others at the entrance of the hotel, very much amused at the pathetic display.

”Who are you?” He asked

”I am the great Sir Pentigous! Your fiercest enemy!…We literally battled last week”

Alastor tilted his head, leaning on his cane “Well you would think I remembered you”

The snake demon hissed and went to charge up his weapons.

”Uuugghh Alastor? Aren’t you gonna do something about him? Aren’t you suppose to protect the hotel or something?” angel asked, hands on his hips. Alastor grinned ”Aah yes” he snapped his fingers.

Thick, inky black smoke billowed from the ground as a thunderous growl was heard.

”Holy fucking hell!”

A Giant beast emerged from the ground and immediately took the bump into its mouth and shook like a dog would a toy.

Several appendages swirled as the beast tore into the machine like it was paper.

The snake demon fell to the ground, trying to back away as the massive black beast snapped its sharp teeth at him, making him cower.

”now now my dear you’ve done enough” Alastor said, causing everyone to look at him confused?

The black beast huffed before black smoke surrounded it.

Walking out of the smoke, holding the snake demon was a…

”THE FOX???!!” Angel exclaimed

You dragged the demon by his hood, baring your sharp teeth at him as he cowered behind Charlie.

You frowned at Alasto as you turned to him, ears flattening

You hands were at your hips as your tails swirled behind you “You woke me up for that?! Please at least let it be a challenge next time”

Alastor snickered as he pulled you into his side, grin turning Cheshire as you nuzzled him anyway.

Everyone had a puzzled look on their face.

The cute black fox that often roamed the hotel was actually a demon?!

”told you would have found out sooner or later” Husker said.

”A-Alastor w-what?” Charlie stuttered, as Vaggie barged through pointing her spear at you and Alastor.

Your eyes narrowed as you stood in front of Alastor, growling at her, claws flexing in case she made a move. Your tails spiked.

”I wouldn’t do that if I were you” Alastor grinned, peaking through one of your tails

”This darling of mine is that ‘unpredictable source of choas’. Isn’t she a doll?”

————————————————————————————-

“Soooo you two are like a thing? How the fuck? What he own your soul or something?” Angel asked sipping his martini.

You smirked.

You had been with Alastor for a while now. You met the red deer when he first came to hell. He was running a muck in your territory, taking away the souls that you enjoyed tormenting. You, the ‘Kitsune Demon’, would not be intimidated by some newbie. So you fought Alastor.

Who won? No one knows but many often saw the Radio Demon entering and existing your domain without consequence afterwards.

You and the Radio Demon had a very simple relationship. Your ancient power gave him legitimacy in status as well as your presence on his arm.

You were his best weapon in a battle and a great companion.

You might have looked scary, but only the lanky demon had seen you in your most vulnerable state.

You looked so pretty taking his cock and covered in cum.

”No he doesn’t own my soul and a thing? If you mean I warm his bed and keep him in check for the most part? Then yes” you said bluntly, making the spider gawk.

”you fuck that? That makes a lot of sense now” angel mumbled.

Speaking of fucking, you sniffed at the air. Alastor’s rut was approaching. You had to take care of that.

You left the confused spider as you disappeared in a smoky mist.

”Did you know those two get freaky?” angel turned to Husker, making the cat roll his eyes.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #jyoongim #alastor x y/n #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor smut

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ktsumu · 1 month

Text

18+ NSFT MDNI. SHOWER ACTION.

You already know that Atsumu's in the shower before you hear him in it, nudging the front door shut behind you, heels falling off of your groaning feet. The first matchup of the pre-season has ensured that.

Muscle memory makes you step over the routine dufflebag he drops in the very middle of the entryway, shaking the strap off of your ankle when it catches. His sweater's on the back of the couch.

You'd take it down the hallway with you, but you follow the clothes like a roadmap instead. Toeing along, kicking his track pants out of the way with a scoff, rolling your eyes and wondering how he completely missed the hamper.

An athlete, he calls himself.

The shower turns your bedroom hot, steaming up the windows from the open ensuite door, the mirror dripping with water. You can feel the humidity ruining the hair you worked so hard to keep tidy this morning.

"Atsumu?" You sigh, tugging it loose and glancing at him through the mirror.

It's more so what you can see of him— the frosted glass of the shower punishes you mostly, keeps you to watching his blurry body turn, his head twist to your voice. You can see him turn to face the water again.

"Hey baby. How's work?"

"I'm gonna guess better than the game today?" You pick up his sweaty jersey with your foot, taking in the distinct yet familiar smell of sharp pines and locker room. "Judging by the state of our home."

Atsumu breathes out sheepishly, but it sounds like a grin. "I'll clean it all up, don't worry."

"I know you will."

"Yeah, for sure." He hesitates, humming when he rubs at the crook of his neck. "Maybe tomorrow morning? Swear."

You don't care when he cleans it up, really. Your eyes haven't left the shower.

Quietly, you start to undo your blouse, shrugging it off of your shoulders and peeling it off of your sticky skin. You toss it near Atsumu's abandoned shorts.

"Been in there a while?" you huff, blindly turning on the fan. "Hot as hell in here."

"Everything hurts," he groans. "Fuckin' hate coming off the off-season— not used to it."

You purse your lips. "Gonna stay in for a little while longer?"

It's quiet, aside from the shower running. His shadow moves, leans closer to the glass before standing upright again. His hands tease you over the top, combing through his hair.

"If someone wants to keep me company, can't really say no."

(He must sense your eyes rolling, because he chuckles and slips the door open a crack.)

You shimmy your tight skirt down your legs, stepping out of everything embarrassingly fast. Your cami ends up hanging off the sink and your pantyhose are in a ball, but Atsumu's waiting hand has you getting inside the shower as fast as you can manage.

Where he isn't drenched in water, he's painted by a thin sheen of heat, the steam of the shower dripping down his temple. His hand welcomes you first, guiding you closer so his lips can greet you next.

Atsumu rests a hand on the side of your face, droplets of water swarming down your chest like snakes. He kisses you sloppily, tongue trying at yours the second you let him, teeth grazing your lip when you pull away like he's begging you to stay.

"Sore, huh?"

His eyes travel down— over your chest, sternum, hips. His hands follow in the same order like a drill— tits, chest, beautiful, beautiful hips. "Forget I said anything 'bout that,"

"You should rest, really,"

"Stop teasin' me, it's just cruel," he frowns, "need you to give me a cure tonight,"

"Yeah? It's called eight hours of sleep and Voltaren."

He rolls his eyes, lidded with said sleep— the hand holding yours that pulls you closer and his half-hard cock between you say something entirely different.

Atsumu's hand gropes your ass, fingertips dinging into fat until you get impossibly closer, until he's basically against your stomach and you're basically just looking at his lips.

"You should—"

"Should," he emphasizes, murmured against your mouth as he kisses you again, chaste but lingering, "but this is what I'm actually gonna do."

"What?"

"You," he hums, tucking a strand of your half-wet hair behind your ear, blocking the water and hoarding you to himself. "Gonna be my cleanse."

You snort, fingers smoothing over his abs and down to the base of his cock, nails gently running over the dark trail of hair. "That right?"

"Mmmyeah," he says through a groan, yawning before he slots a hand in between your legs, trailing it up your inner thigh as you finally get him in your hand. It's the only place he's wanted to be all night, besides your bed. "Feel so fuckin' good, fuck,"

You sigh against his chest, tilting your head up to taste him again. Like spearmint, like the gum he must've chewed on the drive home just knowing you'd end up here.

"Shit, alright," he sighs, hips lazily rolling into your palm as you look up at him with eyes that make him wanna pass out.

