#tip tap bat

[caligatinsole]

I have this gif for a while and I’ve completely forgotten I wanted to show this one, Peste in a hurry 🦇 💨

Someone call P! Peste has escaped again!

[buckcherried]

the mirror at the end of the bed was a recent purchase, one made by you, with a singular yet very important intention.

good old-fashioned loverboy kento nanami is a man that loves to make love. he values intimacy, romance. being able to make eye contact during the amorous act of sex was of high importance to him. he fucked insanely well, especially so under these pretenses.

so, even with his hands full of your perfect ass that aligned so nicely at his hips, doggy style had always felt a bit... impersonal. and despite how good and rough he always managed to fuck you, regardless of the position, he always preserved the connection between the two of you. his hand finding yours against your hip and interlocking fingers whilst drilling his cock upward into your cunt as you rode him reverse cowgirl, the way his thumb would caress your cheek as he held a tight grip of your jaw as he fucked your mouth ever so slow and steady... kento nanami always found a way to pour the romantics into everything he did.

his favorite act of romance, though, was eye contact. the very notion had him feral. having his eyes locked with yours as the two of you did the filthiest things to each other — he could cum at the mere thought. you could always see it right there in his eyes, usually moments after you batted your lashes up to meet his low-lidded gaze, and it was all over. it was allllll in the eyes.

that's why last night, not even half an hour after he came buckets into your cunt during a very hot and heavy session in the missionary position with your foreheads practically glued together, you got out the measuring tape. silently, in the warm glow of your bedside lamp that softly lit your sleeping lover's face, you took measurements of the wall facing your bed while the impurest of thoughts ran rampant through your mind.

the delivery men had it up and installed rather quick the next morning. you tipped them and sent them on their way before they could even begin to imagine the plans you had for this new item placed so strategically in your bedroom. you barely had time to fantasize as you heard kento enter down at the front door.

those hazel eyes found yours immediately as soon as their beholder swung open the bedroom door.

through the mirror, you caught his wide-eyed stare from your position on the bed — face down, ass up high in the air, wearing nothing but his favorite black lace set. he stood there for a moment, his stare flitting to your body and back, finding conversation in your eyes as they told him everything he needed to know about how the scene in front of him came to fruition.

kento's bag fell with a thud as it dropped to the floor, his hands finding a new interest as they found his belt. he made quick yet steady work of it, gaze never leaving yours as he pulled it from its loops.

he remained silent as he halved the belt into one hand and walked into the room. your eyes never left his form as he approached the bed, mattress dipping from the added weight as he knelt on it behind you.

you flicked your head to the side, your right cheek pressed against the bed as you peered back at him best you could from this angle, a soft gasp hitching in your throat as you catch him freeing his rigid cock from his dress pants.

his fingers dipped around the material of your thong and dragged it to the side, tapping at your now bare entrance, giving your core a few languid circles, making a mess of your arousal.

"my sweet wife..." kento's voice was low at your ear as he leaned over you, a hand grazing softly over your ass, cock twitching as the length of it pressed flat against your weeping cunt, "if you needed to be fucked like this you just had to ask."

you didn't have the chance to respond before kento sheathed himself inside you, wasting no time in removing any of his clothes as he got to pounding you mercilessly into the bed. his big strong hands held your hips up high, in perfect position, fucking you into oblivion at a pace you couldn’t physically comprehend as the snaps of his hips flung you forward.

your scream was muffled by the bedsheets, fisting the material so hard your knuckles begged for mercy.

kento tutted, hauling your chest up off the bed by seizing both your wrists and yanking them back toward him to clasp in one hand, "eyes, darling."

it was the only warning you needed, eyes locking with his in the reflection of the mirror immediately. the groan that escaped his throat was guttural. you could feel his cock harden against your walls as he continued his ravenous assault of your cunt. his low-lidded gaze was telling, those hazel eyes darker than you had ever seen them.

"ah, there’s my girl.”

the love in his gaze was overwhelming as he quite literally fucked you like he was trying to split you in two. his beefy chest strained against his tight button-up as he put all his strength into the action, the thick muscles of his biceps rippling as he used you as leverage to fuck you even harder. his jaw clenched, those pussydrunk eyes flitting from yours to the place where you connected, hypnotized by the way this thick length sheathes perfectly into your tight little cunt like you were made for him. your gaze was locked on his frame, staring with wide eyes as he spit in his free hand and grazed his way around your trembling thighs to make contact with your clit, knowing he found juuuust the right spot by the way you arched into his touch for more.

kento took the opportunity to rut the entirety of his ruinous cock inside to the hilt, his aching balls flush against your core as he holds himself there, hips grinding in for as much give as your cunt would allow him.

the stretch of him dropped your jaw, your lungs gasping to maintain your breath at the sensation of being completely and utterly full. you could barely keep your eyes open — but fuck, it would be a crime to miss out on the moment before you. those utterly lovesick eyes of his on yours as he began to make work of your clit, so intentionally slow and steady as you warmed his throbbing cock.

it was hard for you to keep it together now. his touch lit you on fire, the soft strokes of his expert fingers that know you oh so well. and that cock of his, so unforgivingly big, rutting there ever so gently at your cervix over and over and over, stuffing you full to the point of delirium.

you tightened around him as you desperately tried to adjust to the stretch. he was so fucking big. no matter how many times kento fucked you it seemed like he’d never fit. but your husband always got the job done.

kento let your wrists free as you caved into the mattress, not letting your eyes leave his as you peered up from the sudden relief of the covers as his free hand ran the length of your back.

“you know just how much i love you, yes?” his pace slowed to an even more intimate speed as he leaned to trail kiss after kiss up your arching spine, “thank you for the surprise, sweet girl..."

the gravel in his voice caught your immediate attention, your lulling eyes that were rolling to the back of your head now snapping back up to meet his.

and there it was. it was always in the eyes. he looked at you like you hung the stars. his wife. the woman he would lay his life down for. the only one to know him so well, so intimately. the woman who'd install a fucking mirror at the end of the bed just for this very moment.

"... now cum for me.”

and you did, immediately. it was all too much now, all you could feel was him. the pressure of his cock, how you could practically feel him all the way up in your stomach — you were done for the moment you watched that last screw drill into the wall this morning.

the shakes racked your body as you came, cunt clenching him for all he’s worth as he followed suit, rutting his hot thick cum inside you like it was the last thing he’d ever get to do. the hand at your clit reaches further down, his fingers splitting the place your searing bodies meet to memorize the feeling of the way his cock ruts in and out of you as the two of you ride out your orgasm.

kento had come undone — a mess of hot and slutty moans at your ear. he simply could not. get. enough.

and as you take in the beautiful sight of him holding you so in the reflection, all sweaty and fucked out of his mind, you couldn’t help but grin as your hand leisurely followed to meet his to feel the last of his strokes stuff your cunt. his eyes, yearning and low-lidded, latched to yours as he watched you open your mouth to speak.

“would the delivery men start to catch on if we had them install another on the ceiling?”

[kthologue]

𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 – 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

synopsis. two weeks have slipped by since you disappeared from the emperor’s life. the palace whispers of his unraveling, but no one dares to name the madness consuming him.

contents. period piece, forbidden love, ooc, angst (eventual comfort), yandere emperor!gojo, lovesick!gojo, servant!reader, obsessive behavior, lowkey unreliable narrator, time skips

notes. not proofread once again, but at least all 8k words are finally done. until the epilogue!

series masterlist | chapter 2/2

It has been two weeks since your disappearance. 

Nobody knows where you’ve gone to. Or why. 

Synchronously, the palace had fallen into a hush. The kind that stretched beyond walls and courtyards, embedding itself in the bones of the imperial court. Servants whispered behind their sleeves. Nobles watched the throne with cautious eyes. The emperor, Japan’s strongest man, was unraveling. And nobody knew why.

The stench of alcohol clung to Gojo Satoru. Expensive sake pooled in ceramic cups, the scent sharp and sickly, mixing with the musk of sweat and silk. The chamber was a mess, toppled dishes, shattered glass, the remnants of a feast he hadn’t touched. A single candle flickered on the lacquered table, its wax melting into a slow, steady pool. The shadows cast by the flame twisted along the walls, stretching long and jagged, like ghosts reaching for him.

Gojo slumped against his seat, his white hair, usually snowy white, now fell in wild, overgrown tufts, obscuring his vision in uneven strands. His ceremonial robes, woven in silk and embroidered with the insignia of the Gojo Clan, hung loose around his frame. His fingers twitched over the rim of an empty goblet, a silent tremor betraying the rage simmering beneath his skin.

His breath was slow, methodical. 

Himiko entered without announcement, the sound of her embroidered slippers tapping against the floor. Her robes shimmered under the candlelight, crimson and gold, a deliberate echo of the imperial crest. She was the picture of regality: poised, calculating, her scent perfumed with jasmine.

“You’ve been drinking again,” she observed, her voice smooth yet edged with unspoken frustration.

Gojo didn’t bother lifting his head. Instead, he chuckled, the sound devoid of mirth. He tipped his goblet back, only to find it empty. A scowl twisted his lips as he tossed it aside. The metal clattered against the floor, rolling to a stop against shattered glass.

“Would you like a prize for your deduction?” His voice was hoarse, his throat burned raw from drink.

She ignored his bitterness and stepped closer, fingers trailing along the lacquered table, grazing over his discarded robes. The action was slow, deliberate.

“Tell me, Satoru…” she murmured, her voice as soft as silk, as sharp as a blade. “Why do you waste yourself like this?”

His fingers curled into a fist.

Himiko’s eyes flickered, catching the movement. She stepped closer, her presence heavy in the candlelit chamber. “You were born to rule,” she continued, her words laced with honey and venom alike. “And yet, you let yourself fall into ruin over a woman who no longer wants you. A personal servant, much less.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

“She has severed all ties with you,” Himiko pressed, her tone almost pitying. “After your stunt in the ceremonial hall she will never bat an eyelash at you again. And now, her clan whispers of rebellion in the capital. The elders demand retribution.”

Gojo’s breath was slow, methodical.

“The Gojo and Zenin clans must unite,” Himiko continued, watching him carefully. “For the first time in history, we will restore order. We will fulfill your destiny.”

She leaned in, her touch featherlight as her fingers trailed down his chest, the brush of her nails just barely felt through his robes.

“And,” she whispered, voice dipping lower, “you will have me.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The candle’s flame flickered, the shadows shifting along the walls.

Gojo let out a slow, shaky breath. His head tilted back against the chair, his gaze hooded, unreadable. The weight of something unseen pressed against him, pushing him deeper into his own destruction.

Finally, he spoke.

“Fine.”

A victorious smile curled on Himiko’s lips.

But then, the doors burst open.

The impact sent a gust of air through the chamber, causing the candle to flicker wildly.

A new presence entered, stepping through the threshold like ink spilling across the pristine floors. Dark robes trailed behind him, blending into the shadows. His expression was unreadable, but his golden eyes gleamed with something knowing.

“Your Majesty,” Geto drawled, his voice smooth, stepping forward. “You called.”

Gojo frowned, his gaze shifting. “Suguru.”

Geto gave a short, practiced bow, the movement fluid. 

The Emperor stares at him, “You are my most trusted ally.”

“A honor that I hold dear, yes.” Suguru’s head is still ducked, waiting for permission to be lifted.

A strange tension filled the air. The kind that was razor-thin, ready to snap.

Gojo’s fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair, the sound slow, calculated. Then, his foot lifted, pressing beneath Suguru’s chin, forcing his head up until their gazes met.

A pair of icy cerulean orbs bore into plum ones.

“You would never do anything to betray my trust, no?”

The room turned frigid.

Suguru’s entire body tensed, though his face remained still. The weight of those words pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. The deadly tone, Gojo’s battle tone, was one Suguru had only ever heard on the battlefield, when his friend was overtaken with bloodlust.

He felt his blood go cold.

“No, of course not.” His head remained low, eyes staring at the spilled wine pooling along the floor, the blood-red liquid almost taunting him. A warning.

“Then tell me that the rumors are false, dear friend.”

Suguru’s eyes flickered.

Gojo pressed harder with his foot. “Tell me that you did not let my [Name] leave.” His voice trembled, cold and sharp. “Tell me that you did not send her a carriage.”

Silence.

“Tell me that you did not leave her in the hands of another man after I had worked so hard to bring her back.”

Suguru said nothing.

And that was the confirmation Gojo needed.

His hands clenched. His chest heaved.

And then,

“I TRUSTED YOU!”

The chamber shook as Gojo kicked Suguru back, sending him crashing into a wooden table. Artifacts shattered, glass shards scattering across the floor.

Himiko shrieked at the violent display.

Suguru groaned, coughing as the pain tore through his ribs. He barely flinched at the glass buried in his side. Instead, he tilted his head, wiping the blood from his lip.

“She made her choice.” His voice was eerily calm.

Gojo froze.

His breath hitched, stomach twisting

“You don’t know that.” His voice was hoarse, cracking beneath the weight of his own grief. The emperor grabbed a dagger, well hidden in his garments and held it in Suguru’s direction.

Himiko scoffed.

“Why does it matter?” she demanded, stepping between them, fury flashing in her gaze. “She is nothing now! She abandoned you. She left you for another man–”

“Shut your mouth,” Gojo snapped.

Himiko stiffened, stunned by the venom in his voice.

“You chose me!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “You made your decision.”

“Because I had no choice!” His roar was thunderous, shaking the very foundation of the palace. His breath was ragged, vision tunneled. “But if I did,” He swallowed hard, the taste of regret thick in his throat.

His voice wavered, quieter now.

“If I did… it would have never been you.”

Silence.

Suguru exhaled, tilting his head. “I told you,” he murmured, watching the scene unfold with mild amusement. “You should have let her go when she asked.”

But Gojo Satoru, Emperor of Japan, the strongest man alive, had never known how to let go.

“If you want to live, you will follow my next command carefully.”

The village was quiet in the way only forgotten places could be, tucked away between rolling green fields and a quiet forest.

Unlike the grand palaces and bustling cities, this place moved at its own pace, undisturbed by the heavy weight of politics and war. Here, the air smelled of damn earth and fresh rice paddies, of firewood burning in stone hearths, of crisp morning dew that clung to thatched roofs, mingling with the distant sound of laughter from children playing. The dirt paths were lined with modest homes, their roofs sagging under years of wear. 

It had been two weeks since your disappearance. Two weeks of living as someone else.

Gone were the weight of expectations heavy upon your shoulders. Your hands, once unblemished and soft, now bored faint callouses from work you were never meant to do. And you didn’t mind.

“[Name].”

A familiar voice, steady and unmistakable cut through the quiet morning. You turned, catching sight of Nanami standing near the well, sleeves rolled to his forearms. A basket of vegetables hung from his grasp, the crisp greens contrasting against his neutral-toned kimono. His expression, as always, was measured.

A quiet sigh left your lips, “You’re back early.”

Nanami stepped forward, his glaze flickering down to your hands, observing the red marks on your palms from the rough mortar and pestle. He frowned.

“You shouldn’t be doing this kind of work,” he said, voice low but firm. “You’ll only injure yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t seem convinced. But instead of arguing, Nanami placed the basket down and gestured for you to follow him back towards the small house you shared. The villagers were already accustomed to seeing the two of you together, and while they didn’t openly question your presence, there was an unspoken distance between you and them.

As you walked beside him, you caught glimpses of their gazes, wary, guarded.

You  adjusted the strap of your bag, “They won’t even look at me in the eye,” you muttered as the other villagers brushed past you without a second thought. “Why?”

Nanami didn’t look at you immediately, instead adjusting his grip on the basket. “They don’t know who you are.”

“That’s exactly why they don’t trust me.” You exhaled sharply. “I don’t blame them.”

A pause.