"Gotta choose now— you wanna be on your knees first or do ya want 'em over my shoulders?"

You breathe out a laugh, sliding your hands over his slippery arms, over every muscled ridge as you lower yourself to the tile floor, kissing his hip when you get there. "Romantic, really."

Atsumu's body tilts your way, chasing your lips down, leaning into your touch as he brushes a thumb over your cheek. The kiss you place on his flushed tip is greatly appreciated— he lets you know it.

"Yeah, honey, I try," he breathes. He smiles so warmly down at you that it's almost like you're not about to suck him off. "Just wait until I get you to bed, yeah?"

"We both know you're falling asleep."

"Well, after we get outta here you will be, too."

"Mm, we'll see."

Atsumu barks a laugh, delicately running his hand up your nape before taking a stronger hold on the base of your hair.

"Oh, you're so on."

#what is this? i dont know. shower sex pregaming with atsumu???? in such a tsumu mood tonight wrote this in 20 #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu smut #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq smut #haikyuu smut #kit writes

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hier--soir · 7 months

Text

a lover's pinch | five

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: you and your professor enjoy a day in new york. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, oral [m receiving], a smidge of cock worship, spoilers for antony and cleopatra by shakespeare lol, flirting, these fuckos kinda go on a date, prof joel is man of the arts idgaf, a tlou2 easter egg, oral [f receiving] and then oral [f receiving] again, sex acts in public, jealousy, sexting/nudes, unprotected piv sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk, light choking, overstimulation [f], pain kink, kinda dom!joel, describing men as pretty and beautiful because I LIKE IT, soft!joel. word count: 8.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: so this whole thing is almost entirely sucking fucking and flirting, and i hope you enjoy it before we encounter angst. all credit to willy shakes for the passage from A&C that joel reads in the opening scene. thanks king for inspiring the title of this series lol xo this is part five of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four.

Sunday.

The sound of paper rustling wakes you. Muted scrapes of page shifting against page.

Through your lashes you can see a thin reed of sun streaming in the window, flaring across the end of the bed to warm your skin. And there’s a dull ache between your legs; a rhythmic throb that dances and twists through your core, through the muscles in the inside of your thighs. The type of pain that is warm – soft in its caress, like the trail of a lover’s fingertips down your spine. A sort of remembrance, or celebration. And you welcome it eagerly; delight in the sharp reminder of how it felt to welcome his body inside yours again. The hot sting of every third second, the meticulous pulse and ache of flesh that you hope stays with you for days.

Another page turns.

You tilt your head to the side, eyes open a mere crack, and smile at the secrecy of it. At the private sincerity of this man who lies awake, sporting nothing but the thin veil of a sheet, gaze fierce and focused on an endless stream of text that raps his attention. It’s a type of heaven for him, you realise. This resting place, as calm and tranquil it is. The only weight that bears down is in the place where his wrist bends, hand coiled around the spine of a book, fingers poised, flicking impatiently against the corner of a page, begging to turn it, to see more.

You take in every ripple of muscle, every dip and curve and freckle and scar. The jut of his elbow. The hard line of his jaw. Watch pink lips part and purr as he whispers the words on the page to himself, and think about how perfect that mouth felt between your thighs.

His fingers pinch the corner of a page, pressing it down into a dog ear before he moves onto the next. You wonder what piqued his interest, what collection of words made him want to mark it, to leave a trail for himself to come back one day and remember.

You break the silence finally. “What are you reading?”

Joel flinches, glasses jolting to the tip of his nose.

“You’re awake.”

“I am,” you hum. When he stares at you for a moment you just smile, snaking a hand out from the sheet to tap the page of his book. “Tell me.”

“Shakespeare,” he murmurs, a faint blotch of red rising at the base of his neck. You want to kiss that blush—taste it. Want to know if his skin smells like you. “Antony and Cleopatra.”

“I love that one,” you yawn. “Where are you up to?”

“Act five,” he says. “Cleopatra’s big scene.”

“Will you read it to me?” you smirk.

There’s an upward shift of an eyebrow. The spark of a curious glint in his eye.

“Really?” he drawls, unimpressed.

“Please?” your smile softens into something kind, something honest.

With a sharp sigh, and a quick adjustment of his glasses, Joel begins to read.

“Give me my robe, put on my crown,” he begins slowly, as if unsure. “I have immortal longings in me: now no more. The juice of Egypt’s grape shall moist his lip: yare, yare, good Iras; quick.”

His voice is a low vibration, a honeyed sound that drifts through the air and has goosebumps raising across your skin. You watch his mouth shape the words, enamoured. Savouring every glimpse of his teeth, every slip of his tongue between them.

“Methinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself to praise my noble act. I hear some mock the luck of Caesar, which the gods give men to excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come. Now to that name my courage prove my title.”

His hair is a mess. A shock of greying curls that have flattened against his scalp after a night of being pressed into his pillow, threatening to spring up again. That dull pain flares in your core again and you rub your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache. But something stirs there—low, prowling just behind the pain. Something wet and wild that whispers his name.

“I am fire and air,” Joel continues obliviously, licking his thumb to turn the page with ease. “My other elements I give to baser life. So; have you done?”

Slowly, listening—hanging—you shift against the mattress. Allow the sheet to fall down to your stomach, exposing your breasts to the morning air. Your nipples stiffen, chest tightening as he glances at them from the corner of his eye. He pauses, mouth ajar. Swallows. Brown eyes return to the page, and he continues to read.

“Come then, and take the last warmth from my lips.”

Your hand drifts across the mattress, hidden from sight as it traverses the soft plains of the sheets, the blankets, and then the skin of his thigh. Bare, but smattered with soft hairs that tickle your palm and fingertips. Goosebumps tear across his skin and his breathing hitches; the faintest cracks in his calm façade. You surpass where you can see him hardening, fingers floating up his side to rest against his stomach. Gently, you feel across the soft slopes and curves of his tummy. Glide your finger over the dip of his belly button and smile when he clears his throat, legs shifting in a restless dance. And then your hand shifts down. Past his happy trail, past the dark curls at his base, to wrap your fingers softly around his length.

“Farewell, kind Charmian,” Joel’s voice deepens. “Iras, long farewell.”

You lower yourself on the bed, dragging the sheets with you until they rest wayward and wrinkled around his knees. Your cheek nuzzles against his thigh as you stroke him, humming in delight as his cock stiffens in your palm.

Joel sighs. “You don’t have to—”

“Keep going,” you hush, glancing up. He watches you over the top of his glasses, gaze darkening. There’s still sleep in the corners of his eyes, and it’s so soft, so domestic, it almost hurts. You look down, simpering as you admire the sight of his cock, now fully hard and leaking in your grasp.

The head is swollen, a flushed shade so reminiscent to that of his lips that you want to kiss him. But his skin is warm and smooth, like silk as you nuzzle his length against your face. Feel his wetness streak across your skin, over the closed line of your lips, the apple of your cheek. “Joel,” you urge him quietly when he still doesn’t speak.

“Have I the aspic in my lips?” His voice is hoarse when he continues; wanton, rough with sleep and desire. “Dost fall?”

You lathe soft kisses against the tip, along the vein that pulses along the side of his shaft, against the tight swell of his balls, taking your time with him. You giggle when he sucks in a sharp inhale, the muscles in his thighs tightening beneath your cheek.

“Such a pretty cock,” you whisper, swiping your fingers over his weeping head.

“Yeah?” he exhales and drops the book against his stomach, fingers reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Gonna show me how much you like it?”

“Mhm,” you bat your eyelashes up at him.

Joel raises the book again, slowly, eyes unfocused and glassy but still watching—still devouring—the way your lips purse around his tip. His stomach tightens when your tongue leaves soft kitten licks against the slit, lapping at the salty precome that rests there.

“If thou and nature,” he murmurs. “Can so gently part.”

And it’s almost painful, the way he sounds. Exhalations of tragic Shakespeare mixed with soft gasps, with curses loosed beneath his breath. The occasional revered whisper of your name, spurring you on.

His free hand settles at the back of your head, thick fingers curling in your hair as your lips part to take him deeper inside your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, hips shifting against the mattress. “That’s it, baby, god you’re good at that.”

You hum around the weight of him, stomach warming at the praise. Swirl your tongue generously around his girth, lathing saliva over his skin until it’s dripping down to his balls. You cup them gently in your palm, massage him as your lips drag to rest around his tip again, paying close attention to the way he gasps and sighs when the point of your tongue dances along the ridge at the underside of his head.

“Sensitive there?” you ask quietly, eyes flitting up to look at his face. His cheeks are flushed, eyebrows furrowed as he nods.

“S’good,” he confirms, fingers tightening in your hair as you rub that spot again. A fresh bead of precome oozes from his slit and you smile, fingers curling around his length to tap his tip against the flat of your tongue. “Jesus,” he mutters, eyelids fluttering. “Yeah, good girl.”

You shift down on him eagerly, letting the heavy weight of him slip against your tongue, inside the warmth of your mouth, until he’s pressing against the back of your throat and you can hear him moaning.

“Got the prettiest fuckin’ mouth, baby,” Joel whispers. “S’like a fuckin’ dream, seeing those lips on my cock again.”

You whimper and swallow around him. A tear squeezes out of the corner of your eye, trailing a shiny path down to your chin. In steady, measured movements, your head bobs up and down on his length, guided by the gentle press of his hand.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Take it all, baby, yea—yes.”

You relax your throat and take him deep enough to feel your nose brush against the rough hairs at his base.

“The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch,” he reads, the cadence of his words stilted and breathy. “Which hurts, and is desired.”

Suddenly, his hips jut upward and you gag, throat constricting around him until your eyes are wet and blurry. He tugs gently on your hair, pulling you backward until you part from him with a splutter, messy strings of saliva dangling between your swollen mouth and his cock.

“God damn,” he swipes a finger across your lower lip. “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. So so good."

You think your eyes water more at that. Sweetheart.

“I want it,” you slur, lids heavy as you make eye contact with him.

“What do you want?” he pushes, cupping your jaw in his large palm. “Tell me.”

“Want you to come in my mouth,” your face warms and you lick your lips, fingers stroking him slowly. “Want all of it.” Everything.

“Okay,” Joel soothes, and then his hand drops from your hair so he can grip himself. Gently, he glides the tip along your bottom lip, trailing his salt across the skin of your chin, your cheeks, your nose, before finally pressing the head back against your tongue. “Take it, come on. It’s yours.”

He presses between your lips, jaw tensing, and his eyes drift back to the book as you begin to move.

“Dost thou lie still?” he reads. “If thus thou vanishes, thou—Christ—thou tell’st the world.”

Your lips are tight around him, mouth sucking and moving in tandem with the strokes of your fingers, wrapped loosely around his base. Carefully, you shift to straddle his shins, forearms resting heavily against his thighs as you bring him to the brink of his orgasm. Yours.

“Fuck,” you hear him spit, and then he’s arching forward, the splay of his palm moving down the length of your spine until his fingers slip into the crevice between your ass cheeks. Gripping and squeezing the flesh there until you’re moaning too, the vibrations of your voice muddling with the wet sounds of your mouth against his cock.

It doesn’t take much longer for coherent thought to evade him, Antony and Cleopatra flung to the wayside of the bed as his broad hands cradle your head, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat with every thrust. Your entire body is hot, slick with sweat, the musky scent of Joel filling your nostrils with every rushed inhale. The sounds he’s making turn rougher, deeper; raspy grunts and exhales that are almost animalistic in their intensity, and then—

“Fuckin—look at me,” he bites out, and watery eyes flutter open to meet his gaze. “Need to see those pretty eyes when I fill you up.”

And fuck you’re wet. So wet that it’s seeping onto the skin of your thighs, drooling out of you as you clench around sweet sweet nothing, cunt desperate and begging to be filled again. Tightening your fingers around his cock, you drag your mouth back to suck gently around the pulsating head, and when he comes it’s with a drawn-out, laboured groan that fades into harsh mutterings of your name and fuck and so fuckin’ good at that god damnit and that’s it, swallow it all baby, it’s yours, it’s yours, it’s yours.

You pull off him with a gasp, sucking in deep desperate breaths as you fall onto your back beside him.

Soft sheets stick to the sweat on your skin, and you close your eyes, vaguely aware of how the two of you breathe in sync; a high-strung cacophony of sharp inhales and heavy exhales.

After a few quiet moments you ask, “What time is it?”

“Eighty thirty,” he answers. The mattress jostles and tilts as his large frame shifts on it.

“Probably time to start the day,” you grumble, throat raw and tired.

But you can feel hands on your waist, nudging you backward until your head is slumped amongst the soft pillows again. And when your eyes peak open Joel is getting comfortable between your legs, glasses forgotten somewhere out of sight, hands pressing your thighs into the mattress to reveal your glistening sex to him.

And he says, “No,” shaking his head slowly, near-black eyes piercing as his lips lower to meet your cunt. “Not yet.”

You were unsure, initially, whose idea it was.

Unsure of who spoke first; if you or him brought up the idea of the museum. Unsure if he mentioned the bookstore or you mentioned The Iliad. Unsure, unsure, unsure.

But as you stand on the outskirts of Central Park—showered, dressed, sure—eyes scanning the front window of the shop, the glass overflowing with newspaper cuttings and novel covers and author profiles and ads for signings – you are certain that it was him. Certain that he asked what your plans were for the day, head resting on your thigh, lips and beard still glistening with your come. Certain that you mentioned going to the museum, and that those brown eyes lit up, mouth splitting into a smile as he revealed that he had plans close by. Certain that he introduced the idea of going together.

A bell tinkles and your gaze sharpens, watching as his broad frame slips out the door with a brown paper bag tucked under his armpit. Joel ticks his head wordlessly to the side and you fall into step next to him, two sets of shoes scuffing against the pavement in a perfect rhythm.

“Can I see it?” you ask, eyes roaming curiously around the street.

“Sure,” Joel holds the bag out and you take it carefully, fingers peeling back paper so you can take a peak inside.

“The cover is beautiful,” you breathe, fingers tracing vibrant swaths of gold and red, the white lettering that spells The Iliad. You balance the spine in your palm, curious to flick through to the first page. To see the acknowledgements, her author photo, anything. And as your eyes skirt over the very first page your feet stutter to a stop, pulse increasing as you spot the black marker on the page. A messily scrawled signature.

“Joel.”

Joel says your name, pausing a few steps ahead before turning back to face you. “What’s wrong?” he frowns.

You hold up the page, brows lifted in awe. “She… how did you get a signed copy?”

“We’ve met a few times in passing,” he admits sheepishly, eyes glancing between the book and your face. “I’ve always admired her work, and she offered to set a copy aside for me here. She’s very impressive, the first woman to—”

“The first woman to publish an English translation of The Odyssey,” you interrupt. “Yeah, Joel, I know exactly who Emily Wilson is.”

“And now she’s published The Iliad,” he hums. You begin walking again, the museum in sight now. “I’m lookin’ forward to readin’ it. Especially now that I’ve heard all your thoughts about how women and men translate differently. I’m sure it’ll be on my mind as I go.”