Then, Nanami glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “It’s not just that.”

You blinked up at him. “What do you mean?”

His steps slowed as the two of you reached the wooden house, a modest structure, small but well-kept. He set the basket down on the porch, and after a beat of silence, he gestured to you.

“Look at yourself.”

You frowned but obeyed, glancing down at your clothes. “And what of it?” You eyes trail down to the garments. The robes you worn, though simple, were still of a higher quality than the villagers. The stitching, the cut, the deep indigo dye that refused to fade even after days of wear. The silk made you stick out like a sore thumb, but surely it was not envy that caused the entire village avoid you like the plague. These fabrics were a gift from your former mentor Yaga, after all. You couldn’t simply dispose of them.

“The embroidery on your robes, the color… no one other than those of the Imperial Royal Family may be adorned in it.” He exhaled, voice lowering. “It all says one thing: you belong to the emperor.”

A chill ran down your spine.

You swallowed.

Nanami studied your reaction before exhaling, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It was always him,” he murmured.

You looked up. “What?”

“He never let you out of his grasp.” His voice was quiet but weighted. “Even now, when you’re here… Gojo still lingers.”

The name alone sent a shiver down your spine.

Your fingers clenched at the fabric of your robes, suddenly feeling suffocated by it. You had spent so long trying to distance yourself from him, from the golden cage he had kept you in. And yet, here you were.

Still marked by him.

“Well then I need to get myself new clothes,” your hands fidgeting with the rich fibers of your clothing.

“No need,” Nanami pauses his ministrations to look at you. “I’ve already talked to the local seamstress and requested a much more appropriate wardrobe for you.”

For the first time in weeks, you feel a smile form on your face, “Just what would I do without you, Nanami?”

“I wonder the same thing,” he mutters, but you can hear the jest in his voice. He turns away to hide the small smile on his lips.

“Oh, you!” You point straight at the curve of his lips, disregarding the dirt on your hands. He tries to wave them away. “If it wasn’t for the fact that you are an eunuch you would make a damn good husband.”

“That’s… highly inappropriate for you to say,” a flush of pink makes its way to his face.

“Loosen up,” you shrug. “We’re not in the palace anymore.”

“There could be listening ears.”

“Here?” You scoff. “No way. They’ll never find us.”

A gust of wind passed through, rustling the trees. The scent of rain hung in the air, thick and heavy.

You followed him onto the porch, sinking down onto the wooden steps. A comfortable silence stretched between you both.

Nanami turned his head slightly. “Did you ever love him?”

The question wasn’t unexpected. But the answer…

Your hands tightened in your lap. Your chest ached.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I did.”

Nanami hummed, as if he already knew.

You bit your lip, gaze distant. “And that’s what makes it so hard.”

Nanami nodded, his usual sharp demeanor softening. “Love is never simple.”

You turned your head, looking at him with something close to curiosity. “Have you ever been in love, Nanami?”

For the first time that morning, you saw the corner of his lips twitch upward in something resembling amusement.

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

You raised a brow. “What would you call it, then?”

Nanami exhaled, resting his elbows on his knees. “An unfortunate attachment.”

That made you laugh, genuinely. The sound was warm, familiar, a reminder of a life before everything unraveled.

The tension in your chest eased, just slightly.

The wind blew again, carrying with it the distant laughter of children, the sound of a woman calling her husband home, the rustling of bamboo trees swaying in the breeze.

For a moment, just a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to believe that this could last.

That this small, quiet life could be yours.

The village was peaceful that evening.

The last remnants of sunlight bled into the horizon, painting the sky in hues of deep amber and violet. The rice paddies stretched far into the distance, their golden stalks swaying gently with the breeze. Smoke curled from the thatched roofs of houses, the scent of simmering miso and fresh grain filling the air. Children ran through the dirt paths, their laughter ringing out like wind chimes, their innocence untouched by the quiet storm that lurked on the horizon.

You stood at the entrance of your small home, eyes trained on the fading sun. A cool wind brushed against your skin, raising goosebumps along your arms. Something about the stillness of the evening set you on edge, like the world itself was holding its breath.

Behind you, Nanami finished setting the table, his movements practiced and efficient. “Come inside,” he called, his voice steady as ever. “It’s getting cold.”

You hesitated, something in your gut twisting.

You had felt this before. A warning. A shift.

Slowly, you stepped inside, closing the wooden door behind you. The candlelight flickered, casting soft shadows against the walls. Nanami had prepared a modest meal, steamed rice, pickled vegetables, miso soup with tofu. You sat across from him, but the unease in your chest remained.

Nanami noticed. He always did.

His gaze flickered up, studying your expression. “You’re unsettled.”

You exhaled, pressing your palms against the warm ceramic of your bowl, seeking comfort in its heat. “It’s… too quiet.”

“The village is always quiet at this hour,” he pointed out.

You shook your head. “Not like this.”

A pause. Then, Nanami set down his chopsticks. “You sense something.”

You swallowed. “Don’t you?”

Nanami didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping against the wooden table in thought. Finally, he spoke.

“There have been whispers.”

Your breath hitched. “What kind of whispers?”

He looked at you then, and something in his gaze was heavier than before.

“The kind that don’t reach villages like this unless they are meant to be heard.”

The food in your mouth suddenly tasted like dust.

Nanami continued, voice even but firm. “Travelers passing through have spoken of movement in the capital. The Zenin and Gojo clans are consolidating their forces after rumors of resistance in this region.”

Your stomach twisted.

The Gojo and Zenin clans consolidating must only mean one thing. 

Your fists clenched beneath the table. “It’s him, isn’t it? He married Himiko—and now they’re coming for us, calling it treason.” No matter how powerful Suguru was, you knew his silver tongue and lofty rank could only shield you for so long.

Nanami studied you for a moment. “There’s no confirmation.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “It doesn’t need confirmation.”

Because of course it would be him.

Who else could unite the two most powerful clans in Japan? Who else had the power to move an entire army without resistance? Who else had enough obsession to still chase you after all this time?

Nanami sighed, his expression unreadable. “If it is him… then this village may not be safe much longer.”

The air around you grew suffocating.

He was coming.

The weight of that realization settled deep into your bones, into the very marrow of your being. The small, fleeting life you had begun to carve out here, the quiet mornings, the warmth of the village, the laughter of children, the routine of simple tasks. It was all temporary.

Because Gojo Satoru was coming.

And he would burn the world to the ground to take you back. Out of cruelty. 

You pushed your bowl aside, suddenly losing your appetite. “We should leave.”

Nanami’s gaze darkened. “Not yet.”

Your brows furrowed. “Nanami–”

“If we leave now, we confirm the suspicions of anyone watching,” he said, voice low, calculated. “We need to be smart. We need time.”

You hated that he was right.

Silence stretched between you both, filled only by the distant sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

Then, Nanami did something unexpected.

He reached across the table, placing a hand over yours.

The touch was brief, steady, grounding. “We will figure this out.”

You stared at him, at the sharp angles of his face, at the unwavering certainty in his gaze. And for the first time since the unease settled into your chest, you believed him.

But still, deep in the back of your mind, you knew this was only the calm before the storm.

The night, you dreamt of him. 

Not the kind of fleeting, disjointed dream that dissolves like mist upon waking, but the kind that wraps around your very soul, warm and golden, refusing to let go. It was the kind of dream that felt real, so heartbreakingly vivid that, for a moment, you were no longer lying in a modest village home with the scent of burning wood creeping in from the outside world, no longer burdened by the weight of the choices you had made. You were home.

Not the home you had made for yourself in exile, but the home of your past, a home gilded with silken screens and quiet whispers, with polished floors that gleamed beneath lantern light, and with delicate tapestries woven with the history of an empire you had once believed could be yours. The place where you had once walked with the quiet assurance of someone who belonged, where your voice had been heard, where your name had been spoken with reverence rather than secrecy.

It was spring. The season of renewal, of beginnings, of hope.

You found yourself beneath the vast expanse of the sky, the air thick with the heady perfume of blooming wisteria and the faint, refreshing scent of the nearby stream that wound through the imperial gardens. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, their pale petals drifting lazily through the air like whispered promises, catching in your hair and dusting the ground in a carpet of soft pink. The wind carried the sound of distant laughter, the gentle rustling of leaves.

And above you–

Satoru.

His silhouette was bathed in the afternoon light, the golden hues catching in his white hair, making him look almost otherworldly. He leaned over you, one arm braced against the soft grass, shielding his eyes against the sun’s glare, the other resting lightly beside your shoulder. His robes, though still of the finest silk, were simple today, stripped of the heavy embroidery and rigid embellishments that marked him as the heir to the most powerful clan in the land. The imperial crest was absent from his attire, and for once, he was just Satoru.

And his eyes.

Brilliant, piercing cerulean, sharp and knowing yet warm in a way that only he could be. You had spent so much of your life searching for the ocean’s reflection in them, for the endless sky in the depths of that unrelenting blue, and now, after all this time, they looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever truly mattered.

He studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, the shadow of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“You’re staring,” he mused, his voice smooth as silk, his amusement evident in the lazy drawl of his words.

You huffed softly, turning onto your side, the grass cool beneath your palms. “I’m admiring,” you corrected, your tone just as light.

Satoru chuckled, his laughter as rich and effortless as it had always been, a sound that made the world feel lighter, that made you feel lighter. “Is there a difference?” he asked, feigning innocence, though the mischief in his eyes betrayed him.

You sighed, exasperated but fond. “One makes you sound less arrogant.”

He grinned at that, finally shifting to lie beside you, stretching out as if the entire world belonged to him. And in a way, it did.

But in this moment, he belonged to you.

“Pft,” he blows a raspberry into the air. “Let me bask in it, will you? You never give me this kind of attention.”

The wind stirred the branches above, sending another cascade of petals drifting down around you, a few landing in the silver strands of his hair. Without thinking, you reached out, brushing them away, your fingertips barely skimming the silk of his robes as you did. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, only watched you with that same unwavering gaze, as if he were committing you to memory, as if he were terrified you might disappear before his eyes.

“You know,” he murmured after a moment, his voice quieter now, as though he, too, did not want to shatter the fragile peace between you, “I wish we could stay like this.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Because so did you.

More than anything, you wished for a world in which this moment, this feeling, this love could exist without consequence.

But you were not foolish. You had always known the truth.

This was never a love that could be without suffering. You were only a concubine, after all. A spoil of war. Not fit to be made an empress. 

You swallowed, willing yourself to keep your voice steady. “We can’t,” you said, though you hated the way the words tasted on your tongue.

Satoru turned his head to face you more fully, his expression unreadable at first, before something flickered across his features, something softer, something pleading.

“Who says?” he asked, and his tone was so quiet, so unlike the brash, overconfident man you had known, that it made your heart ache. “Tell me who says we can’t, and I’ll destroy them.”

You laughed then, a small, sad sound, because you knew he meant it.

“Satoru.”

“I’m serious.” He propped himself up on one elbow, his free hand coming to rest just beside your wrist, close enough that you could feel his warmth but far enough that he wasn’t touching you. “What’s stopping us? The court? The elders? The weight of the empire? Let them have it all. I don’t need any of it.”

You turned to look at him fully now, your chest tightening at the raw honesty in his face, the way he looked at you as if you were his entire world.

And maybe, once upon a time, you had been.

But the world did not belong to you and Satoru alone.

You reached out, letting your fingers trail lightly over his knuckles before pulling away. “You don’t mean that,” you whispered, though a part of you desperately wanted to believe that he did.

Satoru’s jaw clenched, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to grab your hand and never let go. “I do.”

And maybe, for that moment, he truly believed it.

But deep down, you both knew better.

The empire would never let him go.

Just as it would never let you be his.

The breeze picked up again, scattering more petals through the air, the scent of cherry blossoms thick and sweet, overwhelming. You wanted to stay here, in this moment, forever. You wanted to pretend that this could last, that you could stay in his arms and never worry about what came next.

But the moment began to waver, the edges of the dream blurring, the sunlight dimming.

And then, suddenly, the gardens were gone.

The warmth, the laughter, the scent of cherry blossoms… all of it melted away into smoke.

Your dream had shifted to another scene.

It was of the familiar scene of the bustling city just outside of the Outer Palace. The capital city had always been lively, but today it seemed to hum with an extra spark. The streets bustled with merchants peddling fragrant spices and embroidered silks, laughter echoed from the open-air teahouses, and the golden rooftops of the imperial palace gleamed under the afternoon sun like something out of a story.

You had just returned from your weekly errand, fetching a fresh batch of pastries from the emperor’s favorite bakery. The baker’s son had been in high spirits as usual, teasing you for being the only person in the city who could make the imperial kitchens jealous with how often you snuck in outside food.

But it wasn’t just the pastries you carried today.

A tiny, delicate flower rested in the palm of your hand, given to you by a child, a sweet little girl who had tugged on your sleeve just as you were leaving the marketplace.

"For you, miss!" she had chirped, eyes bright with admiration.

You had accepted it with a beaming smile, ruffling her hair before she scurried back to her group of friends, giggling and chattering about how pretty the imperial concubine was.

The city loved you.

Perhaps it was because you were one of them, despite the palace silks and the golden embroidery of the Gojo clan stitched into your robes, you had never let your status turn you into something untouchable.

So there you were, practically glowing, a flower twirling between your fingers as you strolled through the palace gardens, utterly unaware that your mere existence was about to ruin the emperor’s evening.

Because at that very moment, Satoru Gojo was staring at you with the expression of a man moments away from declaring war. He had been waiting at the gates of his own palace unceremoniously, counting down the seconds until you made it back, only for his bright spirits to be crushed.

By a flower.

A single, wretched flower.

In your hand.

And you were smiling.

Satoru didn’t even realize he had stopped in his tracks. His mind, sharp and dangerously quick, was already cycling through the list of punishments he could bestow upon the unfortunate soul who had given it to you.

Banishment? Too lenient. Public humiliation? Getting warmer. Immediate execution? …No, too messy. Forced labor in the outer provinces? Perfect.

His hands flexed at his sides. His jaw ticked. His vision tunneled.

He was going to make an example out of whoever had dared…

And then, you turned, your eyes meeting his.

And you smiled even brighter.

"Your Majesty!" you called, voice light with amusement, as if he weren’t currently five seconds away from storming the dungeons and demanding names.

You all but skipped toward him, the flower still twirling between your fingers, completely unaware of the absolute existential crisis you had just caused.

Gojo’s icy blue gaze flickered between your face and the flower, as if trying to determine which offended him more.

"What," he began, his tone deceptively casual, "is that?"

You blinked. "A flower?"

His eye twitched.

"I can see that," he muttered, before stepping closer—close enough that the sheer heat of his presence sent a shiver down your spine. "I meant, who gave it to you?"

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. "Why do you assume someone gave it to me? Maybe I plucked it from the fields myself."

Satoru let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Ha." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Try again, sweetheart."

Your lips twitched, but before you could answer, a voice piped up–

"It was me!"

Both of you turned to find a child, the same little girl from earlier, standing at the edge of the gates of the Outer Palace, her face alight with pride.

"I gave her the flower!" she repeated, puffing out her chest. "Because she’s the prettiest lady in the whole city!"

Silence. A long, long silence.

Gojo stared. You suppressed laughter.

His entire body visibly relaxed.

The tension in his jaw disappeared, the storm in his eyes cleared, and for a single, fleeting moment, the Emperor of Japan looked genuinely speechless.

And then, he scoffed.

"Well, I suppose I can’t punish a child," he muttered, crossing his arms with a dramatic sigh. "What a shame."

You finally let out a laugh, shaking your head as you knelt beside the girl. "Thank you, little one," you whispered, tucking the flower into your sleeve.

The girl giggled before scurrying away, leaving just the two of you standing in the palace once more.