The skin on your face prickles and tightens under his attention. You’re still smiling, a wide and satisfised flash of your teeth, when the two of you reach The Met. Still smiling when he pays for your tickets and leads you toward the Cloisters.

You wander together through the exhibit. Medieval, Bohemian, Byzantine. Jean Pucelle, Robert Campin, Tilman. You catch Joel staring at the Bust of the Virgin, one hand on his hip, knee jutted out as he admires her elegance, the tenderness with which her face was carved.

“You like her?” you tease.

His shoulders stiffen and then relax into a sort of indignant laugh.

“I like terracotta,” he smarts, reaching out to pinch your forearm. When he pulls his hand away you see his eyes dart over your shoulder – a quick glance around the room to see if anyone noticed.

“Oh of course,” you nod, a mock serious expression on your face. “Me too. Terracotta virgins.”

“You know,” he huffs, turning to face you head on. “You oughta start showin’ me a bit of respect. Where’s your reverence for an authority figure, huh?”

“Authority?” your eyes widen, smirking broadly as you take a step forward, the material of your jacket brushing against his. “And what authority might that be?”

“I could fail you,” he murmurs, glancing down at your lips. “Tell everyone you’re the worst student I ever had. Never does as she’s told, always talkin’ back.”

“Oh, Professor,” you whisper back, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, your snark emboldened by his. “I hate to say it, but you’re not very convincing in your distaste.”

You don’t wait around to see his reaction, turning on your heel and heading into the next room. Your cheeks are sore from smiling at the end of it, eyes tired from reading, and then you reach the courtyard gardens. See the cloisters. See the Romanesque columns with their fluting grooves that lead into arches, see the vast green garden with its flowers of yellow and pink and purple. Herbs and flora border the walking paths, filling the air with the scent of thyme and rosemary, and you can’t help but grin.

“Not bad right?” Joel’s voice comes from behind you.

“Not bad at all,” you turn to smile at him. “Would’ve been cooler if they had some dinosaur bones around here though. A museum should always have a dinosaur.”

“A dinosaur,” he repeats, quietly amused. “Of course, you like dinosaurs.”

“I thought, uh,” Joel clears his throat then. Glances away for a second. “Thought you might like it here; that it might remind you of your time in Greece.”

The words make your chest go all warm and tight. He looks so handsome, so easy in the middle of it all. Dark features and broad shoulders softened by the smell of flowers.

“It does,” you nod. “A little bit.”

“What was it like?” he asks.

“Greece was…” you trail off as you remember it. White sand beaches, turquoise waters, boreks and Doric columns, seemingly endless nights spent translating sheets and sheets and sheets of ancient texts. “It was wonderful, really. I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity, and Professor Samaras was a phenomenal instructor.”

Joel nods, fingers looped and resting across his stomach as he digests your answer.

“Good,” is the response he settles on, finally. “I’m glad. You… you deserve that. You work hard, and your presentation was solid.”

And it’s been less than twenty-four hours, but those words bring you calm now, not frustration like they did last night. So you smile, and thank him, and don’t stop yourself from asking him something in return.

“Have you really never been?” you ask, eyes squinting inquisitively as you watch his face, searching the emotions that flitter across it – near impossible to decipher, as always. “You said you weren’t interested, that first night when we spoke about it… but I would’ve thought… I don’t know, maybe a semester abroad or… or a fellowship?”

“Never,” he looks away. “Always too little time, too little money, too many responsibilities.”

You nod slowly, watch him curiously. You wish you could peel back his skin and see inside of that gorgeous brain, that heart. Understand every trouble, every missed opportunity that weighs on his shoulders.

“There’s still time,” you offer. “You’ve got so much time, Joel.”

Joel looks at you and you can see in his eyes that he’s grateful for the words. See that the earnestness with which you speak brings him some kind of solace, some kind of hope.

His fingers graze the skin of your wrist, curling around it to hold you in place beside him. Your body stills, eyes training carefully on the garden; the green of the grass, the pink of the flowers that bloom amongst it all. One of his fingers searches the skin at the inside of your wrist, swiping and rubbing over the tendons and veins there until he finds where your lifeline pulses. And then he strokes that spot, a calm, meticulous glide of his fingertip, over where blood thrums and rushes inside your body.

The tickling sensation has a painful knot of want curling in your chest, but you don’t stop him. Don’t pull your hand away, don’t take a step back. And with every stroke against skin, you feel it as if it where between your thighs—the soft curling of a finger between your folds, against your clit. It feels feverish, like a steady flame that spreads across your skin, up your chest to lick at the inside of your ribcage.

“Soft,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. “You’re so soft.” And it sounds painfully like, you’ve got so much time.

And you look at him and he knows. Your face says it all.

Says, let your hands wander wherever they like. Says, if you touched me here—now—I wouldn’t say a word, wouldn’t tell a soul. Says, everything I have to offer is yours if you could only bring yourself to take it. Says, and if your hand won’t wander, won’t stray, I’ll take it in my own and show you where to touch.

So you lead him back inside. Quiet, discreet, slipping past patrons and staff and guards until you find a bathroom. Tuck him inside and smile at the snap of the lock shifting into place behind you.

Joel’s knees meet tile with a soft thud, and dark eyes hold yours as he peels your trousers down, as he drags the slick fabric of your underwear to the side, as he presses the soft cut of his mouth between your legs. He watches you, steadfast, cheeks ablaze and pupils blown as his tongue works you open, calloused fingers holding your left thigh over his shoulder.

And after you’ve come, face pinched and hidden behind your palm, he pulls away. Skirts wet kisses down the inside of your thigh, against the shell of your kneecap, to the bruise that colours your shin.

And he whispers, “Does it hurt?” with his fingers tracing tender splotches of purple and blue.

And you whisper, “No.” with your fingers brushing the curls off his forehead.

Afterwards you walk through the park, pressing through streams of tourists and locals alike; a lively crowd that parts and flurries around the two of you as you push forward. He fields your questions about Emily Wilson, about the years he spent doing his PhD, parrying seamlessly with queries about the West coast, about your undergrad, your roommates.

The bubble doesn’t break until Joel gets the text. Cursing softly, he turns away from you, eyes focused on his screen.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, yes,” Joel says, fingers flying across the touch screen, typing out a response before he tucks his phone away. “I, uh, look I actually forgot that I have somethin’ I need to do tonight.”

“Sounds mysterious,” you smile, eyebrows raised expectantly. But your smile wavers when he doesn’t match your teasing, face relaxing as you wait.

“Rachel and I planned this dinner a few weeks ago,” he explains. “When we both agreed to attend the conference.”

“Oh,” you blink. “That’s nice.”

“It’s this thing we do,” Joel offers, shifting on his feet. “A tradition, I suppose. To celebrate another conference done.” And you remember, I’ve been to twenty of the damn things. His twenty to your one.

“That’s nice,” you repeat, and hold your smile when he checks his phone again.

Hold it when he tells you he should go, that he needs to get ready to meet her. Hold it when he hesitates, staring at you for a moment. Hold it when he presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head, lips meeting your temple, the weakest point of your skull, before turning to walk away from you.

Only when you’re alone do you let the smile fall.

After a lonely dinner, you find yourself back in your hotel room, thinking about Rachel.

Folding your blue dress into a neat square, and then a smaller square. Tucking it into your duffel bag, thinking about the rough sound of her laugh. The soft curve of her jaw, the sparkling greys that curl through her dark hair. You fold your underwear, pack that too, and think of her fluorescent toenails and her dangling earrings. Think of how sure she is; how intelligent, how charismatic. And then you think of yesterday – of her hand on Joel’s arm, soft fingers curling around the sleeve of his blazer, carting him around the conference. Leading him. Standing by his side, making him laugh.