Satoru watched you carefully, his arms still crossed, his signature smirk just barely returning to his lips.

"You looked like you were five seconds away from passing a death sentence," you teased, eyeing him with amusement.

His expression didn’t waver.

"Oh, I was."

You rolled your eyes. "And what would you have done if it wasn’t a child?"

Gojo hummed, tilting his head as if considering. "Well…" His smirk sharpened. "Let’s just say the baker’s son would have found himself mysteriously exiled to the coldest province in the empire."

You froze.

Your stomach dropped.

Because oh– oh no.

He knew.

Satoru watched, relishing in the way your posture stiffened, the way your gaze flickered just slightly, as if calculating whether it was worth denying it.

"Your Majesty, I–"

"You what?" He raised a brow, leaning in once more, his voice dipping into something dangerously sweet.

"You think I wouldn’t hear about the little romance rumors floating around the palace?" He chuckled, voice laced with something possessive, something undeniably jealous. "You think I wouldn’t know about the way the baker’s son looks at you?"

You swallowed. "It’s just gossip."

"Is it?"

Gojo’s voice was far too amused, far too smug, because he already knew the answer.

And then, just because he could, he lowered his voice even further, leaning in until his lips were barely a breath away from your ear.

"Promise me you won’t leave me."

Your heart stopped.

You turned to him, but the moment you did, he pulled back, flashing you a grin that was far too pleased with itself.

"Don’t look so surprised," he mused, turning on his heel and walking away, hands tucked into his sleeves.

Then, over his shoulder.

"After all, I won’t let anyone take you away."

And then you’re awaken.

Your chest heaved, your skin damp with sweat, your heart pounding so violently against your ribs that for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

The room was dark. Cold.

How cruel your mind was to remind you of such warm times.

The early morning light filtered through the wooden shutters, casting long golden streaks across the small room. Outside, the village was already stirring with women gathering water from the well, the rhythmic pounding of rice in wooden mortars, the occasional laugh of a child running past. The scent of damp earth and fresh grass filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of dried herbs that hung from the ceiling.

Inside, you sat on the floor, weaving together dried reeds into a basket, fingers moving deftly despite the lingering morning chill. Across from you, Nanami was sharpening a knife, the slow, deliberate drag of steel against stone filling the quiet space between you.

It was a comfortable silence, one that had settled between you both over the past two weeks, a rhythm that neither of you spoke of, yet understood nonetheless.

“You’re getting better at that,” Nanami remarked, not looking up from his work.

You snorted softly, twisting another reed into place. “You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

You tossed a loose strand of reed at him. He caught it midair without even glancing, setting it aside with a faint huff of amusement.

Nanami tilted his head slightly, observing you from the corner of his eye. “What?”

You blinked, realizing you had been staring. “Nothing.”

His brow arched slightly, but he let it go, returning to his blade. The light glinted off the edge, sharp and lethal. You watched the way his hands moved steady.

Something in your chest tightened.

“You don’t think this is going to last, do you?” you asked suddenly.

Nanami paused.

The scrape of the whetstone against steel stopped, leaving only the distant sounds of the village outside. Slowly, he set the blade down, his gaze meeting yours, level and unreadable.

“…No.”

A lump formed in your throat. You nodded, looking away. “Neither do I.”

Silence.

Then, a sound.

Distant, almost imperceptible. A strange sort of rumbling.

Your fingers stopped weaving.

Nanami was already rising to his feet, his entire body going rigid. His hand went to the knife on the table. His sharp gaze flickered toward the window, toward the thin slit between the shutters. His breath was slow, measured, but you could feel the shift in his presence, the quiet kind of alertness that came before a storm.

And then a scream erupted.

Distant. But close enough.

Your blood ran cold.

Nanami moved.

He crossed the room in two strides, yanking the shutters open. And what you saw fire.

Distant but spreading.

Smoke rising in thick columns from the edge of the village, black against the early morning sky. The distinct sound of hooves against dirt, of metal clashing, of doors being kicked in. Then, through the haze of rising flames, you saw banners. Not just any banners.

Gojo’s crest.

Your breath hitched.

Nanami didn’t hesitate. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward the back entrance. “We need to move.”

Your heart was hammering in your chest, feet stumbling as you let him drag you forward. This was happening.

He had found you.

Gojo had found you.

Days before the raid, the palace pulsed with restless energy. Servants flitted through the corridors, their hurried steps echoing against the lacquered floors as they fastened armor, sharpened blades, and prepared provisions. The campaign was supposed to be routine, a small raid to quell rumors of insurrection in a remote village. Yet, the Emperor himself was leading the charge.

No one questioned it aloud. But the whispers wove through the palace like smoke.

In his private chambers, Gojo stood at the window, watching the courtyard below as soldiers mounted their horses, their banners snapping in the cold wind. His reflection stared back at him in the glass. His grip tightened behind his back.

"You’re awfully tense for such a minor skirmish," Himiko mused, lounging on the divan behind him. The golden silk of her robes pooled around her like a shimmering snare. She lifted a cup to her lips, watching him over the rim, her gaze sharp. "One might think there’s more at stake here than a simple village purge."

Gojo didn’t turn.

"One might."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Himiko hummed, setting her cup down with a delicate clink. "You’ve always been so stubborn. So unwilling to accept the order of things." She rose, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps. "It’s a shame, really. You could’ve been content. You could’ve let go."

Her fingers brushed his sleeve. A touch meant to soothe. To remind.

His hand snapped up, catching her wrist before she could go any further.

Himiko stilled, lips parting in the slightest gasp. Not from pain, he wasn’t squeezing hard enough for that. But his grip was firm, unyielding. The weight of it said more than any words could.

A muscle flickered in Gojo’s jaw. "Do you think this is forever?" His voice was quiet, but there was something in it that made the candlelight tremble.

Himiko’s smile didn’t falter, but something in her gaze shifted. "I think," she murmured, tilting her head, "that you’re still bound by the same chains as always. No matter how strong you are, some things can’t be undone."

Gojo released her. The moment stretched, brittle as ice. Then he turned, striding toward the door, his long robes whispering against the floor.

Outside, his men were waiting. His horse was waiting.

And somewhere beyond the mountains, the one thing he had ever truly wanted was waiting.

He had wasted enough time.

The streets were already chaos. Villagers running, shrieking, clutching their children as armed soldiers stormed through the narrow paths. Houses were being torn apart, doors broken down. Soldiers clad in imperial armor barked orders, swords flashing as they cut down those who resisted.

Your breath came short, panic clawing at your throat.

Nanami’s grip on your wrist was firm. “Stay close.”

You barely nodded, your body moving on instinct as he guided you through the chaos. You ducked behind a stack of crates, pressing yourself against the wood as two soldiers passed by. Nanami’s body shielded yours, his presence grounding you even as your hands trembled.

A sharp whistle.

Nanami cursed, shoving you aside just as an arrow embedded itself into the wood where your head had been a moment ago.

You gasped.

Another whistle.

Nanami moved. He spun, his knife flashing, a throw, a sickening thud, a body crumpling.

Blood.

It hit the dirt in a slow, steady stream.

You stared.

Nanami grabbed your face, forcing your gaze back to him. “Focus.”

Your lips parted, breath shuddering. But you nodded.

He pulled you forward, weaving through the panicked masses. The exit. You needed to get to the forest to escape before it was too late.

A tall figure clad in white and blue, standing at the center of the destruction, untouched by the chaos.

Gojo Satoru.

Your feet froze.

His eyes locked onto yours instantly. Even from across the village square, even through the haze of smoke and bodies, you could feel the weight of his gaze. The way his body shifted the moment he saw you.

For a moment, nothing else existed.

Nanami saw him at the same time. His entire body went rigid.

Gojo took a slow step forward. His imperial robes billowed slightly with the movement, the embroidery glinting under the firelight, his armor forged from precious metals glistened in the sunlight. His sword hung at his hip, untouched, as if he hadn’t even needed to lift it.

Nanami’s grip on your arm tightened.

Gojo’s expression darkened. His gaze flickered between the two of you visibly irked by the domestic dynamic that had recently developed.

His lips parted, his voice cutting through the carnage like a blade. “Found you.”

Your stomach twisted.

Nanami moved.

But Gojo was faster.

Before either of you could react, a blur of motion, a gust of force, unstoppable. Nanami was on the ground. The blond man coughed out blood.

Your scream barely had time to leave your throat before Gojo was in front of you, too close, too fast. His fingers wrapped around your wrist. Unyielding.

The air was thick with the scent of smoke and blood, the distant wails of the ravaged village melding into the wind. Your hands trembled as you clenched them at your sides, willing yourself to remain still. The weight of the past, of every wound he had inflicted upon you, settled deep in your bones.

“Running from me again?” His voice was a whisper of thunder, low and dangerous. “I thought we were past that.”

You had been running for so long, but had you ever truly escaped him? Every step you took away from him, every sleepless night, every whispered prayer for his absence, and yet here he was, a specter that refused to fade.

Your heart leapt to your throat as his fingers clamped around your wrist, tightening as you attempted to yank yourself free. His other hand rose, tracing the curve of your cheek with deceptive gentleness, the callouses rough against your skin.

“Did you truly believe I wouldn’t come for you?”

Your breath came shallow. “Gojo–”

His fingers curled against your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his unrelenting grip told a different story. He had always been relentless, hadn’t he? No matter how much you tried to pull away, he found his way back, like a tide that refused to recede.

“Nanami,” he said coldly. “Do your job. Lead the men back.”

A moment of hesitation, a flicker of something like pity in Nanami’s eyes before he turned away. You were glad he did. Gojo had spared him enough not to strike him down on the spot. 

Soon, only the two of you remained, locked in a battle more ferocious than the ones fought with swords.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with your own. Your attempts to struggle were fruitless; his body caged you, muscles honed by years of war making it impossible to flee. The warmth of him, the sheer familiarity of his presence, made something inside you ache against your will.

“Why do you run?” His voice was softer now, coaxing.

Your lips curled in a bitter smile. “Are you nothing more than a brute?”

His grip faltered, a shadow of hurt flashing in his eyes. But you didn’t care. His pain was nothing compared to the agony he had inflicted upon you.

“You claim to care for me,” you spat, voice shaking with fury, “yet you cast me aside like a discarded pawn. You chose another, again and again, and then have the audacity to crawl back to me.”

Your voice cracked, but your anger did not waver.

“You humiliated me. You shattered my world and toyed with my heart like it was nothing more than a trinket. I hate you, Gojo Satoru. I hate you so much it consumes me.”

The tears spilled unchecked, your body trembling as the dam within you finally broke. You were certain you looked wretched, but dignity was a luxury you had long since abandoned.

His silence was unbearable. The weight of his guilt pressed between you, thick and suffocating, but you refused to let it soften you.

“You have hurt me beyond repair,” you whispered. “I always knew our love would bring pain, but I never thought it would be at your hands.”

Satoru swallowed hard, his large hands wiping away each tear as they fell.

“You lied to me,” you murmured, fists weakly beating against his chest. He lets you.

“I did.”

“You banished me.”

“I did.”

“You told me you loved me.”

His grip tightened. “I do.”

Your breath hitched. “I hate you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” you insisted, though the conviction was waning. Did you? Did you truly?

His lips brushed against your temple, his hands cradling your face with unbearable tenderness, “Don’t you know that you’re killing me? That your words pierce me like no other blade?”

You exhaled shakily. “Then why aren’t you dead yet?”

A broken sound left his throat as he pulled you impossibly closer, until your bodies were melded together, until his warmth became a prison of its own.

“Take it back,” he pleaded, his voice hoarse. “Please.”

But you said nothing, staring past him to the charred ruins beyond. Nanami had rallied the men, but the damage had already been done. And so had the damage to your heart. 

“Your army is leaving,” you said numbly. “Why don’t you go join them, General?”

His face was flushed, his eyes bloodshot. And yet, as much as you wanted it to, the sight did not disgust you. Instead, a sick sense of satisfaction curled within you at his suffering.

“Not until you come back,” he declared. "Until you let me explain myself."

You laughed, sharp and humorless. It did not deter him.

He continues his plea, “You can humiliate me in the palace. You can strip me of every last shred of dignity. Do whatever you wish."

He pauses.

"Just come back.”

You tried to put distance between you, but his hold remained firm.

“You still don’t understand, do you?” Your voice wavered. “I am not yours anymore. I haven’t been yours since you chose her. Since you cast me aside for the sake of your kingdom.”

By now, Satoru’s trembling lips had given way to the relentless shaking of his entire body, “I never touched her. My hand was forced. Nothing happened.” Somewhere amid your onslaught, Satoru had forgotten how to breathe. His chest rose in shallow, uneven gasps, his shoulders trembling beneath the weight of words he couldn’t take back. His fingers curled into fists so tight they trembled, knuckles drained of color. He was unraveling right in front of you.

“Everyone around me speaks of my destiny, as if it were carved into the heavens themselves. They whisper that I was born to rule Japan, to claim a throne, to take a noble wife like Himiko and secure a legacy of power.” Satoru’s voice trembles, raw and desperate, as he buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply like he’s trying to commit you to memory. His hands clutch you tighter, as if you might slip through his fingers at any moment.

“But none of that means a damn thing to me. My destiny isn’t a kingdom—it’s you. It always has been. My place is by your side, not on a throne. I would spend a thousand lifetimes serving you, worshiping you, loving you. We were made for each other, meant to grow old together, to laugh and fight and dream until the very end. To pass down our love, our story—not to this damn empire, but to our grandchildren.”

His breath is shaky against your skin, his grip unrelenting. “Please,” he whispers, voice breaking, “don’t take that from me.”

You wanted to. Wanted to reach for him, to piece him back together, but the raw ache in your chest held you still.

How many times have you stood here, waiting for him to say something, anything, that would make the hurt go away? How many times have you let yourself believe that his silence wasn’t a choice?

You swallowed hard, throat burning. “You don’t get to do this,” you whispered.

His head jerked up, eyes wide, pleading.

“You don’t get to shake and break down and expect me to forget everything,” you continued, voice cracking. “You left me. You let me believe I didn’t matter.”

Satoru exhaled sharply, like the words had physically struck him. “I never–”

“Don’t.” You shook your head, stepping back when he tried to move closer. “Just don’t.”

The silence between them was thick, heavy with unsaid things. Satoru’s breaths came fast and shallow, his entire body vibrating with something between anguish and regret.

Still, you held on to the hurt. Let it press against your ribs, let it remind you that you weren’t just here to be broken all over again. You weren’t ready to forgive him. Not yet. But damn it, you wanted to.

“If it will ease your doubts, I’ll have her head in glass by morning.”

You shuddered. “I don’t want her dead.”

“Then she lives to see another day.”

“And the Zenins?” Your teeth clenched, voice shaking with restrained fury. “I tried to warn you about them, tried to protect you, but you chose to humiliate me instead.”

His fingers traced the curve of your jaw, deliberate and lingering, as if etching you into his memory. “I am truly sorry,” he murmured, his voice softer now, edged with regret. “It was a foolish attempt to keep you safe from those damn elders. I may be the ceremonial head of this country, but their power is undeniable. Your banishment was my own foolish doing to protect you after my mistress was forced upon me. I knew I was lost when I couldn’t breathe without your presence in the palace. The days blurred together, and my duties felt like nothing but a slow death. So, I tried to bring you back as my servant. It was safer that way. You were close, within reach, but still out of grasp. At least you were there. But then... I ruined it all. ”

You hadn’t tried to bite his finger off yet. He took it as an unspoken truce, leaning in, his presence overwhelming, his warmth sinking into your skin. “Not that it matters though. I'm going to kill those geezers and have their heads strung in front of the palace.” A flicker of a smirk ghosted his lips, but his eyes held something far more dangerous.

“I may be a fool,” he admitted, his breath brushing against you, “but I am not weak. So don’t waste a single thought on them.” His fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face toward his. “No one, not them, not fate itself, will take you from me.”

A cruel part of you savored the power you held over him. But you wanted him to suffer longer before you gave the satisfaction of knowing that your heart had softened. “I haven’t forgiven you.”

His hands trembled. “We have a lifetime for that.”

"How arrogant of you to assume I’d ever choose to spend a lifetime with you." Your voice was quiet, but the weight of your words struck like a blade.

You shouldn't feel as satisfied as you did when you watched Gojo Satoru, the strongest man alive crumpled. His breath hitched, his knees buckling beneath him as if the sheer force of your rejection had stolen the ground from under him.

Still, he reached for you. Desperation bled into his touch, fingers digging into your sleeves as though letting go would mean losing you forever. His voice, usually laced with arrogance and ease, was stripped raw.

“Then I don’t see a point in living.”

The weight of his confession clung to the air, thick and suffocating, and yet he only looked at you, as if the universe itself had been reduced to the space between his hands and your skin.

“And what of your crown?” you finally whispered.

His laugh was hollow, almost broken. “I’d throw it away if it meant keeping you. If it meant you will let me be yours.”

Then, as if surrendering himself entirely, both knees met the dirt. His hands, once accustomed to wielding absolute power, clung to your waist, not as an emperor, not as the strongest, but as a man begging to be allowed to stay.

His eyes burned into yours, pleading, unraveling.

And for the first time, you let him hold you. This time, you didn’t pull away.

A shuddering breath left his lips against your skin, as if he couldn’t believe you were real, as if he feared you might slip away the moment he let go. His grip tightened, not in possession, but in reverence.

The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of rain, of earth, of something on the verge of breaking.

"I expect you to kneel at my feet and beg for years to come." You murmured, fingers brushing against the strands of his silver hair. A handful of hair is gripped tightly, fingers digging in with purpose. "Perhaps then, I might even consider you once more."

His throat bobbed. "If that is what it takes."

This was not just an apology, nor was it a confession. It was surrender in the purest sense. The weight of his kingdom, his sins, his power. All of it, cast aside for you. It was the justice you deserved after all the pain you endured.

reblogs and comments are appreciated mwah!

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[moechies]

you literally cannot tell me that kaiser doesn't love period sex... hear me out okie!

he's not the biggest fan at first glance. like any other normal being, he thinks it's rather gross and unhygenic -- i mean the period is literally the lining of your uterus being shed, so he's not the biggest fanatic right off the bat.

it's only when he sees you writhing painfully atop of your shared bed, sniffling into the soft sheets with soft groans. he snoops up behind you, pushing your hair back behind your ear before pressing a chaste kiss against your cheek, asking you what's wrong.

he only coos sadly when you tell him it's your period, and it's hurting real bad. he brings a big, warm hand and clasp it over your tummy, asking if there's anything he can do to help. you only shake your head, the least bit frustrated at his ministrations having being worn from the pain all day, and wanting nothing more but to bask in your pain for a bit.

it's only when he's sitting in your guy's living room, waiting on a pack of pads and some sweets he ordered to be delivered to the home, when he comes across a video that claims: having sex on your period makes your cramps hurt less! he quirks a brow and scoffs, in what world would that even make sense? he's quick to scroll on, but can't deny his suspicion on whether the spewing man was right or not. so he opens a searching browser, and upon further research, and scrolls through r/periodsex on reddit, he deemed the man's claim to be strangely correct.

so he titters himself back into the bedroom where you lay, now scrolling on your computer with an abundance of pillows and sheets surrounding each side of your body, and kaiser chuckles at the sight.

"maus.. you've heard that havin' sex on y'r period can rid your cramps?"

you scoff, on par to his reaction but yours expends a little more anger. "that's so stupid, miche." you scowl a bit, face lightening when he reveals a couple chocolate bars and little sweets from his back.

"i dunno, 'id some research 'nd i think it might be true." he whistles, strolling his way over to you and handing you a bar of chocolate, placing the rest onto your bedside table.

"thank you, miche!" you grin, taking a nibble from the sweet, "but, i don't think your little period thing is true. sounds stupid." you're the same as him. no wonder you guys are so perfect for one another.

"hm," kaiser hums, rubbing his chin, "wha'dya say we test it out, maus?"

and that's how he got you here -- arched evilly as his heavy cock head sides back and forth through your aching slit. it spills with tinted slick, coating his pale-pink shaft red.

"micha," you cry out, terribly embarrassed as his slowed actions. you thought he'd be quick to get it over with for your sake, but he seemed to be enjoying this little 'try-out' way too much. "hurry, s--so embarrassed." you cover your face and whine as he taps his cock against your wet cunt, loud, sloppy noises eliciting from the mess. "embarrassed? how come?" kaiser grins, "nothin' t'be embarrassed about, lovie. 's just me."

"i know b--but... don't want y'to think ‘m gross." you whine, handling at the white sheets.

"nothin' you do is gross, maus." kaiser hums. "you understand?" you nod quickly, knowing just how mean he could get if you even bother trying to talk down on his efforts to love you. "hase, i'll put it in now, yeah? tell if it hurts, swear."

"i will! f--fuck me, miche, pleasee," you whine, shaking your ass up against his erection.

"you're shameless, hase." kaiser laughs, wasting no time before he thumbs at the front of his cock, pressing the crown against your weeping slit. you two gasp simultaneously when he fucks only the tip into your cunt -- fuck.

your pussy is so much hotter, and much more tender than it usually is -- and he knows this fact well enough from the amount of times he's made love to this very pussy. you whine when you feel your tummy churn from another cramp, tears building against your lashline. "oh, fuck, hase." kaiser whines, inching himself bit by bit into your sensitive cunt, a gentle thumb coming down to massage at your swollen, pearly clit. "y'alright, maus? need me to stop? or slow?" kaiser asks considerately despite his urge to not listen even if you do tell him to. god, it feels so damn good.

"no! miche, m--more!" you whine,

"haaah," a soft murmur of 'so hot,' is all he can manage as he shuffles himself further and further into your pussy, coming to a halt when he hears a rather pitched yelp.

"hase? y'alright?" you're breathing heavily, paired up with loud breathy moans. he's never seen you in this state with just his cock shoved into you -- without even moving or any other felt on your body. "'s sensitive, yeah? the ladies online said so, too." kaiser hums, thrusting slightly.

"shu--shut up, micha, just fuck me, 'kay? slowly!"

"y'got it, hase, calm down, 'righ? just enjoy it, miche'll make you feel s'good. so fuckin’ pretty hase.”

and god -- when he looks down after pulling out a slight and sees his cock coated in a deep crimson, he groans so unbelievably loud unlike you've ever heard before. the pretty scarlet in contrast to his white skin is throwing him in a loop, unable to help himself as he humps back inside with little remorse. he whimpers and whines each and every time your quivering pussy clenches his cock over and over -- and he's not even sure if you're aware of what you're doing.

"fuck, maus. f--feels good?" he finally cracks, bringing his hand down again to massage at your clit.

"u--uhuh, good.." you mumble, drooling against the sheets with a bit of tongue poking out. fuck, you're cute."

"cum now, baby, c'mon." kaiser leans over, pressing your body further into the sheets with his chest pressed against your bare back. "you can do it." he whispers, watching you unravel and shudder around his cock with a mean pinch to your clit. "m--miche..!" your thighs shiver, crying as you cum meanly on his cock and messing his shaft with a mixture of your creamy nut and rufous blood.

kaiser groans, fucking you gently to ride out your orgasm. his strokes are slow and deep, making you gasp at each initial thrust. "i'll cum inside." not a question, just a statement, a warning if you will.

and he does just that, unraveling just a mere couple seconds after yours and shooting white ropes of thick spent into your poor pussy. he groans and pants all at once, pulling out with a soft plop and pressing a kiss to your asscheek before pulling at it to admire his artwork.

he whistles in awe, watching his load spill out of you and mix with your blood to create a peony pink -- and although feeling a sense of flailing pride having to see his nut spill out of you, he won't chastise his sweet girl for it this time.

"m--miche..."

"yes, baby. let me clean you up." kaiser grunts with a grin, arms wrapping you into his embrace and taking you to the bathroom. "lets shower, yeah? i'll wash y'r hair f'you."

you press a weak hand against his chest, "b--but did you like it? was it g--gross?" you ask nervously, tiredly, unable to meet the man's eyes.

"no, i told you, i'd never find any part of you gross, maus. i loved it." kaiser chuckles, holding no hint of recline in his cerulean eyes. "you sure?"

kaiser scoffs. the one thing about kaiser is that he never lies. he'll tell you straightforward when he oughts, and you know this much. but you can't seem to hide the impending doom of embarrassment that haunts you in the back of your head, even if he affirms you over and over. "like i'd lie, lovie. don't doubt my honesty now. it was fun, ‘nd yer so pretty everywhere." he pinches at your cheek, earning a playful slap to his chest. "how's your tummy? still hurts?"

you shake your head, "no, doesn't hurt anymore, swear." and kaiser only grins, kissing your forehead gently.

"good, lovie. let me warm the water."

[manmuncher777]

All talk…

✧.* Gojo x reader, smut 18+, p in v sex, unprotected sex, mocking, degradation, mild overstimulation

✧.* you decided it would be a good idea to challenge the strongest….

✧.* a/n - Hi, yeah I need this to become my reality, this was written from pure thirsstttttttt

“With all due respect, you couldn’t handle me sweets.” That was what Gojo had said to you. You were offended. It was late and you were just sat drinking in your room. You weren’t drunk, but you were buzzed. Both of you were, and now the conversation had taken a bit of a… turn. “What?! I could, it’s you who couldn’t handle me.” You exclaim, slightly offended that your friend thought so little of your abilities. This had all started when you said you reckon Gojo was a bottom. Much to his dismay. You even went as far to say you would have him whimpering. But he didn’t get defensive, he just laughed it off. “What makes you think you’re so good anyway?” You huff at him

“Why don’t I show you?” A sly smirk on his face. The air thick with tension.

And that’s how you ended up Riding Gojo on your couch. “F-fuck- Satoru~” You moans cut off each time you sunk down on his cock again. Your body chasing the oxygen that you were losing by moaning his name so much. His Thick Cock slipping in and out so sweetly with each roll of your hips. His lower half covered in you slick, vulgar sounds of your wetness echoing in the room. “What’s wrong sweets? Thought you could handle it?” He coos in your ear, the teasing words only to be met wit with a pathetic whimper from you. You thought you could handle it too. But you never expected Satoru to be this big. And you didn’t expect that teasing smirk and honeyed voice of his to have such an effect on you while he was balls deep.

Your legs were quivering now, Struggling enough to straddle his muscular figure, and take his earth shattering cock. He had turned his hips just right so that it would reach the deepest parks of you. His red wrapping tip hitting that delicious spot inside of you that had you begging for more. You were mesmerised by his dick, brain turned to mush as you could do nothing but cling on for dear life. But your stamina was no match for Gojos Your legs faultering, trembling under the pleasure and stopping their movements. “Oh? had enough?” Satoru watched you with a smirk as you writhed around, trying to resume your movements You cry out pathetically, not even able to form words in this moment. Lifting your hips only for them to fall back down in exhaustion. “Oh come on, surely you can do better than that?” He whispered to you, a chuckle leaving him. He on the other hand was fine, his body covered in a light sheen of sweat, Hands resting on your hips as you rode him. Of course it felt fucking good, He had to hold himself back when he first sank into your wet cunt, but his stamina was through the roof, so he could take a lot more than you. You were only now just figuring that out. “Satoruu~” You whine for him. silently begging him to help you, to fuck you.

“Really? tapping out already?” His sly voice slipping its way into your brain, the sound whirling around in there, fucking you deeper into your messy state.

You were practically paralysed from his dick, unable to hover now. You body’s only movement was the heavy breathing and the pathetic clenching of your pussy around Gojo’s thick cock. It was the only thing you could do, the one thing you couldn’t stop yourself from doing. Even as your body was giving up on you, you still craved his cock.

“‘Toruu~ Help..” You whispered, not fully trusting your voice. It was a simple beg, but filled with so much need. Your pretty little face now staring up at him, arms shakily doing their best to support you as you gave him your best puppy eyes. Batting those lashes of yours and tears brimmed in your eyes

When you looked at him like that he could hardly say no.

Those hands that rested on your hips now dug into the fleshy skin tightly, lifting you up from his cock as if you weighed nothing. Only his tip remained in your sweet hole.

“s’okay baby, Toru’s gonna help. Just relax f’me” he whispers sweetly in your ear, the usual cocky tone now removed from his voice as he spoke. He stared into your eyes, watching your face before he started to piston his hips into yours. Holding you up, slowing himself to move with ease as he fucked you faster than you were ever capable of moving. Shit, you should’ve done this from the beginning.

The sounds of his skin slapping against yours sounded in your ears, as soon as his vigorous movements started you couldn’t take it anymore. Your arms buckling at you just hug tightly onto his body. Your face bruied in his neck, moaning loudly, without a care as he fucked into you.

His thick cock basically bullying your welcoming walls. The juicy tip of his cock hitting that same spot over and over again. Fuck he should’ve done this from the start. Gojo bit his lip, trying to restrain the groans that were still escaping him, feeling your walls practically mould to every grove of his cock.

“Oh fuck- ‘Toru~ fuck fuck fuck. S-sloww” words flying out of your mouth before you could even form a proper sentence. This was probably the best sex you had ever had

“Slow? Nuh uh baby, this is what you wanted. So you’re just gonna take it for me, ‘Kay?” Small kisses, sloppy kisses were trailed up your neck and back as best he could. Trying his best to concentrate. But the way you were squeezing him so tight had his resolve failing. His brushing grip on your hips only tightening with each sensual thrust he planted inside of you.

You had never been more wrong in your life than you were earlier. Gojo was completely right, you couldn’t take him. You couldn’t barely match Hi stamina, this was only the first round and you were a drooling mess. With any other guy you’d be bored at this point. But Gojo was definitely keeping you on your toes.

“Oh.” A gutteral moan left the white haired mans lips. “You close already baby?” And that fucking smirk was back in his tone again. The worst part being he knew exactly what he was doing to you. He knew that the way hes humiliating you has you foaming at the fucking mouth for him.

You were in awe. How the fuck has he picked up on that before you. Only after he had mentioned something is when you started to notice that effect build in your abdomen. That coil that was wound so tight you were sure you were going to snap in half if you didnt cum soon.

“Fuck- please please!” You cry out, affirming his thoughts of your impending orgasm. His pace didn’t faulter, not once. Like he knew exactly what to do to get you there. You couldn’t comprehend how he was keeping this brutal pace so well. He didnt even sound out of breath.

“Shhhh, I know sweets, feels good huh?” Fuck yeah it felt good

It felt fucking good when you came all over his cock. When the wave of pleasure crashed over you, your muscles tensing as it wracked over your body, leaving you trembling. It felt fucking good to let your mind just go blank as you screamed your friends name. It felt good when you drenched his torso in you juices, you had never came that hard before in you life. His hips continuing their movements as he helped you ride out your high

You stay snuggled into his neck, breathing in his scent. It was his expensive cologne, ever so slightly tinged by the musky smell of sweat and sex. Fuck it was a good smell. After your whimpers died down, so did his thrusts as he gave you a moment to regain yourself. You couldve quite happily remained there for the rest of the night, sleeping. But you became aware of something, he was still hard. He hadn’t even cum yet. Your hips absentmindedly shifting slightly, still sensitive from your orgasm. Only to be stilled by the strong hands holding your hips. He pushed himself balls deep, pushing you onto him as far as he could.

You whimper at the feeling, it was like he was in your throat. Your body still reeling from its orgasm as you try to shift away from the intense feeling.