And it burns, this hot feeling in your chest. Something dark green and scalding, fiery enough that you feel the need to sit on the edge of the bed and press your palm against the skin above your breast to tamp it down. Feel your heartbeat there, the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, and tell yourself that this feeling is cruel and unforgiving but that it is wrong. You lay out your clothes for the airport, wrap yourself up in the coarse hotel robe and push away the images your mind creates of them at dinner together. Push away the thought of her foot nudging his beneath the table, the thought of them sitting beside each other, thighs brushing like yours had on the bench last night. Because it’s wrong. Joel isn’t like that. Joel wouldn’t do that.

When Nora calls, you pick up on the second ring.

“How did it go?” she squeals, and you feel your shoulders relax at the sound of her voice.

“It was good,” you respond. “I feel good about it. Glad it’s over though.”

“You never answered my text—" the line crackles a little, muffling the last word of her sentence. “I was worried something bad might’ve happened.”

“Fuck,” you apologise. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, I—I got caught up with something, I… I wasn’t looking at my phone.”

There’s a beat of silence over the phone. Another fried, crackle over the line.

“Oh you cheeky bitch,” she gasps then. “You could’ve just said you were getting some!”

“Nora—” you try, stomach dropping.

“Who the fuck was it?” she continues eagerly. You can almost picture the way her eyes would widen if she were here with you, hands clenched excitedly at her sides as she pushes for all the gory details. “Was it someone from the conference? Oh my god, was it someone from UNE?”

“No, no,” you rush, feeling an anxious heat rise in your chest. “It was just a random guy, we… I met him at a bar afterwards, it’s no one from Maine. No one from the conference.”

Another pause.

“And?” she asks finally. “How was it?”

You consider her question for a moment. Remember the way he undressed you in the dim light of his hotel room – slow, cautious. Remember the way he looked at you. Those dark brown eyes feasting over every inch of flesh, every mark, every freckle, every scar. The feeling of his hands on your breasts, his bare chest against yours as he pressed inside of you.

Quietly, earnestly, you say, “It was amazing,” and smile when she hollers down the line.

And this feeling is so much kinder, you think. The relief and the warmth that comes with being able to tell someone. To talk about him, even if you’re not really talking about him. Even if she can’t really know the truth.

You put her on speaker, still listening and laughing as she rattles off question after question. Did he go down on you? How big was he? Wait he was older?! You bitch! How old?! That’s hot. Fuck, I need to get laid.

“You really do,” you chuckle, laying down against the pillows and typing out a text to Joel.

Are you enjoying your dinner?

He replies within minutes.

Yeah, the restaurant is nice.

What are you doing?

“Hey Nora?” you interrupt. “I actually need to go.”

“Oh,” she huffs. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re gonna go get fucked again. Good for you bitch.”

“I love you,” you laugh, already typing out a response to him. “See you tomorrow when I get home.”

Well my bags are packed, and I just tucked myself into bed

You watch the text bubble appear, disappear, and reappear over three times before it vanishes completely. Minutes go by; maybe ten, maybe fifteen, and then—

Show me.

Grinning, you loosen the tie around your robe to reveal a flash of the skin across your chest; the curve of your left breast, the peak of your nipple. Take a picture and make sure he can see your finger snagged between your lips, resting against the softness of your tongue.

For a moment you worry. Feel a spike of fear in your chest that if you send it someone else might catch a glimpse of his screen – that Rachel might see it. But then another text comes through, and you feel that fear melt into a warm pool of liquid.

I know you want to show me, sweetheart.

So you do. You click send and wait, teeth catching against the nail on your thumb.

The response is almost instant.

Jesus.

Are you wet?

You know I am

Are you touching yourself?

Good.

Dinner finished early. Where are you?

You send him the address of your hotel. Call the lobby and tell them to let him up. And when he arrives, you’re waiting for him on the balcony. You hear the heavy pad of his footsteps crossing the room, and then the slide of the glass door. Feel the broad span of his chest press against your back; outstretched fingers that glide around the curve of your waist to settle over your stomach.

Joel doesn’t say a word, nosing at the frizzled kinks of hair at the base of your neck. One of his hands drifts upward, fingers curling beneath the neckline of your robe, just grazing the curve of your breast. You let your eyes fall closed and think this feels like coming home. Think, if this moment could last for hours, for days, for ever, that would be enough, and I’d never ask for another thing. Think, where have I been all of my life, and why was it not here with him?

You say, “Let’s go inside,” as he touches your nipple, and feel him shake his head.

“No,” he says. Presses his hips against your ass, rough denim brushing the backs of your knees. “Want you here.”

You start to say Someone might see, but Joel pushes you forward again and your stomach presses against railing. Your eyes dart down toward the street, the road. To cars and pedestrians and tourists.

“You don’t want that?” his lips brush the side of your neck as he speaks, the softest pressure. He tugs at your robe, guiding it down past your shoulders, elbows, until it pools around your feet. “Don’t want them to see us together?”

“That’s not—” you gasp as his teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, hot tongue gliding over already bruising flesh. “Fuck, Joel.”

He groans against your skin, lathing wet kisses past your neck to the top of your spine. His hands are on your waist and your stomach and your tits and his jeans chafe against your bare ass, zipper catching every now and then. But your mind is hazy, a blur of thoughts that can only focus on the feeling of teeth and lips, on something long and firm pressing through the material of his pants, rutting slowly against you.

“You’re hard already,” you breathe, surprised—delighted.

Joel grunts, distracted. “Been hard since you sent me that picture.”

A shaky breathes leave your lips as his hand skirts down your stomach, your hipbones, until his fingers slip past the glistening seam of your cunt – tender and swollen and aching.

“But that’s what you wanted, hmm?” he rasps. You whimper as his fingers circle over your entrance, collecting your slick and dragging it upward. A flinch rips through you when he touches your clit, the nerves fraught after being given so much attention throughout the day. “You like knowin’ how much I want you? How badly? You like that I’d leave dinner early just to come here and fuck you?”

Face on fire, you nod; caught out. And then he takes another step forward, bending you further over the railing and pressing himself against you, hard enough that you can feel his cock between your ass cheeks, denim scraping the sensitive skin there.

“That is how much I want you. All the fuckin’ time,” he says. “Get it?”

“Joel,” you stutter urgently, voice almost a squeak. Your thighs shake, knees close to buckling as his finger rubs slow circles against your clit. “S’too—fuck, Joel, it’s too sensitive.” It burns, too much – but his touch only serves to stoke the fire in your belly until it’s a roaring, raging thing, begging for more of too much.

“I know, honey,” he groans, and you think you can hear the sound of his zipper coming undone. “You sore?”

When you don’t answer immediately Joel’s fingers still, body straightening as if he’s about to stop, about to pull away.

“Don’t,” you say quickly. “Just—”

“M’not goin’ anywhere,” Joel hushes. “Does it hurt?”

You hesitate, stomach tightening when his fingers start to move again. “It’s… yeah a little, but it’s…”

“But you like it? Like it when it hurts a little?” he fills the silence, and you can hear the change in his voice. Hear how it deepens, a gravelly effect that has your cunt tightening. You cringe, turn your head to the side in the hopes that he won’t see your reaction. But he doesn’t let it slide. Of course not. “Talk to me.”

“Yeah, yes, I like it,” you admit, exhaling a relieved sigh when you hear his belt hit the ground.

“Good,” he says, and then you can feel him, hot silken skin on your own, the wet glide of his cock against your ass check.

His knuckles brush against you as he adjusts himself, and the weight of his tip at your opening is not unlike the brush of his fingers along your bruised shin. Tender, careful – the touch of someone that would never hurt you. Not unless you asked him to.