“Oh no, don’t try to run baby.” Kissing sweetly on your head as he mutters into your hair. But you can hear menace behind that, you can hear his shit eating grin “Im not finished with you yet.” You whine at the prospect of another world shattering orgasm

“Thought you said you could take it huh? Or were you all talk?”

[bbokicidal]

Loser In A Hot Body | SKZ [L.F]

Synopsis: Your boyfriend, Felix, is easily one of the most gorgeous men you've ever met on Earth. Well, the most gorgeous man to a lot of the people he's met. But, he's also... just a loser.

Genre: Mostly smut Pairing: Lee Felix x Afab!Reader Warnings: Virgin!Loser!Felix, Huge power dynamic going on, grinding/humping, oral (f & m receiving), and lots of cutesy loser gamerboy Felix content.

"Just one kiss?" Your head tips carefully to the side where you sit, cheek pressing against the pink fabric of the top you wore just to get him to look at you. It clearly wasn't working, given Felix hadn't batted an eye in your direction. Though he was sort of in his element; Tekken up on his PC screen, his fingers tapping rapidly at the LED keyboard he boasted about to every single one of his friends - with customized keycaps and pretty lights usually set to blue, he was set to go.

Felix's teeth sink into his lower lip as he focuses in on the game as much as he can. Even with his headset on, he has one of the muffs tugged over behind his ear instead so he could listen in case you called for him from elsewhere or maybe he got a phone call. He was a gamer but he was still considerate. "I'm... busy," He whispers out finally, voice just barely huffing through the two words in a gruff manner. "Give me ten minutes."

Your lips push into a teasing pout. "You said that fifteen minutes ago, Lixie." Your tone had turned into less of a sweet, innocent lilt and instead to begging. Your voice heightens but remains soft and cute towards your boyfriend who was just oh so busy and too occupied at the moment to lean over and give you one little kiss on your pretty pink lips; All glossed up and sparkly for him, too! "Please..?~"

Felix blinks a few times. They're rapid and it's as if he's trying to collect his thoughts just as his character is pummeled on screen. His fingers come to a halt and he stares with a slack jaw at the way the finisher places over his monitor. "..... Are you.. --" His voice, back to it's normal tone, is low and heavy with disbelief. He'd stopped clicking his keys for less than two seconds and he was already dead. "Aish," The word of distress escapes Felix's lips through grit teeth and in a heavy hiss, "I told you that I'm busy at the --"

With parted lips and his chair swiveling to face you, Felix stops. His hands rest so carefully against the arms of his seat while he takes in the sight of you dressed so cutely in front of him. The outfit looks like something you'd wear on a date with him, and here he was sitting in grey sweats and a black t-shirt that was nearly two sizes too big on him. Did he forget something today or had you just decided on a whim to dress so cute just for fun?

Felix's eyes dart over your shoulders, down to your waist, up to your face for just a moment, and then down. He stares at the way the top you wear dips so low in the chest and exposes a peek of the valley between your breasts. As soon as Felix's jaw shuts, he swallows. If there was on thing Felix was; It was extremely bad at hiding how he felt. Not that there was really a way of hiding the way he chuffed up in his sweats, anyhow.

And that was how you asking for a simple kiss turned into you blowing him under his gaming desk while he played Tekken with his old roommates. He isn't very reactive other than a few soft sounds here and there or a shudder of his hips when you take him into your throat; But you have to admit that the way he's so nonchalant about you sucking his cock while he games (and the fact that he allows it) is... kind of hot.

Felix was always kind enough to let you use anything of his to game if you asked for it. He would never hesitate before handing over his Switch or giving you a controller - even booting up his PC and setting up a game for you so you could have fun, too. He loved watching you game on his accounts even if you lowered his rank or failed miserably and trolled people in chats; But one thing he enjoyed even more was watching you while you gamed.

The expressions you made, the way you smiled or pouted or laughed at something that happened while you played. He adores getting to see you in his element - it's something he feels is special, especially when you aren't really one to game in your free time. Well, not until you met him. Sometimes, his view isn't the best because he's between your legs - but he still loves watching you!

"You have Ankha on your island?" Your thigh gently presses to the side of your boyfriend's head where he lay between your legs, tongue lathing over your clit in slow circles. Felix's hand gently comes up to press against your thigh, carefully and slowly pushing it away from his head to spread you wider for him. His tongue falls broad and he licks through your folds with a heavy breath fanning over your mound. "I knew you were a freak."

Your teasing giggles make Felix's cheeks flush red. Of course he was a freak; He was eating his girlfriend out on the couch while you sat there so pretty and played on his Switch - which turned him on way more than it should've. Don't get him wrong, he loves when you blow him or grind on his lap or suck hickies into his neck while he's the one gaming and trying to focus; But Felix loves when you game instead and let him do the work with his mouth. It's an instinct, now. He'll see you grab his switch or sit in his gaming chair and he's automatically getting on his knees, crawling closer to you so he can tug your panties aside under your skirt and suck on your clit like it's his favorite thing to do in the world. And it is, really; Aside from gaming, of course.

Even if you don't get off, Felix likes doing sexual things... casually, so he's more than happy to lazily eat you out while you play on his accounts. He won't ever admit it to you but he thinks about it when he jerks his cock any time he's alone and can't have you when he needs you. You gaming is the one thing he can imagine that is a surefire way for him to get off; Nothing else has ever worked so well.

Felix can't have sex with you.

Well... not.. intercourse, at least.

Because you say so.

No matter how many times you tell him how sexy he is or how hot he is to his face, he knows you won't let him slip it in when you two go to bed that night. It'll be all dry humping through his boxers, his cock straining against the fabric as he ruts his hips slowly against your ass, his arms wrapped tight around your middle to keep you flush against him. You'll moan and whimper out how nice it feels and he'll gasp into your ear about how badly he needs you, but he knows that he won't be getting any tonight.

It was a little confusing at first, but then he figured out that it's essentially power play. The first time he had thought you two would be going all the way, you giggled at his expression of desperation and called him a virgin while you pulled his pants down and let his cock hit his stomach. That night, he was so hard it hurt, his tip muddy and pink and leaking from the way you had been rubbing at him through his jeans and grinding on him for at least an hour. He'd blinked up at you in surprise, eyes wide and glossy as he fought with his thoughts to figure out just what to say. Had you just.. insulted him to his face during sex, or....?

"You've never fucked a girl before, right? You're such a loser you can't even get it in." You chuckle, hand brushing up his chest in admiration. HIs physique was phenomenal for someone who sat in a gaming chair at least four hours a day. Though, he did work out often, and though he wasn't jacked like a lot of other guys at the gym - he was definitely defined in more ways than one.

Felix's lashes flutter as his lips part. What does he say to that? "I've -- Yeah. Never..."

"Awe, poor baby. You want me to be your first?" You cooed, to which Felix immediately began to nod. He sat back when you coaxed him onto the bed, standing in front of him and what felt like towering over him as he stared up at you. "You want to fuck me, Lix?"

His eyes squeeze shut the next time he blinks. You were into this dynamic. Teasing him, calling him names, making fun of him for being a virgin. And he was, too. "Y -- Yes. Yes, I want to fuck you-!" He chokes out the words with a shy gasp, shoulders hunching up towards his cheeks where he sits. He can't even look you in the eyes anymore, gaze directed towards your abdomen instead.

"That's too bad."

His head snaps upwards. What? But you just -!

"See, Felix," You lean down a bit closer to the blonde and as your hand slides over his shoulder, he realizes just by the look on your face that you won't be letting him tap it for a while. "You're just... too much of a loser to fuck a girl like me. You're hot, and all, but.. you're just a gamer boy. And I definitely like that about you, don't get me wrong, it's just...." Your lips settle into a mock pout. "I don't know why I'd let such a perverted loser fuck me. You've gotta show me just how much you want it, and, you know, why you deserve it."

Felix's mouth waters. He's a little ashamed at the way he almost drools at your words. He has to prove his worth to you for you to let him fuck you - He has to show you why he's worth your time. HIs lips pop apart and he does drool, spit sliding down onto your thumb, and he stares as you lift your finger to your mouth and suck his spit away from your skin. His pupils blow wide at the sight of your lips molding around the tip of your thumb, the way your tongue licks over where he'd literally drooled on you.

And Felix never minded proving himself to you; He also understood that the power dynamic really only took place in the bedroom. While he truly was just a loser in a hot body, you two were equal as human beings and you didn't really think of yourself as better than him. It was just to tease, just to rile him up. Until you gave in from either desperation for him or you finally thought he was 'good enough' to fuck you - He'd just keep doing what he was good at. Which was.. gaming, eating you out, and being a good boy in the apartment like cleaning up and cooking for the two of you.

Though, Felix is a man. He's hot, a gamer, and a virgin; But he's still just a man. And he's impatient, and he gets riled up when you tease him so much and make him wait for it over and over and over. He hopes you'll let him show you just how good he can be for you soon, or - this loser might just show you how hot he can be and flip the dynamics around on you when you least expect it.

You might not be aware of it now, but Felix is sure in his mind that he could make you behave for him if he flipped the switch.

He just had to figure out when he wanted to do so.

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix

[whateveriwant]

How the 141 Fuck

18+ only, GN!reader

Price

Right off the bat, let’s get one thing straight. John Price doesn’t fuck, he makes love

He has a very “it’s a marathon, not a sprint” kind of mindset towards sex. His work life is so fast paced, high adrenaline, always go-go-go-go, so in the bedroom he likes to really take his time and slow things down

Unhurried, powerful thrusts that let you feel every inch of him as it pushes into you

Likes a hands-on mouths-on approach – tugging your nipple between his teeth, teasing your earlobe with the tip of his tongue, tasting your mouth as he’s deep inside you

Once he finishes, don’t think he’s going to pull out any time soon. After all, you wouldn’t want his cock to get cold throughout the night, right?

Gaz

Kyle likes to tap into the intimacy side of sex. As such, he often falls into ritualistic tendencies that heighten this sensation – sultry music, mood lighting, showering together before/after, etc.

He fucks you steadily, with smooth rolls of his hips, like the sure motion of a wave gently flowing back to shore

Loves prolonged eye contact. It doesn’t matter who’s going down on who or who’s under who, he wants your eyes on his always

Though he’s fairly delicate with you, he’s not afraid to get a little rough when the occasion calls for it (like seeking out his treasured eye contact, for example)

Will pull you back by the hair or grab you by the jaw to make you turn around and look at him. And if the position is too difficult to easily maintain your gaze, well, that’s what mirrors are for

Soap

Johnny is a freak in the streets AND the sheets and there’s no way you can convince me otherwise

For starters, he is mes-sy. Sex always ends with you both covered in a healthy mixture of lube, spit, and cum

He has an erratic quality to the way he fucks – jackhammering into you one moment as hard and fast as possible before he’s stopping completely, holding himself still inside you because he likes to feel you squirm on it

Always does a little too much in bed. Things like slipping a vibrator in his ass as he’s got his mouth on you or bucking up into you as he has you ride and choke him are not out of the ordinary

I hope you don’t get tired easily, because he is never ever ever satisfied after just one round

Ghost

I think realistically, Simon is not super adventurous in the bedroom, but what he does, he does very well

Sharp, staccato thrusts. Deep, breath-punching thrusts. Bed creaking, headboard rattling, having your neighbor angrily banging on the wall kind of thrusts

He prefers to be on top, lying flat against you as he fucks you into the mattress. He does this not because he craves control or wants to smother you or something; he just wants to be as close to you as possible

Goes out of his way to ensure you’re always having a good time. Nothing gets him harder than hearing your loud, enthusiastic consent

Don’t be surprised when you find yourself stumbling around like a newborn deer the morning after. That just means he did his job right the night before

[sweetshuga]

❝𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏? 𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒆. 𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖.❞

starring 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝑺𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐

⟡ 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕! ⋆ pure filth ⋆ established relationship ⋆ pet names ⋆ interrupting him mid game ⋆ dom!chris ⋆ blowjob ⋆ dirty talk ⋆ praise kink ⋆ more.

You started to notice something different about your boyfriend these past few weeks. He was almost always glued to his phone, fingers tapping the screen, soft groans and scoffs leaving his lips every now and then.

Curious, you peeked over his shoulder one night as you two got in bed, only to find him... playing a match-3 puzzle game?

Chris seemed hooked. Opening up the game almost every time he had his phone in his hand, playing like his life depended on it.

He hadn’t paid much attention to you all day because of his game, so you decided to distract him from it—in a way you knew would drive him crazy.

"Chris," you whined softly. "I’m bored."

"Hold on, babe... I’m in the middle of a level now... Gimme a second." He muttered, eyes still glued to his phone screen. "I have to get 99 tulips."

You rolled your eyes at his dismissive tone, but he didn’t catch it because- well, because he was still playing that damned game, of course.

Instead of waiting like he indirectly told you to, you began to caress his thighs, nails grazing lightly, just enough to have his muscles tense.

Chris didn’t say anything at first, simply playing his game and sitting there on the couch, legs spread wide.

He pretended not to notice your hand slowly making its way up. But that was until your hand went a little too far up, now dangerously close to his crotch.

His breath caught in his throat when your palm pressed lightly against his dick through his jeans, making it twitch against your hand.

Chris finally looked up from his phone. "What are you doing?"

You just smiled, lips twitching as you tried not to let them curl up more, trying to keep the dumb, innocent act.

"What do you mean baby?" You batted your lashes, laughter bubbling in your chest.

"This," he held your wrist, momentarily stopping your movements. "What are you tryna do?"

The way he was looking at you—pupils blown wide, lips slightly parted, a flush creeping up his neck—had your thighs clenching together.

"I just thought—since you weren’t giving me attention—I’ll just get it myself." You explained, obviously teasing him.

But Chris wasn’t having any of it.

"You could have just waited, but no, you decided to get me all worked up." He chuckled, the sound too devoid of mirth to be one of amusement.

"You want my attention?" He asked, turning off his phone and tossing it somewhere on the couch. "Fine. I’ll give it to you."

Before you could make any more teasing remarks, Chris was already pulling down his boxers, having unzipped his jeans already—who knows when.

His hefty length sprung free, bobbing subtly, already looking like it was going to burst, and the veins running along his shaft pulsed and throbbed.

Your suppressed laughter died down abruptly, a gasp escaping you instead. The sight of his length, so perfect and mouth-watering, made you swallow hard.

Chris tugged on your wrist again, his voice low and husky when he spoke.

"C’mon, put those pretty lips on this big dick. I wanna see you choke on it—bet you’d look so pretty."

You didn’t even need to hear more to get on your knees between his spread legs, looking up at him with those doe eyes he loved.

He reached out and caressed your cheek with the back of his fingers, before putting his hand on top of your head, his other hand wrapped snugly around the base of his cock.

"Open up, ma."

You let him guide your head to his lap, your own hands resting on his thighs.

When you got close enough to his length, the musky scent—that was uniquely him—filled your nostrils, making your pussy throb and leak.

Obediently, you wrapped your lips around his tip, looking up at him as you swirled your tongue around the head, sucking gently.

Chris watched with increasingly ragged breaths, thighs twitching as if he was trying not to fuck your mouth.

His fingers carded through your hair, curling around the soft locks as you took him deeper. He watched as your lips stretched around his girth, half of his length now having vanished into your warm, wet mouth.

His head fell back against the backrest of the couch, eyes fluttering closed in pleasure, fingers twitching in your hair and gripping it tighter.

"Juust—mmph—like that, angel," he groaned. "Suck it like the good fucking girl you are."

And you did. You’re his good girl after all.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒂

⟡ 𝟎.𝟕𝒌 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 ⸝⸝ 𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆!