When Joel rocks his hips forward, cock splitting you open around his weight, the stretch is long and deep. A sweet, searing burn that has you balancing on the tips of your toes, mouth hanging open as you grip the railing and take it. The night air is cool against your skin, but warm hands land firm on your hips, thumbs circling and rubbing away the goosebumps there

“God,” he grunts into the hinge of your jaw, teeth nipping at the muscle there. “You’re so wet, so needy. Want this cock all the time, don’t you?”

You can only moan in response – a choked, whimper of a noise that scratches its way out of your throat as he bottoms out. His thighs are warm and thick against yours, body practically moulding itself to you as you squirm, cunt pulsing around the thick length of him.

He gives you a moment to adjust, waits to feel you relax against him, and then he’s moving. Slow, powerful thrusts that have you feeling him in your stomach, and wishing you could see his face. Wishing you could watch his nose scrunch up, his lips curl into a snarl as he fucks you. Wishing that everything you’re feeling could be reflected back to you in his face, the way it was last night.

“Thought about you all night,” he says in your ear, a dirty little confession, whispered only for you to hear. “You know how sick that is? At dinner with my colleague, my friend, and I couldn’t get this perfect cunt out of my head. S’drivin’—me—fuckin’—crazy.”

And it’s sick, it’s awful, but you feel your lips peel back, face breaking into a toothy grin at the words. That envy, that jealousy, that dark green sticky feeling - all of it for naught because you were right. Joel Miller is yours.

“Yeah?” you pant, pushing your ass back into him and smiling even wider when he grunts, blunt fingernails digging into your waist. “What were you thinking about?”

“’Bout how tight you always are,” he kisses the side of your neck, tongue flicking incessantly against the skin there. “How perfect you felt around me last night. How you take it so well.” He bites down, sucking until the skin throbs, another mark left in his wake. “How, if I can help it, I’ll never wear a condom when I fuck you again.”

You curse, head lolling back against his shoulder. The confession makes you ache. “Please,” you mutter desperately. “Joel, please.”

“Thought about fillin’ you up,” he continues eagerly. “Fuckin’ you so hard, so deep with my come that you’d feel it for days. And you’d be mine.” His hips snap forward in a particularly harsh thrust and you grunt, cringing as the railing bites into your ribs. Mine mine mine.

“I’m yours,” you moan as he fucks you, a steady smack-smack-smack sound filling the air as his hips collide with the meat of your ass, over, and over, and over again. “You know I am.”

And you want to know what he thinks of that, want to know what comes next, but the sound of laughter echoes up from the street suddenly, and you tense, eyes snapping wide open. Joel doesn’t slow down.

“Look at them,” he hushes, voice quietening some.

His hand raises to point somewhere over the balcony, but you don’t see where; eyes trained on his fingers, his skin, the blue veins that swell and pulse beneath it. Your eyes try to follow it, but you’re looking the wrong way, following the hard line of his wrist, the corded veins in his forearm, his bicep, trying desperately, shamelessly, to catch a glimpse of his face.

“I said look at them,” his voice deepens, an authoritative tone taking over as his long fingers grip your jaw, angling it down until you do as he says.

You can see three of them. Squinting, you try to make out their faces from four storeys up. Stumbling down the street, laughing loudly, bumping shoulders as they walk.

Joel’s hips press forward and you gasp, eyes rolling back as his swollen tip nudges the deepest, softest place inside of you.

“Wait,” you whisper hoarsely, body jerking forward with every practised thrust of his cock. Say again, “Someone might see.”

“I hope they do,” he growls, hand falling to drape over your neck.

His fingers press gently against either side, cradling your pulse point in the palm of his hand. Your brain goes foggy with the pressure, mind buzzing and blurring. The sensation of his broad grip against your throat mixes with the drag of his cock between your thighs and it’s intoxicating; a high that you’ve never experienced before, and never want to end. You don’t realise how loud you’re gasping, moaning, keening his name, until you hear him laugh. A rough, elated sound.

“I knew it,” he chuckles, and you tighten around him, fingers fumbling backward, seeking purchase at the soft flesh of his hips as he continues rocking into you. His hand drops from your neck to your tits, and he squeezes.

“Admit it. Admit you fuckin’ love it,” Joel pants, every word punctuated by a white-hot press of his cock and a heavy exhalation against your neck. “Dirty little thing—you want them to see. Say it.”

“Fuck,” you cry, spine arching as you push backward, meeting the movements of his hips.

“Fuckin’ say it,” he snaps, all hints of laughter gone now, his rough drawl only offset by the fond way his hands play with your tits. Careful, kind; every pinch, every squeeze, every caress a generous and tender display.

“I want it,” you blubber, sight blurring into a mess of streetlights and skyscrapers and strangers on the street. “W-want them to see how you fuck me, how you take care of me.”

“That’s it,” he groans, and you can feel the way he twitches inside of you, cock jerking against your walls in hot fast movements.

“Want them to know,” you continue, and there’s tears streaking messily down your cheeks, your lips moving faster than you can control. “Want them to see us, see how good it is, how perfect.”

And it’s too much now, you think. Finally, too much of too much. The railing is bruising against your stomach. Every stroke of his cock, every graze of your nipples – Joel’s touch akin to the end of a frayed wire, sparking and spitting embers wherever the two of you come into contact. Your cunt is on fire, every inch of sticky wet flesh throbbing and smarting.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby, you gonna show them how you come for me? Gonna let them hear it?”

“I can’t,” you choke out, shaking your head numbly. Yours lungs are on fire, mouth dry as you try fruitlessly to suck in breath after breath. “Fuck, I don’t think I can—”

“Hey,” his voice calls. A rough finger wipes across your cheek, smearing the salty tears further across your skin. “You can, you can, I can’t—I fuckin’ need this, need it.”

“It’s too much,” you gasp frantically. But your words aren’t matched by the desperate grind of your hips. Aren’t matched by the way you twitch and shake between him and the glass, abdomen tensing tighter tighter tighter with every thrust. “Fuck, I’m—I’m close but it’s too much, Joel, it’s too much, I can’t, I can’t—”

He pulls out quickly. You gasp wetly at the loss, at how your walls clench and suck around that empty warm space in his absence. Deft hands grip your waist, tilting and turning you until your back is against the railing now, and his mouth is between your legs, wet lips and tongue so soft in comparison, so soothing against that burn.

There’s no shying away now, no stuttering or whining – you simply melt, thigh softening around the curve of his shoulder, allowing him to hold you up as his tongue teases and coaxes you to the edge of your third mind-numbing, toe-curling orgasm that day.

And you don’t notice at first how his bicep shifts and flexes beneath your thigh. Don’t notice how he groans and sighs against your messy cunt, panting and muttering your name as he strokes his cock in tight, wet jerks. And when you come, gushing into his mouth, his eyes snap open, endless spheres of deep brown gazing up at you, desperate to see. Your legs tremble with the force of it, hands grappling for purchase on his shoulders, in his hair. And with your lips parted, tears drying on your cheeks, you watch the way his face crumples—wrecked. How eyebrows furrow and eyelids flutter shut. Joel’s mouth slips away from you, teeth sinking into the flesh of your thigh, something to ground him as he grunts, a low, ragged sound, before you feel him come in warm, thick spurts against your calf.

“Fuck,” you mumble deliriously. Can hardly hear yourself over the roar of your pulse in your ears. “So good, you’re so beautiful.”

Joel’s face is flushed, skin tinged with a deep red that settles across the highest peaks of his cheekbones and disappears into his beard. And when his eyes open again, drowsiness swimming beneath those heavy lids, you can see the way they shine. Glistening with something wet, something earnest. You thumb gently at his waterline, swiping away the tears like he’s done for you.