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ 𝖎𝖘𝖆’𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘 ་༘࿐ I thought of this while showering and after some procrastination I finally finished it! Someone gimme a cookie or something lol (It’s kinda ass but yeah)

#Not an add #Not sponsored by Royal Kingdom #Just love it! (lmao pls get the reference 💔)

[servicpop]

kinktober extra — gun play leon s. kennedy x bttm male reader

ⓘ neighbour (slight ooc) leon ! clothed leon naked reader ! he puts the gun up your ass

The outbreak was doing you no good, and the fact that you were all alone when all went to hell wasn't helping much either. However, being locked in the safety of your home gave you time to hideout while the worst washed over. Though eventually, you were forced outside to scavenge for food. Unlocking your front door as delicate as tip toeing around a sleeping lion, you quietly stepped outside the comfort of your home.

You were fortunate enough to be greeted with desolate streets; only the occasional ripped up paper or trash rolled across the ground. You had almost nothing, not even a gun, just a baseball bat you bought awhile ago to play with your friends once, only to never touch it again until now. At least you took the time to impale nails to add a little more offense to your weapon.

After some soft crunching of gravel under your feet and walking through eerily quiet roads, you were met with a convenience store. The neon signs were busted and didn't glow anymore but you were able to make out some un-raided shelves behind the shattered windows.

You pushed on the front door, the quiet jingle of the door opening made you jump out your skin for a second, why'd the bell still work despite everything else being broken? You tried to keep your footsteps light, navigating around the fallen shelves and racks on the floor. Seeing a few canned foods still untouched and packets of chips as well as some beverages, you felt a twinge of relief wash over you. This was probably enough for you to not go outside for a few weeks.

You decided to walk behind the register, searching for some candy or others that would be stocked there. With no luck your eyes met the employees only door, slightly ajar. Clutching your bat in your right hand, you slowly opened the door before you were met with a light tap on your forehead. A gun, held by a blonde man who seemed to have seen it all.

“A survivor? I feel like its been ages since I've seen another living human being,” He sighed, lowering his weapon and pulling you into the room by your arm. You felt him pause abruptly once getting a good look at your face and you blinked away your initial fear upon having a gun pointed to your head.

“Oh, you're my neighbour aren't you?” The corners of Leon's lips twitched into a slight curve but not enough to be counted as a wholehearted smile.

“Leon? I thought everyone in the neighbourhood turned,” You on the other hand couldn't help but smile seeing a familiar face after fully believing you were the only human left on earth. You take a small glance around the room, noting the equipment stuffed into one corner and a makeshift sleeping bag as well as a first aid kit that had been visibly used.

You knew he was an agent from having small chats over the fence, and from the looks of things, even those who undergo arduous training suffered — even if it was a little bit more bearable for them than others.

Leon's grip eventually loosens and he turns his back to you as he walks to the far wall, sliding down against it into a seated position. From here, the bandaged up gash on his side peeks out from the rips of his shirt. That's why the glass was as broken as it was, it was a sign of Leon's fight with the undead.

Following in his footsteps you go to sit down beside him, pulling your knees to your chest as you turn to look at him. His eyebags have never been darker and there's a frown that stains his face. Leon breaks the silence while pulling his knee up to rest his arm on it, his gun clacking as he moved.

“So, it's just you?” He questions, and you can hear the awkwardness in his voice. He's never been a good talker, everytime you met him while on a walk thr conversations usually ended with a quick excuse to pull away from it. You blame it on him having to see more horrors than the average person.

“Is that a bad thing?” You mean it in a playful way, placing your hands over your knees as a cushion for your cheek to rest on. You almost burst out laughing when you see Leon tense and you can practically see the panic that he's offended you in his eyes.

“No— No, not at all,” he tries to defend himself.

“Would you rather that flower girl who lives down the street?” It's a running joke that the neighbourhood shares of Leon that the big, cold agent is in love with the soft, florist girl.

He shoots you a glare, one that shows just how many times he's heard it over and over again. Instead of replying, he turns his head with a scoff like a bunny stomping its foot angrily. You brush it off as well after seeing his lack of a response and your eyes draw to the gun that's still held firmly in Leon's hand. It would be handy for you to learn how to use one since the bat won't always be useful.

“Do you think you could maybe teach me how to use that?” You ask almost hesitantly, fiddling with your fingers in a nervous habit.

“The gun?” Leon questions, tilting the gun so he could look at it properly. One part of him doesn't want you to use it, it creates an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach seeing a guy like you hold such a murderous weapon. The other part knows it's for the best, for your own protection when he has to part ways with you. After a minute of just staring at the gun, he finalises his decision.

“Sure, I guess you'll need it in the future,” he groans as he stands back up, hand on his thigh like he was an old man getting up from his rocking chair. He tousels his wispy blonde hair, combing it back with his fingers before focusing his attention on you.

His thick black eyelashes flutter as he stares at your face for a second, walking up to you and caging your hands in his. He guides your hands to the pistol, letting you feel the cold metal to familiarise yourself. He doesn't say a thing while he lets you feel the barrel and the grip. The grip feels almost scratchy which he lightly scoffs at your expression when your fingers ghosted over the texture.

“That's why my hands are all calloused,” he faces his palm up, showing you his toughened palm while he flexes his fingers.

“You have to hold it like this, firm grip, two hands.” Leon helps to guide your hands in place, adjusting your fingers and your wrist.

He whispers under his breath “Just like that,” watching as you hold the gun straight, aiming at the blank wall. You know it's best not to fire, though, that would attract whatever monster lays outside. The gun trembles, shaking like a stripped leaf, and you realise that your hands are quivering. You're not cut out for this. You feel the weight of Leon's hand lower the gun and he gently slips the weapon away from your hands and into his.

“You have to get desensitised to it, who knows what might happen without me,” Leon's eyebrows furrow and his nose creases from the pure thought of you getting captured and held at gun-point. It wasn't far from what could actually happen either considering the law was disregarded the moment people started eating eachothers brains.

Leon raises the pistol and presses the muzzle to your adams apple, feeling it bob from your swallows.

“Does it scare you?” It's not a threatening statement, it's him asking how you really feel having the gun pressed up against your skin. The hitch of your breath goes unnoticed as Leon drags the pistol lower to your chest. With the way he's looking down, you can see his dark eyelashes, a sliver of his muted blue iris' peeked through. He really was handsome.

“Or is it because you trust me that much?” The question jolts you out of your little trance, he was only your neighbour yet you didn't seem to react in fear when he held the gun to you.

“Maybe,” you breath out, letting your gaze flutter to the pistol dragging down your chest. Leon pulls it away before bringing it up and tapping the flat side of the barrel against your cheek. There's a certain look in his eyes, its almost pitiful like a hunter watching the deer caught in the net lay completely still, unfazed.

Leon leans closer to your face, his nose practically brushing against yours. You could almost make out the faint breaths if you listened close enough and you see his tongue dart out to wet his lips before he swallowed thickly.

“I think you're liking this a little too much,” he mutters, tilting his head slightly to the right as he looks down at you, his hair falling to the direction he moves his head at. The way Leon speaks now is hushed, sultry even. He's only half joking, he sees the way your eyelids flicker a little too rapidly when he glides the muzzle over your clothes.

Your face flushes, realising that he's caught on your little inner turmoil.

“It's just the adrenaline.” You swallow your lie like it's medication; it's hard to go unnoticed when you so obviously gulp. It's not fully a lie though — you've read in a previous article things like erections can happen due to adrenaline. You squeeze your eyes shut, almost like you're preparing to be scolded by Leon.

But all you're met with is a small sigh and a shake of his head.

“If you want it, do it quickly, we won't have time to indulge in distractions in the heat of things.” Your eyes fling open, caught off guard by the fact that the Leon, your neighbour, just gave you the greenlight. You look up at him through your lashes and he returns your gaze with a small glint of reciprocating desire. The absence of an opportunity for sex really catches up when you're surrounded by infected and never in a safe position.

Before you can even say anything, Leon is already slipping off your shirt; your jacket had already been discarded when you entered the employee's only room. He takes a moment to skim over your naked body, observing all the dips and curves, and the fact that your blush reaches all the way down to your shoulders. He brushes the muzzle over your chest, and upon seeing you shiver at the coolness, a smirk quirks on his lips.

“Cold?”

“Yeah,”

You whine, gripping his forearm in a lousy attempt to stop him from rubbing the metal on your nipple. It doesn't stop him though, he gently grazes your perky buds, chuckling softly as he watches your eyebrows knit from the feeling.

“Sorry then,” he hums with amusement coloring his tone. Leon's breath becomes shallower as he trails the gun down along the line in the middle of your abdomen, all the way down to your pants.

“You're going to be the death of me,” He grunts out, delicately guiding you to lean against the wall. His arm is wrapped so securely around your back like a warm embrace. The warmth of his arm around your bare back shields you from the frigid material of the wall but the second he slips it away from you your back arches off uncomfortably.

“Bare it,” Leon pushes you back against the wall and you whimper at the cold. Its somewhat cruel how he's doing this but you understand its to get your body used to the harsh changes in environments. He mumbled small praises that are inaudible to your ears but you can barely make out the words 'good boy.'

His fingers tug at your zipper, pulling it down but you reach out to stop him, noticing how he's not taking any of his clothes off. Like he was reading your mind, Leon scoffs with a small smirk.

“I can't, it's too risky to have to put anything on if we get ambushed,” He links his fingers underneath the elastic waistband of your boxers, stretching it out a bit before pulling them down to rest at your mid thigh.

“But that doesn't mean you can't enjoy yourself,” He places one arm at the side of your head, caging it in, and his other weilds the pistol. He can't take off his clothes so he can't fuck you properly but he resorts to using his gun instead. It's shameless with the way he's spreading the soft flesh of your thighs apart with a gun like he was slotting his dick between them.

His eyes aren't on you, they're on your body, carefully sliding the hunk of metal against your hole. It almost hurts with how dry and cold the metal feels against your skin but you don't complain. Leon muses when he sees your cock twitch when he slides the muzzle up from the base to your pink tip. He quirks an eyebrow at you, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours.

“Feels weird doesn't it? Promise once we're out of this shithole I'll give you everything you want,” Again, Leon goes off about something in the future. He's thinking of a future with you after things smooth over, you can't help but bite back the small moan you were going to let out. His bangs are now covering his eyes when he returns his gaze to your lower half.

Your hips instinctively move against the barrel of the gun, sliding yourself against it. Its like the pleasure is almost there but not really, its left you struggling to find good friction. Leon notices your strangled whines and contorted face and he feels slightly guilty for not being able to give you the relief you definitely need.

He spits on the gun, lubing it up and taking a mental note to polish and clean it afterwards. Leon tilts the muzzle up, wriggling it past your tight rim. When the tip of gun enters you, you gasp, straightening your body from the foreign object being stuffed in your ass.

“Leon—” your voice cracks.

“Trust me.”

He can hear the slight panic in your voice and his palm moves to cover your eyes. You're squirming, unsure of whether to lean in or pull away from the sensation. He pushes himself up against you to keep you still since his hands are already full. Leon groans gently at how much warmth he can feel seeping into his clothes from your body heat.

He slowly pushes the gun further, tuning into the soft squelching sounds of the metal making its way through your walls. Leon couldn't deny that he was a bit jealous of how his pistol was able to feel your wet walls clenching around it rather than himself.

“Shit, you're taking it better than I thought,” He grumbled under his breath, thrusting the metal into you, attempting to push it even deeper to find your sweet spot. Leon finally moved his hands from your eyes and placed his hand on your waist, extending his thumb to rub circles over your stomach. He twists the gun inside you, flushing against your prostate. The sudden jolt of pleasure caused you to cry out and reach to grab his shoulders.

He pushed against your prostate a few times, observing how your eyes would water with each thrust and how your teeth would bite down even harder on your bottom lip the more he hit that specific spot. He slowly pulled the gun fully out with a small pop.

“Didn't know that would work,” He joked lightly, slotting the gun between your legs once more and squeezing your thighs together. He threw the gun from one hand into the other, gripping the pistol in his left hand. Leon slid his ring and middle finger alongside your ass, dipping down the curve to meet your already stretched hole. He dipped his fingers inside, already burying his fingers up to his knuckles.

He pumped his fingers in and out of you, curling his fingers up to press against the deepest parts of you. Leon dragged the gun back and forth between your thighs, letting you hump the metal like a dog.

“Attaboy,” he chuckled darkly, moving his fingers faster, practically slapping his palm against your tail bone as he fingered you from behind. Pre-cum started to bead off your slit and smeared all over Leon's gun.

“You're already getting so wet,” he shook his head, feigning disappointment as he moved the gun to trace your tip, ghosting over your skin.

You whined and thrashed from the ticklish sensation, but when you tried to lean away from it, you ended up pushing up against Leon's fingers, letting them reach even deeper.

“Leon,” you mewl, gripping his shoulders desperately as your dick twitches feverishly. “'M gonna cum.”

Your soft whimpers undoubtedly got his dick hard and he swore if you kept up with the whining he'd really just take off his pants and fuck the life out of you. Leon didn't respond, he just swallowed a groan and curled his fingers to your prostate.

Feeling that familiar spark in your veins, your body convulsed and you let out a high-pitched moan, blanking out as you shot ropes of cum out, dirtying Leon's gun with white.

“I got you, I got you, don't worry,” He felt your legs give out and quickly caught you, letting you lean on him while you came down from your high. Leon pulled the gun from your legs, turning it side to side and watching as your semen dripped down the sides.

Would it even work anymore?

[iamasaddie]

push, push

Tommy Miller x f!Reader summary: you've been pushing Tommy's buttons too long for him to ignore, it was time he gave you a piece of his mind. warnings: MDNI, infidelity, Benji doesn't exist, PWP, dirty talk, tiny manhandling, naked grinding (is that a thing?), cum eating, big girthy age gap (reader late 20s-30s; Tommy 55), thick Tommy, kinda rude Tommy and kinda brat-coded reader? wc: 2.3k (that's 1.3k more than i intended oh well) a/n: tommy miller brainrot y'know what i'm sayin'. this is not heavily edited, english is not my first language all mistakes are my own and yada yada. special thanks to my special boo @cuppajoel for talking me reading through it series masterlist | next part ao3

Tommy was done with your shit. You were taking it too far to go unnoticed even by the most obtuse members of Jackson, let alone his fucking wife. 

It started when you felt enough at home in Jackson. The moment you came you were a trembling deer, still learning what it was like to live in safety; fed, warm. But when your nightmares became a rarely reoccurring echo of the past, another part of you showed its darker self and Tommy smelled danger. 

It all started with a simple hello, a bat of your eyelashes, a compliment to his shirt. Innocent, polite. But then your eyes started to wander to parts of his body no one but his wife touched for the last six years. And that wandering gaze didn’t falter when he cleared his throat to announce that he noticed, oh no, a vicious smile tugged on your lips, and you walked away but not before winking at him. 

Tommy wasn’t an idiot, he knew when someone was making a move on him, but he played stupid in front of you. Giving simple thanks and nods whenever you said that his hair looked good tied up like that. He was never rude, never gave you any emotional reaction, but that only fired you up more until you finally caught him alone in the Tipsy Bison cleaning up and doing inventory. 

“Here all by yourself, handsome?” You chirped, climbing on a bar stool. The apples of your cheeks became more pronounced as you gave him a toothy smile. Somehow this simple and innocent-sounding phrase tipped him off.

“You gotta stop with this shit,” he used more force to dry a freshly cleaned whiskey tumbler, his hand gripping the glass dangerously hard.

Your fingers tapped on the top of the bar table, the rhythmic sound imitated a timer, counting down beats before Tommy would explode. He couldn’t look at you, couldn’t see your eyebrows jerking up in a mocking confusion.

“What are you talking about, Tommy?” There was laughter in you voice. Tommy threw the wet rag on the table a little too hard, slapping it with his opened palm at the same time and making you jump at his movement.

“You know damn fuckin’ well what I’m talkin’ about. Trottin' around me, touchin’ me, saying stuff you ain’t supposed to say to a man twice your age. To a married man twice your age.”

You shrugged your shoulders, tugging at a strand of hair that was tucked behind your ear. “I think you’re just angry ‘cause you want me, and if you weren’t stupid you’d already have me.”

Tommy’s jaw went slack as he counted to three, red hot anger blinding him and he exhaled heavily, like a tired bull at a bullfight. You could almost see steam coming out of his flaring nostrils. He finally looked at you, face screwed in a myriad of conflicting emotions, from anger to annoyance to… curiosity? 

“Have you thought that maybe—just maybe—I just love my wife? Maybe I’m a decent fucking human being?”

It was like he was asking questions from a test you’d spent your whole life preparing for. Didn’t even take you a minute to think before responding, calm and collected, everything Tommy wasn’t.

“Not asking you to love me.” You said it so simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You put your elbows on the table, placing your face between your palms and not taking your eyes off him. “And if you were decent, you wouldn’t have let me watch. You like it. Bet you fuck your fist thinking how I much want you. How I moan imagining your cock instead of my fingers as I fuck my pussy.” 

Your mundane, matter-of-factually tone made him turn around, and he circled the bar getting to you in several heavy steps. Your hawkish gaze never left him and you turned on the bar stool as he approached. Without a second thought, he stood between the legs you spread in an inviting manner and pressed your back into the bar table painfully. The wood counter cut into your skin and it made you hiss, but it was short-lived as Tommy grabbed you by the cheeks, thick fingers making your lips pucker. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” The anger tethered on being wondrous. As if he was shocked someone like you would even be there. You wrapped your hand around his wrist and pushed his hand down. 

“I don’t pretend that we live in a normal world, maybe you should stop, too.”

His face dropped and you gave him a victorious chuckle. Your right hand found his neck, squeezed it gently feeling his rapid pulse under your thumb and he shuddered under your touch, but didn’t stop you. You took it as an invitation, tracing it lower, while Tommy stood still. Didn’t push you away when your nail scratched his nipple through his worn white top; let you squeeze at his prominent belly that hung above his jeans. And then he let you touch his hardened dick through the rough denim. In turn, you graced him with a moan while he stayed silent, studying the fire in your eyes.

And then you just climb off the chair, your body almost fully pressing into him as he failed to take a step back. Your lack of bra let him feel your hard nipples dragging along his chest, the proximity of you felt criminal, deadly to everything good he’d ever thought of himself.

“You know where I live.” You leaned to press a kiss to his cheek, but he jerked his face away, so you gave his belly a gentle pat and left. 

When your door slammed open at 8PM that day, you couldn’t say you were confident enough for it not to bother you. You knew that most of the town was at the cinema, watching a cult classic from way before you were born, so you jumped to your feet leaving your cozy chair and grabbing running into the hall.

Tommy looked hot, not just because his hair were a bit unruly with a few greying strands falling over his forehead, his jaw set tight and eyes darker than the night during winter solstice. But also because he still radiated that fuming anger that made him warm enough to cross the street with his jacket wide open.

“Tommy,” you smiled as kindly as you were physically able to, “so nice to see you in my-”

“Shut up,” he bit back crossing your tiny hallway after slamming the door shut. He came up so close to you that you could count his freckles even in the flickering light that stretched from your kitchen.

You made a silly movement with your fingers across your lips, pretending to zip your mouth shut, but he didn’t give you a single chuckle. Instead, he grabbed your shoulder—his fingers painfully digging into the skin revealed by the short sleeves of your simple t-shirt— and dragged you to your room. You had one of the newer houses that were built for the expanding population of Jackson. It was ridiculously small, only one-story high, an open kitchen that leaked into the living room through the narrow hallway, the only rooms fully divided by walls were your bathroom and your bedroom, both holding only as much space as necessary, no excess. With a few other similar places, it stood out among the older two-story buildings, but you didn’t even think to complain. It was light years away from the places you’d nested in before.

Tommy practically shoved you into your modestly decorated bedroom, pushing you hard enough to make you fly onto your bed. The old mattress creaked, and your body bounced like a ragdoll.

“Make yourself at home, I guess.” 

If looks could kill you’d be already six feet under. 

Slowly, you scrammed up, your legs open wide as you moved and settled on laying on your elbows. Tommy looked too big for your room, it barely fit him in. With his broad shoulders, and thick flannel, with his belly standing out and thighs as big as tree trunks. You focused on the belt buckle, it was shiny and big and dragged your attention to the part of him you’re yet to familiarize with. 

“Will having my cock finally calm you the fuck down?” The anger in his voice subsided, giving space for mockery. It was cruel, and it made your sleeping shorts soak through with arousal. 

“I don’t know, why don’t we find out?” Your words merely a whisper, thick and sinful, just like the man in front of you.

He just nodded, taking off his jacket and throwing it on your bed but missing. The item fell to the floor next to it, but Tommy didn’t bat an eye. His hands unbuckled his belt with practiced ease, and then he just dropped his pants, no teasing, no foreplay. 

You were taken aback by such a mechanical action, but when he climbed on the bed you decided no to test your fate and quickly got out of your sleeping shorts, throwing them into an unknown direction.

When your wet, bare cunt was on full display for him, Tommy licked his lips. For a split second you thought he was gonna eat you out, but instead, he hiked up his wife-beater to bare his stomach. A thick black happy trail guided to the soft looking tuft of hair around his cock. A little outgrown, but that didn’t bother you, because you were too impressed by the thing that bush of hair surrounded. 

Modestly long, around 6-6’5 inches, his cock was as thick as your wrist, and you felt saliva pooling in your mouth as you imagined the thing splitting you open. Taking him would definitely take some preparation, so you shuddered when he slapped your slit with his cock.

“Tommy, I—” You stuttered.

“Shut up.” That was his phrase of the day, it seemed. You braced yourself, you weren’t afraid of a little pain and with the amount of slick arousal your cunt was pushing out, it wouldn’t take long to make the whole thing something pleasurable. You wanted him too bad and for too long to push him away now.

But he didn’t push into you, didn’t even press the head to your weeping entrance. He left the shaft to lay on your slit, pressing it pleasantly into your clit. He held his fingers like a cage around the top side of his shaft, making sure he’s stimulating your clit with every thrust of his hips. Tommy was teasing you, mocking. His cock glided through your slick irritating your clit, not giving it enough pressure. The thick, hot shaft was caged between your cunt and his hand and you dug your short nails into his bulging biceps to get his attention.

“Come on, I can take it,” you assured him, thinking it was his way to prepare you, make you even wetter.

“You’re not getting more,” he grunted back, concentrated on the way your silky skin felt on him. Grinding through his teeth when he felt too close to the sun. “Either you cum like that or you’re gonna cry your needy cunt to sleep.”

“Not fair.” You whined, even though you knew you were more than halfway done on your way to a somewhat satisfying orgasm. Your own thoughts about him riled you up, and now, being surrounded by the smell of his sweat, his hair dangling so close to your face you could smell the pine shampoo. And with his deliciously thick cock relentlessly teasing your buzzing clit? No, cumming wasn’t really a problem, but you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself if you didn’t push his buttons just a little. 

“No shit. I am not fucking you.” He spit, his lips twisted but not with anger, no, he was holding back. “I know how much you want it, how long you waited.” Tommy cooed, his mustache tickling the shell of your ear as you soak in the words.

“Will you deprive yourself just because you are a stubborn little shit?” He leaned back, his hips still lazily thrusting to make sure you were constantly stimulated. He looked into your eyes, almost gentle.

“Know you can do it, know you wanna show me how good you look when you cum.” His hand traced the curves of your body before returning to pressing the underside of his cock into your slick slit and nudging your clit. “Come on, show me.”

Your mouth opened in a silent scream as a wave of pleasure consumed you. Tommy kept sliding his dick through your slit, every time the ridge of his tip would kiss your clit you’d hiccup and sob with overstimulation. One look at you like that and he could finally admit that he loved this, loved seeing you ruined, nothing to say just pathetic little whimpers and pleas. 

He fisted his cock tightly, giving it a couple of strokes before erupting on his own knuckles and leaving a few ropes on your sweat-covered cunt. Tommy grunted with the sound of a wounded animal as the last drops of his pearly cum left his angry tip. 

Your fucked out look could easily be mistaken for love, if only he didn’t know you better. If you didn’t know yourself better. Silently, he brought his fist to your face, and you circled his wrist with shaking hands while your tongue cleaned his cum off his skin. When he was satisfied that you licked up every last drop, he ripped his hand from your grip. Without saying another word, he tucked himself in his jeans, tightened the belt and grabbed his jacket from the floor. 

“We should do it again sometime,” you laughed as his footsteps sounded more distant. With the way he slammed the door, you knew he heard you. 

PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT AND REBLOG, IT IS VERY IMPORTANT TO ME <3

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[mocchiixxx]

Say It Again, Shua

Genre: Fluff, slice-of-life, soft!joshua, rare cursing, forehead kisses

Warning: Contains one instance of light cursing (for fluff’s sake!)

Summary: Joshua never curses— ever. But when he slips up? You’re obsessed. Cue puppy eyes, forehead kisses, and him doing everything but saying it again.

The soft hum of rain tapped gently against the windows, and your shared apartment was cast in a warm, golden glow from the dim lamps and candles you’d both lit. You were curled up on the couch, your legs draped over Joshua’s lap as he absentmindedly traced circles along your shin, a book resting closed in your lap.

“You know,” you began, voice light, “I think I’ve seen you angry maybe… twice? Ever?”

Joshua looked up from the manga he was flipping through, an amused brow raised.

“Angry? Me?”

“Okay, not like mad mad, just… upset. And even then you still sounded like you were in a Disney movie,” you teased, nudging his arm with your toes.

He chuckled, the kind of soft laugh that started in his chest and warmed every corner of a room. “I don’t know if I should be offended or flattered.”

“I mean it in the best way possible! You’re just... so gentle,” you said sincerely, eyes softening. “Even when you curse— wait, you don’t curse. That’s the thing. You never curse.”

Joshua shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “I don’t really like to.”

“I know, I know,” you sighed dramatically, leaning back against the armrest. “Which is exactly why it’s so attractive when you do slip up.”

He laughed again, this time in disbelief. “Attractive? When I curse?”

“Are you kidding?” you sat up straighter, placing your hand over your heart. “The first time you muttered ‘shit’ under your breath because you dropped your guitar pick, I nearly levitated.”

Joshua snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s true! You were so flustered, and I was just sitting there like—” you widened your eyes, raising your brows in mock shock, mimicking your expression. “Joshua Hong?? The Christian golden retriever?? Said a curse word?? It was iconic.”

He shook his head, clearly amused but not convinced. “It’s not a big deal. It just happens sometimes. When I stub my toe or something.”

“Oh no no,” you said, crawling toward him on your knees, placing your chin on his shoulder. “It’s the fact that you do it so rarely. It’s like spotting a unicorn swearing. Magical. Unexpected. Beautiful.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he said with a grin, tipping his head against yours.

Suddenly, he moved to get up from the couch, mumbling, “Ah, where’s the charger, ah, damn it—”

You froze.

He froze.

You blinked.

He blinked.

A slow grin stretched across your face. “Did you just say ‘damn it’?”

Joshua groaned softly. “No. I mean— yes. But— ugh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It just slipped out.”

You were already crawling across the cushions like a delighted cat. “Say it again.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come onnnn, Shua,” you whined, resting your chin on his shoulder again. “Please?”

He looked down at you with exasperated fondness. “You are literally the only person who would hear me curse and ask for an encore.”

You batted your eyelashes, full puppy-mode activated. “Just one more time.”

“No.”

“Pretty please?” you pouted, widening your eyes until they shimmered under the candlelight. “With a forehead kiss on top?”

Joshua stared at you for a beat, clearly at war with himself. Then, sighing dramatically, he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head like you were the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

You melted instantly, momentarily forgetting the curse entirely.

“…Wait,” you murmured, remembering, “You didn’t say it again.”

“That was the plan,” he whispered, lips still close to your skin.

You squinted. “You’re sneaky.”

He pulled back, eyes twinkling. “I know. It’s part of my charm.”

You buried your face in his chest with a muffled, “But I love it when you curse just a little. Just for me.”

Joshua sighed like he was suffering, but his arms came around you anyway. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“You’d go out cursing,” you said with a muffled laugh.

He pulled away just enough to tilt your chin up with his fingers. “You really want to hear it again?”

You nodded, pupils sparkling.

He lowered his voice to a whisper, leaned in dramatically, and said:

“Darn.”

You deadpanned.

Joshua burst into laughter, throwing his head back while you smacked his chest.

“You are infuriating.”

“And yet you’re still cuddling me.”

You sighed, already settling back into his warmth, legs tangled with his again. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I know,” he said, kissing your forehead again. “And holy.”

You snorted. “Holy my—”

“Watch it,” he warned playfully.

“Say it again and I’ll behave.”

He narrowed his eyes, then leaned in and whispered the word again, just for you, a little breathier, low enough to make your heart flutter.

You covered your face with your hands, giggling. “You’re too powerful.”

Joshua grinned and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Only with you, angel.”

A/N; Is it just me or really, Its already been a year and a few months since I become an active fan of Seventeen (know them since 2021 and just actively Stan them on 2024) but still, I rarely caught or see Joshua curse or he's just sneaky?

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 0.16 you are cursed

PREV PART GOOD ENDING 16 trigger warnings: (threatened) violence, (past, kinda) medical + physical + emotional neglect, DRUGGING SIDE EFFECTS, anger, yandere behaviour, delusional behaviour, swearing, tell me if I missed any!   main m.list      series m.list bad ending m.list

You are going to kill Jason and Dick, even if it’s the last thing you do. Seeing two of your friends rush into your work covered in blood enraged you, it made you push away all of your weird symptoms. You told the supervisor on sight to call an ambulance, to tell them to bill everything to the Wayne household. Anisha, a co-worker who was a doctor in another country, taking care of them, performing first aid to minimise Willow’s bleeding.

“What are you going to do?” Francis asks you, but he couldn’t stand up to stop you. Anisha pushing him down (gently) back on the ground every time he tried to stand up. “(Name), don’t do anything stupid!”

You turn back to him and smile at him. It was as if your world is spinning, even though you don’t know why. You can’t decide if it’s anger or something else, you hope it’s anger. You cannot handle a health crisis right now, not when you need to beat Jason’s and Dick’s ass. “I won’t, Duke will be there.”

But what you don’t know is how he glares at your friends when they come to close, how he puts on a face of innocence around you. Sure, Duke is way better then the rest of your family, but your friends cannot help but feel like something’s off. It will be alright, Francis knows this. He knows that Duke isn’t as bad as the others and never could be. But he follows them when they go out, at least that seems to scare of the Bats.

Francis doesn’t want to let you go, but he knows how you are. He knows what you do, so he’ll warn Duke at least. “Stay safe,” he whispers, clenching his shirt in his fist. “I’ll text you how Willow is alright?”

You nod and smile weakly. “Tell your parents if Bruce won’t pay for his kids mistakes, I will.”

“...Thank you.”

With that you grabbed your bag and called out for a cab. “Where to?” the cab driver asks.

“Wayne manor,” you say, anger radiating of your face.

He nods, clearly confused by your anger and he starts driving. The drive wasn’t good for you, in fact it made you angrier the longer you sat still. Tapping your feet anxiously and biting your nails as you think about what you say.