His lips press a chaste kiss to the pad of your thumb, tongue snaking out to lick his tear from your skin, and you think you must repeat it, So beautiful, because he smiles. Breathing heavily, eyes wet, he grins for you. A flash of white that he quickly smothers against the skin of your leg.

After catching his breath, Joel leads you inside and helps you shower. Stands outside the glass door, hand gripping your elbow to brace your shaking frame as you glide soap over your arms, down your legs. His fingers dig in firmer when you slip a hand between your thighs, whimpering as warm water streams over the sensitive skin there. He doesn’t flinch or shy away when specks of water flick out and dampen his shirt.

“You okay?” he asks as he helps you out, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

You nod, mind still foggy, and let him rub the coarse fabric over the skin of your arms, your legs, drying you off before he tucks you back into your robe. And when he leads you back into the room, helping you carefully onto the bed, a flash of concern splits across his face. He takes a step back, a step away, until his back is brushing against the wall.

You lay down on the bed, heavy limbs splayed haphazardly across the soft blankets and pillows. Your robe is open, the tie still forgotten somewhere on the balcony, revealing the skin of your stomach, your thighs, still dotted with warm droplets of water.

And Joel's not far, not really; tucked away in the corner of the room, unsure, arms hanging listlessly by his sides as he stares. Takes in every inch of you as if it’s the first time all over again. Perhaps, as if he’s worried it will be the last.

“I should go,” he says, painfully unconvincing.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, eyelids heavy as you stare back at him.

Your lips part in a soft yawn as you scratch languidly at the skin over your ribs, and dark eyes follow the movement of your fingers. Watch how your skin smarts and pulls beneath your fingernails until you sigh in contentment, the itch disappearing.

“You gotta be up early,” he says.

“I do.”

“And it’s late,” his eyebrows raise.

“Is it?” you smile. Raise your eyebrows in return and laugh when he sighs, hands twitching at his sides.

“Are we really doing this again?” you ask, smile slipping when you notice his frown. The twisted furrow of his brows, the curl of his upper lip. As if all of the features on his face have pinched together in the middle. Something churns in your stomach; a sick feeling that rises to lodge at the base of your throat. Waiting. “Talk to me.”

“M’tryin’,” he admits quietly. “Tryin’… tryin’ to be good. I want to be good.”

Your heart drops. And then, driven by some emotion that you can’t name, don’t want to name, it climbs its way back up, lurching forward in your chest. It claws and scrapes and tears itself out through a crack between two of your ribs, flinging itself across the room at him.

“You are good,” you whisper. Feel your bottom lip wobble, unsteady but sure. Certain of nothing but this as the words slip out. “You’re good, Joel. We are good.”

And when he smiles you think you can see it in his teeth. Little fragments of your heart; the beating core of you, dark red and macerated in the cracks of his canines, the lining of his gums.

Joel closes his eyes and repeats the word. A softly murmured, Good, as if the word itself confounds him, and you think you must be imagining the red smeared across his chin. Your blood seeping out past his lips, dribbling down to stain the skin of his neck.

“I hope you’re right.” He takes a deep, steadying breath. One that shakes the planes of his broad chest, makes it rise to its fullest potential before he sucks another in, shoulders relaxing, and walks across the room towards the bed.

Towards you.

thank you for reading! x

#i hope you wanna know what happened at the dinner with rachel #cause i'm gonna tell you #my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #ALP #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut

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cherryredstars · 2 months

Note

Hey Cherry, I love ur blog. Can I request afab!reader giving Miguel a little strip tease? You can add the context, I just want Miggy to watch as his beautiful lady teases him and makes him wait to get the goods. Thank you very much, and have a lovely new year :)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Mentions of Nudity, Sexual Touching, Mentions of Fingering

A/N: You just KNOW it's bad if it says happy new years LOL. I hope this year is treating you well, love!

Not Edited

You didn't mean to be a tease.

You were simply doing what you always did after your shower. The only difference is Miguel laying in bed watching you. You had ignored him, walking over to your things on the dresser. Your towel was clutched tight to your body, the outfit you were planning for your night out sitting on a hanger next to your closet. But before you put it on, you went through your routine.

You reach for your bottle of lotion, (something that smelled pleasant but didn't seem worth the money you had spent on the name brand cream), and hit the cap against your palm. Your music could still be heard from the bathroom, and you hummed along to the tune, occasionally whispering the words under your breath as you uncapped the bottle. With slight pressure, the cold lotion gathered in your hand, and you slapped the cap back onto the heel of your palm before setting it on the dresser. You smooth the clump over your hands, getting them evenly coated before bending down. It was slightly awkward as your hair began to fall in your face and you had to press your arms firmly to your sides to keep the towel from falling off.

As you begin to rub the lotion into your skin, a sudden noise from behind you makes you startle. Still in your position, you turn to look over your shoulder. Miguel enters your view instantly, seeing that he pushed his holographic screens that he was working on to the side to get a good view of you. His hand was pressed into the front of his pants, his eyes half lidded as he looks at you. But his eyes aren't trained on your face. No, they're trained to where your towel rides up slightly over your ass from your position, giving him a perfect view of your pussy. He presses his hand harder against himself, his wrist beginning to move in slow rolls.

It makes your cheeks flush, and you call out his name in a chastise. But he pays you no mind as he continues looking, making you hastily straighten up and turn around. Your face is still hot from his actions, but you clear your throat and try to get rid of the lewd image. You pick up your perfume, clearing your through as you begin fiddling with it as you tilt your head back slightly to spray the sweet scent over your skin. The expensive bottle almost slips out of your hands as you feel Miguel's stomach suddenly pressing against your back. Your head tilts further back to look up at him, your eyes meeting his blazing red ones. You begin to open your mouth to question him, but a sharp gasp leaves your lips as his warm palm snakes under your towel and cups the entirety of your cunt.

Your cheeks absolutely burn, your body becoming very aware of his touch and the hardness pressing against you. Miguel presses against you harder, forcing your body to bend down until your chest is pressed down against the dresser. Miguel's body follows, keeping you down as he buries his head into the junction of your neck to smell your signature scent.

"Let me help you rub that in, hermosa," he mutters, his warm breath heating your ear. And you don't even have time to protest when he slips his fingers inside of you and begins to massage your gummy walls.

Looks like you might need another shower after this.

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screampied · 5 months

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PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE choso x artist!reader in which they're dating for just a few months and reader has a sketchbook full of drawings of him but keeps it a secret fearing he'd think it's weird or something and then one day he finds the sketchbook and is absolutely flustered and think it's so endearing and showers reader with praise for their drawings (it could be a little nsfw by maybe making it so that there are a few sketches of choso shirtless/in bed)

- 🍧

꒰ warnings . . choso x fem!reader, touch starved choso, overstim, praise, cowgirl. mdni. wc: 1.7k

choso knew about your hobby, just not the particular filthy things you’d draw.

he’s been dating you for a few months and you always expressed your love for your hobby, he even let you draw him a few times. he’s always praised you and showered you with various compliments, telling you how talented you were.

yet one day, you end up leaving your sketchbook over his house—he didn’t mean to peek, but you did leave it wide open. coincidentally open to the most revealing pages.

his eyes widen ever so slightly…

scanning the thin lined paper with perplexed eyes, the sketches of him, shirtless, the more he looked through the pages, the more lewd they became. some were even intimate, shirtless and with the cutest yet embarrassing expressions.

his head fills up with fog just imagining you, his pretty artistic girl, sitting down to draw this—draw him.