Biting the skin off your fingers as you become dizzier, but you need to ignore everything. You cannot show any weakness, you cannot show them that you need help. You cannot give them a reason to force their presence upon you. But here you are yet again, paying a cab driver way too much (but then again, he can just see it as a tip for what he might witness) and walking around with no balance. Hyper ventilating from pain and dizziness but your anger keeps you moving forward (truly, Bruce should know by now that you shouldn’t combine medication with sedatives. Don’t you know how wrong that could go?)

“Master (Name)?” Alfred asks as he sees you basically pulling yourself to the living room. By the Gods you look aweful. “Oh dear, you look terrible!”

You wince, he sounds a bit too relieved. He sounds as if he might know why your body is acting like this, but you will focus on that after you fuck Dick and Jason up. “Gee, thanks,” you spat out, rolling your eyes as you pass him. “I need to talk to Dick and Jason, where are they?”

“They are out right now,” Alfred coos, ignoring how you are acting. Helping you stand even when you try to refuse his help. “perhaps I can help you, dear.”

You shake your head, you don’t want his help. You want to know where your shit heads of brothers are purely to fuck them up. You want to shout at them, scratch their skin off. But something is going wrong inside of your body, something is off.

You swear you are cursed at this point, your health always acting up when it shouldn’t. Always making you weaker at the worse moments. And here you are, needing help to take steps. “Something’s off,” you say out loud, as if to warn Alfred for what’s about to happen. But before he could react you puke over his shoes and you can’t help but feel a bit of satisfaction from doing so.

Alfred notices so, but he’ll stay quiet for now. He’ll re-educate you once you are a bit more complicate, less of an angry little kitten. But that doesn’t matter, your state does. The more steps you take and the more you fight him off the weaker you get, and oh he cannot wait to take care of you. He cannot wait to tuck you in once more, to love you as he did before. Truly he cannot wait!

But it does seem that he needs to warn Bruce about the dose he has given you. It’s way too much for your body to handle!

Truly you would expect Batman to be a bit more careful, but then again Bruce had always been reckless, truly it gives Alfred quite the few heart attacks.

And when you suddenly collapsed you sure gave him a heart attack as well! He’s just glad you didn’t fall in your own puke.

NEXT PART also a bit short but this is also a test chapter lmfao

taglist (open!): @justsaii, @bbmgirll

[frownyalfred]

Some watchtower meeting where the JL is partnering up with Young Justice, the Teen Titens, and the Outlaws (is that there name? Jason's team?)

Their respective Bats just having a full silent conversation over the table on the plan

Batman shifts his weight to the right and suddenly Nightwing stops bouncing on the balls of his feet, but Redhood slouched farther against the wall and Red Robin is tapping his finger on the table. Batman than shifts to the left and Nightwing follows by leaning his hand on the table, Red Robin sits back and red Hood rolls his shoulder

Suddenly rhe whole mission is planned out with no one outside the Bats having any idea what just happened

Exactly. There are obvious tells if you know where to look, but they still don't give much away. Just that some form of communication is happening.

Actually I've always wondered, speaking of silent communication, if Bruce ever purposefully spiked his heart rate in meetings to tip Clark off on a yes/no answer. Or if that could be read in Bruce's suit biometric read-out, which means he could know his kids' BPM and also see that spike...hmm. Ideas.

[mrsimpurity]

just thinking about losing your virginity to logan

(nsfw: smut, loss of virginity)

“is it gonna fit?” your eyes, huge and full of lust, look up at logan. you’re batting your eyelashes innocently, but deep down, you’re genuinely worried. he’s huge. 

logan chuckles above you, grabbing a hold of your thigh and rubbing soothing circles on the skin. you’re spread and eager, he can sense it. he can smell it. this subtle fear of yours is making him feel feral, like a predator hunting its prey. but the last thing he wants is to be rough with you. he would never forgive himself if he acted like an asshole tonight. after all, this was your first time. so he ignores his primal urges and gently speaks while looking into your eyes, 

“we’ll make it fit, doll.” those words do nothing to calm you, but logan’s presence is just somehow soothing by itself - the way he hovers over you, the way he’s holding you and reassuring you, even the way he’s looking at you with such admiration in his eyes. 

you nod back at him. the hand that was stroking your thigh moves to yours, gently wrapping around your fingers. a small smile tugs at your lips as your face lights up at the humorous sight - the man you watched ram his claws into someone’s face earlier today is holding your hand during sex.

logan grabs the base of his girth and smears your arousal up and down your glistening folds, lightly tapping your clit with the head of his cock as you let out a soft gasp. his tip enters you slowly, your anticipation rising. you squeeze his hand harder as he speaks again, 

“relax, baby. i promise it won’t hurt.”

this time, you decide to take his word for it. he slowly sinks himself inside you, inch by inch, never rushing as he finally bottoms out.

“you all right, doll?” he asks, worry evident in his eyes.

“mhm.” you mumble back. you feel full, but in a good way. the pain from the stretch gradually subsides as you muster up the courage to give him the green light, “you can move, lo.”

logan’s thrusts start out slow, your gummy walls clenching around his cock almost torturously. his pace picks up as your discomfort dissipates, pleasure taking over your body. a moan slips past your lips, logan’s cock thrusting inside you at a comfortable rhythm, stretching your walls deliciously as your orgasm approaches. 

“you’re doing so well, baby. that’s it.” you clench around his girth at those words, your moans and pants getting louder. logan slides a hand between your bodies to rub at your clit, his touch at your swollen nub driving you over the edge as you cum, walls fluttering around his cock. the speed of his thrusts increases and he lets out a grunt before his own orgasm crashes over him. his warm cum fills your cunt, your clit still throbbing as your chest heaves up and down. logan pulls out slowly, hand reaching out to cup your cheek as he lowers his head down to meet your gaze properly. his warm seed is dripping out of your pussy and you’re panting into each other’s mouths, lips barely touching. 

“is it gonna fit?” logan suddenly mocks above you in a high-pitched voice. you giggle, hitting his chest playfully,

“way to ruin the moment, logan.” the two of you are still laughing as he dips down again, this time pressing a kiss to your lips. you moan into his mouth, his thumb caressing your cheek lovingly.

“sorry, bub. couldn’t help it.” logan mutters against your lips in a smile, his hand still holding yours.

[shotmrmiller]

A/N: I simply had to join on writing for John 'just the tip' MacTavish so. Here goes. Unedited, its horny its explicit yall know the deal. It was supposed to be a drabble and i got completely carried away. got me out the writing slump tho. any mistakes please ignore. CBF!Johnny because I say so.

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

WC: 1.6K

Flipping through Netflix, you hear a rapt at the door. You turn to look at your dad, who gets up quickly as if expecting someone. 

“Johnny, my boy! I’m glad you could make it! Had me thinking you forgot all about us. Come on in!” Your dad pulls Johnny in for an affectionate embrace that he returns immediately.

“Och, yer aff yer heid! As if I could ever forget my second family!” Giving your dad a final pat on the back, Johnny steps back. “Now where’s my girl?” 

Lifting the hand holding the remote, you call out. “Present!” 

Johnny almost trips over the coffee table, rushing to you. He doesn’t wait for you to stand up, just snatches your wrist and lifts you for a hug— your socked feet dangling by his shins. With his strong arms wrapped around you, he pulls you close, nuzzling his face against your neck. “Missed ye, bonnie,” he murmurs, “missed ye so much.” 

As you exhale a wheezy breath, you tell him, “I love you too, Johnny, but I can’t breathe.” One last squeeze, and a squealed “Johnny!” he finally relents, setting you down. 

Hands resting on your shoulders, his striking blue eyes lock onto your face, flicking across your features, as if he was re-memorizing what you look like. His intense gaze rushes blood to your cheeks, but don’t shrink under it. It wouldn’t be the first time your best friend teases you like this. “Somethin’ on my face, Johnny boy?” and bat your lashes at him, “I know I’m staggering to look at, but now you’re just being shameless.” 

He lets out a huff, a small smirk gracing his lips, and mumbles, “Don’t I know it.” Your taunting smile falls off your face at that. What? Before you can even ask him what he means by that, your dad calls him into the kitchen. 

“Johnny! Come get a beer, it’s about to be movie time!” Without breaking eye contact, he answers him, “Aye! Comin’!’ and with a finger tap to the underside of your chin, walks away. Heart pounding against your chest, you head towards your bedroom to get a blanket, hoping the little walk calms the butterflies in your stomach. 

What?

The movie is playing, and Johnny is curled up behind you on the reclined sofa, roughened palm resting on your thigh, occasionally squeezing it. You’re mortified at the slight arousal you’re feeling just at being caressed by Johnny. Johnny. Your best friend. Who has consistently had girlfriends, who will never look at you that way. You’ve never thought of him that way either, granted, but that’s what makes this so embarrassing. Maybe you’re ovulating, biology simply reacting in the presence of a virile male, or something. 

And then you feel the unmistakable bulge of his stiffening cock, faintly pressing against your arse. Gods. Heat radiating off of your face, you bite your lip and try to discreetly wiggle away, for his sake and yours. However, Johnny seems to disagree with your thoughts because he moves his hand from your thigh to grab your hips in a bruising grip, fingers digging into your hipbones, forcing you to be still.

He leans into your ear, warm breath tickling your cheek and softly whispers, “Dinnae move, hen,” and sluggishly starts to rock his hips, erection now firmly rubbing against your sleeping shorts. Johnny’s movements are imperceptible, nonexistent underneath your blanket. Not that it would matter, because the movie is reaching its climax, and all eyes are glued to the screen.

But your mind is solely focused on Johnny— the heat of his hands scorching against your skin, his prominent length hidden underneath his pajama bottoms grinding on you. 

“Lift yer leg a wee bit, hen.” Keeping a watchful gaze on your parents, you silently plead that they won’t notice as you hide your compliance under the guise of trying to make yourself comfortable. Once settled, you lowered your leg and had to bite your tongue with force, to keep the moan from slithering out of your throat. 

His cock, bare, right in between your thighs. Like warm velvet wrapped around steel, thick, heavy, tip pushing against your core with every minute thrust. Johnny moves even closer, arm tight around your waist, hand sliding into your bottoms, heading straight towards your soaked, swollen clit to rub feather-light delectable circles on it.

“I’m gonna stick just the tip in, a’right? I swear,” he says in a hushed tone, as he pulls back to lower the waistband of your shorts to rest on your upper thighs, “just,” he thrusts once, “the”, again, “tip.” and his leaking head slips into your hole— pushing it in until your walls flutter around it. 

“Ye feel incredible, squeeze that tight pus—” your dripping cunt cuts him off, drawing out a hiss of surprise from him. His subdued voice in your ear is so seductive, so bewitching, that you can’t help but clench around him. 

For most of the movie, Johnny languidly thrusts into you, truly keeping to his word. Just the tip— teasing you, making you drip onto the sofa, muted squishy, gooey noises coming from under your blanket, and you couldn’t be bothered by any of it. Flared, ridged head catching on your slippery lips with every drag of his cock. You’re drooling on your hand that covers your mouth beneath the snug blanket— struggling to hold back the mewls and whimpers threatening to escape. 

All of a sudden, Johnny mutters, “The movie’s about ta end, close yer eyes and keep completely still. Stabilize and deepen yer breathin’, hen.” Without hesitation, you do as he says, body going limp in compliance, the only tell-tale sign of your excitability being the rapid pulsing of your jugular on the delicate skin of your neck. 

The TV is turned off, and the living room goes completely silent, apart from the deafening sound of blood rushing in your ears. Johnny behind you feigns quiet snoring, so believable that if it wasn’t for his throbbing cock still at your entrance, you’d think he actually fell asleep.

Your dad’s poor imitation of a whisper cuts through the quiet. 

“They’re asleep, let’s just leave them here.” Footsteps shuffle as they tip-toe around you both, and as they get farther away, Johnny slowly moves his hand to cover yours, truly weighing down on it. The instant their door clicks shut, he uses his other hand to pick up your leg and throw it over your shoulder, and thrusts hard, deep, until his bollocks are flush against your arse. Your nails claw at the hand over your mouth as you scream, your gummy walls stretching against his assault— a burn so exquisite, pleasure teetering on the edge of pain, achingly delicious, it sends tendrils of ecstasy directly into your veins.

He lets out a guttural moan, one only you could hear, private, intimate. “It’s about time ye let me have this sweet pussy, hen.” One vicious thrust that punches the air from your lungs and rattles the sofa, and then another, when he finally speaks again. “Fuck, we hae ta do this when we are nae restricted, hm?” His hips start a slow rhythm, long, unhurried undulating thrusts, and every time he bottoms out, he grinds his pubic bone on your clit, the tip of his cock giving your cervix a lewd kiss. Every time he reaches the entrance of your womb, it feels like he wants to go in further, to go past the dead end, and your cock drunk mind only thinks about how you want him to do it, too. 

“Yer slobberin’ all over my hand, hen. S’that good, is it? Oooh, I ken it is. Only the best fer my girl, hm?” He hisses through clenched teeth, “I’m fuckin’ close. Come f’me. I’m not comin’ until ye cover my cock with yer cream, leave a white ring at the base.” His hips have been moving at the same exact speed he started at, not a stutter in his pattern. As if him fucking you into a puddle of arousal wasn’t taxing on his part. 

Then he does something different, something that threatens to snap that coil in your lower tummy, and along with it your sanity. He starts giving shallow thrusts, never pulling out more than halfway, and makes sure to rub against your clit, giving you that heavenly friction you need. It has you delirious, fervent, and you start moving your own hips, uncaring of how you must look.

Johnny moves his thumb down to your nub, drawing tight, precise, merciless circles on it, and you are thrown over the edge— more like kicked off by a spartan kick from how gut-wrenching your orgasm is ripped from you. Your pleasure is so acute, so powerful that there are needle-like pricks on the shell of your ears. Your body shakes underneath Johnny, pussy throbbing and pulsing with the aftershocks of your blinding climax. 

Drool escapes under Johnny’s palm, dripping down your cheeks and into your hair as you fall back, going completely limp, utterly spent. Finally getting back some coherency, you realize that Johnny’s gone soft inside of you, also drained, as he catches his breath holding himself over you. He removes his hand, uncaring that it’s sticky with your spit, and noses your cheekbone, nudging you to slant his lips over yours, curling his tongue against yours. He swallows the pathetic mewl you let out and presses one final kiss onto your lips. 

“I’ve missed ye, hen. I’m so happy to be here, with ye. Let’s move to your bedroom, and in 10 minutes, I’ll give ye a proper fuckin’.” 

Your eyes close shut as you let out a resigned but elated sigh. 

“I love you too, Johnny.” 

@rookiesbookies and forgive the tag but i had you in mind too @brewed-pangolin ill never do it again unprompted

part 2

[sturnioz]

☆. . . chris blinks at you in stunned surprise, his mouth falling open as he watches you get down on your knees in front of him inside the dimly lit bathroom, your hands groping his thighs through his jeans.

"how... how are you so horny all the time? you really wanna do this? right now?"

"i have you as a boyfriend, what do you expect?" your statement makes his chest swell with pride, and a cocky grin slips across his lips. "please let me suck you off, chris — please? i've been desperate all fucking night since you wore these jeans."

"oh... so it's my fault?" chris asks with a teasing tone, his eyebrow raised as you bat your wispy lashes up at him innocently. he tilts his head to the side with a quiet hum, exhaling deeply through his nose when he sees your fingers fumble with his belt buckle before pulling it through the loops. "do you really wanna suck my dick that badly, ma?"

"yes," you immediately confirm with a sharp nod of your head, licking at your lips at the thought of having him inside your mouth. "please? will you let me?"

"you're offerin' to give me head, you think i'm gonna say no?" chris scoffs with a shake of his head, one hand fisting his cock free from his boxers with the other caresses the top of your head, keeping you still as he lightly taps his tip to your glossy lips. "open up, ma. let me in your pretty mouth."

© STURNIOZ