“…you weren’t supposed to see that.” you suddenly spoke, running a hand down your neck.

choso turns to face you, and he’s so flustered, and maybe even a little hard.

“shit, ‘m s-sorry baby,” he mutters, his ears growing hot from the very sharp tips—as if he’s a deer in headlights from being caught. he closes your sketchbook and has a cute sheepish grin. “i was gonna drop it off to you but then i-”

“it’s okay,” you utter, sitting down beside him. he lets off a cute gasp once you sit right down on his lap — your back pressing against his thin tank top, re-opening your minuscule-like sketchbook. you flip towards the very back, to some of the drawings of him more unclothed, more…nude. “i was gonna tell you. about um these.”

his hard-toned chest was pushed up against you, and he feels all warm once you grab his hand, making him trace a finger across the lines of your drawing. “ever since two days ago, my drawings got kind of.. y’know, dirty.”

two days ago…

when the two of you had sex, choso was a mess. constantly whining in your ear….begging for you to keep praising him, wanting you to tell him that he’s doing a good job at pleasing you. so that’s where those facial expressions came from.

he was so embarrassed, even more-so that you were sitting on his lap. you feel something poke underneath you and you smile to yourself. “you remember too? you were so whiney, choso. it was always on my mind, and whenever i’m away i just drew my imagination.”

“why imagine when we can do the real thing, baby...” he whines — pressing a soft chaste kiss near your neck, cutting off your words.

he grows so needy, just the thought of you drawing him in such provocative dirty ways made him feel things he couldn’t even comprehend. you smile — feeling him snake two hands around your waist, the tips of his fingers ghosting against the thin pink fabric of your shorts. “i missed you. missed touchin' you.”

“did you?” you hum, placing down your pencil before turning your body to face him. he tries to speak but a cute whimper exits his mouth, and he’s already tugging at your shorts.

“yeah yeah,” he sniffles, and he couldn’t wait anymore. his patience ran thin — and not even seconds later, he yanks your shorts off, only to now being exposed in your pretty lace underwear. he starts panting, feeling you teasingly start to grind against his bulge. “…fuck,” he murmurs, running a finger down your slit, watching you quaver as a response. “looks like you missed me too, baby. ‘s wet for me already. nasty g-girl.”

his attempt at dirty talk was so cute — you couldn’t help but kiss the tip of his nose, making him grow even more flustered before you bring down his sweats, eagerly springing out his dick that was just aching to be inside.

it twitched as your hand wrapped around it, and he leans back against the wooden chair — a soft groan leaving his mouth, “could have been.. fuckin’ me the entire time instead of drawing me, baby..”

“stop whining,” you tease, sneaking a wet kiss on his mouth, choso’s pink lips tremble, so needy for more of your taste, he whines again the moment you pull away, you watch him slide his tongue across his lip, savoring your candied lip gloss taste.

you bite down on your lip the second his throbbing cock prods against your leaky hole, he feels all hot. a tad bit dramatic, it’s adorable, the way he looks like he’s about to cum already.

“y-you make me feel things, baby,” he stutters out, ripped and clenching underneath his top. you intake a single rickety breath — before slowly sinking down on his length. “been two days but felt like,” and he pauses to thickly swallow. “two years, f-fuck…”

“you know i drew this too, choso?” you whisper against his ear — softly nibbling on the tender skin and you’re just driving him crazy.

he grips down on your hips, shivering at the way you start to rollick your hips against him. “drew this exact position, baby. of me riding you, making sure to sketch the way your eyes roll back and…”

“t-tell me more.” he whimpers — giving your ass a tight squeeze, his jaw clenches and he feels so warm, thanks to your warmth. you squelched against his again and again, his thigh starts to bounce in retaliation.

you giggle at his needy enthusiasm and sheer curiosity, he’s stuffing thick inches into you that makes your brain spasm for a bit, so good….

“i always make sure to memorize you when i draw you, choso…” you hum, peppering a plethora of kisses up and down his neck, his pointed chin raises a bit and he moans at the sweet soft feelings of your lips making contact with his hot skin.

“memorize every inch of your body, so i can sketch it well,” you continue, and he squeezes more against your hips, he’s the one biting his lip now. his ears continue to burn up to the tips of it, and with the smoothness of your voice — he was sure he’d cum early, there was just no predicting with you. “…sometimes i let my mind run loose a bit, and sketch out the time when you and i are.. well…intimate.”

“baby y-you’re so perverted,” he moans, his eyelids grow heavy and he doesn’t want you to stop, his voice was so sweet — cloying with silk dripping from his tone, just listening to him made you even more soaked. “my…perverted girl,” and he brings you close to him before licking a stripe up your neck. “but ‘s okay…knowing that you draw such things about me makes me like you even m-more.”

you brush a thumb against his lips, staring into his eyes before humming as a response. “yeah?”

“y-yeah,” he whines as a response, nodding fervently. his grip on your waist never lessens, and he’s balls deep — each stroke, each rough smack that thwacks against your pussy makes him so hot and bothered. “wish i could draw you how you draw me, b-but you’re the talented one.”

“i can always teach you,” you purr — teasingly sliding a single finger down his chest. “i can be a model for you too, just for you choso.”

he stares at you, and his expression is so cute, his eyes glimmer and he has a face that basically says, ‘really?’

“w-woman, talkin’ to me like that… ‘s gonna make me cum so hard,” he sighs, his grunts were heavy, chest completely heaving.

something rang throughout his ears with the way you bounced and rocked against him. his head spun and he was so obsessed with watching your body.

the way it jerks against him, taking him fully every time, despite his girth deliberately stretching your pussy out to its fullest.

“i know, i know…..” you coo against his ear, choso’s nearly trembling underneath you he’s lost in a trace with the way you pepper such kisses all over his face — he feels all tingly from your affection, and the way you’re making him feel.

such low wolffish grunts escape his mouth and its sexy, a tiny pussy-drunken smile purses against his lips after you ghost your lips against his. “you gonna be messy and cum for me?”

“…yeah, only if you let me…?” he moans, and his tone forms into a cute question.

digging his fingers into the depths of your waist, your cunt clenches down on his numerous times, you can’t even count how many strokes it’s been. “baby..”

“go ahead,” you mumble sweetly, planting a single kiss near the tip of his nose, just that single gesture alone, he’s so weak.

choso whimpers, chasing his incoming high. teeth clenching in utter desperation and lust, he craves his release so bad. “you can be a little messy.”

“okay, okay….o-okay,” he hiccups, leaning in, pulling you close towards him, he’s nearly sweating and it hasn’t even been that many minutes, he shoots out a sticky load of such thick ropes inside of your pussy.

it makes you moan yourself, wrapping your arms around his neck, softly nibbling on his collarbone. “s-shit, ‘s much comin' out for you, baby…”

choso continues whine — pulling you lightly by the neck, bringing your into a wet deep kiss, and between kisses you hear him mutter out, “love you,” for the first time. his voice was so sweet, shaky and all — you blink twice, wondering if he really said it and he grows flustered immediately once he realized what he said. “w-wait, baby, i mean-”

“i love you too,” you tease — sitting up and pulling his twitching now flaccid dick out of you, he grows quiet at the wet sounds of his own cum seeping out of your cunt, his bottom lip quivers at you being in such control before you grab your sketchbook from the table, pressing a final kiss against his mouth. “do you think i should sketch this too for you to keep? all your cum just spilling out of me?”

“please,” he whines. “draw it now, baby. i’d put that in my wallet for only me to s-see.”

#★vegasbaby.#🍧anon.#jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #choso smut #choso kamo smut #choso x reader #choso x you #jjk fic #anime smut #female reader

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